The Coach House (31 page)
“Chicago.”
“And what are you looking for here?”
Safety.
“What do you mean?”
Rita looked at her a little closer. “Are you looking for an apartment? A house? A job?”
“An apartment…and yes, a job as well.”
“What do you do?”
“Well, my education is in interior design, but if I can’t find a job like that here, I’m pretty willing to try anything. I need to support myself.”
“Hmmm.” Rita wheeled herself over to her desk on the other side of the kitchen. She came back with two index cards. She handed one to Marie. “Julia and Wayne Edwards own a big old Victorian home on Third Street. Maybe five blocks from here. There’s a coach house in the back, and I know their tenant just moved out. It’s a charming little place. You might want to look into it.” She handed Marie the other card. “Francine Baker is a well-known interior designer in Kansas City. Tell her I gave you her name. She might be able to help you find a job.”
Marie wrote down the contact information. “You are wonderful, Rita. I don’t know quite how to thank you.”
“You don’t?”
Marie looked at her quizzically. “Just say the word.”
“You’ve seen the disaster of a decorating job I’ve done in this place. Could you improve it without spending any money?”
“Yes. I’m sure I could.”
“Then I’ll tell you what. You make improvements to one room, and if I like what I see, I’ll let you stay here for half price for as long as it takes you to do all eleven rooms. What do you think?”
She extended her hand to Rita. “I think we’ve got ourselves a deal.”
Marie dressed for bed as soon as she got to her room and sat on the love seat near the rear window that overlooked the backyard. It was dusk, and the tail end of a sunset could be seen in the distance, its ribbons of pink and red slowly disappearing behind the trees. She curled her legs up under her body and rested her chin on her knees.
After twenty minutes of mindless staring out the window, Marie re-dressed and walked two blocks to Riverside Liquors. Several minutes later, she emerged, brown paper bag in hand, and retreated to the B&B. She poured herself a healthy portion of Cabernet Sauvignon. Limited money notwithstanding, she was going to enjoy a glass of wine.
The wine relaxed her. There was no television in her room, but there was a radio. The Andrew Sisters were almost finished singing “Underneath the Arches.”
Pavement is my pillow
No matter where I stray
Underneath the arches
I dream my dreams away
She thought about the lyrics.
I will not dream my dreams away. I don’t care what it takes, I will not hide underneath the arches and let my life pass me by.
The wine took effect, and before she finished the second glass, she was fast asleep, still curled up on the love seat. Her last thoughts were not of what she had left behind but rather what her future might hold.
* * *
The sound of chirping birds wakened her. Marie stretched her arms out first and then her back and finally her legs, trying to get all the kinks out. Eight o’clock. She had just enough time to bathe and get down to breakfast before Rita closed the kitchen.
The square oak table situated in the middle of the dining room sat twenty-four people, six on each side. Sparkling white dishes on lime-green placemats had been meticulously placed around the table. Flowered linen napkins lay across each plate, no two alike. Each place setting included five pieces of silverware, a water glass, a juice glass, and a coffee cup. In the center of the table was an elaborate candelabrum.
A dozen or so guests were busily eating breakfast. Marie took a seat near the corner of the table next to a smartly dressed woman. She introduced herself to the woman and waited for a reply, but got none. The woman concentrated solely on her food.
Marie turned to her left and smiled at a man sporting a grey business suit but didn’t say anything to him. He returned a weak smile.
A young woman dressed in a black shirtwaist dress and spotless crisp white apron entered the room and walked over to Marie. The waitress asked her what she wanted for breakfast. They were the only two speaking in the room. No one else uttered a single word, which Marie thought to be strange.
She looked around the room and caught the eye of an older man sitting at the other end of the table. Slightly balding, a little overweight, he looked to be in his sixties. He threw his glance toward the back of the room, toward the window facing the back of the house. He nodded. Marie nodded back.
Marie followed suit and ate her breakfast in silence with the others. When she was done, she exited the dining room, went out the front door, and walked around to the back of the house. She sat on one of several benches in the middle of a flower bed. The morning air was rich with the fragrance of the flowers and birds singing. She closed her eyes, and for a brief moment, the peacefulness caused her to falsely feel carefree.
“May I join you?” the older man from the breakfast table asked.
Marie opened her eyes. “Yes, of course.”
“I’m Earl Jennings.” He reached for her hand, then raised it up to his lips and kissed it. “And you are?”
“Marie Costa.” The man had incredibly warm eyes.
“You looked uncomfortable at the breakfast table.”
“I just wondered why no one was talking.”
“One of Rita’s house rules. No talking during breakfast. I’m surprised she didn’t tell you that before you checked in.”
“No, she didn’t mention that.” Marie found his quaintness intriguing. “Do you know why?”
“No. Just one of her eccentricities, I suppose. She has many of them.” He leaned back on the bench and stretched out his legs. “I’ve been coming here for twelve years, back in the day when her husband was still alive. She was eccentric then, too.” His smile was sincere and contagious. “How long will you be staying here, Miss Costa?”
“Until I find something more permanent, I suppose. Rita gave me a lead on something yesterday that I need to follow up on.”
“She knows this town, and you can trust her with anything she tells you. I’ll say that for her.”
“How often do you come here, Mr. Jennings?”
“Twice a year. One week each time. Once in the winter on the anniversary of my wife’s death, and the other this time of year when all the spring flowers and trees are in bloom. It’s a nice little town. I love coming back here.”
“Where do you live?”
“Kansas City. I have a law practice there.”
“What kind of law do you practice, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Criminal law. I have two other partners. Not that you would ever need our services, but here’s my card.” Jennings, Piper, and Much, it read.
“Must be an interesting business.”
“It can be. Right now I’m representing a young man who innocently got mixed up with the Chicago Outfit. Didn’t know who was dealing with and before he knew it he was knee deep in labor racketeering.”
Marie’s heart fluttered. “The Chicago Outfit is in Kansas City?”
“Oh, yes. They’re in many other cities besides Chicago.”
“I didn’t know that.”
His face lit up. “Ever hear of Nick Civella?”
“No. I can’t say that I have.”
“Well, he’s the top guy in Kansas City. Was very tight with Capone.”
“I see.” Marie’s heart sank halfway to her knees. She thought she had gotten far enough away from all that. “I find this all very fascinating, Mr. Jennings. What other towns are there Chicago Outfit members?”
“Oh, I’m not sure of that. Certainly Milwaukee and Madison. But I’ve heard they’re as far away as California.”
The two spoke for another half hour before Marie excused herself. She could have stayed much longer in the garden with Mr. Jennings, but income and housing were more pressing.
Marie sat on the love seat in her room and stared out the window, not focused on anything in particular. First Libertyville and now Atchison. Two opportune places to start over but too close for comfort. How far did she have to go to get completely away from him? She pictured herself hiding in some remote town in the hills of Nowheresville, living in a ramshackle of a house, going into town in some sort of hideous disguise only when she needed supplies, talking to no one. She laughed out loud at her own preposterous thoughts…hoping that’s all they were.
Atchison, Kansas. She took her newspaper to the bench in front of the local pharmacy and looked at the want ads. The initial $500 she had left was dwindling fast, and it didn’t help matters that she had given her potential Chicago landlord seventy dollars of it for the first month’s rent. Seventy dollars was a lot of money.
The want ads were a small section, and nothing stood out. Only the telephone operator position at the local phone company, Southwestern Bell, made sense. She pictured rows of operators sitting in one big room in the bowels of some old building, mere voices on the other end of a phone line, otherwise hidden from the rest of the world. Suddenly, it sounded perfect.
She walked down the street until she found a phone booth. She was promptly put through to the Personnel Department. After a brief conversation, she was invited to come in for an interview the following day. She headed down Main Street to find a clothing store.
She stopped in Modern Woman but quickly left after finding nothing moderately priced. While she was used to fine clothes with Richard, she couldn’t justify spending the little money she had that way. She walked another block. Kay’s store window display was sparse and didn’t give much of an indication of its merchandise. In fact, based on what was in the window, it appeared that the store might even be in the process of going out of business. Marie went in for a closer look.
“Hi. Be with you in a minute,” Marie heard a woman say from behind a curtain at the back of the store. She was browsing through a rack of dresses when the sales clerk approached her. “Hi. Sorry about that. I was in the back room unpacking a new shipment of kid’s clothes. Can I help you find anything?”
The slightly overweight woman who emerged from the back of the store was close to Marie’s age. Her over-coiffed dishwater blond hair was the kind of style that could only be preserved for more than one day by sleeping standing up. Her smile was warm and welcoming.
“Do you have any suits?”
“No, afraid I don’t. What’s the occasion?”
“I have a job interview.”
“Hmm. Come look at these.” She led Marie to a rack of dresses with coordinating jackets.
Marie glanced at the woman’s outfit—pale green pants with elastic around the waist, tucked in drab beige blouse and sensible brown shoes— not what one would expect from someone who worked in a woman’s clothing store.
“These might do,” the woman said. Marie tried on three dresses.
“I’ll take this one,” she said after coming out of the dressing room.
“I’m Karen, by the way. I own this shop.” She rang up the dress. “That’ll be $9.33.” She proceeded to package the dress. “Don’t think I’ve seen you around here before. New in town?”
Marie handed her a ten. “Yes, I am,” she said without looking up. She wasn’t sure she was ready to share much personal information with a complete stranger.
“Well, I hope you find our little town to your liking. It’s really a great place. Lived here my whole life. Married my high school sweetheart in fact, but he died two years ago from…well, ugh, he had many problems. Great schools, nice shopping, very friendly people. I’ll probably
never
leave here. Some might find it boring, but I find it comforting. Where are you from?”
Marie patiently listened to the woman’s well-meaning small talk. “Chicago,” she replied.
“That’s nice. Such a big city. Not like this little town. Where’s your interview?”
Marie hesitated.
She’s being awfully nosey.
“Southwestern Bell.” She wanted desperately to leave but didn’t want to seem rude.
“Are you meeting with Susan Anderson?”
