he’d say in that serious voice. “Remember what happened last time you got yourself involved in a murder investigation.” I couldn’t stand the serious voice; it reminded me of Richard.
“We?” Evan asked. “You and who else?” His mouth quirked up. “Let me guess. Marina.”
“And Yvonne,” I said.
He raised his eyebrows. “The woman from California? The one who—”
I cut in. “Yes. She knows Violet and . . . and wanted to introduce us to her.” Not a complete lie, but I could feel my earlobes warming up. Maybe Evan wouldn’t notice. But if the speculative look on his face was any indication, he already had and was in the process of formulating his next question.
“Hey, Beth.”
I looked at the stranger standing next to the table, then something went
Pete Peterson, almost unrecognizable in suit and tie, smiled at me and nodded at Evan. “Last time I saw you, you were in a tux.”
I introduced the two men and started to ask Pete a vague social question about the weather, but Oliver started squabbling with Jenna over the crayons. “Let me have the brown.”
“I’m using it.”
“You are not!”
“I will in a second. Leave it alone.”
Oliver’s hand snaked out and I reached over to tap his knuckles. “What did we talk about at home?” I asked quietly.
“No fighting in the restaurant,” he said to the tablecloth.
“And are you?”
“All I want is—”
“Oliver,” I said, “no fighting means no fighting. Okay?”
He nodded. I gave Jenna a stern warning look, and turned back to Pete. “Sorry. What are—” But I was talking to air. Pete was on the other side of the room, escorting a woman to a quiet table in a dark corner.
I watched him wave away the waiter and pull out a chair for his date. Though I couldn’t see her face, she was slim and tanned. From here I couldn’t tell if it was from a tanning booth or from an extended visit to sunny climates. Marina would be able to analyze such a thing at half a mile, but all I could tell was that I felt sickly white by comparison.
“How do you know him?” Evan was watching me watch Pete.
“What? Who?” A thought that was only half a thought flew away and was free, gone forever. “Pete? He runs Cleaner-Than-Pete’s. I hired him last year.”
“Before we met?” Evan smiled and reached for my hand.
As his warm skin touched mine, my cell phone started chirping. “Sorry.” I reached for my purse. “Forgot. I’ll turn it off.” But I couldn’t help looking at the display. I stood up. “Be right back. Kids, be good.”
I hurried to the women’s restroom and punched number 5 on my speed dial.
“Hey, sis,” Darlene said. “Took you long enough.”
“What’s the matter?” She’d texted me with a call-soon-urgent message. “Are you all right? Is Mom okay?”
She laughed. “Why do you always assume the worst?”
“Because then I’ll be prepared when it happens. What’s so urgent that I had to leave my children alone with Evan in a restaurant with white tablecloths?”
Darlene whistled. “Is he going to propose?”
“Don’t be silly.”
“Don’t be so sure. You’re smart, funny, still relatively young, and almost pretty. I’m surprised he hasn’t proposed already. Let’s plan for a June wedding. I’ll drive Mom down after Christmas and we can go to Chicago for your dress.”
I raised my eyes heavenward. Sisters. “Darlene, I’m kind of busy. What do you want?”
She sighed. “I can’t make it to Thanksgiving.”
“You . . . what?” She couldn’t have said what I thought she said. No way could every single member of my family have backed out on Thanksgiving dinner. It wasn’t possible.
“Sorry, kiddo. I really am. But I just brought Roger home from the med center. He’s got that horrible flu and they say it runs for at least a week. He’s a mess.” She paused. “Beth, are you there?”
I wanted to understand, and most of me did. But there was also a part of me that was hurt very badly. Words I wanted to say crowded into my mouth, and I put my hand over my lips to keep them inside, because saying them would burn wounds that might take years to heal.
It was then that my half-formed thought circled around and came home to roost.
“No,” I said slowly. “I’m not mad. Much.”
She blew a big sigh into the phone. “Look, I want to be there, you know I do. And maybe we can get together for Christmas. I’ll make a big batch of Grandma Emmerling’s cookies; those were always your favorites.” She talked on and on, but I wasn’t listening.
Because I had an idea. And I was making a plan.
Monday morning I made up busywork tasks for Yvonne and Lois. Ten minutes later I was breezing through the intricate door of Stull Systems.
“Hi, Mrs. Kennedy!” Devon’s smile was wide. “I hear your Jenna had an awesome game Saturday afternoon. Four to zero, that’s so great.”
“Shutout,” I said proudly. “Her first ever.” At dinner, Evan had proposed a toast to Jenna, and she’d blushed a brighter red than I’d thought possible. “The other day she asked if I thought she could get a college scholarship.”
“Bet she could,” Devon said.
“Really?”
“Sure. I’ve seen her in action. She’s got natural instincts. Anticipates like crazy. She could go a long way.”
Visions of Olympic medals danced in my head. “Are you sure?”
She grinned. “I’m assistant coach for the Madison Skippers. Believe me, I know Jenna’s good.”
I clutched the edge of the counter and fake gasped. “The enemy!”
Her laughter filled the lobby. “No,
Her next question would be what could she do for me. Time to put the Plan into action. “When I stopped by the other day,” I said, “I didn’t tell you I own the Children’s Bookshelf. I was wondering if Stull Systems would consider writing children’s bookstore software. What we use is geared to full-range bookstores and we could use a new product.”
Not a complete lie; we could use something different than the fifteen-year-old software running on rapidly aging computers. Of course, I didn’t see how specialized software would help the store in any way, shape, or form, but it was a reason to talk to Devon.
“Oh, wow. I don’t know.” She opened a three-ring binder and started flipping pages. “This is the catalog. Everything Stull does is medical. Wait. Here’s a . . . No, that’s for veterinarians.” She hummed as she turned pages. “No, nothing like that. Tell you what—”
The phone rang and she excused herself to answer. After she’d written a message, she put the slip atop a pile of similar slips, which was next to a towering pile of papers, which was next to another stack of papers. “There. Now, I was saying—” The phone rang again. She rolled her eyes, picked up the phone, and wrote down a message.
During my phone call with Darlene, the tiny lightbulb that occasionally blinked on in my brain had gone bright white. Devon had hockey knowledge that Jenna could use. Devon needed help with organization, help that I could provide, and in providing such, could gain knowledge that I could use.
