I’ve seen enough of small-town life to read between those lines. The
But to be hit with a hammer and thrown from his deck? I cast an uneasy look at the railing where my feet were propped. Was this something else the twins were supposed to be working on? I gave it a good push with my foot.
Rock solid. Well, that was one good thing.
The rest of the paper was the usual assortment of local announcements, ads for rental property (exorbitant!) and real estate (half a million for that dumpy little clapboard house?), and for several restaurants. Eating this late, I could skip the restaurants, but images of that hand-dipped ice-cream shop down on Main Street kept floating through my mind.
Surely a single scoop wouldn’t be too self-indulgent?
CHAPTER 4
Despite the long drive out, my unexpected bout of housecleaning, and those steep steps, I still felt fresh enough to walk the length of Main Street, browsing the windows, stepping inside the more interesting shops, even buying a sort of burnt orange fall jacket that picked up the gold tones in my tawny hair and didn’t fight with my skin when I tried it on. The jacket almost jumped out of its bag when it spotted a handcrafted topaz and beaten copper necklace two windows down, a necklace that cost almost as much as the jacket. They so wanted each other, though, that I immediately whipped out my credit card.
Except for Dwight (or, more precisely, except for sex with Dwight), I hadn’t treated myself to anything new in months and I figured I was due.
I managed to resist the designer silk scarves in fall leaf patterns and colors that filled the window of a dress store, nor did I let myself go into the leather shop although a pair of snakeskin heels winked at me beguilingly from beneath straight-cut leather pants. For a tourist town, there was little that was tacky and tasteless. Even the strictly souvenir stores offered wares a cut above the usual: the Tshirts and sweatshirts were 100 percent cotton and came dyed in restrained earth tones with motifs that were embroidered rather than stamped. If an item could be made of wood or leather instead of plastic, then it was.
I saw a hat that would have looked good on Dwight except that I wasn’t sure of his size, and that bothered me. How could I possibly be planning to marry someone whose hat size I didn’t know? Yeah, yeah, it was crazy to get hung up over such a silly detail; all the same, I really needed to buy him that hat. Instead, I had to settle for a dark green crewneck sweater that would go nicely with his brown hair and eyes. That size I did know—XL, the same as several of my brothers.
A regional crafts store next door featured handmade quilts and pillow covers in traditional patterns, and, considering the quality of their goods, the gift shops further along the street could have been attached to art museums. Glass, pottery, and wooden bowls evoked the mountains rather than proclaimed it. The only place I could find the Cedar Gap name was on the bottom of a bowl or vase, never splashed across the front.
The sole exception to all this rarefied tastefulness was a ramshackle log building at the bottom of Main Street, something called the Trading Post. The moment I saw it, I immediately remembered walking around inside with Mother and Aunt Zell, the three of us sharing a bag of licorice jelly beans. I also seemed to remember an enormous wooden Indian that had stood out front with a peace pipe in one hand and a tomahawk in the other. He was gone now, probably a victim of political correctness.
Inside were all the geegaws you’d expect to find in a mountain tourist town: Daniel Boone coonskin hats made of polyester plush, Indian war bonnets in neon-colored feathers, dozens of silly doodads labeled “Souvenir of Cedar Gap” or “High Country Heaven,” and plastic figurines of hillbillies shooting, fighting, whittling, and swilling moonshine. Part country store, it also carried jeans, bib overalls, work/hiking boots, washboards, kerosene lanterns, flashlights, and a hundred other necessities of bygone years and still useful today, I suppose, if you happened to live in a cabin at the far end of utility lines.
The store was surprisingly crowded. On one side of the front door was a hot dog stand where people stood in line while the lush fragrance of hot chili and onions swirled around them. On the other side, even more people were browsing through a candy section where small wooden nail kegs were filled with lemon drops, sassafras sticks, peanut brittle—every old-timey candy imaginable. Customers were encouraged to fill a plastic bag with any assortment they wanted because the price per ounce was the same for all, and yes, I did buy an ounce of licorice jelly beans for old time’s sake.
Back out in the cool evening air, the sidewalks were becoming less congested as twilight fell. Cars still jostled one another for parking spots, and couples dressed in resort-style chic converged on the restaurants. Old-fashioned streetlights glowed softly beneath the trees, and inconspicuous spotlights illuminated the bronze soldier in the middle of the traffic circle.
When I reached the circle on my return walk back up the street, I veered off to check out the courthouse. A small arrow pointed to public parking down a sloping drive to the rear. On the side, though, I saw slots reserved for the various court officials, including one for Judge Rawlings, the judge for whom I was subbing while he sat court down at the coast, where gray trout were supposed to be running this week.
According to Longmire, Rawlings had traded with a Beaufort judge whose wife wanted to see leaves. Unfortunately, it was discovered at the last minute that she needed major surgery, so he would be spending this week either sitting at her bedside or playing Mr. Mom to their two children. Because Rawlings had already rented a place on the beach and because the Beaufort judge needed a sub anyhow, the call had gone out about two hours before Minnie’s call for someone to replace Rawlings.
“Pure serendipity,” Longmire had said, and standing here on the traffic circle in a town where no one was likely to come up and burble at me, I couldn’t agree more.
I crossed the street, got in line at Roxie’s, and ordered a scoop of fudge ripple, which I savored all the way back to the condo.
Darkness had fallen completely now and those steep steps were poorly lit. Halfway up, I sat down on a ledge to finish the cone, and when I tilted my head back, I saw that the stars had come out, sharp and crisp against the deep blue. I know the mountains have been having trouble with air pollution, smog, and acid rain, but tonight was so clear that even the Milky Way swirled across the sky more brightly than I had seen in ages, despite a moon that would be full in another night or two.
