“I’m not sure what time it was when I saw the truck, but it was just after the rain started.”
“And what truck was that?”
I described the truck but had no information on the vehicle that knocked me into the woods.
“The center closes at three, but a few local businesses have the keys,” Rudy said. “They get special permission from the town, ‘cause they drop off a lot of stuff and they’re too busy during regular hours.” He seemed disappointed I hadn’t been observing aliens or waiting for the mother ship to pick me up.
The cops were satisfied with this explanation, but they, too, looked like they were waiting for another, more outlandish story from me. When, exactly, had I turned into the town loony?
“I didn’t hear any bottles or cans,” I said lamely.
“Maybe it was catalogs, dear,” one of the Sunnyview residents volunteered. “We get so many of them.”
“What if somebody was dumping something they didn’t want anyone to see?” I said, convincing no one. Not even myself.
“We’ll make sure the lock’s not broken, but if they had the key, there’s nothing illegal about accidentally leaving a gate open,” Smythe said.
Guzman was kinder. “What exactly do you think you saw?”
I was uncharacteristically speechless.
“Is there anything else you can tell us about the truck?”
I was grateful she didn’t just blow me off, and I described the truck as best as I could.
“It’s not much to go on. No name on the truck, no plate numbers, probably green, but not sure… tarp in the back.” She reread the list of my useless observations.
I was a lousy witness. I tried to recall anything else, any small detail. I closed my eyes to get a mental picture. In the background, I heard one of the codgers whisper, “What is she doing? Is she going to sleep? Luann Barnhart did that at dinner the other night.”
“The mud flaps had pictures of women on them. You know, hot pants, legs in the air.” I’d just described every other truck in America. I knew how it sounded. I’d staked out a conscientious nursery worker who grumbled about working late. What did I expect them to do, put out an all points bulletin?
“I can find out who’s got keys to the recycling center, but unless we can prove it was someone not on that list, you’re the only one here who’s actually done anything illegal. Technically,” she said, “you were trespassing on Sunnyview property.”
“No, she wasn’t. She’s my guest.” Inez from the thrift shop stepped out of the crowd, happy to be part of the drama. Just as Inez was bailing me out, a black Lexus pulled up, and Hillary Gibson and Gerald Fraser joined the circus on the nursing home’s porch.
The cops were relieved to be let off the hook, and my entertainment value was fading, so the crowd broke up. I could hold my own against bingo but would lose every time against ice cream sundaes, which was the next course in Sunnyview’s dining room.
“Take care of yourself, dear,” Inez said. “She’s one of my best customers,” she said to the others, ushering them back into the building. She’d probably dine on the story for weeks.
“Are you following us?” Gerald asked, once everyone else had gone.
“Of course not. Just a little extracurricular activity that went nowhere.”
“You look like you’re freezing,” Hillary said, looking me over. She took off her large woolen shawl and wrapped it around me. “I’m taking you home.”
CHAPTER 42
Hillary’s car was not like my Jeep-no plastic water bottles littering the floor, no stray CDs in the wrong jewel cases, no coffee splashes on the gearbox. I held myself in tightly so as not to sully her vehicle.
“Are you warm enough?” she asked.
I nodded, but it came out like a shiver, so she turned up the heat on my side.
She drove aggressively for an older woman, with none of the nose- peering- over- the- steering- wheel, hands- frozen- at- 10:10 timidity of most of her generation. We got to my place fast.
“Thanks for the lift.” I peeled off her shawl, folded it, and placed it on the passenger seat.
“You’re welcome.” She seemed in no great hurry to leave.
“Would you like to come in for a drink or something before you head home?”
“I’d like that.”
She parked the car and followed me in.
“What a charming house.”
“It’s getting there. I’m too much of a pack rat. Sometimes I look around and think, What is all this stuff?“
“They’re things you enjoy. That’s very different from acquisition merely for the sake of acquisition.”
I guessed she was thinking of her former husband. I put the water on for tea and excused myself to change into dry clothes.
When I got back Hillary was checking out my bookshelf, leafing through the copy of Culpeper’s Herbal I’d borrowed from Dorothy Peacock. She saw me and replaced the book on the shelf.
“Quite a collection you’ve got,” she said, still scanning the shelves but tactfully not confronting me about the pilfered book.
“I’m always on the lookout.” I walked past her into the kitchen, where I set our tea on an old painted tray and brought it into the living room.
“Not very elegant, I’m afraid, but it should chase the chill away.”
“It’s perfect, thank you. The Peacock sisters had an extensive gardening library.”
“Yes, I know. I spent a few hours there. Ms. Gibson, I didn’t steal that book, I just borrowed it.”
“I didn’t think you had. I’ve borrowed a book or two from them myself.”
“There may be a few that are quite valuable-I’ve told Richard,” I said.
“Oh, I don’t think there’s much you can tell Dick Stapley about that house. He even worked there one summer. The bluestone wall with the pear trees? Richard built that himself.”
“Margery mentioned it. It certainly has held up, I’ll give him that,” I said. “Maybe he thinks it gives him something in common with Winston Churchill; although I’m pretty sure Churchill used brick.”
“If it does, it’s the only thing they’ve got in common,” she said. “You’ve inadvertently brought back a lot of memories to some of the people in this town. Some good-” She wavered.
“Some bad?” I interrupted. I kicked myself for not letting her finish.
“I was going to say ‘uncomfortable.’ “
This time I was patient.
“You said you’ve spent some time in the Peacocks’ library. Were you looking for anything in particular?” she asked.
“Should I be?”
“No wonder Gerald likes you. You’re alike,” she said with a sly smile. She looked me straight in the eye as she spoke. “I didn’t believe for a minute that one of the sisters was the mother, but I didn’t want their names dragged through the mud. Then Gerald went off again on his Yoly Rivera obsession and you encouraged him.”
Oh, shit. I felt a lecture coming on.
“Please don’t misunderstand me. Gerald has always been pigheaded. No one could make him do anything he didn’t want to do. But now that it seems the baby has nothing to do with Yoly, why not drop it?”
She was right. Given everything I knew-or thought I knew-about the Peacocks, they’d probably want to protect the mother, even if it meant tongues would wag about them. After all, gossip couldn’t hurt them now.
Hillary got to the point. “Gerald says the two of you are planning to talk to Margery. I’ve tried to talk him out of it. I know I don’t have the right to ask,” she continued, “but I wish you wouldn’t.” She chose her words carefully. “Margery’s fragile; she’s had a hard time.”