Holly Blues (14 page)

I repeated my promise to secure the window, wished Hazel a good day, and went back to the shop, where I put in a call to Jill, the gal who does repair work for us. She promised to get the window fixed before the day was over, which put my mind at rest—on that score, at least. I was still wondering whether Myers had managed to locate Donna’s farm and how he had gotten my unlisted number.

But I had other things on my mind—the kids, first of all. I didn’t want to take any risks with Caitlin and Brian, so I needed to make some changes in the day’s arrangements. Caitlin is crazy about Grace, Ruby’s year-old granddaughter, who lives with her mother, Amy, and Amy’s partner, Kate, just a few blocks from Caitlin’s school. It was easy to arrange with Amy to meet Caitlin after school and take her home for an all-girls’ sleepover. A phone call to Sandy, the mom of Brian’s best friend, took care of Brian. Sandy said she’d be glad to have him spend the night with Mike. That settled, all I had to do was text-message the kids and explain the change in plans, and I could relax.

The rest of the morning went quickly. By eleven, it was happily clear that we were going to need more holiday wreaths, so I phoned Donna and put in an order for another dozen. There were seven business days left until Christmas, and I figured I could sell at least that many, maybe more. But Donna works on consignment, and there’s nothing sorrier than a Christmas decoration that doesn’t sell, so my order was conservative.

“I’ll bring them in tomorrow,” Donna said. She paused, adding brightly. “I hope the kids had a good time last night.”

“They did,” I said. “Brian met a new girl on the hayride. And Caitlin thinks the tree is gorgeous. Hang on a minute, Donna.”

I cradled the phone against my shoulder. A woman had come up to the counter with a purchase—two copies of my book,
The China Bayles Book of Days.

“I love this book,” she said. “I already have my copy, and these are Christmas presents for my sisters. One for Annie, the other for Janice. Could you sign them, please?”

I gave her an extra large smile, personalized and signed the books with a flourish, and ran the credit card, still cradling the phone. When you’re in business, you learn to multitask. And I love selling that book.

On the other end of the line, Donna cleared her throat. “I won’t keep you,” she said. “I know you’re busy. But I was just wondering—”

I put the book into a bag, mouthed, “Thank you very much!” to the customer, and closed the cash drawer. “Sorry, Donna,” I said into the phone. “I’m back now. But I missed whatever you said.”

“That guy,” Donna said. “I was wondering if he called you.”

I focused. “Guy?”

“Sally’s friend. He was here last night. Said he’d been looking all over for her and happened to catch a glimpse of her sitting on the other side of the bonfire. But he lost her in the crowd, and she got away before he could connect. He seemed really anxious to reach her, and I knew she was with you.” She chuckled. “I got the feeling that there might be some romance in the air.”

I was very focused now. Things were adding up quickly. “Somebody did call last night,” I replied. “Actually, I was wondering how he got our number. It’s been unlisted for a couple of years.”

“Unlisted!” Donna exclaimed, horrified. “Oh, my gosh, China! I’m sure you must have told me that, but I totally forgot. This guy—he was really very nice—he said he’d been looking all over for Sally Strahorn and just happened to see her, and wondered if I knew where she could be reached. As I said, I knew she was with you, so I just looked up the number in my Rolodex, and he wrote it down.” She let out a noisy breath. “I hope I didn’t—I mean, it
was
okay to give it to him, wasn’t it?”

I didn’t answer that. “What did he look like?”

“I dunno. Nothing special, I guess. Dark hair. Plastic-rimmed glasses. Very mild-mannered. Nice voice, polite.” She gulped. “Gee, I hope I didn’t—I would feel really bad if I caused any trouble.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said in a comforting tone. There was no point in blaming Donna. It was just one of those things. “You concentrate on those wreaths. Okay?”

She sighed. “Yeah. Okay. I really am sorry, though. Honest. I’ll never do that again.”

I hope not,
I thought as I put the phone down. But I couldn’t be angry at Donna, who hadn’t done it on purpose. And at least I understood the sequence of events. Somehow, Jess Myers had got hold of my shop’s phone number—after that, the shop’s address would have been easy. He had come here after I left yesterday and investigated the cottage. Hazel had told him that he could find me at Mistletoe Creek Farm, where he had gotten my unlisted number by the simple expedient of asking Donna for it. I shivered. Myers was a purpose-driven man. He wasn’t playing games or fooling around. Every step he took brought him a little closer.

And all of a sudden, I felt as if
I
were the one being stalked. Myers might be looking for Sally, but she was staying at my house. If she was a target, so was I. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling.

I was dusting shelves, still thinking about this, when Ruby came through the connecting door carrying Grace, her daughter Amy’s baby—the one Caitlin is so crazy about.

“Ooh, there she is,” Ruby said brightly. “Say good morning to Gwamma’s best friend, Pwecious.”

Precious cooed and smiled at me, waving her chubby little hand. Laugh if you will, but I immediately felt better. I’ve never been the maternal type, but babies—especially plump little girls with pink cheeks and strawberry curls—are almost universally irresistible, aren’t they? This one is especially beloved and especially pampered. Amy takes Grace to work with her at the vet clinic a couple of days a week, where she charms even the most savage beast. Amy’s partner, Kate, an accountant, takes her to the office a couple of days, where she enchants both the staff and Kate’s clients. Grandmama Ruby fills in whenever there’s a gap. Lucky Grace, growing up with three adoring females and a gaggle of doting friends and admirers.

Make that four adoring females. I spent the next couple of minutes happily playing pat-a-cake with Precious, then remembered about lunch.

“Will you be here about one o’clock?” I asked. When Ruby nodded, I said, “That’s good. Sally’s coming by for lunch, and I thought maybe you’d like to join us.” Earlier that morning, I had told her about the stalker’s phone call and my plan for Caitlin to spend the night with Amy and Kate. Now, I filled her in on what I’d learned from Hazel and from Donna.

Ruby’s eyes widened as I talked. “That guy was in the crowd last night, watching us?” she asked, shaking her head. “That is totally scary, China. He means business, doesn’t he?”

“Sounds like,” I said cautiously. Ruby read all the Nancy Drews when she was growing up and is now working her way through Kinsey Millhone’s alphabet mysteries. Suggest that there is a crime in the neighborhood, and she immediately clicks into detective mode.

“I wonder where he’s staying,” she mused. “He shouldn’t be too hard to find, if he’s driving a yellow convertible. I don’t think there’s another one in town.”

“Ruby,” I said. “Don’t.”

She looked at me with her best, most innocent Lucille Ball, eyes-wide look. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t even
think
of doing what you are thinking of doing.”

“How can I not think about doing whatever-it-is when I don’t know what you don’t want me to think about?” she asked reasonably. While I was trying to sort out an answer to that, she added, “Why don’t you and Sally come over and spend the night at my house? There are neighbors all around, and old Mrs. Wauer and Oodles right next door. Oodles would never let a stalker come within a mile of the place without making enough racket to wake the dead.”

I had to laugh at that. Oodles is a fat white miniature poodle attack dog with the heart of a pit bull, a maniac bark, and a bite like a snapping turtle. I once saw him go up against another of Ruby’s neighbors. If Mrs. Ewell hadn’t defended herself with an umbrella, Oodles would have had her for dinner.

“Thanks for the offer,” I said, still chuckling. “I hate to leave Howard Cosell at home alone, though.” When we all go away overnight, Howard goes to stay at the doggie resort hotel: the boarding kennel at the vet clinic where Amy works.

“Bring him along,” Ruby said generously. “I’m sure Oodles would love to bark at Howard through the fence.”

Another laugh. “I’ll check it out with Sally when she comes for lunch,” I said.

“That’ll work,” Ruby replied. She paused. “Have you told McQuaid about any of this?”

“There’s no point in telling him. He’s in Omaha. There’s nothing he can do except worry about us.” Which he would, of course. It’s his cop personality shining through.

“I think you should tell him. If he knows there’s a stalker hanging around, he might make a point of coming home early.”

“Really? You think?” Somehow, this hadn’t occurred to me.

“Sure. He’s a detective, isn’t he? Detectives like to detect, don’t they? And he’s an ex-cop. He’s trained to protect. You’ve got his number on both counts.” She patted Grace’s cheek. “What a vewy pwetty girl you are, little sweetie-puss.” Sweetie-puss giggled and flung both arms around her grandmother’s neck.

I considered. Ruby was right. McQuaid is one of those guys who loves to dig up the answers to problems that nobody else can solve. It’s what made him such a good cop. It also makes him a first-class private detective. When it comes to inquiry, he is both intuitive and relentless. He doesn’t give up. And he is protective to the nth degree.

“Come home early,” I mused. “Why didn’t I think of that?” Because I’d been too busy handling it myself, that’s why. But Sally is McQuaid’s ex, not mine. He would probably be glad to take his share of the responsibility. “Thanks for the suggestion, Ruby.” I glanced at the clock. It was eleven twenty. “I’ll call him right now. If he’s finished with his job, maybe he can get an early plane.”

McQuaid came on at the third ring. It didn’t take long to tell him the story, not including the part about Sally’s lying about her house and her job, which I knew would set off an explosion. But even so, he did not immediately reply to my diplomatically phrased suggestion that he come home early. There was a noise like a car door slamming, and I pictured him with his cell phone to his ear, sliding into a car seat in a parking lot somewhere.

“Lord deliver us,” he muttered angrily. “Every time that woman shows up, she brings along a truckload of trouble. I wish to hell she’d stay away.”

That woman.
How many times have I heard McQuaid say those words, in just that tone? What’s more, there was part of me that agreed with him—the part that had her nose out of joint because Sally had lied about losing her house and her job. And her car.

But there was another part of me that disagreed violently, for my husband—who is as dear to me as myself—had just pushed one of my hot buttons.

“Hang on,” I said hotly. “You’re blaming the victim. This isn’t Sally’s fault. This man is a
stalker.
”

“Don’t give me that BS,” McQuaid growled. “Sally’s got a track record, remember? If she’s a victim, she’s victimized herself. Every guy she’s picked has been a loser. Every single guy.”

“Present company excepted,” I reminded him tartly.

“Yeah.” He was heated. “All those other Romeos, they were rotten apples, every one of ’em. Remember the lawyer lover of hers? The one who was dealing? And the stockbroker who robbed her blind? God only knows what kind of bad-ass punk she’s gotten tangled up with this time.” His voice hardened. “Listen, China. I’m going to call Blackie and see if we can’t get somebody to stay at the house tonight. Maybe he’s got an off-duty deputy who can bunk on the sofa and—”

“We are
not
hiring a security guard,” I snapped. “Caitlin will be with Amy and Kate. Brian is spending the night with Mike. And Sally doesn’t want the police involved.” I made my voice softer. “She’s
your
ex-wife, you know. And she would have told you all this herself, if you’d taken the time to talk to her, the way she asked. Look, McQuaid. Why don’t you see about getting an earlier plane? If you were home with us, this jerk wouldn’t dare—”

“I am not coming home because I’ve still got stuff to do here,” he interrupted sternly. “I have to finish an interview. I can’t hop a plane every time Sally thinks she’s got some sort of a problem. And she is my
ex
-wife, remember?”
Ex
got a strong emphasis. He was going to be stubborn about this.

“It’s my problem, too,” I pointed out in an acid tone. “And I am your
current
wife.”
Current
got an even stronger emphasis.

There was a momentary silence, then, “Hang on.” I heard the car engine starting. He probably wanted to run the heater. According to the Weather Channel this morning, the temperature in Omaha would stay below freezing all day, and there was a snowstorm on the way.

“Okay,” he said, on the line again. “If you don’t want somebody hanging out at our house, why don’t you and Sal spend the night at Ruby’s? She’s got plenty of room.” He chuckled. “You could have a girl party. Put grease on your face, drink piña coladas, talk about guys.”

I resisted the impulse to tell him to stuff his “girl party.” “I’d rather you come home early, McQuaid. It might be a good idea anyway. I heard on the news that there’s a snowstorm heading for Omaha. If you wait until tomorrow, you might not be able to get home.”

“You’re right about that,” he said ruefully. “It’s colder than a witch’s tit here, and the local forecasters are saying ice, as well as snow.”

“Then come home.”

“I told you,” he said, in the long-suffering tone he uses when he’s being asked to do more than two things at a time. “I can’t. Not yet.” He sighed. “Okay. This guy, this stalker. What’s his name again?”

“Myers,” I said. Why is it that men can’t multitask? “Jess Myers. He’s from Sanders, Kansas, according to Sally. What time do you think you can come home?”