Happiness Key (18 page)

“I can tell you’re a smoker.”

“How?”

“The voice. A smoker’s voice. A whiskey drinker’s voice, too.”

“No, especially not the last. I fight that craving. Hard.”

“Good for you. It won’t get you anywhere but dead.”

“Sometimes that doesn’t sound so bad.” He paused for just a heartbeat. “But not when I’m talking to a blond, sexy woman in an apron. A pie baker.”

She smiled. She didn’t always like the men she called, but she thought she was going to like this one.

“What else?” she asked. “I’m listening. I’ve got all night if you do.”

“Do you want to know my name?”

“Just the first one will do.”

“You can call me Shadow.”

“Like a shadow that hides. A shadow without a face,” she guessed.

“That’s right. And what should I call you?”

“You can call me Sunshine.”

“No secrets? None?”

“Not that you’ll ever know.”

“I guess I can live with that.”

“So, Shadow, tell me more.”

“Unfortunately, I have to go now. But you’ll call again? Next time I leave my number?”

“You bet I will.”

She hung up. She wondered who Shadow really was. She was intrigued by the possibilities. One thing was certain, she would be calling again. It was already something to look forward to.

When Wanda woke up on Sunday morning, Ken was sleeping beside her. For a moment she was so disoriented she almost put her arms around him and snuggled. But memory and good sense came to the rescue. Nothing much had changed between them, except now Ken was home a little earlier every night. If, in the immortal words of the Eagles, good old Ken was heading for the cheating side of town, at least this week he was heading back to the married side around midnight.

Still, having him beside her on waking was something entirely new. She supposed exhaustion had just caught up with him. The man had to sleep sometime, and he was, after all, paying most of their rent. Except, of course, they weren’t paying a darned thing until the repairs were finished.

“At least Ms. Deloche is doing something about that,” she muttered as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. The handy hubby had arrived, and Friday he’d fixed the roof leak over the bathroom, scraped the rust out of
the toilet bowl and put in a new stove—okay it wasn’t brand-new, but it wasn’t an antique, either. Tomorrow he was coming back to work on the water heater and patch up what was left of the holes. Then Wanda was going to pay May’s rent. A deal was a deal, and she wasn’t one to forget it.

“Make enough coffee for me.” Ken pulled her pillow over his head.

“Sure, honey, anything you want.”

She pulled on her comfy cotton robe and slipped her feet into ostrich-feather mules her son had given her. Unlike Maggie, Wanda’s daughter, Junior’s gifts were always right on target. Of course she loved both kids the same. Maggie always reminded her so much of Ken, which at one time had been a gift all its own.

In the kitchen, she brewed just enough coffee for herself and loaded it with the usual suspects. There was one slice of pie left in the refrigerator, something she liked to call lemon delight, and she ate it right down to the last crumb. She was still paging through the latest
People
magazine when Ken, freshly shaved and showered, came to join her.

“Coffee?” he asked.

“Excellent, if I do say so myself.”

“I mean, did you leave me any?”

“Sorry. Far as I could tell, you were out for the count.”

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing, Wanda?”

For a moment the pie felt like a lump glued to her esophagus. Then she realized Ken wasn’t talking about SEDUCED. He was just talking about coffee.

“Are we going to have a fight?” she asked, interested. “Are there enough hours left in the day to cover everything?”

“It’s simple human decency to make enough coffee for me, too.”

“And it’s simple human decency to come home for dinner once in a while, or just have a pleasant conversation about the kids or the weather.”

He didn’t answer. She heard him at the counter opening and closing cabinets to get filters, coffee. She heard him rinsing out the pot and filling it with fresh water. She didn’t look up from her magazine, even when he surprised her by taking the seat across from her at the table.

“So what do you want to talk about?” he asked.

She looked up. “I don’t much care.”

“Okay. How are you liking Palmetto Grove these days?”

“Well, I like living in this house a little better, if that’s what you mean. Some repairs have been done, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Right, I can take a leak now without dodging another one.”

“And we have a new used stove.”

“You been putting it to any use?”

“Now and again.” She closed her magazine. “Me and the other women out here have been trying to find Herb Krause’s family.”

“What for?”

“Tracy…Ms. Deloche has all his stuff and nobody to give it to.”

“She could probably put it out by the road, make a case for not knowing what else to do if his family ever shows up.”

“Maybe. But she’s not ready. None of us are.”

“Why do you care?”

“Because he was a lonely old man, and we didn’t do much for him when he was still breathing.”

Ken met her gaze. “That soft heart of yours always gets you in trouble.”

“Hard as a rock.” She leaned forward just a little. “You willing to help if we need you?”

“Me? What could I do?”

“You got access to records. You know you do.”

“You want me to see if Herb was a war criminal? A terrorist?”

“More like a drunk driver with a record we can follow to his family, Kenny. For pity’s sake, is that beyond you?”

The coffeemaker snorted, as if it were daring them to drink what it had brewed. Ken took the dare, then held out the pot to her. She saw he’d made extra, and some tiny part of her was ashamed—but not very.

She shook her head. “I’m fine. Are you going to help, Kenny, or not?”

“Just let me know what you need. I’ll do what I can.”

She could think of a hundred more important things she used to need from him, but she was smart enough not to go for broke. There was enough that was broke around here already.

She got to her feet. “I’m going to take my shower. Maybe the water heater’ll get fixed and I won’t freeze my buns off every morning.”

“I’m working all day, and I’ll probably be gone by the time you get out.”

“Then I’ll see you again sometime.”

He looked as if he wanted to say more, but she headed for the bathroom. She wasn’t stupid. A woman learned to take whatever she could get. That was the only way the female of the species had survived. And she planned to
survive a very long time. Even if these days she was eating pie for breakfast.

Friday’s staff meeting had gone better than expected. Of course, Tracy’s expectations were as low as her opinion of Wild Florida, but even considering that, she couldn’t complain. Her predecessor had hired competent, mostly likeable teachers and counselors, many of whom had done this before. The old hands had filled her in on which children needed a little extra attention and which could be counted on for leadership. They had responded well to her agenda, taken her suggestions and even offered their own.

The biggest problem still facing her was an arts-and-crafts teacher. But the counselors had agreed to start lanyards on Monday during the arts-and-crafts period. What was summer camp without lanyards, anyway?

After the meeting, she’d come home armed with the tools she needed to install tile. Everything had been right on the shelf at the building supply store on the outskirts of town, and she’d used a Memorial Day coupon that saved fifteen percent. Even though she’d winced at another expenditure, the money she would save doing it herself carried the day.

Over the past week she had finally removed the last layer of linoleum, and Saturday she patched cracks in the concrete floor, scraped and sanded. She stayed up until midnight readying everything. The floor was turning into therapy. She could visualize the finished product.

She planned to spend all day Sunday snapping chalk lines and laying out tile to be sure she didn’t need adjustments. But when she took a break to retrieve and leaf through the previous day’s mail, she saw something more interesting than bills.

Wanda was outside hosing down her car, and Tracy beckoned. Wanda wore shorts that left nothing about her rear end and thighs to the imagination, and she had paired them with a tube top of prison-jumpsuit orange. Tracy was reminded of CJ. Orange was not his best color. Nor Wanda’s, for that matter.

“You look like you been rode hard and put away wet,” Wanda said.

“Thanks. I’m putting down tile in my house.”

“You’re doing it on your own?”

Tracy glanced gloomily at the ragged stumps that had once been manicured nails. “Too expensive otherwise.” She saw Janya down the road watering Herb’s trees, and beckoned to her, as well. Janya had a fluid walk, like a river flowing, and as she approached, Tracy simply admired it.

“Tracy here’s putting down a tile floor,” Wanda told Janya when she was standing beside them.

“The book you borrowed at the library helped?” Janya asked.

“And the Internet.” Tracy wasn’t usually given to impulse, but she nodded at her house. “Want to see what I’m doing?”

“Got a pie crust in the oven,” Wanda said. “I can’t be away long.”

Tracy led them up her walkway and threw open the door. She hadn’t really done much yet, but after removing all the old flooring, things looked pretty fabulous to her. Plus there was a straight line of tile extending across the living room, and with that little visual cue, she could picture how great the floor would look once it was finished.

“Now that’s pretty stuff you’re putting down,” Wanda said.

Tracy was surprised the older woman hadn’t taken this chance to razz her. “Glad you approve.”

“It will improve things,” Janya said. “You will be happy with it. And very tired when it’s finished.”

“I’m already very tired.” Tracy waved a piece of mail at them. “But that’s not what I wanted to show you. I got this just now. Clyde’s death certificate.”

“Sure seems like a dead end to me.” Wanda smiled. “Dead end, get it?”

Tracy ignored her. “I tried to get his military records, and Herb’s, too. But I’m not next of kin, and on top of that, there was a fire in St. Louis where the records were kept back in the sixties or seventies.”

“Seems like a conspiracy to keep Herb’s life a secret,” Wanda said.

“So you ordered Clyde’s death certificate?” Janya asked.

“Fifty years passed, so I could.”

“What’s it say?” Wanda asked.

Tracy was enjoying herself, and she wasn’t even sure why. “Well, it’s kind of spectacular, really, although I’m not sure what it means.”

“As my mama used to say, you’re keeping us in suspenders,” Wanda said.

Tracy took the death certificate out of the envelope. “Here’s the interesting part. Look where the cause is listed.
Presumptive
death.”

Janya looked confused. “What does ‘presumptive’ mean?”

“It means Clyde Franklin was presumed dead because there was no proof, that somebody asked that he be declared dead after he’d been missing for some period of time. I’m not sure what that period is in Florida, but I can
find out on the Internet. Most likely Louise petitioned the court, so she could get survivor’s benefits.”

“So Clyde just up and vanished, and never came back,” Wanda said. “And what does that explain?”

“It explains that we have some more looking to do,” Tracy said. “And another mystery on our hands. I’m going over to Herb’s after dinner and spend the evening going through the rest of the boxes. Do you want to come? Say about seven?”

“Maybe for an hour or so,” Wanda said. “My evenings are pretty busy.”

“Indeed they are,” Tracy said. “Janya? Is that a bad time for you?”

“Rishi is out of town until tomorrow night. I can be there.”

“If either of you sees Alice, you might tell her, too. Just don’t do it in front of Lee, okay? He’s worried she’ll get upset or confused working with us on this. I’d like to show him he’s wrong.”

“Alice likes company,” Wanda said. “What’s wrong with
him?
”

“Now I understand,” Janya said.

“What?” Wanda asked.

“Why Mr. Symington is not friendly when I stop to visit Alice.”

“He’s not really unfriendly, is he?” Tracy asked. “Just concerned?”

“Perhaps I misinterpret what I see.”

“Seems like that would be easy, you being a foreigner and all,” Wanda said.

“Yes, a foreigner. A fact I’m not allowed to forget.”

Tracy arrived at Herb’s before the others were due, and opened the windows and door. A gentle afternoon shower
had cooled the air, which smelled like freshly washed laundry. Since they wouldn’t be there long, she decided to leave the windows open and the air conditioner off.

She had hauled the boxes out into the living room and was sorting through the first one when Wanda walked in, a pie plate balanced on one upturned hand and a plastic grocery bag slung over her arm.

“I figure, I don’t start sharing these pies with somebody, I’m going to have to roll around in the shower to get wet all over.”

Despite herself, Tracy’s mouth was watering. “What kind is it?”

“Grapefruit pie. Tail end of the grapefruit season, so they weren’t as juicy as I like. But it’s still tasty.”

“How many pie recipes do you have?”

“Ones I’ve tried? Maybe a hundred. Half were worth trying again with a variation or two.”

Janya tapped on the screen door, then let herself in.

“Wanda brought us pie,” Tracy said. “Grapefruit.”

Wanda headed for the kitchen. “I’ll just put it in the refrigerator until we’re ready.”

“Did you talk to Alice?” Tracy asked Janya.

“She said she will come and bring Olivia.” She glanced at the door, as if to be certain Alice wasn’t standing there, and lowered her voice. “She was unhappy. I’m not certain why. But she said Olivia got her hair cut, and that seemed to worry her. I got a glimpse. It is short now, quite short in fact, but she is such a pretty little girl, nothing can spoil that.”

“Alice has had so many changes. Any change may just be too much.”

“Perhaps.”

They heard footsteps, and Alice and Olivia walked in. Olivia had a baseball cap pulled over her head.

“I’m glad you’re both here,” Tracy said. “Olivia, I hope you won’t be bored, but we’re going to have pie in a little while.”

“I brought a book,” Olivia said shyly.

“I hear you got your hair cut,” Tracy said. “I bet it’s cool for the summer.”

Olivia bit her lip.

“Long hair is a lot of work,” Alice said. “Hard to keep up with.”

“Nobody knows more about hair than me,” Wanda said, coming back into the living room. “Let’s see the damage, and I’ll tell you what I think.”

For a moment Olivia looked rebellious; then, as if she were used to doing what she was told, she swept off the hat.

Tracy was surprised Lee had allowed the stylist to make such a drastic change. The little girl’s hair had been well past her shoulders. Now it was boyishly short, clipped to the top of her ears in front and trimmed neatly above the nape in back without a wisp to soften it. Tracy was afraid what might come out of that “tell it like it is” mouth of Wanda’s.