AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“But I don’t know how he knew certain things.”
“Like what?”
“Like he remembered Vanilla, even her name.”
“That is weird. That wouldn’t have been in any news stories. It didn’t matter.” She stopped, thinking. “Maybe he knows somebody from here? Maybe itissomebody from here? Did you ever think of that? That would make sense, wouldn’t it?”
I’d considered that, of course. “But then, where did he get the amethyst pendant? I gave it to him right before he got snatched. Remember?”
“I don’t think I do. Sorry.”
Was I losing my memory as well as my mind? I needed to get off this call. I wanted my Marc’s comforting arms and words to surround me, to make me oblivious.
“I gotta go. I need to get supper started.” But before I said my final goodbye, I said, “One last thing, Mom. And just covering the bases because I believe I already know the answer. But did they ever find a body?”
“Jeb’s? No, not that I know of.”
Then it could have been him.
“Thanks for the information. I’ll let you go. We’re still planning on coming home for Thanksgiving.”
“I can’t wait. Okay, Sammy. I’m glad you called. Try not to worry too much. I know how you are.”
“Yeah, I’ll try.”Good luck with that. “If you think of anything else about Jeb or the Klebers, or anyone who might have known them, let me know. It’s got to be someone from out there, it’s gotta be. Butwhy?” I asked the question again, a petulant whine.
“Who knows? This world gets weirder every day. You be careful now, okay? Don’t answer the door and, if this guy shows up again, pretend you’re not home. Donotlet him in.”
“I won’t.”
I wish I would have stuck to my promise.
We hung up.
Chapter 4
1986—Trudy
I
Her best friend, Punkin, was endlessly telling Trudy she should get out more. “Girl, you’re still young! But you wouldn’t know it to look at you, holed up every night in that cracker box with your boy, Sammy. Let me tell you, there’s no TV show that can compete with being in the arms of a good man.”
And now Trudy wished Punkin could see her—on her first real date in more than three years, ever since that bastard Mike O’Hara dumped her on Christmas Eve. She’d never guessed he was married. But that was a whole ‘nother story.
Tonight, Trudy was with a real gentleman. Chris Sgro was soft-spoken, polite, and attractive in a kind of nerdy, bookish way with neatly trimmed, parted-at-the-side sandy brown hair and deep brown eyes behind silver-framed glasses. Most of the guys who hit on Trudy down at The Green Mill wore old jeans, Steelers or Browns T-shirts and hoodies, steel-toed work boots, and either kept their hair long (sometimes in mullets) or military-short. They didn’t deviate much for dates, either. Dressing up meant pulling on a clean pair of jeans and sniffing the armpits of a shirt to see if it passed muster for wearing once again.
Chris was different. He dressed up for their date in a pair of pressed khakis, blue button-down shirt, sweater vest, and penny loafers. Punkin would have laughed him out of the Green Mill. Trudy could almost hear her cackling, “What a dweeb!” she’d say.
Trudy appreciated the effort Chris had gone to, not only with his clothes, but with his hygiene. Although he didn’t wear cologne, he smelled of Irish Spring and maybe a hint of eucalyptus from his shaving cream. He even sported a little gel in his hair, but only enough to make it shine.
She’d met him just last week at the A&P downtown when she was grocery shopping. Looking back, she saw how corny his approach was—but it was also kind of sweet.
“Do you know how to tell if a melon is ripe?” He held a honeydew out to her, looking helpless, but charming. She immediately liked his smile and wasn’t sure, in the moment, if this was a come-on. If it was, she didn’t mind.
She took the melon from his hands and looked it over. “It’s not about the sniffing, which is what a lot of people think. Look at the color.” She turned it a little. “See how this one is creamier yellow rather than some of those?” She pointed to the very green melons in the bin. “That’s a good sign. The other thing you want to do is press on the bottom a little bit. There should be some give. Not like your finger will break through, but it shouldn’t be rock hard.” She handed him back the melon, and he thanked her.
She’d thought he was cute and wondered why she’d never seen him before. St. Clair was small. When she shopped for groceries, she not only was on a first-name basis with most of her fellow shoppers, but also with the cashiers, deli workers, produce folks, and butchers.
She ran into him again in the parking lot. He’d repeated his gratitude for her help—and now Trudy knew for sure hewasputting the moves on her—and they’d chatted a bit as they stood by her beat-up brown Chevette and his VW van. They talked about the van, how it reminded her of one her dad had had when she was a little girl. She asked him what brought him to town.
