house payments or world peace or an infestation of bronze borers that would decimate my flowering dogwoods-that identity theft was way down on my list. “Who’d want to be me?” I had said. I had no dough and not much stuff.
“That’s not the way it works,” Mike had answered. “They’re not stealing stuff. They’re stealing your good credit rating. Your good name.” Maybe that was what Countertop Man was doing. Babe Chinnery’s name was gold in these parts and probably all over.
“You know, I drove by a few nights ago, when the diner was closed. I thought I saw something moving around behind the diner but I didn’t get out to investigate.”
“That was an uncharacteristically prudent thing to do,” Mike said. This was a not-so-veiled reference to the way we first met, on a cold case I’d accidentally unearthed a few years earlier. “Do you think it was him?” he asked after a minute, now more curious. “Is that why you said he was weird?”
“I thought it was turkeys. If it was him, what on earth could he have been looking for for so many days? He was just creepy. Taking Babe’s picture and then insisting on guessing her name. And I’m pretty sure he would have followed me if I had left the diner. Call it intuition-just don’t say women’s intuition or I’ll have to smack you.”
At Mike’s suggestion, Babe had checked her office thoroughly to see if anything else was missing. The man had obviously gone through her things, but she couldn’t say what, if anything, he’d taken, other than the booze. She didn’t keep any jewelry or cash in the office, and since he was still there when the cops arrived, he couldn’t have left with anything unless it had been squirreled away on his person and neither of us wanted to stick around for the cavity search.
“It’s a good thing I don’t keep the Faberge eggs here anymore, right?” At least she was getting her sense of humor back. Countertop Man saw us laughing and it infuriated him. He stuck his head out the window and yelled at us. “Why are you jerks arresting me? This is just a little criminal trespass. Kid stuff. I’ll be out before Oprah goes on.”
“Berry, tell that guy to quiet down or we’ll tack on disturbing the peace to the charges.”
Apparently, the man knew his law. And his daytime television. According to O’Malley, he’d be issued a summons and made to sign a PTA, a promise to appear in court. If he got “belligerent,” he might graduate to a $250 bond. But he’d still be let go, probably in just a few hours.
“Define belligerent,” I said.
“Broad definition.”
“That’s it?”
“What would you like me to do with him? We’ve done away with stocks and pillories in New England. No weapons; no damage, thank goodness; no physical harm to Babe. It’s like the man said, trespassing-a misdemeanor in the state of Connecticut. Forget Oprah, he may even be out before Martha goes on.”
O’Malley’s young partner was exasperated. He had no luck getting McGinley to shut up, and had gotten tired of trying. Finally he rolled up the window of the patrol car and came over to where Babe, Mike, and I had drifted near the side entrance to the diner.
“What’s he yapping about now?” O’Malley asked.
The younger cop looked uncomfortable.
“Go ahead,” Babe said, smiling. “We’ve heard four-letter words before.”
“That’s not it, ma’am. He said, ‘She’s the damn criminal. She’s the one you want.’ He thinks we should arrest Mrs. Chinnery.”
O’Malley simply closed his eyes for a second or two with a look that suggested this was as novel an excuse for trespassing as he’d ever heard.
“Didn’t he like the food?”
Seven
False or not, Babe’s lamiums had finally arrived. They wouldn’t look like much until the following spring, so I filled the bare spots with temporary fixes like annual grasses and mums that could stay in their black plastic pots until the winter came and we composted them. By that time, not too many people would be eating in Babe’s outdoor seating area anyway, and no one would notice if the garden was a little bare.
Right then, the diner’s business was booming. Indian summer had brought people out in droves and even inspired a few hardy souls to resurrect their long shorts and flip-flops, but not the Main Street Moms, who rarely strayed from their seasonal uniforms. I didn’t see Caroline Sturgis in either of the two packs of women at the picnic tables but expected to see her soon for our long-awaited business meeting. I was also mildly curious to learn if little Brandon’s DNA tests revealed he could keep up with his swimming lessons.
Outside the diner, not far from the planters, where I was adding topsoil, sat a sandy-haired man, fair skin, around fifty to fifty-five years old-I could never tell anymore. He was extremely fit and attractive despite a nose that had obviously been broken and never fixed properly. If he were a woman, he’d be what the French might call jolie laide. I was amused to see a ripple of interest pass through the Main Street Moms’ tables, and I made a point of not staring at the man-he was getting enough female attention without my adding to the adoration.
A stack of real estate brochures was fanned out on the table in front of him, and he pored over the booklets with more than the casual interest of diner patrons, who generally leafed through them only after they’d ordered and were waiting for their meals to be served. He even took notes. I could imagine Gretchen Kennedy and her colleagues who filled the Free-Take-One! racks coming to blows over a buyer as motivated as this one.
For some reason I assumed he was single and so did the rest of the women, who consciously or unconsciously sat up a little straighter and spoke with their heads tilted at flattering angles. He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, although that didn’t prove anything. But straight or gay, how many guys went house shopping without wife or partner? I had to pass him three or four times carrying large bags of the mulch that I used to camouflage the nursery pots in the planters.
“May I help you?” he asked, getting up from his seat.
“No thanks,” I said, breathing heavily. “I’ve got it covered.” And I did mostly. I was out of breath but tried not to show it.
“You’re pretty strong.”
Was he checking out my muscles the way I’d been checking out his? I kept working and didn’t respond.
He dog-eared pages in the brochures and finally got up and approached one of the Moms’ tables. Despite the banged-up nose he had an elegant, catlike grace, almost like a dancer.
“Excuse me, ladies. I know this is presumptuous, but I was wondering if I might ask you a few questions about Springfield?” He fanned out the real estate brochures as if to show them he was for real.
The sea of females parted for him, and before long the women from the second table had dragged their chairs over to assist the handsome, well-spoken man. I could almost hear the gears moving as the quickly confirmed single man was being mentally seated next to divorced friends at future dinner parties.
There went my chance-I should have let him help me with the bags of mulch. I could have had first dibs on one of the only eligible men in Springfield. A sudden peal of giggles erupted from the women, who had regressed in age and maturity due to the unexpected novelty of a man in their midst-and during the day. Flirting. It was like riding a bicycle.
I finished up, stored my tools in my Jeep, and went inside. Through the window, Babe had been keeping an eye on the action outside.
“Something tells me if that guy really does buy a place around here, those girls are going to reinstate the welcome wagon, but instead of cookies and kitchen tools there’ll be rubber and latex in the goody basket.” I cleaned up and joined Babe at the counter, where a cup of coffee was waiting for me.
“He got here an hour before you did,” she said. “Had breakfast inside and about five refills on the coffee. If he doesn’t come in to pee soon, he’s going to make medical history.”
When the man first arrived, he’d asked Babe if this was the only diner in the area so many times that she was close to throwing him out, but he apologized and explained that he’d gotten the directions from a friend and just wanted to make sure he was in the right place. That’s when he began studying the real estate booklets. When the Moms arrived, he took his research outside. One of them, Becka Reynolds, was being particularly helpful.
