mention of balloons and was now craning her neck, looking toward the front of the store on the opposite side. "Balloons might be with the toys, we’ll have to check. But I was thinking we might get some of those fold-out table decorations with the honeycomb centers too. Merline got a whole bunch of little pink rabbits at Easter time for her grandchildren that she thought were awfully cute. I think something like that would dress up the place, not rabbits, of course, but flowers or something. Oh, and tablecloths. We surely can’t forget those." She handed the two round cakes to Deputy Max then scurried, presumably, toward the paper goods section. "And wouldn’t it be nice if they matched."
Oh, wouldn’t it. My credit card shook in my billfold. I liked it much better when I did the selecting myself. Alone. I smiled an encouraging little smile to the deputy. "Shouldn’t take much longer."
The look on his face said "fat chance," but Deputy Max followed stoically, carrying the cakes--carrot stacked on top of chocolate. His mustache twitched, his eyes darted this way and that, and he approached every aisle as if it were an enemy hideout. I guess he was trying to make sure somebody didn’t nail me in the United grocery store--or maybe he just didn’t want anyone to see him aiding and abetting the Jackson Gang. Probably a little of both.
The store was on the large side and the bakery department was tucked in the back left corner, whereas the cards and paper goods were on the far right side toward the front. Creative merchandising run amok.
As we walked along, I got into the rhythm of things, turning my head to check out the aisle right along with the deputy. On my third look-see down the rows, I screeched to a stop. "Wait! I know her."
Deputy Max stopped and we stood there staring at an attractive dark-haired woman about fifty years old. She was engrossed in coffee beans, but I still had a good look at her face. Yes, she looked familiar, very familiar, but didn’t they all? I did a quick movie star review, but Linda Gray from the old Dallas show was the closest I could come up with and that wasn’t very darn close. "Sorry," I said to the deputy. "I thought I recognized her."
Why that was a big deal or why we had to stop to see, I didn’t know. I guess I was just a little more skittish than I wanted to admit--or maybe curious. "This sort of thing has been happening a lot lately."
I took a step forward, but the woman called my name. My head automatically snapped back toward her. The voice. High and mousy with a lilt that tried for sophistication, but got all tangled up in a tinny Texas twang. It was a voice no one could forget. And it belonged unmistakably to my old pseudo-English teacher, Sharon Addleman.
Great, just great. Now what was I supposed to do, say, "Read any good romance books lately?" or was "Sorry I almost got you fired twenty-five years ago" more to the point? I settled for "Hi."
Sharon speed-walked her basket to the end of the aisle, closing the distance between us to an uncomfortable three feet. "I’d heard you were in town."
How do people hear these things? Is there a camera at the city line that sends out an alert when my face is recognized, what? "Really?"
"Actually, Russell told me. Russell Clements. He said he talked to you at the falls yesterday, although I didn’t necessarily know whether to believe him or not."
"Well, he got that one right." The reference was to Russell’s well-known drug problems, meaning he used to say a lot of things that weren’t necessarily so, except maybe in his own hallucinogenic mind. "He told me he’s on the straight and narrow these days, and seemed pretty proud of it."
"Yes, well, Russell still isn’t quite in touch with reality on a full-time basis, but he is doing better."
"So, you’ve kept in touch since he graduated?"
She paused for a second then said, "I keep up with a few old students who are still in the area, not the Holt boy, however. Very
Oh, wouldn’t it. My credit card shook in my billfold. I liked it much better when I did the selecting myself. Alone. I smiled an encouraging little smile to the deputy. "Shouldn’t take much longer."
The look on his face said "fat chance," but Deputy Max followed stoically, carrying the cakes--carrot stacked on top of chocolate. His mustache twitched, his eyes darted this way and that, and he approached every aisle as if it were an enemy hideout. I guess he was trying to make sure somebody didn’t nail me in the United grocery store--or maybe he just didn’t want anyone to see him aiding and abetting the Jackson Gang. Probably a little of both.
The store was on the large side and the bakery department was tucked in the back left corner, whereas the cards and paper goods were on the far right side toward the front. Creative merchandising run amok.
As we walked along, I got into the rhythm of things, turning my head to check out the aisle right along with the deputy. On my third look-see down the rows, I screeched to a stop. "Wait! I know her."
Deputy Max stopped and we stood there staring at an attractive dark-haired woman about fifty years old. She was engrossed in coffee beans, but I still had a good look at her face. Yes, she looked familiar, very familiar, but didn’t they all? I did a quick movie star review, but Linda Gray from the old Dallas show was the closest I could come up with and that wasn’t very darn close. "Sorry," I said to the deputy. "I thought I recognized her."
Why that was a big deal or why we had to stop to see, I didn’t know. I guess I was just a little more skittish than I wanted to admit--or maybe curious. "This sort of thing has been happening a lot lately."
I took a step forward, but the woman called my name. My head automatically snapped back toward her. The voice. High and mousy with a lilt that tried for sophistication, but got all tangled up in a tinny Texas twang. It was a voice no one could forget. And it belonged unmistakably to my old pseudo-English teacher, Sharon Addleman.
Great, just great. Now what was I supposed to do, say, "Read any good romance books lately?" or was "Sorry I almost got you fired twenty-five years ago" more to the point? I settled for "Hi."
Sharon speed-walked her basket to the end of the aisle, closing the distance between us to an uncomfortable three feet. "I’d heard you were in town."
How do people hear these things? Is there a camera at the city line that sends out an alert when my face is recognized, what? "Really?"
"Actually, Russell told me. Russell Clements. He said he talked to you at the falls yesterday, although I didn’t necessarily know whether to believe him or not."
"Well, he got that one right." The reference was to Russell’s well-known drug problems, meaning he used to say a lot of things that weren’t necessarily so, except maybe in his own hallucinogenic mind. "He told me he’s on the straight and narrow these days, and seemed pretty proud of it."
"Yes, well, Russell still isn’t quite in touch with reality on a full-time basis, but he is doing better."
"So, you’ve kept in touch since he graduated?"
She paused for a second then said, "I keep up with a few old students who are still in the area, not the Holt boy, however. Very
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