Summer Shadows (31 page)

“Do you think Monty can’t help it?” Sean asked. He had a large order of french fries that he bathed in vast quantities of ketchup. Abby shuddered. He saw her reaction and smiled. “I can’t help my ketchup fetish. Eggs. Steak. Meat loaf. Hamburgers. Hot dogs. Cheese steaks. Toast.”

“Toast?” She watched a glob of ketchup fall from the fries as he
brought some to his mouth. “Poor man. I’m sure there’s a twelve-step program for you somewhere.”

“Hello, I’m Sean and I’m a ketchupaholic.”

It was a relief to leave problems like Monty for a time and listen to Sean’s funny stories of his miniature patients. No wonder he was such a successful doctor. It was obvious he enjoyed all the children he treated.

“I’m delighted Karlee is doing so well,” Abby said. “I still feel that somehow this is all my fault.”

“Come on, Abby. You know better than that.”

“I do. It’s just that I see this little girl in pink overalls and a ponytail with a pink scrunchie skipping along, singing, happy with life and herself. Then—” She spread her hands. “Nothing.”

“Just relax. If it’s going to come, it will. If not—and with hysterical amnesia often memory doesn’t return—there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“How about hypnosis?”

He looked thoughtful. “Have the police suggested it?”

She shook her head, pulling the last of the iced tea through her straw.

“Then I wouldn’t worry about it.” Sean put the tip on the table. “Time to get you back.”

It was five minutes before one when they pulled into the library parking lot. Abby watched a young mom with three young children parade past with arms full of books. “I wonder if Monty’s mother has come for him yet.”

“If she hasn’t, you’ve got part of the reason for his anger.”

“How does he learn to control himself if there’s no one to teach him?”

“I’m guessing he doesn’t.”

“That’s too terrible to think about. He has to learn to control himself. Part of becoming a responsible adult is learning to act appropriately.”

“You think all adults act appropriately?”

“Your cynicism is showing.” Abby pushed the car door open. “And no, I don’t. I know better. Just look at the person who hit Karlee.”

Sean nodded. “May I call you or stop by the house?” he asked as she made to shut the door. “Maybe we could go somewhere together.”

“You surprise me,” she said. The last thing she ever expected was for Sean Schofield to take an interest in her. “But certainly you can call.” Whether she’d actually go out with him she could decide later. She shut the door and headed up the walk.

“That’s an example of appropriate guy behavior when he sees a pretty girl,” he called through the window he lowered. “Like we were just talking, you know.”

Laughing, she walked into the library. She was relieved to see that Monty wasn’t behind Mae’s desk. Of course, neither was Mae. She’d been replaced by another volunteer, a white-haired gentleman with a bushy mustache and a cravat.

A cravat
, Abby thought.
A real cravat. That’s sort of the sartorial equivalent of milieu
.

Abby sat at her desk, realizing as she did so that her hip wasn’t hurting too much at the moment. Five o’clock and Celia no longer looked quite so far off.

She saw that someone had put the Elmo book on her desk. There was a slip sticking out of the top, marking a page. The message read:
I’m sorry. He did it when I wasn’t looking. Mae
. Abby opened the book and found a page torn from top to bottom, most of it gone. All that was left of what must have been a large picture of Elmo was one part of his foot. Monty had decided to take his friend home with him.

Abby felt a black veil of sadness descend as she thought of Monty. Poor kid.

What about me? Have I become an adult version of Monty? Am I bubbling at an eight, a nine, a ten? Granted it’s taken me a long, long time to get this mad, but the irate feelings don’t go away
.

She heard her own words.
“Part of becoming a responsible adult is learning to act appropriately.”

She stuffed her purse in her bottom drawer and pulled a manila folder toward her. She opened it and began studying the material.

“Abby, excuse me.”

Abby looked up at Nan Fulsom. Standing just behind her was a Jimmy Stewart look-alike. The expressions on both their faces were serious.

“There’s been another note,” Nan said.

A
BBY LAY ON
her stomach with her face resting on the padded doughnut that stuck out from the end of the massage table. She knew that when she turned over, she’d have crease marks on her face and the front of her hair would be an absolute ruin from the pressure. Who cared? Time and a curling wand would correct the problems.

She was so glad to be there, to anticipate the relief that Celia’s magic fingers would bring. Her whole right side felt as taut as a violin string and as twisted as a pretzel.

It was that one sentence: There’s been another note.

When Nan had spoken those words, all the relaxed feelings she’d experienced over the course of her lunch with Sean had vanished, dissipating like steam rising from a boiling pot. Instead, the talons of tension sank deep. As a result, she’d had back spasms off and on all afternoon.

“Whoa, Abby.” Celia gently ran her hands down Abby’s back and side. “You’re in spasm from L5 to S1.

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Abby sounded cranky even to her own ears.

“Okay. Your erector spinae are contracted and tight, and your pelvic crest is contracted into the gluts,” Celia offered. “How’s that?”

“I’m sorry if I sound grumpy, Celia. It’s been a hard day.”

Celia moved to Abby’s feet and began massaging. “After Aunt Bernice and Poor Uncle Walter, I’m immune to grumpy. What happened?”

Abby sighed as Celia’s fingers dug into her muscles. “It started with one little boy trying to brain another with a chair. To prevent it, I had to dive across a table. Not a good move for someone like me.”

“Did you save kid two from kid one?”

“I did, but it was a close call. If I hadn’t been looking or if I hadn’t been near, kid two would be in the hospital as we speak.” Abby winced as a tight spot in her calf reacted to the pressure of Celia’s thumb.

“Am I pushing too hard?” Celia asked, lightening her touch.

“No. Keep up the pressure. I need some major kinks released.”

Abby heard Celia pour some more oil and rub it into her hands. Then the soothing strokes began again. As casually as she could manage, Abby said, “Sean took me to lunch.”

“Sean Schofield?” Celia laughed her surprise. “He actually did something social in the middle of the day? I sort of got the impression that he lived and breathed his practice. I mean, anyone who stops to see patients after midnight on a Friday night has to have a limited social calendar.”

“Well, he did come out to the house Saturday evening and Monday.”

“Yeah, he did. In time to get fed both times.”

“Celia Fitzmeyer, you are a cynic.”

“I’m a realist. You’ll notice there was food involved with Sean’s visit this time too. Makes you wonder if it’s true about the way to a man’s heart. Where did he take you?”

“Bitsi’s.”

“He disappoints me. I thought, being a doctor and all, that he’d take you someplace ritzy.”

“Not for lunch on a workday. There’s not enough time.”

“Excuses, excuses.”

They fell silent as Celia finished working on Abby’s left leg. Since this part of her didn’t hurt much at all, the massage felt wonderful.

“So,” Celia said as she chopped the edges of her hands up and down Abby’s leg, “you’ve got both Marsh and Sean chasing you, eh?”

Now it was Abby’s turn to laugh. “Sean just wanted to see where I worked. He said I’d seen him in the hospital, so he wanted to see me in my—” she couldn’t bring herself to say
milieu
—“setting.”

“I’ve seen him at the hospital too,” Celia said as her fingers attacked a recalcitrant knot in Abby’s right thigh. “But he’s never come to the spa to see me in my setting.”

“Do you want him to?” Abby asked after she caught her breath at the unexpected jolt she felt to her toes as Celia’s thumb dug deep. “Or is Rick enough?”

“He is a sweetie.”

“I take it that means you had fun last night on the boardwalk?”

“I had a wonderful time. So did the girls. I don’t think we’ve laughed so much in a long time. We certainly didn’t last year at Aunt Bernice’s.”

“Did people think he was Rick Mathis or call him Duke?”

“A couple of people kept staring, and one kid asked for his autograph. Poor guy. He’d worn a baseball cap that he kept pulled down over his forehead and a pair of mirrored sunglasses. Still people thought they recognized him.”

“You don’t think he really is Rick Mathis traveling incognito, do you?” Abby asked.

“Come on,” Celia scoffed. “What would a big star like that be doing bunking with a friend here in Seaside?”

“Well, even movie and TV stars have friends and go on vacation. I imagine they don’t like to go alone any more than the rest of the population. Marsh is a senator’s son. Maybe Rick’s one of those stars who gives to political causes, and they met each other that way.”

“Yeah, but …”

“Yeah, but what?” Abby asked.

“Well, the guy’s dating me. What movie or TV star is ever going to do that?”

“Any man with half a brain would love to date you. You’re a wonderful person, and you’re cute as can be. You’re even a natural blonde.”

Celia made a small self-deprecating noise. “And I have two little girls who come as part of the package. What guy wants that?”

“So you don’t think you’ll see him again?”

Celia giggled as her sensitive fingers worked the tight muscles around Abby’s lower back. “He asked himself over for dinner tonight.”

“And you are going to feed him what?”

“Maybe I told him not to come,” Celia said.

Abby hooted. She couldn’t help it.

Celia sighed. “I tell you, Abby. All this interest from a guy like Rick scares me to death.”

“Celia! Why do you say that?”

“The last man interested in me was Eddie.”

“So?”

“I jump from a loser like Eddie to a winner like Rick just like that?”

“So you told him not to come tonight?” Abby couldn’t believe it.

Celia’s smile sounded in her voice. “I may be scared, but I’m not an idiot. He’s coming tonight, and Karlee asked him if he wanted to go to MacDonald’s with us tomorrow night.”

“And he said?”

“Yes.” She sounded amazed. “He said it would be fun. And,” her voice grew soft, “he asked me to dinner, just me and no girls, on Saturday.”

“Wow!”

“My thought exactly.” Celia moved up to Abby’s shoulders and began to work on them, following the muscles down the edge of her shoulder blades, probing, working, and applying pressure. Abby shut her eyes and relaxed when she wasn’t wincing. She let her mind shut down, but she fought sleep. When you slept, you didn’t feel all the wonderful untying of knots.

When Abby left Seaside Spa, not only did she move a bit more easily, she’d also avoided thinking about the letters for an hour. A major if temporary lessening of tension.

“Friday,” Celia said as Abby walked out the door. “You need to keep those muscles supple.”

“I’ll be here.” She climbed into her car and started home. At least Mom knew she was going to be late tonight, so she couldn’t complain. Still the idea of a tense evening after the lovely looseness of the massage was distressing.

Abby reached for her purse after she parked in her spot in the drive. As she did, her eyes fell on the folder that contained her
copies of the two letters about her that had come to the library. The fear she had managed to contain at the spa rushed back, chilling her to her marrow. She picked up the folder and opened it. On top lay the letter that had arrived today.

When Nan had come to her, she hadn’t felt any prickle of forewarning, any anticipation of danger. Hadn’t Nan complimented her on the handling of Monty just a little over an hour prior?

“This is George Martindale,” Nan had said indicating the young Jimmy Stewart look-alike. “He’s the editor of the
Seaside Journal.”

Abby smiled and felt like she should look over Mr. Martindale’s shoulder for Harvey, the invisible rabbit, so strong was his resemblance to Stewart.

“Do you have a minute?” Nan asked abruptly. “Come to my office.”

Abby went cold all over. Not again! She followed Nan and Mr. Martindale. In Nan’s office she took the same seat she’d taken yesterday. Mr. Martindale sat in another red faux leather chair a few feet from her.

“Mr. Martindale is chairman of the library board,” Nan explained.

Abby nodded and looked at Mr. Martindale, who studied her as if he were trying to read her mind.

“I received a very distressing letter in the mail today,” he said.

Abby felt the blood drain from her face. Without any more discussion, Nan handed her the letter.

Abby had stared at the letter in disbelief, then at Nan. “No,” she whispered. “Never!”

“Why would someone send a letter like this if it wasn’t true?”
Mr. Martindale asked. He didn’t sound at all like Jimmy Stewart used to, all warm and understanding. His voice was cold and brusque.

“I don’t know.” Abby blinked against the tears rising. She felt helpless. How did one prove one’s innocence of a charge like that? “I don’t know.”

They all sat in silence while Abby stared at the letter. She sat up straight. “There’s no signature.”

“That’s the reason we aren’t asking for your resignation,” Mr. Martindale said. “We cannot prove anything.” Even without the words being spoken, he couldn’t have been any clearer about wishing he could fire her outright.

“Please check with my former employers,” she begged. “I taught elementary school for several years before our daughter was born. They can tell you I’d never do something like this letter implies.”