Out of the Cold (17 page)

I wondered why my father hadn't told me about Tara. Then I remembered what he'd said when I mentioned that she seemed a little young. “I think she's just about right,” he had replied. Just about right to be the daughter of an old friend. He'd been having some fun with me. Maybe he'd been hoping I would tell my mother.

“I was going to make myself a cup of tea,” I said. “Would you like one?”

Tara beamed at me. “I'd love one,” she said.

On the way to the kitchen I checked my father's phone. There were no messages. Still no word from Nick.

CHAPTER
THIRTEEN

T

he homeless shelter served a Christmas dinner every year that attracted more than two hundred and fifty people. Turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, gravy, rolls, and, for dessert, pie and ice cream. A local bakery donated the pies. Everything else was made at the shelter. Some of it—the gravy, the stuffing, the potatoes—could be prepared ahead of time and frozen or refrigerated. It was a lot of work. Betty needed all the help she could get to be ready in time for Christmas. I hung up my coat, changed out of my boots and into a pair of sneakers, and went to the kitchen to see what she wanted me to do.

“Onions,” Betty said. “I need someone to chop onions.” She nodded at a large bag sitting on the floor.

“How many do you need chopped?” I said.

“All 'em.”

I heaved the sack of onions up onto the counter beside a cutting board and set to work. To my surprise, a few minutes later, Andrew set up beside me. He started to cut day-old loaves of bread into small cubes for the stuffing.

“Hey Robyn,” he said, smiling at me without showing his teeth.

“Hey Andrew,” I said. “Don't tell me they're making you work for your supper.”

“I volunteered,” he said. He looked proud of him-self. “It's the thing to do this time of year, right?”

“Right,” I said. Once again I wondered what had drawn Andrew to the street.

“Wow, that's a lot of onions,” said a voice behind me. I whirled around. Ben was carrying a stack of bakery boxes. “Where do you want these, Betty?”

“I cleared out some space in one of the downstairs freezers,” Betty said. “We'll freeze them until Christmas Eve. Robyn, do you think you could help Ben with those?”

I was glad to.

“You didn't tell me
you
were coming here today,” I said.

“You didn't tell me you were coming.”

It took us two trips to get all the pies downstairs and stacked in one of the shelter's mammoth chest freezers. There were forty boxes in all—twenty apple pies and twenty cherry pies. After we finished, Ben helped me chop onions. Then, under Betty's directions, we mixed a huge batch of bread stuffing. When we'd done everything that Betty had on her schedule for the day, Ben offered to drive me home.

  .    .    .

“You live
here
?” he said. We were sitting in his car outside my father's place.

“My dad does. Why?”

“La Folie is supposed to be a really good. My dad comes here a lot. Does your father own it?”

I shook my head. “The building, but not the restaurant.”

“So he's in real estate?”

“He has a private security company. He used to be a cop.”

Ben looked impressed. “My father manufactures and sells bathroom fixtures,” he said and shook his head. “It must be pretty exciting having a dad who's a cop.”

“
Was
a cop,” I said. “He was hardly ever home when I was little. He was always working. And when he was home, he hardly ever talked about what he did. So it wasn't
all
that exciting.”

“Yeah, well, my dad
does
talk about his business,” Ben said. “Believe me, I know more about bathroom fixtures than I ever wanted to—more than
anyone
should have to know. So, Billy told me you got arrested in the summer. Something about an animal rights protest?”

“I got arrested trying to stop
Billy
from getting arrested.”

“Now
that
sounds exciting.”

“Obviously you've never been arrested.”

“I've never even known anyone who's been arrested.” He smiled at me. “You know, I was wrong about you. You're not anything like the girls at St. Mildred's.”

“That's the second time you've mentioned the girls at St. Mildred's. Do boys from Ashdale have an exclusive with girls from St. Mildred's or something?”

“St. Mildred's is our sister school,” Ben said. “Apparently it was some big tradition for guys from St. Mark's to go out with girls from St. Mildred's. Now a lot of guys from Ashdale go out with girls from St. Mildred's.”

“Rich boys dating rich girls, huh?”

Ben shrugged. “I guess. My mom went to St. Mildred's. My dad went to St. Mark's. They met while they were at school.”

My eyes must have lit up, because he said, “I thought of that too. But my dad's at least fifteen years younger than Mr. Duffy. Their pictures wouldn't be in the same yearbook. And that's assuming that the ring actually belonged to Duffy. He could have found it—or stolen it. Besides, you said the picture didn't look anything like him.”

I sighed and pushed open the car door. “Thanks for the lift.”

“Robyn?”

I turned back around.

“You want to go out sometime? See a movie or something?”

“What?” I guess I sounded too surprised. Ben's face turned red and he stared at the steering wheel. “What I mean is, are you sure that's allowed?”

He looked blankly at me.

“I don't go to St. Mildred's,” I said. “I don't even go to private school. The way you talk about those St. Mildred's girls, I thought they had dibs on you Ashdale boys. You know—like father, like son.”

His expression turned grim. “I'm not anything like my father,” he said. He looked down at the steering wheel again and drew in a deep breath. “So, how about it?”

“I'd like that,” I said. I don't think I would have admitted it—especially not to Morgan—but I was really starting to like him. He was nice—well, he was if he didn't think you were a two-four. He was cute. He cared about other people. And he didn't seem like the kind of person who would take off without any warning.

I dug in my purse for paper and a pen and wrote out my number for him. “Call me,” I said as I got out of the car. I had just turned to go into my father's building when a thought occurred to me. I ran back and knocked on Ben's window. “Girls from St. Mildred's and boys from Ashdale, do they go out with each other because they already know each other?”

“Sometimes,” Ben said. “Why?”

“If they don't already know each other, how do they get together? Meet each other?”

Ben shrugged. “Through mutual acquaintances. School events. You know, the same way anyone meets anyone else.”

“My school is co-ed. Guys meet girls in class or in clubs or in the hallway.”

Ben laughed. “Okay, so we don't meet that way. People just meet people—you know, through friends, or just around. Plus, our schools have some joint events, like they did in the old days—although not exactly for the same reasons.”

“What do you mean?”

“My mother told me that in her mom's time, and even in her time, St. Mark's and St. Mildred's used to organize dances and stuff specifically so that girls from St. Mildred's would meet boys from St. Mark's and get married someday. You should see the pictures in both her and my father's yearbooks. They're filled with guys in suits, arm in arm with girls in formal dresses.”

I knew exactly the kind of picture he was talking about. And that gave me an idea.

“St. Mildred's didn't ever burn down, did it?”

“Not that I know of,” Ben said.

When I told him my idea, he slapped his forehead. “I should have thought of that,” he said.

I glanced at my watch. “You think there'd be anyone at St. Mildred's now?”

Ben shook his head. “I doubt it.” When I looked disappointed, he said, “But there will be on Monday. And I can get us in.”

“You can?”

He grinned. “I'll pick you up.”

  .    .    .

I spent the next day doing what Morgan liked to do best—Christmas shopping. By the end of the day we had both checked off almost everyone on our lists.

“Who do you have left?” she said.

“My mom,” I said. She was always the last person on my list. I never knew what to get her, and she never gave me any hints.

“What about Nick? What did you get him?”

I felt a twinge of anger.

“Nothing,” I said. “What would I do with a present if I got him one?”

“Still no word, huh?”

“Don't you think I would have told you, Morgan?” I said.

She looked offended.

“Sorry,” I said. “I didn't mean to snap at you. It's not your fault.”

  .    .    .

Ben picked me up just before noon, and we drove to St. Mildred's.

“You sure someone will be there?” I asked on the way.

“Positive. I'm supposed to help deliver all the wrapped toys to the nonprofit we sponsor.”

“You're supposed to go to St. Mildred's to pick up toys that students at
Ashdale
collected?” I was confused.

“You know how I told you that Ashdale does the toy drive every year with another school?” Ben asked. “Well, we do it with St. Mildred's. It's another tradition. I brought the toys Ashdale collected here yesterday and spent a couple of hours wrapping them.”

We tried the main door. Locked. Ben pressed the buzzer, and we shivered as we waited for someone to answer. I glanced at Ben, who rocked back and forth on his feet, humming quietly to himself.

Nothing happened.

Ben continued to rock and hum.

Then I saw someone inside the school foyer. A man in work overalls. He shuffled toward the main door and peered out. He broke into a smile when he saw Ben and reached for a massive key ring that was attached to his belt. He looked familiar.

“Isn't that the janitor from
your
school?” I said to Ben.

“Yeah. He works at Ashdale and Mildred's.”

“Hey Ben,” Pete said, pushing the door open to admit us. We stepped into a richly paneled entrance hall. “Come back to help the ladies?”

“Are they still here?” Ben said.

“They're almost finished. They'll be ready to pack everything up soon,” Pete said. “They're in the library.”

“Thanks, Pete,” Ben said. “You remember my friend Robyn?” Pete glanced at me and nodded. “She's helping me with something to do with Mr. Duffy. We want to look at old school yearbooks while we're here.”

Pete looked confused. “What's Duffy got to do with yearbooks?”

“We're not sure,” Ben said. “We're not even sure we're on the right track. But if we find out anything, we'll let you know.”

Ben seemed to know the school well. He led me to the library.

“From the way Pete talked,” I said, “I got the impression he knew Mr. Duffy.”

“He did,” Ben said. “Up until a few months ago, Pete was homeless. I met him at the shelter. He had some problems in the past. He was sick. You know, mentally ill. Things were pretty tough for him for a few years. When I met him, he was trying to get back on his feet. He was taking some job readiness courses at one of the community centers. He has a degree in chemistry.”

“Really?”

“You're surprised, right?”

It would have been more accurate to say that I was stunned. I was as surprised to find out that Pete had a chemistry degree as I had been to learn that Mr. Duffy read Dickens and computer magazines. I was beginning to think that I needed to be more open-minded.

“He worked hard to get into college,” Ben said. “He worked hard while he was there. Now he's working hard to get it all back. When I met him, he was willing to do anything to make enough money so that he could get his own place and start to get his life together again. So when I heard that Ashdale was looking for a part-time janitor—” He shrugged again.

“You helped him get the job?” I said.

“I talked to Mr. Thorson. He knew I was volunteering at the shelter. He said he'd interview Pete if he applied for the job, but he couldn't make any promises. Pete did really well in the interview. Mr. Thorson was impressed. He even arranged for Pete to sit in on some college lectures—you know, so he could start to get back on his original career track. And when St. Mildred's needed someone part-time, Mr. Thorson put in a word for him.”

No wonder Pete always seemed so delighted to see Ben.

As soon as Ben opened the library door, a dozen heads turned in our direction. Several library tables had been pushed together. They were stacked with brightly wrapped Christmas gifts. A group of women were busily packing the gifts into large cardboard boxes, also decorated with Christmas gift wrap.