Diane Davidson - Sticks & Scones

“Tom’s ex-fiancée? What are you talking about?”

“Her name is Sara Beth O’Malley. She was a nurse who supposedly died at the end of the Vietnam war.”

“What?”

“She reportedly died in a helo crash on the Mekong Delta, but she didn’t. I’m telling you, she’s not dead. She sent him e-mails.” I gulped. “And she was watching our house, too.”

“Watching the house? When? Did you tell the police?”

I tore my gaze away from his face: His concern and love tugged at my heart. Outside, the moat reflected the sky. “I told the investigators a woman was there, not who she was.”

He plopped into one of Eliot’s leather armchairs and softened his tone. “When did you first think this woman wasn’t dead?”

“After Tom was shot, he said, ‘I don’t love her.’ Then he passed out. Since he got out of surgery, he hasn’t talked about who he meant. I’m not even sure he remembers saying anything.” I felt blood seep into my cheeks.

“And you saw this same woman outside the house?”

“Trudy next door saw her first, the morning after our window was shattered. This woman parked outside our house and kept staring at it. I tried to talk to her, but she refused to talk to me. She just took off. From old photographs, I thought she looked just like an older version of the woman Tom was once engaged to. She’s very pretty… And her name’s Sara Beth O’Malley. Those old photographs? Signed just like the recent e-mails: ‘S.B.’”

“So she didn’t die over there. Incredible. And now she’s back. But why?”

“According to her e-mail, she’s here to get supplies. To get her teeth fixed. To hook up with her old flame. All of the above, or none. Besides e-mails from her, there was one from the State Department. Tom had written them to see if there’d been any old or new reports of Sara Beth O’Malley surviving the attack that supposedly killed her. State said no.”

Julian was pensive. “Goldy … do you want me to ask Tom about it?”

“No!” My hands clenched. “I just don’t know what to do.”

Julian stood, picked up the top tray, then moved a silver place setting and the coffeepot to the bottom tray. Using tongs, he transferred one of the miniature Bundt cakes to a small plate, then set out a place mat and silverware on the desk.

He hefted up the tray and studied me a moment. “Boss, you’ve got a sleep debt the size of a jumbo mortgage. You need to rest, have something to eat, wait until you can think again. There’s too much going on to keep it all straight. Why don’t you just concentrate on Tom, Arch, and our catering jobs this week? We’ll get Tom better, then we’ll ask him.” When I said nothing, he headed for the door. “Look,” he said over his shoulder, “how ‘bout I tell Tom about one of my old high-school girlfriends who showed up at C.U. We broke up and she got cancer, supposedly. Then it turns out she got better and decided to go to college, where she looked me up.” He balanced the tray and opened the door. “See what he says.”

“An old girlfriend of yours? With cancer? Is that true?”

He flashed a smile back at me. “I wouldn’t tell you, Miss Nosy, if it was.” “Thanks, Julian.”

“Don’t mention it.” I swigged the rich coffee, spooned up the yogurt, downed half of the succulent cake, licked my fingers, and redialed the Furman County Schools’ central office. After maneuvering through the options network, I was finally connected to an administrator in charge of student medical care.

“I’m from Aspen Meadow, and I’m looking for a school nurse named Connie Oliver,” I began pleasantly. “I need to check on an outbreak of strep.”

When I was put on hold, I scanned Eliot’s elegant office. To the right of the glowing bay window, Chardé had placed an Oriental-style silk screen. On the other, I noticed, was a molding-framed opening. With sudden recognition, I realized it was one of those wall indentations that indicated a garderobe. Sheesh! Those medieval folks must have had to go to the bathroom a lot –

“What strep outbreak?” I was rudely asked. I’d almost forgotten I was on the phone.

“It was reported in January at our middle school,” I shot back. I knew about the strep outbreak from the Mountain Journal. After several more long minutes of holding, the administrator returned.

“We can’t search the medical files over the phone.”

“That’s all right. If I could just speak to Nurse Oliver, we could clear up the question of my son’s medication. She treated him.”

“Without the files, Ms. Oliver cannot be expected - “

“Don’t worry, I’ll take the responsibility!” I replied, trying to sound chipper. “I just want to chat for a sec, if she’s available. Do you know which schools she’ll be visiting today?”

A sigh. “Ms. Oliver will be overseeing vision tests at Fox Meadows Elementary from ten-thirty to noon,” the woman informed me tartly. “Please identify yourself at the school office before seeking her out.” She hung up before I could thank her.

Bureaucrats!

I finished the last of the luscious cake and considered what to do next. It was quarter to nine. I needed to work out the prep for the next day’s lunch and then check on Tom. And of course we all had to eat tonight, so there was also dinner for six to consider. But not yet. First, I had to think.

The drawers to Eliot’s desk were not locked. With only a slight pang of guilt-if he didn’t want folks going through his drawers, he’d lock them, right? - I rummaged for a clean sheet of paper. One drawer yielded pamphlets from conference centers across the country. Under that lay a legal pad filled with painstaking notes comparing prices, accommodations, and length of stay. Apparently, Eliot had no truck with computers, which could have produced such a spreadsheet in seconds. There was no blank paper. The next drawer held worn, slightly dusty pamphlets: Medieval Castles and Their Secrets. Have Your Wedding at Hyde Chapel! And A Brief Tour of Hyde Castle. There were also several copies of the audiotape Eliot had been urging me to listen to: The History of the Labyrinth. I slipped one of the audiotapes in my sweater pocket, then rifled through the pamphlets: There were between six and ten banded copies of each one, so I helped myself to one of each - the better to know the place where I was doing my job, I rationalized - then stuck them in my pocket, too. Finally, I went back to the first drawer and ripped a clean sheet of paper from the back of the legal pad.

CHRONOLOGY, I wrote at the top of the page.

1. January 1. The Lauderdales, in financial trouble, have New Year’s party. Buddy shakes baby. I call cops. The Lauderdales swear revenge.

2. January 15. Valuable stamps - easily fenced in the Far East - are stolen from FedEx truck. The driver is killed. Witnesses say there were three robbers. Peter Balachek has a heart attack.

3. January 20. Frightened, worried that his father will die, Andy Balachek identifies himself to Tom as one of the truck-hijacking gang. Andy tries to make a plea deal. Tells Tom where Ray Wolff will be.

4. January 22. Tom arrests Ray Wolff on Andy’s tip. In another e-mail, Andy refuses to give location of valuable stamps.

5. January 24. Andy sends a third e-mail to Tom, saying he has a stake and is going to Atlantic City to gamble. Tom takes off for New Jersey.

6. February 6. Andy calls me from Central City, desperate to talk to Tom. John Richard Korman gets out of jail early. He immediately hooks up with his new girlfriend, Ray Wolff’s old lover, who is also Eliot Hyde’s old lover, Viv Martini. He has told Arch he’s going to buy an expensive present for Viv.

7. February 9. Our window is shot out.

8. February 9. I find Andy’s dead body in the creek, near Hyde Chapel, where I’m supposed to cater later in the day. Andy had an electric shock, then was shot and killed. Tom is shot.