“You seem to have lots of friends in this town, too. Are you happy here, Mom?”
“Yes, I am,” I said carefully, camera hanging down, not quite sure where she was going with this.
“That’s good.”
I wanted to broach the subject of how to make Sarah happy, too. I opened my mouth, but before I could find the right words, the doorbell rang and our token male on the street, Chris Paxson from the bicycle shop, walked in.
After I introduced him to Sarah, I apologized for the state of the MALE box. It was sadly depleted from Martha’s shift the day before.
“Actually I’m looking for a gift for my mother,” he said.
Sarah hopped down from her stool. “Here, I’ll show you around.”
Chris followed her, transfixed. I think he’d have bought the phone book if she’d shown it to him. I was poised, ready to step in, but as I listened, it sounded like she was doing fine. Maybe she’d absorbed more knowledge about the store than she’d realized.
I peeked at the computer screen. The flyer was perfect. A collage of the photos of children’s accessories for sale, superimposed over a watermarked photo of the store, featuring a Raggedy Ann in a rocking chair, who seemed to welcome guests in. The font she’d selected was an antique child’s picture book style, but still easy to read. I shook my head at her innate creativity. I’d have wrestled with this all afternoon.
I looked out of the store’s front display windows to see Martha trying to parallel park. She drove a white 1977 Lincoln Continental that was about half a city block long. The backseat with its opera lights in the corners was so expansive you could stretch your legs all the way straight out, and then some. I’d ridden in it once, but only once. That was enough.
The unfortunate neighbor who lived opposite her house had a mailbox that had started off normal size but, after the number of times Martha had backed straight out of her driveway and plowed it down, was now about two feet off the ground after numerous replantings. The mailman was threatening not to deliver mail to it anymore.
After several tries Martha finally left the car angled halfway up on the sidewalk.
Chris chose the inlaid rosewood sewing box, which would have been my first choice anyway. It really was a beautiful piece. I added a packet of vintage needles and a silver thimble as a treat. He chatted with Sarah while I rang up the purchase and put it into one of my signature shopping bags with its peacock blue grosgrain drawstring.
“Nice parking job,” I called out as the door crashed open and a wild-eyed Martha strode in.
“Good God, that doll gives me a funny turn every time I come in, it’s like a steam bath out there, where the hell were you this morning, did you get the scones?” She sucked in a long shuddering breath.
“Yes, thank you,” I said meekly.
“Can you believe this horrendous humidity? I hope it improves by the weekend. That auction house isn’t air-conditioned, you know. Just a few stupid ceiling fans.”
Martha glared at the three of us. “I’m telling you right now, that poky little snack bar will be hotter than the inside of a pizza oven. I’ll be sweating like a hooker in church.”
Chris Paxson, intelligent male that he was, quickly said his farewells, and with one last longing look at Sarah, he left.
“Martha, forget about the heat for a second,” I pleaded. “I have news.”
I explained my brilliant theory about the oil change and the truck, and going to see the detective. “And the worst thing is, are you ready for this, the guy that Angus beat up was Ramsbottom’s father.”
“No!” Sarah and Martha exclaimed in unison.
“Angus is screwed, then.” Martha lifted her heavy mane of red hair and stood in front of the vent blowing cold air, moaning in relief.
“This is a family store, thank you very much. Watch the language.” Eleanor appeared as if by magic.
I poured Eleanor a cup of coffee. “Apparently Ramsbottom Senior hit his wife across the face when they were coming out of the movies one night. Angus saw that and just lost it. The guy was never quite right afterwards, and had a terrible accident with a combine harvester a few years later. And while it might not be fair, I think Ramsbottom blames Angus for his father’s eventual death, too.”
Eleanor gracefully accepted the cup with her long slender fingers. She could drink coffee all day long and sleep like a baby. “Wonder if the father beat Junior as well?”
I stared at her. “You know, I didn’t think about that, but I should have. When I was teaching, I’d suspect some students had abusive parents. I’d want to help, but the odd thing was, if the police ever got involved, the kids were ready to defend the parents to the end.”