Authors: Cindy Davis
Final Masquerade (26 page)
"Is there someplace we can talk?"
The only spot where they could be alone was upstairs. “Did you find out anything from the impound people?” she asked when they stood before the tiny window which looked out at Polly's bakery.
"Took ‘em several days to get back to me but the truck is gone. They wouldn't tell me who picked it up or where it went."
"So it's a dead end?"
"Probably, though I'm thinking that if Chris himself didn't pick it up, it would still be there."
"Unless,” she said softly, “he's dead and his family came to get it."
Harry nodded and sat on a stack of boxes. “What I really came about is, I've been thinking about those gunshots. You have no way of knowing if they were shooting at you, or Chris, or whoever. You need a plan of escape to prevent what happened in the other towns."
"A plan of escape? What's happened? Harry, you know something you're not telling me. I—"
Harry put a palm in the air to shush her. “No, absolutely not. I was in court this morning on a domestic dispute and got to thinking about you."
"Great. Domestic disputes bring me to mind."
Harry smiled. “Believe me, there's a lot more that brings you to mind, but this is important. Can you come in next week sometime? I have quite a few ideas, but I need to run them past you before I can set anything into motion. Two things: the paperwork for your trust is almost ready, and I checked with impound. Chris’ truck was not towed in."
"That's good, right?"
Harry patted her arm. “Yes, I think that's good."
After Harry left, Paige couldn't concentrate. Dan had gone. She called to Max, who was still entombed in the storeroom, “I'm taking a break for lunch."
She listened, wondering if he'd decided to take a nap back there, but the crash of something heavy and a raspy-throated curse told her he was still working on the task she'd assigned to him. “Keep an eye out for customers. I'll be back in an hour."
Paige breathed deeply of the crisp December air. Scents from Polly's shop mingled with that of the ever-present automobile fumes. The overcast sky threatened snow. It would be Paige's first Minnesota snowfall.
Paige walked two blocks, to the deli. Her main objective for going here was The Golden Needle Fabric Shop, next door.
Inside, she was greeted by the scents of fabric, dye, a wonderful apple/nutmeg potpourri just inside the entrance, and a jolly hello from the woman at the lone check out counter. Paige smiled absently as her eyes were drawn to the multitude of fabrics on circular racks along the length of the narrow little store with barely enough room to squeeze between. To the right, the wall was peppered with quilts in every color and description. A woman at the cutting table asked if she was a quilter.
"I took a few classes back in Kansas City,” she said, running a palm over the rough nap of a blue seersucker. “I finished my first quilt top the other day. I've been looking for someone who could show me how to put it all together."
"You've come to the right place. We have classes three nights a week. Would you like to sign up for the beginner's group?"
Paige wrote her name on the signup sheet for class the following Monday and left the store with a fresh resolution to finish her quilt.
She opened the door of Max's shop, noting that the musty aroma, so prevalent a few weeks ago, had been replaced by that of paint and fresh sawn lumber. She stood with her hands on her hips, proudly gazing over her creation.
"Where the hell have you been? You said you'd only be gone an hour."
"Don't tell me you were worried,” she said sarcastically, and then added, “Or, maybe you couldn't keep up with all the customers."
Max grunted his way onto his stool.
Paige glanced at her watch. “For your information, I've only been gone an extra ten minutes. Takes you longer than that in the bathroom. Besides, I don't get paid by the hour, and that's the first time I've stepped outside this building during business hours since I started here a month ago. Here's your lunch, ingrate."
Paige slapped the bag on the counter and stormed to the small table in the new reading area. She ate in silence, reading the copy of Huxfords, making circles and notations on specific entries. Its cover was ragged and torn and it certainly was a subject destined for the trash bin, as soon as she could figure out how to get a newer copy. Then, a thought. The Internet. That librarian found all the information about book appraising right on that web site. It was at that moment Paige decided to buy a computer. She dialed the number for her hotel and asked to speak to Quentin.
"Hi Quentin, it's Angela. You know, the actress? I have a question maybe you can help me with. You seem to have lots of friends and contacts, and you were the first person I thought of when I realized I needed a computer."
Paige answered his questions about her computer literacy and requirements, and he said he'd get back to her as soon as he could.
Max grabbed the receiver from her and flung it across the room. It clanged off a box of books waiting to be sorted. “What do you mean, we need a computer! How dare you..."
"Don't start, Max."
She turned and went back to her sandwich, but he wasn't through. He followed her, the fresh scent of whiskey overwhelming the small cubicle. “I allotted you only..."
"Max, I have spent well over $500 getting this dump into shape and I haven't asked you for one red cent more than the $300 which you so grudgingly handed over."
"What right do you have buying a computer without my say-so?"
"Max, you'd better go back to your stool before I say something I'll regret."
"Don't tell me what to do.” He whacked a fist against the shelf to his left. The pine board broke with a crack and several books tumbled to the floor.
"Max!” she shouted. “Stop it!"
"This is still my store and I can break it all to hell if I want to.” With that he pounded another shelf into oblivion.
Paige rose, tipping over the table, her lunch landing on the floor. “Is that all this means to you, you drunken old fool?"
Max didn't hear though. He shouted and yelled words that had nothing to do with the situation. Paige threw on her coat, grabbed her purse and ran from the store, slamming the door hard enough to bring Polly running to her front window.
Paige ran the two blocks to her apartment, tears chasing a path through her makeup.
Keeping her fingers busy with her quilt, provided the solace she needed. For four days Paige sat on the Berber carpet with it spread out before her, Spirit curled up in the center, purring contentedly. “What a life you animals have,” Paige said as she basted the three layers together with large stitches, having learned this technique at her very first class the previous Monday evening.
The cat lifted heavy-lidded eyes and returned a feline response. Suddenly Paige knew her agenda for the following day. She picked up the phone and dialed Nina's number. Nina squealed hearing Paige's greeting.
"Oh my God! It's so nice to hear from you. I sorta expected it after receiving that package in the mail. I hoped you'd be around to pick it up. Where are you, hon?"
Paige grimaced at the term ‘hon'. She'd never even allowed Stefano to call her that. “I'm right here in Minneapolis."
Another squeal. After that, Paige had to struggle to understand Nina's mile-a-minute chatter. “I can't wait to see you. Do you want to come here? Or, no, I can come to you. Where are you staying? What time—"
Paige interrupted the high-pitched monologue. “Nina, calm down."
A deep breath came from the other end. “Okay, I'm sorry. It's just that it's been years since we've seen each other. I ... I've changed quite a bit."
The last part came out as a sort of apology to which Paige felt obligated to reply. “We've all changed."
"Yes, I guess we have. So, what do we do now?"
"Want company?"
Another deep breath and Paige braced herself for the squeal that never came. “You want to come here? That would be great. You can meet my family—well, not John because he's at work, but the kids are here."
"Tell me how to get there."
The cross-town bus stopped three blocks from John and Nina Smith's tract house. Paige wrapped her jacket tighter against the lake breeze that stirred up fallen leaves along the sidewalk.
Two children waited on the toy-strewn front lawn of the tiny green ranch house. They stared as she approached. When she took a single hesitant step onto the walkway, one of them screeched, “She's here! Mommy, she's here."
Nina met her at the front door, wearing a mile-wide smile and green flour-smudged apron. She draped her arms around Paige's shoulders while three children clamored around their legs. Finally, Nina held her back at arms’ length. “You look fabulous. The years have been kind to you. Or, did you go in for all that plastic surgery stuff?"
Paige smiled remembering the blunt openness of her effusive friend.
"Come to the kitchen. I've put on a pot of coffee. You still drink coffee, don't you?” Without waiting for an answer, she bubbled on, “These are my children.” She flattened a palm on top of each head as she introduced them. “KatieJo is the oldest. She's seven now. This here's Erica. She's five and a half."
"I'm almost six,” came a voice beneath a passel of blonde curls.
Nina patted the top of the six-year-old's head. “And this is Drew, David, and Allen, four, three, and two respectively. “Now, I want you all to go play in your rooms while Mommy gets reacquainted with her friend, whom she hasn't seen in sooo long.” The kids left in a stampede of rustling nylon. As an afterthought, Nina hollered, “And hang up your coats."
Nina presented a two-hour long monologue, a testament to a happily married life. Now and again, the children made appearances, showing off some coloring or a wad of clay they'd shaped into an unrecognizable creature. Paige expressed endless compliments to the children, and to Nina. This housewife and homemaker thing might just be something she could get used to. She pictured her and Chris’ children and the tears almost came again. Chris was gone. Maybe dead. All because of her.
"Earth to Paige. Is anyone in there?"
Paige roused herself. “Did you say something?"
"I asked about Stefano. Have you two set a date yet?"
"The wedding's off,” Paige said with a note of finality that stopped Nina from further questions.
"And I was so looking forward to making the trip to California to your wedding.” She shrugged. “More coffee?"
"No, thank you. I have to be going."
Nina tried to hide her disappointment by getting up and busying herself with wiping down the already spotless counter. “I'm hoping you didn't come to Minneapolis just for this package, because I would've been happy to mail it to you."
"No, I really wanted to see you. It's been a long time."
Nina dropped the rag and opened the cabinet under the kitchen sink. She knelt on the floor. Her head disappeared inside. Soon she came up with Paige's package with a grin. “The only place in the house safe from anybody—where I keep the cleaning supplies. Heaven forbid any of them clean anything."
Nina thumped the package on the table between them and tapped the label with a pair of fingers. “Should I ask?"
Paige shook her head. She stood up and kissed Nina on the cheek. “It's been grand seeing you again. You have a beautiful family. Tell John I said hello and I'm sorry I missed him."
"I will,” Nina enveloped Paige in a tight hug. “I wish you didn't have to race off. John will be home for dinner in a couple of hours...” She left the end of the sentence hanging as an invitation.
Paige felt suddenly guilty and very sad. At this moment there was nothing she wanted more than to sit and relax, and have dinner in this homey, comfortable place. “I have some important things going on right now, but I promise I'll be in touch."
The telephone rang. Paige gazed at it for three rings before finally getting up to answer. “Hi, Quentin, I thought you were someone else."
"I found you a computer."
"Really? So fast? Can you bring it here? How about noon, I'll make something for lunch."
The doorbell sounded at ten minutes to twelve. Paige shooed the cat away, rolled the quilt into a ball and stashed it in the closet. She stood at the entrance, peeping through the tiny hole in the door, wondering what she'd do if Quentin wasn't the one standing in the hall.
She spotted the concavely distorted eyes of the clerk and opened the door, smiling her welcome. Quentin, his hair gelled primly into place, carried not only a cardboard box with a stiff plastic handle, but a bouquet of roses that he shyly shoved into her hands. “A housewarming gift."
"Well, thank you. I had a rose garden once. I miss it terribly,” she crooned, burying her nose into the soft yellow petals and inhaling, then planting a kiss on his cheek. “I don't know if I have any vases. I'll put them in a glass for now."
She arranged the flowers while Quentin unpacked the box on her counter. “I found you a laptop and a printer. The laptop is great because it's portable."
"But does it do all the things a regular computer does?"
He chuckled. “It is a regular computer, just smaller. It hooks to this printer, which is used, but I didn't think you'd care. I tried it and it works great. Here's a ream of paper too. And I already programmed it for your Internet hookup."
"Well, this is wonderful, Quentin. I can't tell you how I appreciate all you've done for me."
"Miss Lawson, this..."
"Call me, Angela, please."
"Okay, Miss La—Angela, that soup smells delicious."
She said, “Sit down and enjoy,” hoping she'd remembered to throw the deli container in the trash. He chatted about her acting career, apparently never thinking to inquire why she'd taken a permanent residence in the city. Finally Quentin said he had to head back to work. She paid him with Stefano's money, adding an extra fifty for his trouble. He tried to argue, but Paige pressed the bills into his palm and shut his fingers over them.