Part 9 (1/2)
”It's that sort of day,” said Bill, unwrapping a loaf of bread. ”Do you want a whole sandwich or a half?”
Despite herself, Lucy was smiling. ”I can't believe you remembered.”
”What? I noticed you've been skipping seconds and desserts and only been eating half-sandwiches lately.”
She stood behind him, resting her cheek on his back and slipping her arms around his waist. ”I've been trying to exercise, but it's hard this time of year.”
Bill was about to pull some slices of bread out of the plastic bag but stopped. ”I know how you can get some exercise,” he said, with a wink.
”I might not have the right clothes, or the right equipment,” said Lucy.
”Don't worry,” said Bill, turning off the stove and taking her hand. ”You don't need any clothes-and I happen to know you've got the right equipment.”
”Oo-oh,” said Lucy, following as he drew her upstairs.
An hour or so later, Lucy found her mood was much improved as she finished her one-hundred-calorie bowl of soup and half-sandwich lunch. ”I'm not happy about Zoe working at Chanticleer Chocolate,” she told Bill, putting down her soup spoon. ”I don't think Tamzin is a good influence.”
Bill grinned at her. ”What have you heard?”
”It isn't what I've heard-it's what I saw. I caught her in a compromising position with one of our upstanding citizens.”
”As long as he was upstanding, I don't see the problem.” He smiled at her. ”Come to think of it, you're no stranger to compromising positions.”
Lucy still felt warm all over. ”We're married.”
”Good thing,” said Bill, scratching Libby behind her ears. The dog was hoping a few leftover sc.r.a.ps might come her way. ”Otherwise what we just did would be very wrong.”
”I'm no prude ... ,” began Lucy.
”I'll say,” said Bill, with a leer.
”That woman's trouble and I don't want Zoe around her.”
”From what I've heard, she's pretty harmless,” said Bill, clearing the table and carrying the dishes over to the dishwasher. ”You can't blame a fellow for looking, especially when you consider what most of the wives around here look like. Even if they've got nice figures, they hide them in baggy sweatpants. They don't even try to look good.”
”That's no excuse for infidelity,” said Lucy.
Bill closed the dishwasher door and leaned against it, crossing his arms. ”She puts on a good show, but from what I've heard that's as far as it goes.”
”What about Max? I heard they were seeing each other.” Lucy gave him a look. ”I bet you didn't know she's got a black belt in tae kwan do, did you?”
Bill rolled his eyes and grinned. ”Don't tell me you think she's some sort of black widow killer?”
”I wouldn't be surprised. She's certainly able to overpower a man, especially a drunk one. And she seems to be morally challenged. Look at the way she went behind our backs to hire Zoe.”
”That's hardly the same thing as committing murder. Besides, I don't think Max was interested in Tamzin. I heard he and Dora were seeing a lot of each other.”
Libby gave a little yip, and Bill looked out the window as the mailman drove up to their box. ”Mail's here.”
Lucy watched as he went down the driveway, without his coat. Men were so silly. And blind. Didn't he see it? If Max had left Tamzin and gone back to Dora, Tamzin would have been hurt and angry. Maybe even angry enough to kill him.
That afternoon, instead of simply parking out front and waiting for Sara and Renee, Lucy went inside Fern's Famous, hoping to have a word with Dora about Max. The police might consider his death an accident, but she wasn't satisfied and she knew Dora had her suspicions, too. But instead of Dora, she found Flora behind the cash register. Her salt and pepper hair was cut in a neat bob, gold granny gla.s.ses perched on her nose, and she was wearing a red-and-white-striped smock with the Fern's Famous logo embroidered on the pocket. Her complexion was fresh and smooth, belying her sixty-odd years, and Lucy wondered if chocolate had something to do with it. Dark chocolate, anyway, was supposed to promote good health.
”The girls'll be out in a minute,” she said, with a little nod. ”Dora's got them packing up Valentine's Day orders.”
”I'm not in a hurry,” said Lucy, glancing around the shop. Unlike Chanticleer Chocolate, with its mood lighting and artful displays, Fern's was bright and white and the trays of fudge were kept free of contamination in a huge gla.s.s case. The atmosphere was almost clinical, and a vintage poster with two apple-cheeked children and a smiling Holstein nibbling a daisy declared, WE USE ONLY THE PUREST FARM-FRESH INGREDIENTS.
”Sara's a good worker,” said Flora, pulling out a tray of penuche and realigning the little cubes with a gloved hand.
”That's nice to hear,” said Lucy. ”How's Dora doing?”
”About like you'd expect, I guess,” said Flora. ”Lily's the one I'm worried about. She really misses her dad. They spent a lot of time together.”
”I didn't know that,” said Lucy. ”I guess I thought she'd be closer to her mom.”
Flora slid the tray back in place. ”Oh, she is. They had shared custody, so she spent time with both of them. I don't approve of divorce, but I have to say they were very amicable. They got along better after the divorce, really, and I have to give Max credit for being an excellent father. He taught Lily to fish and hunt and ski, turned her into a real outdoors person.”
Lucy thought of the beautiful, ethereal girl she'd seen in the shop so often. ”She looks so fragile,” she said.
Flora laughed. ”That fragile creature is a h.e.l.l of a shot. We've been eating venison all winter, thanks to her. And she didn't just shoot it. Max made sure she hung it and dressed it proper.”
Lucy figured her own girls' reaction to a job like that would be a big Eeeuw.
”She's a good cook, too,” continued Flora. ”Not only killed the beast but cooked it, too. Ragout, she calls it, but I think it's just a fancy word for stew.”
”I saw her with Eddie Culpepper-do you think they're serious?”
”I hope not. She's way too young for that,” snapped Flora, looking up as Renee and Sara came through the door from the rear of the shop. ”Well, here're your girls. See you tomorrow.”
For some reason that Lucy couldn't understand, Flora's words sent the two girls into paroxysms of laughter.
”What's so funny?” asked Lucy, as they all got into the car.
”Nothing,” said Sara, giggling as she fastened her seat belt.
”Flora said you were packing up mail orders,” said Lucy, starting the car and switching on the headlights. ”Was it interesting?”
The girls didn't answer but started laughing again. Something was screamingly funny and Lucy couldn't help wis.h.i.+ng she was in on the joke.
Chapter Nine.
Sociologists estimate that forty to fifty percent of American marriages end in divorce and the numbers are even higher for second (sixty-seven percent) and third (seventy-four percent) marriages. Even couples who stay together tend to drift apart, according to a recent survey by the a.s.sociation of Retired Citizens (ARC), which reported a marked decrease in romance among couples age sixty and older. Some lucky couples, however, defy the odds. Take, for example, Helen and Roger Faircloth, who insist they are still in love after more than forty years of marriage.
Interviewed recently at the Queen Victoria Inn, where the couple is staying while house-hunting in the area, Mr. Faircloth declared, ”It's easy to stay married when you're in love. ” Beaming at his wife, he added, ”She's every bit as pretty as the day I married her.”
The couple met in London on a double-decker bus in the Swinging Sixties. Mrs. Faircloth was pursuing a modeling career and Roger was a student at the London School of Economics. In the years since....