Part 30 (1/2)
No melatonin. Tea it was, then. As I waited for the kettle to boil, I wandered the perimeter of the house in the dark, checking the window locks like I had the night before. Pus.h.i.+ng aside the living room curtain, I stopped cold. The white car from the night before sat across the street again. It hadn't been there all day, but there it was, back again tonight.
It's someone new in the neighborhood, I told myself. They work all day, so their car is only here at night. But as I watched, I could clearly see the silhouette of a head and shoulders on the driver's side.
In the kitchen I turned off the burner under the kettle, then went back upstairs and put on my jeans and sweats.h.i.+rt. I felt my way down the bas.e.m.e.nt stairs and let myself out the back door. I went down the alley until I came to the sidewalk, and then around the corner and quickly across the street, hoping whoever lurked in the white car didn't look in the rearview mirror right then. I sidled up the street behind the car, hugging hedges and dodging behind bushes like some crazed character from Get Smart.
As I neared the car it occurred to me I might need a weapon. Swearing under my breath, I scanned the shadows. A glint caught my attention. Edging toward it, I saw someone had left a trowel out next to a half-full basket of spring bulbs. Better than nothing. Snagging it, I crept on.
Upon reaching the car, I approached from the blind spot and then crab-walked along the curb until I crouched directly beside the pa.s.senger door. Whatever happened, I wanted to make sure I got a good enough look at whoever was inside to recognize them. Slowly, I rose and looked in the window.
And locked eyes with Barr Ambrose. I let out a yelp, and Ambrose let out a yell. I stood up and turned, leaning against the car and holding my palm to my chest. If it had been Richard I probably would have folded into an unconscious heap. What a trooper.
The window slid down. ”What do you think you're doing?” Ambrose asked. Feeling sheepish, I opened the door and slid into the pa.s.senger seat.
”Well?” he said.
”I was trying to find out who was watching the house.”
”You came out here not knowing?”
”Well ... yeah.”
”Would've been better to call the PD, have someone check it out, don't you think?”
I was glad he couldn't see my face turn red. ”Just what are you doing here?”
”Like you said: I'm watching the house”
”You were here last night, too?”
He nodded.
I thought about it. The short-handed police department. Ambrose had mentioned they couldn't spare anyone to keep an eye on us. So he'd taken it on himself. No wonder he looked so tired.
”Is this your car?”
”Yeah”
”I thought you'd drive a jeep or something.”
”Sorry.” He sounded irritated.
”It's nice. You doing this,” I said.
”It's my job.”
”Not exactly,” I said.
This time he shrugged. ”Maybe not.”
”You should go home. We'll be okay.”
”I will. In a bit. What's that?”
”Garden trowel.”
”What were you going to do, plant me?”
I smiled. ”You should see me with a pair of pruners. I'd scare you silly.”
”Sophie Mae, you already scare me silly. Among other things.”
Like what, I wanted to ask but didn't. We watched a car turn into a driveway. A woman got out and went inside her house.
”Do you want to come inside, at least? Where it's warm?”
Oh, G.o.d, did that sound like an invitation? And then I realized I rather hoped it did.
”That's okay,” he said.
I shrugged off a twinge of disappointment. ”Go home, Barr. Really. We'll be fine.”
”Well, now that I know you have your garden trowel, I'm sure you will. I'll take off. Go to bed.”
”You promise?”
”Uh huh.”
I got out, shut the door, leaned in the window. ”Thanks for taking such good care of us.”
He grinned at me. ”Not a problem, ma'am.”
Inside, I made my nasty-tasting tea, climbed back into my pajamas, and then into bed. An hour later, still unable to sleep, I slipped back downstairs. Pulling back the curtain, I saw Barr Ambrose still sitting in his car, watching.
THIRTY-SEVEN.
I SWEAR: EVERY TIME I think I've finally caught up, it turns out I'm low on something. These days, lotion bars are all the rage. A solid emollient molded into a pretty shape, a lotion bar looks a lot like a bar of soap, but when you rub it between your hands the cream melts into lotion. I make mine out of spicy beeswax, olive oil, and non-deodorized cocoa b.u.t.ter, with some grapefruit seed extract thrown in as an antibacterial agent. I like the non-deodorized cocoa b.u.t.ter because it smells so delicious.
The lotion bars started as one of those items I made for personal use because in spring and summer Meghan and I do a lot of gardening, and our hands suffer for it. In the fall, we preserve fruits and pickles and jams, which means constant hand was.h.i.+ng. The cocoa b.u.t.ter works better than anything else to heal the damage from all that scrubbing.
I was weighing chunks of dark, spicy beeswax on a kitchen scale when I heard the rapping of knuckles against the windowpane. Wiping my hands on an old flour-sack dishtowel, I went to open the door.