The Potluck Club (33 page)

The phone rang, interrupting my thoughts. “Hello.” My voice sounded even more monotone than usual.

“Donna, dear, is that you?” Vonnie sounded like she had a bad case of the flu.

“Yes.”

“Donna, about my son.”

Oh boy. “What about him?”

“Did you meet him?”

I sighed deeply. “I did.”

“What was he like?”

I popped the plastic lid onto my container of egg salad and placed it back into the refrigerator. “I don’t know, Vonnie. He seemed nice enough. He’s a paramedic in L.A.”

She sounded awestruck. “He’s in medicine, like me.”

I opened my drawer and pulled out my plastic sandwich bags. “I suppose that’s true.”

“I’m thinking of calling him. But I don’t know. Fred’s having a hard time with this news.”

“That’s understandable. I’m having a little trouble with it myself.”

I could hear the pain in her voice. “Oh. Donna, I’m so sorry. I’ve hurt you too.”

“I won’t lie to you. This is the last thing I expected from you. To cover up your past, I mean. It makes me feel like you’re not the person I thought you were.”

“I guess I deserve that.” She sighed. “I was wrong. Now, I’d like to make things right. But I need your help.”

I tucked my sandwich into the plastic bag and dropped the bag into a small brown paper sack. “What can I do?”

“Could you call him? Arrange a meeting?”

“Sure, Vonnie, I can do that.” I poured the remains of my fresh pot of coffee into my thermos. “I’ll call him later today and see what he wants to do.”

Vonnie sounded relieved. “Thank you, dear.”

“No problem.”

“And dear, I’m really sorry that I hurt you.”

Later, on patrol, I stopped by a display for the
Gold Rush News
and got a fresh copy of the paper. The issues were good for a week, so it was still easy to find. I carried the paper back to my Bronco and skimmed through the article about the “missing Jewel” until I found the number. I dialed it on my cell phone.

When it rang, an answering machine picked up. “You’ve reached the home of David Harris. I can’t come to the phone right now, but I’ll be checking in for my messages, so leave your number.”

“David? This is Deputy Donna Vesey from Summit View, Colorado. I’ve found Jewel. Call me for details.” I left my number, hung up, and replayed his message in my mind. He must live alone. He didn’t make any mention of a female counterpart or family.

I frowned. What did we really know about this guy? He could be some mass murderer. I’d make him play twenty questions before I’d let him near Vonnie.

After I ate my lunch in the church parking lot, a great place to hide from constant public scrutiny, I discovered my thermos was empty. I decided I’d stop by Higher Grounds for a fresh cup.

I took in my cell phone, just in case David should call back. I regretted my decision as soon as I saw Clay at his usual spot. Didn’t that man ever leave?

“Hi, Clay.”

He gave me a playful grimace. “Deputy. Are we still friends?”

I gave him a halfhearted smile. I didn’t need to make an enemy of the local press, even if it was just Clay Whitefield. “I suppose. Sorry for the outburst.”

Clay turned around in his chair and studied me. “Donna, I hate to ask, but you’ve got my curiosity up. Just who are you trying to protect?”

“Now, Clay, I told you I can’t talk about it.”

He looked disappointed. “Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

I nodded and sat down at the counter. Sal instantly appeared. “Cup of coffee,” I said before I realized she was already pouring me a cup. Was my routine that predictable? Just as I took my first sip, my cell rang.

“Deputy Vesey, it’s David Harris.”

I looked over my shoulder and saw that I had Clay’s full attention. I didn’t think he could hear David’s voice, but he could hear mine. “I’ve been expecting your call.”

David’s voice was full of hope. “You say you have information about my mother?”

“Could be. However, it’s someone I happen to care about. So I’d like to ask you to tell me about yourself.”

Holy cow, is Clay taking out his notepad?
I stood abruptly. “Hang on.” I turned to Sal. “Official business; I’ve got to take this call in my vehicle. Save my spot, will you?”

My eyes locked with Clay’s on my way out.
That dog. He knows
I’m talking to David Harris.

I slipped into my Bronco and said, “I can talk now. So, here’s my first question: are you any kind of pervert?”

“Ah, noooo.”

“Do you have any steady relationships?”

“As in women? Well, my fiancée and I broke up not that long ago, so with Harmony gone, I’ve just got my buddies at work.”

“I see. What about bad habits? Tell me about those.”

“Not much to tell, I guess. I see what drugs, drinking and driving can do to those poor souls I’ve scraped off the freeway, so I’m not really into that.”

“But are you a nice person?”

“Deputy, why these questions? You sound like you’re screening me for a date.”

I felt my face color. “Sir, I’ve just got a very delicate situation here, and quite frankly, I’m not too happy that you went to the press with this. It’s caused a lot of heartache.”

“That certainly wasn’t my intention.”

“Really? Exactly what were your intentions?”

“It’s just that I’m at a place in life where everyone who has meant something to me has died or is dating my best friend. So, I’m feeling kinda lost, you know? I’m feeling like I’ve got to find myself, and the best place to start is to try to find my roots.”

His fiancée took off with his best friend?
“Bummer.” I paused.
Okay, he sounds decent enough.
“Your mother, Vonnie, wants to meet you.”

“Her name isn’t Jewel?”

“No, that was her married name at the time of your birth.”

“She and my dad were married? I kinda figured my mother was single.”

“She was married, and she loved your dad.”

“You mean my dad is still alive?”

“No, David. And Vonnie’s remarried. Her new husband never knew about you or her previous marriage, until Vonnie read the article in the paper and she told him about it all.”

“I see.”

“She called me earlier today. She wants to know when you could return to Summit View.”

He sounded excited. “I could be there by Saturday afternoon.” “Okay, call me when you get into town.”

After I hung up with David, I called Vonnie back. “Vonnie, I’ve got news. You’ll be meeting David Saturday night.”

45

She’ll beat you
at your own game . . .

Clay slapped his notepad back into his pocket, but not before he took down a few notes. Whoever called Donna, he had no doubt it had to do with the “missing jewel.”

He watched her through the window of the café as she finished her call. It seemed she was asking a lot of questions. Making a lot of cryptic statements, none of which he could make out.

She ended the call, then made another, this time ducking her head so he couldn’t make out the name of the person to whom she was speaking.

That little sneak
, he thought. But she’d have to get up earlier than this if she thought to beat him at the detective game.

46

Spicy Encounters

I had a mountain of work sitting on my desk on Thursday morning, and I was thankful for it. I needed something to keep my mind off everything that had happened in the past few days and weeks around Summit View. It seemed to me that with the arrival of Leigh at my front door that dark evening in September, life had simply turned upside down.

After a fitful night, I awoke Friday morning to the sound of enough clatter emitting from my kitchen to wake the dead. I sat up in bed, reaching for my mint-green, worn-completely-out-in-places chenille robe I’d bought sometime back in the eighties and I refuse to throw away. I drew my arms into the sleeves as I slipped into my bedroom slippers, then shuffled out the room, down the stairs, and to the kitchen.

Leigh had nearly every pot and pan from my cabinets perched haphazardly on the countertops. The water from the tap was streaming into the sink, various foods were set out on the kitchen table, and something—although I don’t know what—appeared to be cooking on the stovetop. Leigh was scrubbing the bottom of a Corningware dish with a scrub pad, working so furiously one would think her life depended on it.

“What in the world . . . ?”

Leigh turned slightly from the sink. “Hi, Aunt Evie,” she called over her shoulder, chipper as could be.

“What in the world!” I repeated.

Leigh smiled at me. “My pregnancy book says this is called ‘nesting.’”

I walked over to the sink and turned the water down a bit. “Nesting?”

“Mmmhmm. It’s when the mother-to-be has this sudden urge to clean everything, to get it ready for the baby’s arrival.” She threw the scrubbie on the ledge of the sink, then began to rinse the dish. “I woke up this morning with this urge to clean, clean, clean.” She winked at me. “You keep everything so spotless around here, what I’m really doing is just recleaning, I guess you could say.”

I turned to the stove. “And what’s all this?”

“I also woke up with a craving for enchiladas, like the kind Maristela makes.” Maristela has been Peg’s cook since the boys were little.

I placed my hands on my hips and peered into a large Dutch oven with sauce simmering in it. “What, you just happened to have her recipe?”

Leigh pulled a dish towel from a chrome hanger near the sink and began drying the dish, flipping it one way and then the other. “I called home and got it.”

I turned to look at her. “You called . . . you called home?”

She handed me the Corningware. “See? Sparkly as the day you bought it.”

“Did you speak to your mother?”

“She answered.” Leigh waddled past me to stir the sauce with a long wooden spoon resting nearby.

I placed the Corningware on the counter. “And?”

“And . . . we talked.” She said the words as though she’d spoken to just anyone.

“Leigh, you’ve pretty much refused to talk to Peg and Matthew since you got here. Don’t act like this is just any phone call.”

Leigh laid the spoon down, waddled back over to the sink, and began to scrub another dish. “It was good, Aunt Evie. We talked for about five minutes . . . which, right now, is about all I can take of Mom.”

“She’s called me, you know.”

“I know. She told me. She also said she asked you not to tell me. What’s that all about?”

I shook my head. “She’s just hurt, is all.” I looked over to the coffeepot, which was half filled with fresh coffee. “I need caffeine.”

“Sit down,” Leigh said. “Let me get you a cup.”

I complied. “So, you talked to your mother and got Maristela’s recipe.”

“Yep.” Leigh placed a steaming cup of coffee in front of me. “I’ll get the cream and sugar for you.”

“Thank you.” I watched her from over my shoulder. “How long does this nesting last?”

She opened and closed the refrigerator door, then set the creamer on the table before me. “I have no idea. I hope not for long, though, because this could get exhausting.”

I decided to go back to the old subject. “Did Peg ask you about coming home?”

“I told her I’d talked with Gary,” she answered, now placing the sugar bowl and a spoon before me. “And that I would not be making any decisions until after the baby is born.” Leigh sat in the chair next to mine. “She’s still more concerned about what the stupid neighbors are going to think or the women in her Junior League or whatever than she is about me.”

I pointed the spoon at her. “That’s not true, Leigh Banks. Your mother loves you very much and is very worried about you.”

Leigh rose from her chair. “Ugh. Can we talk about something else, please?”

I sighed deeply. “Sure.”

I heard the water being turned on behind me. “What’s on your agenda for today?” she asked.

“I have some errands to run.”

“Need company?”

I stared into the cup of coffee. “Not today.”

Leigh turned. “What’s going on?”

I looked over at my wise young niece. “I have some issues to settle,” I said with a weak smile.

“You’ve got issues, all right.” Her voice held the lilt of a tease. “Want to share?”

“Not really.” I took a sip of coffee.

“Oh, come on! I tell you everything.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Well, I would if you asked.” She played a little stomping game with her feet. “Aunt Evieeeeeee. Tell meeeeeeee.”

I stood, pushed the chair back under the table, and said, “I’ll tell you when I get home, how’s that?”

“You’re a wicked woman, but I love ya.” She threw a kiss at me by smacking at the air. I returned the gesture, then left to get ready for what could prove to be one of the most important days of my life.

I drove slowly down the winding driveway of All Saints Cemetery, the cold headstones forming a blur of silvery white on either side of the car. A multitude of vases filled with colorful silk flowers dotted the landscape. I passed the groundskeeper’s cottage on my left. To the far right and up a hill was a white stone statue of Christ extending his arms slightly. Four or five fluffy sheep gathered around his sandaled feet, pressing into the folds of his robe. “Come to Me,” read the caption etched into the granite beneath. “All Ye Who Are Weary and Heavy Laden and I Will Give You Rest.”