We were quiet while I tried to take the focus off Laura and put it onto myself. The lights flickered again.
“That reminds me,” I said. “What about the unrequited love you were claiming for her?”
“I’m checking around. Looking into it. Has to do with the beekeeping Ice Man, though, I can tell you that. I just have to find someone who’s been close to him to confirm the rumor.”
I said, “Nothing ever works.”
Marla wiped her mouth. “Oh, stop complaining.” She winked at me. “Tell you what, you can complain now that our two-person meeting is underway. It’s your turn, anyway.”
I said, “Already?” then sighed while I thought. “I’ve been kind of bitchy lately, I guess,” I said. Marla was silent. “At first I thought it was the business—having it closed down. Or Laura.” I looked around. “Arch is acting strange, obviously. And John Richard is getting married—”
“Again,” Marla said in disgust.
“Third time’s the charm,” I said dryly.
More silence.
“I’ve had this … I went out,” I said, as if my date had been with a mass murderer. Marla looked noncommittal.
“The last thing I want to do is date,” I said. “That’s not even the word they use anymore, is it? You go out for dinner and then have casual sex, right? Well, forget that. Except for asking Pomeroy to eat pizza with us, I haven’t looked for male companionship at all. And Pom ignored me.”
“Hmm,” said Marla, in her knowing way. “Part of what I’ve heard about him is that he is, or was, very hung up on his ex-wife.”
“Anyway,” I said, “about going out. I did want a relationship. I just didn’t want the potential hassle.” I drained my sherry glass. “And then along comes this cop. Schulz. My business is a wreck, my eleven-year-old is acting strange, the man I used to love is marrying a geometry teacher, and I’m a prime suspect in attempted murder. This cop comes along, and … he likes me! Sheesh!”
Marla said, “You’re not that repulsive, silly.”
“Fine,” I replied. “But I want to be honest, right? I mean, I was dead set against acting nice and sweet and this-could-be-the-start-of-something-great, just to get my business reopened. He’s my age, so maybe he doesn’t believe in the casual-sex lifestyle. Maybe he doesn’t even use the word
I stopped to pour myself some coffee.
Marla said, “Do men brood and worry about all these possibilities the way we do? I doubt it. Anyway, what’s the bottom line here?”
“I told you,” I said. “I’m just afraid that I’m not being very nice to him because I don’t know how I feel about him. I wanted Pomeroy, but maybe it was because I knew he would give me the Ice routine. No risk there. But Schulz likes me, he likes Arch, he likes—loves—food. All good.”
Marla said, “Pomeroy is unhappily divorced. He lives out in the middle of nowhere. I think he’s got a screw loose. Negative lifestyle, babe.”
“That’s just great,” I said. “Maybe during the three months they worked together, he gave Arch the go-ahead on being weird.”
“Look,” said Marla, “don’t worry about Arch. Don’t worry about Pomeroy. If Schulz likes you, go with it. I mean I know we’re not supposed to give advice, but this is getting kind of long and involved, my dear, when you haven’t even had the second date. You—”
Before she could finish, the lights went out.
“What the hell,” I muttered.
“Bring out the candles,” Marla demanded. “We’re talking about men anyway, might as well make it romantic.”
“Hold on. They’re back here in the china cabinet,” I said, while grunting along on all fours. I felt inside the cabinet, lit a match, and then three candles. A breath of fall air from an open window made shadows move across the walls.
“Hey,” she said, “I’m looking at your next door neighbor’s house and across the street, and everyone still has power. Looks like you’re the unlucky one. I’ll take one of these candles out to the kitchen and call Public Service.”
“Wait,” I said. My own voice trailed off as I listened for another one.
“Mom,” came Arch’s voice from nearby. “Mom?”
“Arch?” I called. “Do you know what’s going on?”
“The thing didn’t work!” Arch’s voice exploded behind me. He had come into the dining room, but he was hard to see with the black face and the waving light from the candle.
“So what is this,” I demanded, “some terrorist routine?”
“Of course not!” he said. “I was trying to hook up an alarm system to our house. One of the stupid fuses blew.”
“And why is your face black?”
“That’s part of it. Don’t you see? You have to be secretive about these things if you really don’t want people to know. You get in disguise, then you wire the place up. Don’t you even care about living in a safer place?”
“Of course I do,” I began, “but—”
“Don’t worry about it,” he interrupted, and I felt bad for being cross at him. “Todd knows how to replace a fuse. I’ll call him and he’ll be right over.” He took a candle so he could see the phone and disappeared as quickly as he’d come in.
“Good Lord,” said Marla. “Maybe we should be seeking a wee bit of professional help.”
I didn’t say anything because I couldn’t think of anything.
“Oh well,” said Marla, “where were we?”
I found my voice. “You were telling me, Marla, that I shouldn’t be worried about Arch.”
CHAPTER 14
The next day was Friday. With the early conference with Arch’s teacher, one house to clean, and a driving lesson with Patty Sue and Pom, the day looked as unpromising as the ominous morning clouds spilling like oatmeal over the hills of the Wildlife Preserve. A frost had turned the streets to glass. Foreseeing slippery-road delays meant leaving early, just after I served Arch his French toast.
He talked to me briefly when the soaked bread was beginning to sizzle. I pointed out to him that I was able to cook with electric power thanks to Todd’s deftness with fuses. Arch told me he had bought the alarm system from a radio store with his own money, and he was going to return it.
“But what I can’t understand,” I said when he was pushing the last bite through a puddle of syrup, “is why you thought we needed it.”
“Oh Mom, you’re giving me such a hard time,” he said with his mouth full. He ran off to brush his teeth and gather his things, then came back to announce, “Other people have them, you know. It’s not a crime.” Then he rushed out to meet Todd before the bus arrived.
Ten minutes later the van skidded and spewed gravel at the entrance to the teachers’ parking lot. The vehicle seemed to be as apprehensive as I was at the prospect of a teacher conference.
“Miss Heath?” I asked as I pushed through the sixth-grade door festooned with construction-paper pumpkins. Bats and spiders made from black paper and pipe cleaners hung from the ceiling of the classroom: late October in an elementary school.
Globular blue eyes set in a pale triangular face caught me from across the room, and I walked obediently through the maze of pupils’ desks toward the teacher’s table. Janet Heath, fettuccine in the aerobics class, was now comfortably ensconced in a billowing black Indian-embroidered tent dress. With her pale blond hair tied up in a ballerina topknot, she had the aspect of a kindly but powerful witch.
We had agreed to a 7:45 meeting to have enough time for a long chat before the students came in. Fixing Arch’s breakfast but missing my own now brought on a wave of queasiness.
When I had finished winding my way through undersized chairs and ducking dangling spiders, I remembered something else. Miss Heath was the one who had found Laura Smiley that fateful Monday afternoon. How she had reacted to finding the body I could not imagine, and did not want to on an empty stomach.
