Still Life in Shadows (7 page)

“What’s going on?” Gideon sidled up to his usual spot at the counter.

Henry hiked up his pants. “Got a little trouble going on.” He spoke like he had marbles in his mouth. Gideon once thought it was chewing tobacco, but the sheriff did not chew or spit. “We don’t like this kind of trouble.”

Gideon’s breath caught, and he scanned the room. Mari was taking an order at one of the tables. As long as she was all right, things couldn’t be that bad.

“Things just ain’t like they once was around here,” Deputy Tomlin said.

“What do you mean?”

“Well.” He drew a breath and looked at Henry. “Bad riffraff from across the mountains.” He jerked his thumb toward the door.

Gideon knew he was pointing west toward Gatlinburg. Twin Branches prided itself on being “a quaint mountain town, pretty as a postcard and warm with Southern hospitality.” That phrase was printed in curvy gray lettering on the Welcome to Twin Branches sign.

Henry accepted a Styrofoam cup of coffee from Della, thanked her, and turned to Gideon. “But they’re gone now. And we best be heading back to the station.” He neared Gideon and lowered his voice. “Going to come over to our house for Thanksgiving this year? Mebane wants you to know you’re invited.”

Although it was only October, Gideon figured he could commit to saying yes. He doubted he’d get an invite anywhere else. “Sure, tell her thank you.”

Henry and Tomlin scanned the eatery one last time before wishing everyone a good day.

When they left, Della came out from the kitchen with two plates of bacon, eggs, and grits. She smiled at Gideon on her way to deliver the food to a table behind him. “Be with you in a moment, Sugar.”

“What happened here?”

She stopped and whispered, “Two rednecks trying to get something for nothing. Complaining about the food, refusing to pay their tab. You know how those kids from Gatlinburg can be.”

Gideon spread out the day’s
Twin Star
on the counter, but he could not concentrate. He watched Mari as she answered the phone and then went into the kitchen, her dark hair swinging over her shoulders. She looked exceptionally pretty this afternoon. He liked the way her makeup accentuated her brown eyes.

You can’t ask her out,
a voice inside his head said.
She’s been married and divorced from Kiki’s father. Or maybe she never got married, just had
a baby and Kiki’s father didn’t hang around.

Before asking what he’d like for lunch, Della spit her chewing gum into the trash can behind her. Every time she did this, she followed the same pattern—she’d give a light cough, then turn her head and shoot the gum into the trash.

Each time Gideon knew what she was doing. Just like when she pretended to be reading a menu with her reading glasses, but she was actually peering over them at any man who entered the restaurant.

“How’s business today?” she asked.

“Pretty good.”

“I need to bring our Ford in. It’s making funny noises.”

“You should. Funny noises are never good when it comes to cars.”

“Look at you,” she said. “You are going to make some woman happy one day.”

“Who?”

“Oh, someone perfect for you.” She winked.

He didn’t really think she had anyone in mind. She was just a romantic at heart; the Lifetime Movie Network was probably a constant at her house.

“Well, I know you’re hungry.” She smiled. “Need a menu?”

“I’ll have a roast beef sandwich with horseradish on the side.”

“Fries?”

“No, thanks.” If he was going to order pie, he had to cut back somewhere. “And green tea, please.”

As Della took the ticket to the kitchen, Mari made her way behind the counter. “You should try something else today. Don’t you think variety is the spice of life?”

He looked at the display of pies and couldn’t see how the apple or pecan would satisfy him like the blackberry did. “I don’t know …”

“We have so many kinds of tea. You should try something besides green.” Behind her a large chalkboard listed the specials of the day in fancy, colorful letters.

He’d ordered a turkey sandwich from it once. It’d come with a cup
of broccoli-cheese soup. But she was gesturing at the selection of teas. “Herbal mint?” he read from the board.

“If you like mint.”

He didn’t know about mint in anything except for his toothpaste. When a glob accidentally went down his throat, it was never pleasant. He leaned on the counter and read aloud. “Lemon sassafras. Raspberry apple. Orange and hibiscus?” Were his eyes playing tricks on him? “These all sound like shampoo.”

She laughed. “The blackberry.” She pointed to where it was printed in yellow chalk on the right side of the menu. “That’s what you should try.”

“Blackberry tea?”

“You like the pie, the tea might be your new love.”

He smiled at her.
Careful,
he thought as she made her way to a table of women asking for more sweet tea.
Mari is not the kind of woman you should be pursuing.
He burrowed his eyes into the newspaper. Growing up, he’d learned that God did not smile on the divorced—or the pregnant women without husbands. It was best not to get too close to her. And as for the tea, he was a creature of habit. When she returned, he told her he’d decided to stick with the usual. “I know, I’m not adventurous.”

As he finished his sandwich, Mari cut him a large slice of pie and poured a fresh cup of green tea. He noted her long lashes and smooth skin. She not only made delicious pies, she was also beautiful to look at every day.

“Kiki likes coming to your shop,” she said. “I know she can’t do much, but thank you for letting her have a place to do something. In Asheville, there was this after-school program she went to. She loved it there.”

“I’m glad to help.” Gideon almost felt true to his words. “What was going on here earlier?”

“You mean why Henry was here?”

“Yeah.”

“Two thugs from Tennessee thought they could treat this place like a street corner bar.”

He wasn’t sure what she meant.

“You know, coming on to Della and me. Teasing us, then complaining about the food and service. It got loud, so I asked Henry to come by.”

“Looks like he took care of it.” Gideon couldn’t see why men would be interested in poufed-out bleached-blond hair that looked much too fake. But Mari, yes, he could understand the attraction.

“He did a good job.” Mari filled the napkin dispenser with white napkins from a cardboard box. “I called him, and he was here in minutes.”

“You can always call me. I mean …” He felt his face grow hot. Why did talking to someone like Mari seem so unnatural? In his part of Carlisle, men didn’t know how to flirt with women. Now that he had learned a few tips on how to do it, he felt silly for his attempts. “I mean, if you ever need help, I’m just down the road.”

She smiled. “Yes, but do you have a gun or a badge?”

“I could get one from Walmart if that would help scare hoodlums away.”

“Kiki says that if I just sang one of my Bob Dylan or Beatles songs, no one would ever bother me again.”

“I like the Beatles. I have their
Abbey Road
album on CD.”

She began to hum “Here Comes the Sun.” Although he hadn’t listened to it in two years, he was glad he recognized the tune.

“I’ll have to work on my Dylan. I don’t know any of his songs.”

“I bet you’ve heard this one.” Softly, she sang, “Knock, knock, knocking on Heaven’s door, just like so many times before.” Mari’s alto voice was pleasant. She hummed and said, “This is the part where Dylan plays the harmonica.”

He admitted he’d never heard that song. “I guess I have some homework to do before I come back.”

Her smile was wide and warm as he paid and left the tearoom. “See you soon,” she called out.

He wanted to stop, turn around, and ask her to a movie or a walk in the mountains or dinner at a restaurant he’d seen recently. He wasn’t sure of its name, but he’d passed it on his way to Bryson City the other week, and the diners seated under the canopy outside looked to be having a great time. He was pretty sure it served Italian food.

As he ambled back to the shop, he thought of how nothing ever worked out for him. Was he too strict? Not fun enough? He once sang in the rain. It was “Amazing Grace.” Even so, he had a decent voice. Mother always said so. Too angry? He clenched a fist before he realized what he was doing. He tried to make his fingers relax. Had he not yet met the right woman? Perhaps. Once Luke said to him, “You really want an Amish girl. Maybe an English girl isn’t going to be good enough for you.”

Luke was engaged. Only three years after coming to Twin Branches, he had found romance in the arms of Ashlyn Kingston, the sheriff’s daughter. They would be married next spring. Rebecca, Luke’s younger sister, had moved to Charlotte to attend UNC–Charlotte and was now a pharmacist, living her dream. She’d succeeded in her education, proving that girls were capable of studying and obtaining degrees. Back in Lancaster, girls were forced to quit school after eighth grade and spend time quilting and learning the secret to delectable pies.

He wondered if Mari had been to college. He knew so little about her. Did she ever feel angry? He’d seen her sad eyes that one day at the tearoom. She said she feared winter. What else did she fear? Who was Kiki’s father? Had he been kind once but turned and grown uncaring? Or had he never stuck around once he learned she was carrying his child?

Inside the garage, Gideon busied himself under the hood of an old Plymouth Voyager. He hoped the sound of his tools would be loud enough to drown out his thoughts.

T
o save time, Gideon decided to skip lunch at Another Cup. Instead, he consumed two chocolate Twinkies from the vending machine at the Laundromat. He knew it wasn’t healthy, but those little cakes sure did taste good. He loved the inside filling; it reminded him of the chocolate pie his mother used to make for Sunday evening desserts.

Kiki was tightening the brakes on her bike as Gideon explained engines and carburetors to Amos who stood nearby, munching on an apple. Gideon hated to admit it, but he’d gotten more enthusiasm out of a lion sunning himself at the zoo. What was wrong with this guy? How could he be Amish and be so lazy?

Thinking that perhaps the lad might be interested in something other than under the hood, Gideon said, “I can show you how to remove a tire. Why don’t you come over here?”

Amos tossed the apple core into the trash can and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. With deliberate weariness, he ambled over to Gideon.

Gideon tried to ignore the kid’s lack of eagerness to learn. He asked
Amos to bring him two jack stands. The boy had no concept of speed.

“What did you do on your farm in Lancaster?” Gideon asked.

“Milked cows, picked corn.” His brown eyes glazed over; Gideon assumed it was from lack of sleep.

“Did you like doing that?” Gideon asked.

“Did I like it?” He frowned. “Had no choice. You remember how it is.” After a moment, Amos said, “We had an apple orchard, too.”

An apple orchard. Those three words together never missed their opportunity to evoke a pain in Gideon’s heart. Like a whirlwind, the words took him back—always back to that night outside the shed after his father had locked it. He wanted to know that the boy inside was alive, wanted to believe that his father hadn’t killed the lad when he beat him with a branch from the apple tree. Of course, the boy did make it home after the beating, he often reminded himself. But in his dreams, there were times the boy died, and he was always screaming for Gideon to help him.

Amos interjected, “May I get some water to drink?”

Gideon shook off his tangled thoughts. “Sure, help yourself.” Amos had already taken a break since arriving this morning—he’d smoked three cigarettes while standing in front of the shop, just watching the world go by. What harm could another break do to his flawed work ethic?

M
ari pulled up in her car and when she bolted through the open bays and saw Kiki, her temper flared. “Why didn’t you stay at home? I told you I’d pick you up there.” She shot a frustrated look at Gideon, who wiped his hands on a cloth and wondered what was going on. He did know that kids could be exasperating; his own mother had told him that.

Kiki frowned at Mari and continued tampering with her bike. She let the wrench clack against the spokes, the noise echoing throughout the shop.

Mari stood over the girl. “It’s time to go.”

“Why?” She hit the side of her bicycle with a screwdriver, and Gideon suspected this was a deliberate attempt to make Mari annoyed or to make her go away.

“Kiki,” Mari’s voice was firm. “Your appointment is in ten minutes. Let’s go!”

“I don’t wanna go to the doctor! Sheesh! I had to go yesterday.”