librarian disappeared around a bookshelf, Suzanne wiped the sweat from her forehead and tugged her shirt over her bulging tummy. “I can go to the courthouse and see if I can figure out what Mary Margret was looking for. When we get together tonight for midnight shopping, I’ll let you know if I find anything.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Ginger looped her arm through Kindra’s elbow. “Come on, kiddo; you and I are going to 112 Fremont for starters.” Ginger headed toward the door. Renewed hope put an extra spring in her step.
Earl stood in the driveway between his workshop and the house. He cocked his head to one side and rubbed his chin. He had closed the door to the house and yet, there it stood, open. He made his way across the gravel and up the front stairs. He examined the knob and keyhole area. A person wouldn’t have to break in. He never locked the door when he went out to the shop. Shrugging off his suspicions, he stepped into the kitchen.
He found the Tupperware container of food Ginger had labeled and put in the fridge for him and placed it in the microwave. She had left earlier in the day to go to the library, taking Phoebe with her. The image of Phoebe perched in the booster seat made him smile. Whoever heard of a cat that liked riding in a car? He knew Ginger was gone because she had tacked a note for him on the fridge. They seemed to be leaving notes for each other a lot.
He noticed the number one blinking on the answering machine and pushed the button. A woman said, “Hi, Ginger; this is Officer Tammy Welstad. I have some news about your friend, but I need to tell you in person. I will come by your place after I work out; I should be there a little after eight tonight. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll assume that will be okay. I know you might still be upset at me, but this is important.” The woman left her number and then hung up. Would Ginger even want to talk to Officer Welstad?
The microwave dinged, and he pulled the steaming lasagna out. The aroma of Italian spices swirled around the kitchen. He and Ginger weren’t even having meals together much anymore. He was eating at weird times. He’d get so wrapped up in his project that he’d forget to come into the house until the growling of his stomach got louder than his power tools.
He needed to make an effort to come in at mealtimes. Maybe that was what she had been trying to say to him when she brought his meal to the shop the other night. Women were funny. They never came right out and said what they wanted, and yet they expected a guy to know. Early in their marriage, Earl had realized that almost everything Ginger said to him would be in some kind of code. After all these years, he still hadn’t broken the code.
Earl grabbed a fork and wandered into the family room.
He still couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that someone had been in the house. Furniture wasn’t overturned. No drawers hung open. No catalogs cluttered the floor. It was more a sense that things seemed slightly askew. Ginger was an extremely organized and tidy person. The bills were spread across the desk, not in her usual neat pile. The couch cushion as well looked like it had been pulled out and pushed back in a hurry.
Earl shook his head and dismissed the thought. What did they have that would be worth stealing? He sat in his easy chair and clicked on the TV so he could give the FOX News commentators his two cents’ worth.
He glanced down at the stack of self-help books he’d borrowed from Robert. The one that said women were from another planet he’d grabbed by mistake, thinking it was a science fiction book. The others, though, Robert had handpicked from his shelf. None of them had been much help. He was looking for a chart or a table that explained when a woman does X, it means Y.
He had spent nearly forty years with Ginger, he loved her more than anything, and yet sometimes he felt like she was speaking Russian. Maybe it was just the loss of Mary
“Sounds like a plan.” Ginger looped her arm through Kindra’s elbow. “Come on, kiddo; you and I are going to 112 Fremont for starters.” Ginger headed toward the door. Renewed hope put an extra spring in her step.
Earl stood in the driveway between his workshop and the house. He cocked his head to one side and rubbed his chin. He had closed the door to the house and yet, there it stood, open. He made his way across the gravel and up the front stairs. He examined the knob and keyhole area. A person wouldn’t have to break in. He never locked the door when he went out to the shop. Shrugging off his suspicions, he stepped into the kitchen.
He found the Tupperware container of food Ginger had labeled and put in the fridge for him and placed it in the microwave. She had left earlier in the day to go to the library, taking Phoebe with her. The image of Phoebe perched in the booster seat made him smile. Whoever heard of a cat that liked riding in a car? He knew Ginger was gone because she had tacked a note for him on the fridge. They seemed to be leaving notes for each other a lot.
He noticed the number one blinking on the answering machine and pushed the button. A woman said, “Hi, Ginger; this is Officer Tammy Welstad. I have some news about your friend, but I need to tell you in person. I will come by your place after I work out; I should be there a little after eight tonight. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll assume that will be okay. I know you might still be upset at me, but this is important.” The woman left her number and then hung up. Would Ginger even want to talk to Officer Welstad?
The microwave dinged, and he pulled the steaming lasagna out. The aroma of Italian spices swirled around the kitchen. He and Ginger weren’t even having meals together much anymore. He was eating at weird times. He’d get so wrapped up in his project that he’d forget to come into the house until the growling of his stomach got louder than his power tools.
He needed to make an effort to come in at mealtimes. Maybe that was what she had been trying to say to him when she brought his meal to the shop the other night. Women were funny. They never came right out and said what they wanted, and yet they expected a guy to know. Early in their marriage, Earl had realized that almost everything Ginger said to him would be in some kind of code. After all these years, he still hadn’t broken the code.
Earl grabbed a fork and wandered into the family room.
He still couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that someone had been in the house. Furniture wasn’t overturned. No drawers hung open. No catalogs cluttered the floor. It was more a sense that things seemed slightly askew. Ginger was an extremely organized and tidy person. The bills were spread across the desk, not in her usual neat pile. The couch cushion as well looked like it had been pulled out and pushed back in a hurry.
Earl shook his head and dismissed the thought. What did they have that would be worth stealing? He sat in his easy chair and clicked on the TV so he could give the FOX News commentators his two cents’ worth.
He glanced down at the stack of self-help books he’d borrowed from Robert. The one that said women were from another planet he’d grabbed by mistake, thinking it was a science fiction book. The others, though, Robert had handpicked from his shelf. None of them had been much help. He was looking for a chart or a table that explained when a woman does X, it means Y.
He had spent nearly forty years with Ginger, he loved her more than anything, and yet sometimes he felt like she was speaking Russian. Maybe it was just the loss of Mary
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