Wedding gems, p.5
Wedding Gems, page 5
Then remembering Amber’s weird warning, he called the owner of their rental cottage to compile a list of former renters. His landlord knew nothing of antique dolls, but he gave what information he had on his extended family so Walker could contact them. He already knew his landlord had inherited the cottage from Gladys Matthews—the ghost Sam claimed haunted their garden. He called his assistant in LA and asked her to run a genealogy search on Gladys in case his landlord had forgotten family branches.
Walker’s concentration was interrupted by Pasquale from the grocery store calling about a shoplifter. Hillvale’s biggest business was from wealthy tourists, so thieves were rare—which made it easier for Walker to conduct his executive role in his idle hours. Still, his meager town salary required that he investigate.
“I am gone only few minutes,” Pasquale protested when Walker arrived. “I take napkins to da café, dere.” He pointed across the street. Both the grocery and the café had big windows and were almost across from each other, so Pasquale would have noticed a customer entering. “No one was in da store, but I come back and dis. . .”
He gestured at the candy bar section by the check-out. Three of the boxes were half-empty. It probably didn’t amount to twenty dollars in loss, but grocery stores ran on shoestrings, especially here, where Pasquale generously gave back to the community when he could.
“And you know the boxes were full before you left, and you saw no one enter?” Walker confirmed, just because he was tired of dealing with the weird. “What about kids? Could they have been hiding in the aisles and just seized an opportunity? Kids are quick.”
Pasquale looked defeated. “Dat is possible. But Syd’s children are very young. I cannot imagine it.”
“There are still tourists in town. Some of them let their kids run loose. I’ll check with Syd first. Evidence of chocolate will produce a conviction if hers are the culprits,” Walker said, trying to add a dollop of humor to the situation. “And while I’m here, let me order one of everything in your Asian section. We have a guest who likes her comfort foods, but I’m clueless to what she needs.”
Pasquale looked much happier at having a profitable task at hand. “My selection is small and maybe old,” he reminded Walker. “We do not get much call for Asian. Even you do not buy it.”
“Because Sam and I don’t cook,” Walker said. “The only Asian cooking I know requires a wok and fresh vegetables. But Hai may be able to use canned and boxed better than we can.”
“If Sam starts farm, she can sell fresh produce here,” Pasquale said in satisfaction. “Maybe we can have more restaurants.”
Not likely was Walker’s opinion, but he nodded and went in search of children with chocolate stains.
Before he even reached the jeweler’s shop where Teddy’s young niece and nephew stayed, he caught the culprit in the delivery alley. Chocolate rimmed the mouth of a skinny kid no more than ten. He sat on a trashcan with paper wrappers strewn around him. Walker would call his clothing scruffy, but given the ragged jean styles he’d seen in stores, he wouldn’t bet on poverty.
Since his uniform consisted of khaki shirt and trousers and no regalia, the kid merely eyed him warily as Walker approached.
“You owe Pasquale about twenty bucks,” Walker said casually, positioning himself so the kid couldn’t flee easily.
The kid tried, of course. Walker grabbed the neck of his suspect’s too-tight but well-made t-shirt and twisted so the kid couldn’t just slide out of it.
“What’s your name?” Walker demanded.
“Puddin’ and tame,” the kid responded defiantly.
“My grandmother used to say that. You can do better.” Sullen silence ensued. “Where are your parents?”
“Don’t got any.” The boy twisted, attempting to break Walker’s grip.
“Don’t have any.” Picking up a handful of candy wrappers, Walker frog-marched him toward the street. “Maybe I’ll just string you up in the parking lot so people can identify you.”
“Don’t know anyone.” The boy struggled harder.
Walker almost admired the kid’s fearless defiance, except he knew the attitude. He’d gone to a private school and had known a few kids like this. Products of divorce, buffered by wealth and parents who didn’t have time or inclination to teach their pampered offspring good behavior, the kids roamed freely, without direction. He dragged the boy back to Pasquale.
“No ghostly thief,” he told the diminutive Italian, shoving the boy in front of him. He held out the candy wrappers. “Evidence enough to convict?”
Pasquale looked shocked. “Dylan, what will your grandmodder tink?”
The boy finally managed to look abashed and didn’t reply.
“You know his grandmother? Where does she live?” Walker asked.
“Mrs. Newton has not been in lately. Ask Xavier. She rents de house each summer.” Pasquale glared at the boy. “You, you will work off dat candy. Come along, you will learn to sweep.”
Walker let the boy wriggle free but stepped in front of him when he tried to flee.
Dylan glared and stamped his foot. “You can’t make me.”
“Well, yes, I can,” Walker informed him. “I’m the law here.” He made a show of producing his badge and ID from his wallet. “I can have the sheriff pick you up and put you in juvenile detention along with the real delinquents.”
The boy looked a little stunned. He studied Walker’s casual clothes, glowered at Walker’s narrowed eyes and Asian aspect, and finally, slumped. The little snot probably hadn’t recognized Walker’s non-white face as one of authority, but at least the kid had the manners not to say so. Walker had heard all the epithets and was immune to them, but it was nice to know Dylan had been given some training.
“You won’t tell my mother?” the boy asked.
Mother? Not grandmother? Walker acted as if he were considering this. He frowned. He checked with Pasquale, who waited as anxiously as the kid. Then he nodded curtly. “First offense, I’ll let you off if you make reparations. Pasquale, how many hours must he work to cover your loss?”
“Two,” the grocer said promptly.
Walker left the two of them to negotiate minimum wage and candy cost. If all his jobs were so simple. . . he’d be bored out of his mind. But the hard part about small towns was that he’d see Dylan again and again unless he did something. So he strolled over to the rental agency.
Xavier Black had once been one of those privileged kids who’d attended an expensive college, earned a law degree, and fried his brains on drugs. He’d quit drugs some years back, but his reputation was shot, and his brain hadn’t recovered. Renting cottages to tourists suited him. He lifted his head of thinning gray hair at Walker’s entrance.
“Looking for a larger place, Chief?” he asked eagerly. “I think I’ve got the perfect one, recently vacated—”
“I’ll need Sam with me when we’re ready to discuss houses,” Walker said. “I appreciate you keeping us in mind though. Right now, I’m looking for the address of a boy staying with his grandmother. Pasquale says they rent every summer. Boy’s name is Dylan. Grandmother is a Newton. Ring any bells?”
It was always chancy asking Xavier to remember anything, but the lawyer was organized, if not computer oriented. He opened a file drawer and produced a paper folder. “As a matter of fact, the Newtons used to own the house I was talking about. They lost it. . .”
Back when Xavier’s old pal, the Kennedys’ father, had ballooned their interest, called in their mortgages, and thrown out everyone in his effort to own the town. Walker knew the old story and gestured to wave off any repeat.
Xavier looked relieved. “Anyway, Margaret Newton returns every summer with some of her grandkids and stays in one of the smaller places now. She’s getting up in years. I don’t know how she handles them. Here’s the address. Do you know the road?” He shoved the rental application across the desk.
Walker checked the location, then quickly scanned the application, memorizing home address and emergency contacts, just in case. “Dead end just below Kurt and Teddy’s place. Nice house. Thanks!”
Before he left, he remembered the disturbed lock where he’d found the doll. “There’s a vacant house between ours and Cass’s. The lock looks tampered with. You might want to take a look.”
“That’s the one I was talking about,” Xavier said, rising to check his keys. “Large enough for a family, the one the Newtons used to own. Needs some work though. I’ll take a look.”
Walker determinedly shut out the possibility of clearing out that big yard, cleaning up the porch-wrapped house, and moving Sam in to raise a family.
One thing at a time. He had a doll owner to find and a chocolate thief’s mother to scold. Rolling his eyes at the depths to which he’d fallen, Walker got in his official cruiser to drive half a mile down the highway, just to prove his authority.
Six
Later that afternoon, Sam carried in a bouquet of evergreen branches, gladiolas, and other clippings, trying to think of a vase large enough to hold her treasure. She should have bought a galvanized bucket for Hai’s metal corner.
The scent of frying chicken wafted through the house. She’d had a report from Teddy, so she knew Hai was fine and just needed to reduce her blood pressure and stress. Rest was supposed to be part of that regime, but it didn’t smell as if Hai had taken that warning to heart.
Deciding she’d have to use the plastic mop bucket for now, Sam carried the bouquet into the kitchen and rummaged in the cleaning closet. Hai flipped chicken pieces without greeting.
When she noticed Sam filling the bucket with flowers and water, she pointed the spatula at her. “Spiky things, bad feng shui. You put on back step to keep chi from leaving.”
“Water and columnar, good for family,” Sam retorted. “And the bucket is green, also good.” She carried her bucket of beauty to the master bedroom. She didn’t know how to ease Walker’s doubts and fears, but she knew how to add pleasure to his life.
“I cannot mop without bucket,” Hai shouted.
“The flowers will be dead before the floor needs mopping again,” Sam retorted, arranging the blooms on a small table by the front window. “You are supposed to be resting. Why aren’t you in bed?”
“Because your stupid grocer send all his old cans to us, and they need using before they expire. Water chestnuts, ugh! You should not pay for these things.” Hai shook a frying pan so hard, it clanged against the burner.
After checking to be certain Sister Golden Hair was still safely on her shelf, Sam returned to the kitchen to set the table and inspect the box of maligned supplies. “Why would Pasquale send these? Do you think he’s trying to get on your good side?” she asked facetiously.
Hai glared at Sam, glared at the box, and huffily returned to stirring chicken and whatever she had in the frying pan. “He has lot to learn.”
Sam bit back a snicker. Even without a gift of empathy, she could tell she’d caught Hai’s interest. So, the chi master had noticed Pasquale.
“Did you find any paint you liked?” Sam asked, hoping to stay on Hai’s good side for a change.
“I am told I cannot move furniture or paint,” Hai said in disgust. “I buy. Receipt on your desk. You will have to paint.”
Sam tried not to glare a hole in her guest’s back. She’d never lifted a paintbrush in her life. But if Hai had a heart murmur and needed to rest, she shouldn’t be lifting a hand. “Let’s see what Walker says,” she said, opting for neutral territory.
Sam had retreated to her computer and lists of projects for the grant when Walker finally arrived. She had set the doll in her lap as if it were a kitten she could pet. She needed to think about adopting an animal. Maybe that would be good practice before they thought about children.
At the sound of the door opening, she set the doll back on the shelf and traversed the short hall to greet Walker with a kiss—and to see if he was still fretting.
He hung up his hat with one hand and caught her waist with the other, bestowing the kiss she craved with a hunger to match her own. Satisfied, she returned to her feet, still leaning into him. “If you sent up the box of groceries, don’t tell Hai,” she whispered.
He quirked a questioning eyebrow, but Hai’s loud pan thumping prevented discussion. “This is better than a TV sitcom,” he murmured in amusement.
“You have no idea.” She caught his hand and dragged him into the kitchen. “Did you find Sister Golden Hair’s owner yet?”
“No, but I’ve spent the afternoon looking for a kid’s mom, does that count?” He checked what was cooking, then opened the refrigerator for a beer.
“Beer no good for you,” Hai scolded, aiming her spatula at him for a change.
Walker ignored her and took a gulp.
“How can anyone lose their kid in Hillvale?” Sam asked. “You could stand in the parking lot and yell and find anyone.” Then alarm kicked in. “Surely they didn’t go hiking? The mountain is a burned-out travesty.”
“No, as far as I’ve been able to learn, Mom and two kids are renting a cabin down the highway. Neighbors say one of the kids is pretty sick. Mom brought her up here because the child loves the mountain, but the neighbor thinks they had to go into the city for an appointment. Apparently, the other kid elected to stay home.”
“And you came into this how?” Sam took the heavy frying pan of vegetables from Hai and plunked it on the table instead of dirtying another dish. The chicken pieces had already been spooned into a bowl, which she would end up washing.
“The kid who stayed home apparently got bored and ransacked Pasquale’s candy rack. I need to go back after dinner to see if his mother is home yet. Pasquale is keeping him occupied for now.”
“That has to be hard on the poor boy.” Sam settled into her chair. “You should have brought him here so we could have fed him.”
“Where would we put him, under the table? No, I told Pasquale to take him to Dinah’s. He’ll be good there until I get back.”
“You should not have to pay for bad groceries or other people’s children,” Hai pronounced from her chair at the head of the table.
Sam and Walker exchanged glances over who should correct that miserly conclusion.
Since Walker seldom felt the need to explain himself, Sam accepted the task. “We’re not poor. And anything we pay Dinah or Pasquale comes back to the town in taxes, and taxes pay Walker’s salary, so it’s good karma all around.”
That was a specious argument, but the easiest way to say that she and Walker had outside incomes that would keep them from starving, while other people didn’t.
Hai snorted but didn’t say more.
After dinner, Sam insisted on cleaning up so Walker could escort Hai back to Cass’s guesthouse. It was still light out and would be for a few hours, but their resident witch’s drive was spooky even in daylight.
While she washed dishes, Sam worked up a list of concerns they really needed to address, if she could make Walker sit and listen. He used seduction to hush her, she realized, and while she enjoyed the result, it wouldn’t suffice as communication. With Hai out of the house, they had to talk. Once she had the dishes put away, she settled in the recliner with the doll in her lap as shield.
Walker was back before she’d even focused her first argument. Discussion, she corrected. “Sit.” She pointed at the couch as soon as he entered the door.
He looked decidedly more Irish than Chinese when confused, she decided—and all adorable.
“I had some work to do. . .” Sensibly, he didn’t finish that sentence but sat. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong. We’re getting married in two weeks, and we need to talk about what that means to our future. What will you say to your board of directors about staying here?” She hadn’t meant to be so demanding, but her concerns simply emerged that way.
He rubbed his hand over his five o’clock shadow, tickling her hormones even more. “Couldn’t we discuss this some other time? I have things I need to do tonight.”
“You will always have things to do, whether we’re here or in the city. We either learn to find time to talk, or this relationship will tank.” Her concern had been building ever since they’d so precipitously decided to marry—bridal nerves, maybe? “I can’t and won’t be pushed aside. You may think I’m a naïve grad student you can pat on the head and kiss stupid—” He hid a smirk at that but she flung a pillow at him. “I was a TA and taught college science and I’m used to people listening to me. If that bothers you, we need to add that to the list of topics to be discussed.”
He let her see his irritation and uncertainty as he rubbed his damaged thigh. Walker could do expressions just fine when he chose. “So, let’s make appointments to talk. I don’t think you’re a naïve grad student—well, maybe a little naïve—but I listen to you. You understand a lot more than I do sometimes. But I haven’t even thought about what I’ll say in the board meeting. I don’t have time right now.”
“The way you haven’t had time to think about whether you want children? Or where we’ll live? Or if you mind my being tied up here for the next five years? Or even an opinion on what you think would be the best use of the grant money? That’s only the tip of the iceberg, Walker,” she warned as he stood up.
“I haven’t even had time to consider if I want to spend the rest of my life chasing dolls and dodging ghosts,” he retorted. “I need financial budgets and documented case reports to make decisions. Positive chi and tarot cards won’t do it,” he added with a sarcastic edge. “We’ll do date night tomorrow, go to the city, leave the nuts behind, and talk like two reasonable people.”
“Hillvale isn’t nuts,” she yelled after him as he departed.
But she was more sad than angry. She loved him and wanted what was best for him. If he needed financial budgets and case reports, he didn’t belong here. So the decision really was hers and not his. Could she let him go?
Picking up his equipment, Walker stalked out.
