“Old? I guess it’s not new and shiny… but why would Audrey steal some woman’s credit card in Lakewood and then beat her to death?”
“Don’t know. The most frequent kind of credit-card fraud we have is a woman ? excuse me, Miss G.? anyway, getting her friends’ cards and signing their names to her purchases. Audrey works in Denver at the bookstore, and maybe she goes across the street to Neiman-Marcus on her break, sees some gal make a purchase, and the saleslady says, ‘Thank you, Miss Andrews,’ and Miss Andrews says, ‘You can call me Kathy.’ So maybe Audrey, who is having all these money problems, thinks of Keith Andrews, a convenient place to dump the card if things got hot. Then again, maybe all this investigating he was doing for the paper got him on her path.”
“Pretty farfetched, I’d say. I mean, you can see for yourself that we’re not exactly talking a designer wardrobe.”
He smiled grimly. “But she was at that college advisory dinner, she has some unresolved feelings about her own past and present, and maybe all that got taken out on Kathy, and then Keith, Andrews.” Again the raised eyebrows. “And she was at the cafe today when you were there with the Dawsons and Miss Ferrell. Maybe she put the spider in the drawer and it was intended for someone else, like the college counselor. Was she at the school the day Arch found the rattler in his locker?”
With a sickening feeling I remembered Audrey standing in the hall, telling me the headmaster wanted to see me. My finger ached dully. “Yes,” I said, “she was.”
Schulz asked to use my phone. When he had finished telling someone to check on Audrey Coopersmith’s vehicle and background, he turned back toward me.
“Actually, I do know a cure for black widow spider bites!’
“Now you tell me.”
“You gotta stand up first.”
“‘Tom ? ?
“You want to get better or not?”
I stood, and as soon as I had, he reached down and scooped me up in his arms.
“What are you doing?” I exclaimed when he was halfway down my front hall.
He started up the staircase. “Guess. I got the afternoon off, in case you haven’t noticed.”
In my bedroom he set me down on the bed, then kissed my finger all the way around the bite.
“Better yet?” His smile was mischievous.
“Why, I do believe I’m feeling some improvement, Officer.”
He kissed my wrist, my forearm, my elbow. A tickle of desire began at the back of my throat. It was all I could do to keep from laughing as we undressed each other, especially when my bandaged right hand made me fumble. I reached for the fleshy expanse of Schulz’s back. Only the night before, I had begun to discover hidden curves and niches there. Schulz’s warm body snuggled in next to mine. His hands lingered on my skin. Tom Schulz was the opposite of John Richard’s knobby edges and angry, thrusting force. And when it was over, I wanted him to stay in my bed and never leave.
“This is so great,” I murmured into his shoulder. “So you are feeling better.”
“It’s a miracle. No more spider bite pain. You see, Officer, I planted the black widow ? “
We went off into a fit of giggles. Then we fell silent. Schulz tucked the sheets and blanket around my neck and shoulders until not a square centimeter of cold, foreign air could penetrate the warm pouch within. Knowing that the boys were due home late, I allowed myself to drift off to sleep. My mother was probably right to be suspicious. It was nice, in fact it was delicious to be so successfully up to something with this man in my house in the middle of the day.
The sun had already begun its blazing retreat behind the mountains when I woke to see Schulz standing beside my bed. My alarm clock said 5:30.
I said quietly, “The boys here yet?”
“No. You stay put. I’m fixing dinner.” I got up anyway and took the doctor-ordered bath. As I was putting on clean clothes, trying in vain not to use my right hand, my phone rang. I dove for it, in case it was my mother. The last thing she needed was to hear Schulz’s voice ,again.
“Goldy, you degenerate.”
?Now what??
“Oh, tell me that policeman’s car has been outside your house for three hours so he can teach you about security.”
“Give me a break, Marla. I got bitten by a black widow.”
“Old news. And I’m sorry. That’s why I drove by, four times. I was worried about you. Of course, I didn’t want to interrupt anything exciting… .”
“Okay, okay. Give me a little sympathy here. You wouldn’t believe this bite I’ve got.”
“Giving you sympathy is what I hope Tom Schulz has been doing, and a whole lot more, sweetie pie. I am going to give you help tomorrow with whatever kind of catering things you’ve got going.”
“But you don’t even cook!?
Marla snorted. “After tomorrow, you’ll know why.” In the kitchen Schulz was playing country music on the radio and using a wok to steam vegetables. He had made a pasta dough that was resting, wrapped, on one of my counters, and he had grated two kinds of cheese and measured out cream and white wine.
“Fettuccine Schulz,” he informed me as he jiggled the wok’s steamer tray. “How hard is it to make pasta in this machine? That dough’s ready.”
I put a pasta plate on my large mixer and Schulz rolled the dough into walnut-sized pieces. Just as the machine began producing golden ribbons of fettuccine, we heard the boys trudging up the porch steps.
I felt a pang of sudden nervousness. “What’s our story?”
“Story for what?” He laid out handfuls of pasta to dry. “You got bitten and I’m helping out. They’re not going to say, Well, did you guys make love all afternoon? If they do, I’ll say” ? he put his big hands around my waist and swung me around ? “yes, yes, yes, I’m trying to force this woman to marry me by making mad passionate love to her at least once a day.”
The door opened and I squealed at him in panic. He put me down lightly, looking unrepentant. I glanced around hastily for something to do. Julian and Arch rushed into the room, then stopped, gazing in silent awe at the masses of flowers.”
?Gosh,” murmured Julian, a news sure travels fast in this town. All this for a spider bite?”
I didn’t answer. Arch was giving me half a hug with one arm while keeping his other hand free to hold up my bandaged area and examine it. He pulled back and regarded me from behind his tortoiseshell-framed glasses.
“Are you okay??
“Of course.”
He closed one eye in appraisal. “But something’s going on. Sure it wasn’t anything worse than a spider bite, Mom? I mean, all these flowers. Are you sick?”
“Arch! For heaven’s sake, I’m fine. Go wash your hands and get ready for dinner.”
Saved by the chore. To my surprise, they both sprinted out, calling back and forth about the work they were going to do together that night. Julian had volunteered to help Arch construct a model of the Dawn Treader. Then they were going to go over Arch’s social studies homework. After the moon set, they were going to look for the Milky Way. Amazing.
When they came downstairs we all delved into the pasta. The velvety fettuccine was bathed in a rich cheese sauce studded with carrots, onions, broccoli, and luscious sun-dried tomatoes. It was not until we were eating the dessert, the final batch of leftover Red ‘n’ Whites, that Arch dropped his bombshell.
“Oh,” he said without preliminaries. “I finally thought of something that someone warned me not to tattle about.” We all stopped talking, and held cookies in mid-bite. Arch looked at each of us with a rueful smile. He was a great one for dramatic effect.
“Well, you know Mr. Schlichtmaier is kind of short and stocky? He works out. I mean with weights. I’ve seen him over at the rec center.”
“Yes,” I said, impatient. “So?”
“Well, one day I asked him if he used steroids to pump himself up.”
“Arch!” I was shocked. “Why in the world would you do something like that?”
Schulz and Julian couldn’t help it; they dropped their cookies and started laughing.
