A Month at the Shore (32 page)

Reluctantly, Mellon tossed the bird back to Amy. Or Alice. "Finish the game and that's it. I mean it." To Ken, he muttered, "No kids—you lucky bastard, you."

Oh, yeah
, Ken thought on his way out.
Real
lucky bastard.

****

Laura opened her eyes and was depressed to see what a clear, beautiful morning it was. She'd been rooting for another day of
cold,
wet weather, because at least that way they wouldn't feel bad about the business they were losing to the ever-expanding investigation.

And it was expanding. The sheds were now all officially off limits to them, and the store still hadn't opened, and Laura had no doubt that soon the house was going to be gone over with a fine-tooth comb as well.

The police knew something that they did not. Just before the rains came, she had seen the investigators in a huddle at the site of the new compost pile, where they logically had been concentrating their search. She had gone off on a search of her own for binoculars to spy on them, but she hadn't found any and hadn't wanted to ask Corinne and raise the alarm. They would all find out any new developments soon enough.

And in the meantime, she was having to soldier on without Ken. She had yet to see him since their accidental meeting on the beach: he'd backed out of seeing her twice in a row now—and she was getting a sinking feeling about their barely launched relationship.

She didn't seriously think that he was afraid to be seen with her simply because she was a Shore girl. He'd been just the opposite, in fact: downright flagrant. No, if Kendall Barclay was cooling down, there were other, more plausible reasons to consider.

She didn't believe either of the ones he'd given her for not coming over. On window-washing night, he had called back and said that he had some unexpected work to do. Him? Please. But okay, she gave him the benefit of the doubt.

It was the second night that had left her both tense and depressed. She had seen
his Porsche parked in Chief Mell
on's drive when she'd detoured past the chief's house on her way to town. She was curious to know whether she could pick up any clues as to how the investigation was going. Seeing Ken's car there—the last place she would have expected to see it—had given her a major jolt.

She couldn't ask Ken what he was doing there without explaining what
she
was doing on that particular back road. It wasn't on the way to anything. Unless she wanted to admit to some ditzy spying, her only options were to wonder and worry.

He had said he would drop by that evening. Laura hated to admit it to herself, but it was her only reason for getting out of bed.

Breakfast was another late affair, and Laura had managed to be late even for that. She dropped into her regular chair and immediately had a warmed plate of waffles with a side of sausage and bacon placed in front of her. "Eight o'clock means eight o'clock, and not seventeen minutes after," her sister said with a sniff.

Laura apologized and then said to Snack, "Can you load the sycamore into the pickup for me? Thank God for Gabe's Bobcat. At least we can deliver the few orders we do have," she said in a desultory voice.

Snack nodded. He was as subdued as she was. Only Corinne was keeping up a brave front as she served one of her typically mammoth farmer's breakfasts.

"Snack? Can you fit a fourth waffle? I have batter."

"Yeah, sure," her brother said, leaning back on the hind legs of his chair to pass her his syrupy plate. To Laura he said, "Can't the sycamore wait? I wanted to get an early start on the rotted floor around the tub. It's gonna drop right through the dining room ceiling if I don't get to it soon."

"I can use Billy for the other end, if he's available," Laura conceded. "But the bathroom floor, that's a big job,
Snack. Is this really the right time to start on it?"

"Why not? There's no place else they'll let me work. If I can't find something to do, there's not much point to sticking around. I may as well take off again."

"Snack! That is
not
funny," said Corinne.

With a melancholy smile, he said, "You're not supposed to laugh, Rin; you're just supposed to pack me a really big lunch."

"Not gonna happen," she told him calmly. "You're staying here. I've got used to having you around."

Laura said nothing, but she couldn't help wondering what was behind Snack's bravado threats to move on. Her brother seemed increasingly antsy—understandable enough, but worrisome to see.

She pushed away her squeamishness about him and said, "So? What about that sycamore?"

"Yeah, I'll load it. But definitely get Billy to unload it. After breakfast, I'm tearing up the bathroom floor. The hell with them."

"Hooray!" cried Corinne. "You'll be another month, at the very least!" With her wooden spoon she conducted an imaginary band while she tum-tum-ta-da-da'd her way through "Hail to the Chief."

She was as up as Laura was down. Way, way up. And Gabe had stayed late. And Laura couldn't remember hearing any good-nights on the porch below her window. Smiling despite her own glum mood, she took a shot. "I see you were with Gabe last night."

Corinne stopped conducting and turned to Laura with a bland look. "Yes, I was with Gabe."

"No, I mean, you were
with
Gabe last night," Laura said, lifting her coffee mug in a knowing salute. At least someone around there was getting some.

Her brother lifted his head. "With Gabe? What's this? Am I going to have to challenge him to a duel?"

Snack's affection for his sister was heartwarming for
Laura to see. "You'll look for any excuse to drag out Dad's shotgun, won't you?" she quipped.

"There will be no duels, and there will be no roundtable discussions about my relationship with Gabe," Corinne announced with surprising gravity. "Now shut up and eat," she said in what had become a familiar refrain. "We still have work to do."

Billy was eager to assist Laura with the deliveries; he showed up at their door less than fifteen minutes after she called him. Laura thought that maybe he was simply happy to make a little money under the table, but he seemed to be more motivated than that: he looked almost possessed by joy, as if he'd lost something and then had found it again.

Laura was glad to see him in a better mood. He'd taken the discovery of the bones very hard and had kept himself scarce since then. "Have you been having a fun time doing Founders Week stuff?" she asked as they headed out for Miss Widdich's place.

Billy nodded his shaggy head. "Yeah, it's pretty nice. Like usual. The juggling contest is my favorite part. The rain stopped just in time for it."

Laura had been so focused on the sale at Shore Gardens that she hadn't realized that there was such an event. "Who won?" she asked politely.

"Beezee. He's a caddy at Thorncrest. That's where he learned to juggle. When he wasn't caddying, I mean. He started out by practicing with golf balls. Now he's awesome."

Apparently Laura had pressed one of Billy's hot buttons: he went on to describe in great detail each of the contestant's acts, everything from juggling balls and clubs to rings and beanbags.

"But Beezee's was the best; he used torches. Those are always the best. He dropped one, but it was still awesome. It's too bad we have the contest before World Jugglers Day in June. That's when we should really have it. Beezee said that this was good practice, though. To get used to the pressure. Beezee's going to Pennsylvania to compete. He's just awesome."

"Uh-huh," Laura said, pulling into Miss Widdich's secluded drive.

She had been a little surprised when Miss Widdich ordered the sycamore; the lady needed another tree the way Pennsylvania needed more coal. Apparently there was a gap in the natural screen between Miss Widdich and a distant neighbor's new house, and the fast-growing
pseudoplatanus
was the tree that she wanted to plug that hole.

A strange, seclusive woman, Maya Widdich. Laura still couldn't get over what an odd couple she made with Corinne. On the other hand, the last that either Laura or Corinne had seen of Miss Widdich was in the minutes after Baskerville went dashing off with the bone. Some friend.

Backing the truck alongside the house, Laura snugged it as close to the planting site as she could get. She saw that, as agreed beforehand, the immensely wide hole had been dug and the soil amended. By Miss Widdich? All that remained was for Laura and Billy to muscle the tree into the planting hole, fill it, tamp it, and beat it. They had three other deliveries still to make.

They attached the portable ramp to the pickup, and then Billy positioned himself behind the tree dolly. He put the brake on lightly to keep the sycamore and its heavy root ball from roaring down the ramp, and slowly eased the dolly to the ground using his massive size and strength as a counterweight. No one else Laura knew could have done the job, except perhaps her father in his prime.

Getting the root ball positioned properly took even more strength; Laura and Billy pushed, shoved, and pried until she, at least, was exhausted from the effort. Billy was drenched by the time they were done, but he still wore that cheerful, indomitable smile. He probably had strength enough left to plant a whole row of the blessed things. He began to fill in the rest of the planting hole while Laura and Miss Widdich squared up. The job was harder and had taken longer than Laura had thought when she verbally quoted a price; but she had to honor it.

"Could I have a glass of water?" asked Billy when he was done.

He was sweaty, dirty, and not the most appealing guest to invite into a house. Miss Widdich smiled thinly and said, "Wait here."

Laura would have liked to finish the deliveries and get home and into a shower, but she waited, rather awkwardly, with Billy outside while Miss Widdich fetched his drink. Billy hummed a tune as he looked around the lush, thriving garden. Flowering shrubs seemed to be everywhere; the smell of lilacs was pervasive.

Suddenly Billy pointed to a corner of the garden and said, "Oh, look at that. Miss Widdich has a compost pile too. Not a very big one, though, compared to yours," he said, dismissing it.

Laura knew he meant it as a compliment. "Well, we have a much bigger operation at the nursery, Billy. You can see why we'd be able to make a much larger compost pile."

He chewed on his lip for a minute and then said, "I hope you don't feel bad about, y'know, what was in yours."

"I don't feel
good
about it, Billy," she admitted with a weak laugh.

Miss Widdich approached slowly with a very tall glass of water and handed it to Billy, leaning both hands on her cane while she watched him drink. She looked as though she were expecting him to steal the glass when he was done.

He downed the water in one long series of gulps. "Thank
you, that was good," he said, handing it back. He wiped his mouth with the back of his arm, leaving a horizontal streak of dirt across his chin.

And then, out of the blue, he turned to Laura and said, "Can you keep a secret?"

It was an odd request and unlike him. "I guess so," she said, glancing at Miss Widdich. It couldn't be much of a secret, since someone else was there.

Billy took his cue. "Can you?" he asked the older woman.

Miss Widdich seemed equally tentative as she muttered a yes.

"You know when Baskerville found those bones that time? I was really scared," he admitted.

Laura said, "I know, Billy. We all were."

"But not as much as me, I bet. After I got home, when I was in the kitchen, my hands started shaking. Like this," he said, vibrating his fingers in a demonstration.

"That's not unusual, Billy," said Laura. "Sometimes things do hit you later—"

"Because! That's when I remembered about Sylvia, that's why I started shaking!"

Laura and Miss Widdich gasped audibly at the mention of Sylvia's name, but it was Laura who said, "You remember Sylvia? So many years later?"

"Yeah. Who could forget her? Not me."

"What is it that you remembered about her, Billy?"

He hung his head and said, "Well, it was kind of stupid, really. I remembered it all wrong." He looked at them both with sad green eyes and said, "One time she had a big fight?"

When Laura merely stared, he added, "With Snack?" as if he were hoping she remembered.

"Oh," said Laura faintly. "I didn't know."

"And then later I fell asleep in the van, and when I woke up—it's
so
stupid," he muttered, but he finished his confession anyway. "When I woke up, I saw someone in the fog dragging something heavy into the compost pile, and I didn't know what it was. but then when Baskerville found all the bones, I thought for sure it was—"

He giggled self-consciously, inappropriately, and said: "Sylvia."

"Oh, God in heaven."

They were the first words that Miss Widdich had spoken. As for Laura, she was speechless.

"But Mr. Barclay said that the bones were there for way longer, so I was wrong. Don't tell Snack, okay?" he begged them both. "He could get mad if he knew."