Part 11 (2/2)
I'm about to ask if Archer will go with her when an elderly female voice rises above the chatter of other patrons.
”Dean!”
I turn to find Florence Wickham, trustee of the Mirror Lake Historical Society, approaching from the dining room. In a pink suit with her white hair and bright blue eyes, she looks like an inquisitive bird.
”How nice to see you,” she says warmly.
”h.e.l.lo, Florence.” I take her hand in greeting, leaning in to brush my lips across her powdered cheek. ”Nice to see you too.”
”Don't you look handsome, as always.” Florence picks a piece of lint off my lapel and touches my silk tie.
Kelsey, looking amused at Florence's fussing, exchanges greetings with the other woman. I ask Florence if she's heading over to the Historical Society offices.
”Yes, we have a meeting this afternoon.” Florence pats my chest. ”I'm so glad I ran into you, Dean. I'm sure Liv has told you the Historical Society is planning to renovate the old railroad depot near Wizard's Park.”
”She told me she was doing an auction to benefit the restoration, yes.”
”She is just a powerhouse, I tell you,” Florence says. ”We're going to turn the depot into a transportation museum, with the shed next door used to display restored train cars and engines.”
Though I'm impressed by the idea, my heart is already starting to sink.
”That's great,” I reply carefully.
Florence beams. ”It is, isn't it? I told the board I would recruit you and your formidable historical expertise to help with the restoration process. We need a project director, and you're the perfect man for the job.”
She blinks at me expectantly.
”Much as I'd love to help out...” I begin.
”Oh, lovely!” Florence claps her hands. ”I'll send you all the info to get started.”
”...I can't,” I finish weakly.
Kelsey snorts with suppressed laughter.
”It won't take much time,” Florence a.s.sures me, patting my chest again like she's stroking a cat. ”Archival research and writing up a few reports, maybe doing some work on the engines. You did such a beautiful job with the b.u.t.terfly House the Historical Society just can't tackle this new project without you.”
”I'm really not-”
”You are such an extraordinary help to us.” Florence turns to Kelsey. ”A pleasure seeing you, dear. I'll be in touch, Dean. You are a gem, did I ever tell you that?”
She squeezes my biceps, gives us a little wave, and heads out the door. I sink into a nearby chair with a groan. Kelsey is outright grinning now.
”Professor Marvel, browbeaten by a little old lady,” she teases.
”Little old lady, my a.s.s,” I mutter darkly. ”She's Xena the Warrior Princess in disguise.”
”Hey, engine restoration sounds more like Archer's line of work,” Kelsey says. ”You should call him, ask if he can help you out.”
”Good idea.” I take out my phone to text Archer. ”Maybe Florence will pat his chest and squeeze his biceps for a change.”
”Hah.” Kelsey rolls her eyes. ”Knowing him, he might like it.”
I send the text to my brother. Though I'm aware Kelsey's suggestion is a ploy to get me and Archer to spend time together-in her belief that we need to-I also know Archer would be a great addition to the project.
I slide my phone back into my pocket as Kelsey and I head out to our cars.
”You have time for coffee?” I ask, thinking she could give me a good perspective on this whole job situation.
”No, sorry.” Kelsey stops by her car, digging into her purse for her keys. ”I'm heading over to the warehouse to check on some equipment. Gym tomorrow around four?”
”Sure.”
She gives me a wave and gets into her car. I watch her drive away, then start toward my car. After a block, I turn and go in the opposite direction.
Our former apartment, the place where Liv and I first lived when we moved to Mirror Lake, sits above a row of shops on the corner of Avalon and Poppy Streets.
There's a wrought-iron balcony that used to be filled with Liv's potted plants. In the summer, she'd leave the French doors open and the blue-and-white striped curtains would flutter in the breeze from the lake.
I'd always liked coming home-walking toward the building and seeing those curtains like they were waving h.e.l.lo. Knowing my wife was in the rooms behind them.
Now the balcony is empty, the French doors shut. The landlord rented out the place shortly after Liv and I moved to the b.u.t.terfly House. No idea who's been living there since.
I walk back to my car and head toward campus. Strange how when your life gets richer and bigger, you still sometimes miss the days when it was smaller.
I work late at the university, finalizing my travel arrangements and reviewing the criteria needed for a site to be inscribed on the World Heritage protection list.
By the time I head home, the sky is charcoal-gray, streaked with a few reddish clouds. The porch lights are on, and I go into the foyer-expecting the usual noises, Liv cooking dinner, either kid's music or the TV on, Nicholas coming to greet me.
Instead it's oddly quiet inside.
”Liv?” I drop my briefcase on a table and go into the kitchen. There's a wrapped package on the central island with my name on it.
I wonder if I've missed an important date-birthday, anniversary of our first date-but no. I unwrap the package and pull out a ream of typing paper.
Huh. There's a note typed on the first page: While I wandered soft and lonely as a cloud that floats on high over vales and hills, You saw me and s.n.a.t.c.hed me down to love among the utility bills.
Interesting. It sounds like a clue. Since we keep our bills in the first drawer of the kitchen desk, I walk over to open it.
A bunch of bills are wrapped around a box with a rubber band. I unfasten the band and open the box, which is full of cotton b.a.l.l.s. Each cotton ball has a paper letter affixed to it. I dump them all onto the desk, arranging and rearranging the letters until they spell out: S-H-A-R-P D-R-E-S-S-E-D M-A-N.
I think for a minute, then go upstairs to the bedroom. I open the closet, revealing one of my suits hung neatly on a hanger. A leather belt is buckled through the pant loops, with a note attached to the buckle.
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