Between a Book and a Hard Place (5 page)

A
couple of weeks had gone by since the big reveal at the city council. Boone and Noah were both still on my shit list for setting me up, and because of that I hadn't spent more than a few minutes with either one of them. I was still debating Noah's claim that he thought Boone had told me Yvette would be at the meeting. And Boone's explanation that my presence had been Jett's only additional stipulation to funding the library's reopening, other than access to the archives, hadn't mitigated my anger toward him or the feeling of betrayal.

Adding to my discontent, Jake had been preoccupied with Meg's recent setbacks, so I hadn't seen much of him, either. Then, to top it all off, Mom had taken to popping into my store several times a day. I was having difficulty adjusting to her presence, and it was even more bizarre to see her and Dad together.

When I confronted my father about his relationship with Yvette, he said he believed that if you harbored resentment, happiness had no place to dock.
It had been all I could do not to roll my eyes at his hippie-dippie philosophy, but I'd kept my mouth shut and nodded without comment.

Now I twisted the ends of my ponytail as I watched my mother and father cooing to each other near the Fall into Autumn display. The scarecrows guarding the pumpkins seemed to be smirking as Dad stared soulfully into Mom's baby blues, all the while pretending to reposition the colorful paper leaves and bushel baskets.

It would serve him right if he stepped on one of the rakes in the arrangement and it smacked him square in the face. Maybe that would wake him up to Mom's manipulations and maneuverings.

I was aware that when Dad had gotten out of prison a few months ago, my mother had written to him. But I was taken aback when he'd revealed that since then, she'd been calling and texting him regularly.

I understood why he'd kept it a secret from Gran, but I was hurt that he hadn't confided in me. Then again, who's to say I would have been any more accepting of their renewed connection than Birdie?

Yvette and Kern almost seemed to have picked up right where they'd been when they'd parted thirteen years ago. Which was disconcerting, considering that she was now married to a different man. Not that I wanted to see it, but I half expected to find her doing the walk of shame out of my father's apartment one morning.

Before my grandfather died, back when the Sinclairs were prosperous landowners and farmers, the hired hand had lived in the studio above the garage. Although it had been empty for years, as soon as Gran had known Dad was getting out of prison,
she'd cleaned it up and had it ready for him to move in when he arrived home.

This arrangement mostly worked, but with Dad, Gran, and me living in one another's pockets, none of us had any degree of privacy. The lack of it had severely curtailed my options regarding any love life I might choose to pursue. But now I wondered if my father might be suffering right along with me.

The sleigh bells above the front door jingled, and pasting a smile on my face, I welcomed the three elderly women who entered the store.

After returning my greeting, they took seats at the soda fountain.

“What can I get for you ladies?” I gestured to the blackboard. “Today's special is bourbon pecan ice cream served in mini pie shells.”

They conferred among themselves, and then they each ordered a glass of water and one special to share. I served them their treat with three spoons, and while they ate, I allowed my gaze to wander around the store.

When the place was full, excited voices created a cheerful hubbub. I had decided against acoustical tile or cork matting for the ceiling and had kept the original tin tiles. I'd also saved the gorgeous oak hardwood floors by having them sanded, restained, and sealed.

Regardless of how disheartened or upset I might be, the old-fashioned charm of my shop made me smile. I had always loved this place. After every doctor's appointment, my mom had brought me to the soda fountain for a hot fudge sundae. Every Sunday Dad had taken me to the dime store to buy a dollar's worth of candy. And when I turned fifteen, Gran had taken me there to buy my first lipstick.

Which is why, when the ninety-one-year-old Thornbee twins had put the five-and-dime up for sale, I'd immediately submitted an offer. The sisters' grandfather had built the shop when Shadow Bend was little more than a stagecoach stop, and the thought of the place being turned into a Rite Aid or a CVS had spurred me into action.

Although I had doubled the interior space and had installed Wi-Fi, I'd tried to keep the character of the original variety store intact. In doing so, I had attracted several local groups who, in exchange for meeting space—square footage was cheap in Shadow Bend—bought the materials for their projects from me.

The Stepping Out Book Club, the Quilting Queens, the Knittie Gritties, and the Scrapbooking Scalawags all met at my store. In addition to their supplies, I also sold the members refreshments and any other odds and ends that caught their eye. All of which provided a nice steady source of revenue for my business.

I heard Mom's cell chime, and I looked over to where she and Dad were standing. She'd been ignoring her persistently trilling phone ever since she'd arrived at the store. However, this time she glanced at the text message, chewed her bottom lip, then sent a brief answer before turning a brilliant smile back to my father.

Frowning, I stared at my parents. How would my customers react to their obvious flirtation? Shadow Bend was an old-fashioned kind of town, and adultery didn't sit well with most folks.

I had to admit Kern and Yvette made a beautiful couple. Dad was tall and lean, with the erect posture of an army general. He had a few more lines than
before he went to prison, but there was still the same twinkle in his bright green eyes that I remembered.

And time seemed to have stood still for Yvette. I wasn't at all thrilled that she looked more like my older sister than my mother, or that it was clear Dad was enamored of her. As I watched, he brought her hand to his mouth, and although I couldn't hear what she said, whatever it was brought a smile to his lips.

Finally, the ladies finished eating their ice cream pie, divided the bill three ways, and left the store. After washing up the dish, their water glasses, and spoons, I deposited the whopping six dollars—five ninety-five plus a nickel tip—in the till, then stepped over to the old kitchen table that I used for my workbench.

It was located in the space behind the register, and from that vantage point, I could keep an eye on my amorous parents
and
the front door. Not that I was expecting any shoppers. The hours after lunch were usually slow. I often didn't see a single customer from one to three, which was why Dad's official shift ended at noon.

But today, when Mom had strolled in at five to twelve, he'd suddenly forgotten that he was off the clock and had remained on the sales floor. I noticed that he'd finally stopped fussing with the autumn display and he and my mother had moved over to the candy case. He selected a Black Forest truffle, popped it into Yvette's mouth, and as I watched her lick his fingers, I made a mental note to dock his pay the two dollars and fifty cents.

Looking away from my parents' flirting, I thought
about the next item on my to-do list—filling an order for one of my custom-made, personalized gift baskets. When I'd bought the dime store, I'd known I would need something extra to stay profitable, so I'd added the baskets.

That part of the business was extremely lucrative since I was selling my creativity more than the actual items. Now that I had hired my father, I finally had more time to devote to my sideline.

I had one steady customer, Oakley Panigrahi, who bought upward of twenty thank-you gifts a month. He was a Kansas City real estate tycoon who sold luxury properties. Oakley was persnickety, but he thought nothing of paying two or three hundred per basket.

Customarily, his orders were my top priority, but I had a request for one of my special creations, which I needed to complete by late afternoon. I usually worked on that kind of basket before the store opened, but a woman had offered me twice my price for same-day service.

My stomach growled, reminding me that I hadn't had lunch, so I ran into the back room and grabbed a container of Greek yogurt to eat as I worked on the rush order. Returning, I saw that my parents had left. I breathed a sigh of relief, and shoving aside the idea that they might have gone to sample some afternoon delight, I spooned the Yoplait into my mouth. As I ate, I examined the client's questionnaire.

The basket was for her girlfriend's birthday. My customer had forgotten until that morning that her life partner was born exactly thirty years ago today.

Looking over the half-completed form, I frowned. She was lucky I had a broad supply of merchandise
that would please women of almost any preference or she'd be out of luck, because there was no time to order additional items.

Each of the baskets included my trademark—the perfect book for both the occasion and the person receiving the gift. While I was looking through my available inventory, my phone started playing Ross Copperman's “Holding on and Letting Go.”

I dug the cell from my pocket, touched the speaker icon, and said, “Hello.”

“Are you busy?” Noah's smooth tenor sent a delightful shiver down my spine.

“Always.” I was still upset with him for his part in springing Yvette and her husband on me without any warning, but picturing his soft gray eyes smiling into mine was weakening my resolve to stay angry.

“I have some news about my mother.” Noah's tone didn't reveal whether the info was bad or good.

“Oh.” I was none too pleased with Nadine, either, so I stuck to one-word responses, hoping Noah would get the message.

“When you passed on Ronni's comment about Mom's general lack of interest in anything not directly affecting her, it made me wonder why she was so agitated about the aliens.” He paused. “I knew questioning her directly wouldn't work, so I finally got Janson alone and asked him if he had any idea what had stirred her up.”

“And?”

As I waited for Noah's answer, I started to work on the rush basket. Against the folds of a black satin robe, I placed
Heart of the Game
by Rachel Spangler and a pack of edible body tattoos. According to the
package, the tattoos were totally lickable, and the recipient was supposed to apply them in a place they wanted their partner's tongue. Picturing Noah next to me, I could think of several locations where his mouth would be welcome. That is, if I weren't still mad at him.

Noah sighed. “Janson said he believes Mom had company right before they left for city hall. He'd run to the pharmacy, and when he got back there were two wineglasses by the sink. He thinks whoever visited must have said something about the invading aliens, because originally Nadine was attending the meeting because of the rooming-house issue, not the extraterrestrials.”

“Interesting,” I murmured. Nadine's reason was just as I had guessed.

I kept working on my special order. I needed to finish it before school got out and a swarm of starving teenagers poured into the store. No way could I be making an X-rated basket with a hoard of underage kids present, even if most of them would be hanging out in the recently created teen lounge on my second floor.

Which reminded me, I wanted to make sure my newest employee understood the rules of that space. On the recommendation of Mrs. Zeigler, the high school principal, I had hired Taryn Wenzel. After losing my two previous clerks—one to college and one for less auspicious reasons—I'd had to take on a couple of new staff members. My father was filling one vacancy, and per my policy of hiring from the school's vocational program, Taryn had started a couple of weeks ago.

I had recently hung up a sign in the teen lounge
that read, “
NO” IS A COMPLETE SENTENCE
. Taryn needed to abide by that decree.

“Now all I need to do is figure out who stopped by to see Mom and why.” Noah's comment brought me back to the present.

He sounded tired, and I couldn't blame him. Riding herd on Nadine was a full-time job.

“Good luck with that.”

I tilted my head, considering adding a pair of Naughty Ballerina crotchless bikinis to the basket, but since my client hadn't filled in the blank for her girlfriend's size, I reluctantly put them aside. It was a shame, since the panties had cute little ruffles that emphasized the wearer's derriere and a subtle peekaboo cutout so she could act out her own version of a lap dance.

“Luck has never played much of a part in my dealings with Mom,” Noah muttered, then asked, “Are you free tonight? A patient gave me two tickets to the
Book of Mormon
. If we leave here by five, we could make it to Kansas City in time for an early dinner.”

“You know the store is open until six on Tuesdays.” I tried to keep the impatience out of my tone. “I can't just close early. Some of us need our business to turn a profit, in order to earn a living.”

As the words left my mouth, I cringed. I was being unfair to Noah. Although he was probably one of the wealthiest men in town, his affluence never stopped him from putting in long hours at his practice.

After completing his education, Noah had returned to Shadow Bend and opened the Underwood Clinic. The only medical center in a forty-mile radius, it was always packed with patients. Until
recently, due to the long hours and low pay, he'd been unable to entice another physician into joining his practice, but a couple of months ago he'd finally found an altruistic doctor who was willing to move to a small town, work ten-hour days, and settle for less money.

“I thought maybe your father could cover the store for an hour and close up for you.” Noah blew out a frustrated breath. “But if you'd rather, we could leave here at six and eat afterward.”