Undisclosed Page 10

  Well. No.

  “Take a look around!” Arlene waved an irritated hand. “Do you see any guests?”

  Well. No.

  “’Tisn’t the season for ghosts and skeletons,” she informed me before tossing me out the door.

  Chapter 18

  Charlie greeted me at the door, but everyone else was too busy playing with Truman’s old robot toy to notice me.

  “Chance Dooley could use of these,” my father told me eventually. “You’re late for dinner,” he added and went to check on things in the kitchen.

  I smiled at my son. “Where’s my hug?” I asked, and the sweet kid dropped the robot and came running.

  “Thanks for keeping my robot.” He gave me an extra-tight squeeze. “I forgot about that toy.”

  I pointed to the boxes stacked near the door. “Should you double-check those?” I asked. “I don’t want to give away anything you’d rather keep.”

  “Nooo. You know what I like.” He pulled away and pointed to the coffee table, where the plastic giraffe stood on top of the old coloring books. “That’s from the zoo.”

  “Should we keep it?” I asked, and he answered by grabbing the giraffe with one hand, and the robot with the other, and instigating a minor confrontation between the two.

  While orchestrating the battle, he tilted his head toward the coloring books. “You can get rid of those ones,” he told me. “They’re all done.”

  “They’re for me.”

  The kid stopped what he was doing.

  “I want them for sentimental reasons,” I said, and was explaining sentimental, when my father announced dinner was served.

  “Upstairs to wash your hands,” he told Truman.

  The kid mentioned the bathroom sink downstairs, but Bobby used his I am your grandfather look and pointed to the stairs, and the kid tromped up.

  Dad threw that same look of authority at me when I walked over to the kitchen sink to wash my own hands. “What kind of trouble have you been getting into?”

  “I went to the Fox Cove,” I answered honestly, and he lost the disapproving scowl for a more puzzled scowl.

  “To visit Arlene and Pru?” he asked. “Are you feeling well?”

  “I’m starving,” I said, but told him my visit to the B and B had been relatively painless. “Useless, too,” I added and found my place at the table.

  ***

  Truman looked up from his meatloaf and mashed potatoes. “Can we ask her now, Grandpa Bobby?”

  “Ask me what?”

  “Uncle Joe had a good idea when I was there this afternoon.”

  I blinked. “You were at Joe’s? I thought you were at Prissy’s?”

  The big blue eyes got very big. “But afterwards!” he said. He looked at my father, and Dad reminded me about show and tell the next day.

  “Joe needed to teach Truman how the FN451z works,” he said.

  The kid nodded. “I need to be an expert.”

  Not very likely. The FN, in case you haven’t quite caught on, is an exceedingly complex machine. “So?” I asked. “Are you an expert now?”

  “Not yet, but guess what? Uncle Joe says I can go with him after school tomorrow. To the airport to get Paige.”

  “To Burlington?” Burlington is our closest airport, but it’s over an hour’s drive from Lake Bess. “That’s a long time with Uncle Joe,” I said as I stood up to serve seconds. “You were with him today, and you’ll be with him tomorrow for show and tell, and then the airport.”

  Dad waved to say he was finished, as did the child, but as I put another half slice of meatloaf on my plate and sat back down, Truman informed me he likes airports, and Burlington, and planes. “And Paige.”

  I reminded the child he had yet to even meet Paige.

  “Then we’re gonna get pizza.”

  “Going to.” I glanced at my father, who told me Joe would be taking his daughter and my son for pizza on their drive back home.

  “If you give your permission, girl.”

  “What about Bingo?” I asked, and both the old guy and the little guy promised me everyone would be back in time for Lake Bess Bingo, a Wednesday night tradition hereabouts.

  “Ple-eease?” Truman asked, and I gave my permission. But then the kid gasped. “I can’t go!”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “Because I promised to help you look for Mr. X’s loved ones after school tomorrow.”

  Oh, right. I assured him I could handle things on my own. “I’ll let you know if I learn anything. No worries.”

  “Yes, worries,” Dad said. And yes, he was giving me one of those looks.

  I changed the subject. “What’s up with Chance Dooley?” I tried.

  “Is Evadeen still mad at him?” Truman asked, and the old man took the bait. Evadeen, we learned, was no longer angry at Chance.

  “Really?” I said. “Because just this morning she was furious with the guy.”

  Dad shrugged. “But it is Yayla,” he said. “’Tis the season of peace and good will throughout the Hollow Galaxy.”

  “That’s like Christmas-time,” Truman observed.

  “Indeed.” Bobby gave me that look again. “’Tis the season for kissing and making up, whatever galaxy one finds oneself in.”

  I told him to get to the point. “Is she, or is she not, going to the Gala?”

  “She is. Although it’s short notice to find a suitable ball gown.”

  “She’ll find a gown.” Truman sounded quite confident, and my father said it did seem likely.

  “What with Evadeen’s fine figure and good looks, it shouldn’t be hard at all,” he added. “Especially since Fayla is full to overflowing with fancy dress shops.”

  “But we’re talking about Evadeen Deyo,” I said skeptically. I reminded everyone the woman is a spaceship mechanic. “She’s not your typical fashion-plate.”

  Dad pointed to the old sweater I was wearing. “She does tend to dress like you,” he agreed. “But secretly, Evadeen has always dreamed of wearing a ball gown.” He tapped his chin. “Perhaps with celestial splurge sequins from Sparkle.”

  “Sparkle?” Truman and I asked, and Dad nodded.

  “Sparkle is a star,” he told us.

  ***

  “Do you have a ball gown with celestual splurge sequins?” Truman asked as I was tucking him in that night.

  “Celestial,” I corrected. “And no, I own zero ball gowns.”

  “If you got married you could wear a gown like your momma did in the picture in your room.”

  What a shocker, I suggested we change the subject.

  “Why didn’t Uncle Joe want to have dinner with us?”

  Have I mentioned having a five year old can be exasperating? I reminded the child he himself had spent time with Joe that day. “Why didn’t you ask him about dinner?”

  “I did ask him. He told me to ask you.”

  I blinked at Charlie. “Of course he did.”

  “Why didn’t he want to have dinner with us?” the kid persisted. “Why, why, why, wh—”

  “Because,” I answered.

  “Because why? Did you eat lunch with Captain Jason today?”

  I jumped. “Who? What?” I scowled. “How did you know that?”

  “I guessed. Do you like Captain Jason?”

  Do other mothers face these kinds of questions? I used my matter-of-fact voice to answer that yes, as a matter of fact, I did like Jason.

  “But not as much as Uncle Joe.”

  “Time to sleep,” I said and reached for the light switch, but of course the child reached up to stop me.

  “I know why you’re mad at Uncle Joe.”

  “You do?” I shook myself. “I mean, who says I’m mad at Uncle Joe?”

  “It’s because of Grandpa Bobby.”

  I scowled some more. “What does Grandpa Bobby have to do with Joe and me?” I asked, and Cosmic Cow hopped up and down.

  “Moo!” she said. “You don’t want to have a boyfriend until Grandpa Bobby h
as a girlfriend.”

  I stared aghast.

  “Moo! And Grandpa Bobby doesn’t have a girlfriend, because he wants you to have a boyfriend first.”

  I stared aghast again.

  Truman tapped my elbow. “Momma Cass?”

  I looked up. “Yes, Sweetie?”

  “Grandpa Bobby’s never had a real girlfriend, huh? Not since your momma died?”

  “No, but—” I blinked. “How do you know all this?”

  The skinny little shoulders shrugged.

  “Do you think Grandpa Bobby wants a serious girlfriend?” I asked.

  Cosmic Cow shook all over, Charlie wagged his tail, Notz purred, and the little guy gave me his best impish grin.

  ***

  I marched down the stairs and planted a rocking chair directly in front my father. “We need to talk.”

  “We do indeed.” He put his book down. “We need to convince you to go talk to Joe. You two kids need to kiss and make up.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “’Tis the season for kissing and making up, Cassie.”

  “Yeah, I think you’ve mentioned that. How do you even know Joe and I are fighting? Did he tell you?”

  “Truman told me. Your son is very observant.”

  “He’s scary observant.” I rocked forward and wiggled my eyebrows. “Which brings us to tonight’s topic of conversation.”

  Dad leaned back. “What is that look?”

  “It’s my let’s talk about Bobby’s love life look.”

  “What!?” The old man jumped about ten feet. “My what!?”

  “You heard me. Your love life.”

  “My love life is none of your business, Cassandra Elizabeth Baxter.”

  “You haven’t had a serious relationship since Mom died, Robert Benjamin Baxter.”

  He blinked. Then his face dropped. Then he stared off at the Christmas tree. “What on earth brought this up?” he asked the tree.

  “More like who brought it up.”

  Dad looked at me. “That child is far too observant.”

  “He’s scary observant,” I agreed. “Way more observant than your adult daughter. So?” I asked gently. “Why haven’t you ever had a girlfriend, Dad?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve dated several women since your mother died.”

  “But nothing serious.” I softened my tone again. “Why?”

  He stared at me. “You do remember what it was like when your mother died?”

  Yes. I did. My mother passed away when I was ten. And my pet cat Spooky died the same week. It was, by far, the single most awful week of my life. And of my father’s.

  “It was terrible,” I said. “But it was thirty years ago. You haven’t been in mourning this whole time, have you?”

  “Well, no.” Dad sighed and told me he didn’t really know why he hadn’t ever gotten serious with another woman.

  “Truman knows why,” I said.

  Dad closed his eyes. “Of course he does.”

  “Truman says you’ve been waiting for me to get seriously involved with someone, and only then will you allow yourself to get seriously involved.”

  “That child is far too wise.”

  “He’s scary wise.”

  My father opened his eyes. “And vice versa?” he asked. “Have you been avoiding commitment until your old man gets involved? Is that what Truman says?”

  I reminded the old man we were not discussing my love life. “Tonight.” I pointed. “We’re talking about your love life.”

  He went back to staring at the tree.

  I tapped his knee. “Sooo?” I asked. “Do you like someone, Dad?”

  No answer.

  I gasped. “That means you do!”

  “You’ll wake Truman.”

  “Truman could sleep through an avalanche,” I said. “Who is she, Dad? Who?”

  “You should go visit Joe, girl.”

  “Who, who, who?”

  “You should go visit Joe.”

  “Who, who—”

  Well. You get the picture. We continued that same conversation until we both got bored.

  ***

  In case you’re wondering, I didn’t go to Joe’s that night. I did venture outside to load the boxes of old toys into my trunk, but then I took the old coloring books I had saved up to my turret. Notz came upstairs to keep me company, and we flipped through Truman’s earliest artwork—pictures of green, blue, red, yellow, purple, and pink trucks. At the bottom of each masterpiece, Judy Tripp, his first mother, had printed his name in block letters.

  “She was teaching him to spell his name,” I told Notz, and got almost teary thinking about Truman Tripp, the toddler I never knew. “’Tis the season for getting all sentimental,” I told the cat and picked up the second coloring book. Butterflies—green, blue, red, yellow, purple, and pink butterflies.

  “He was getting way better at staying in the lines.” I leaned over to show Notz when I noticed—

  I gasped. And then I did cry—real tears—over a beautifully colored picture of a blue and yellow butterfly. It, too, was signed at the bottom. “J-U-D-Y,” it read.

  Chapter 19

  “It beats all get out,” Dad said, and it beats all get out, but I actually wondered what beat all get out.

  “Couldn’t Evadeen find a dress with celestual sequins?” I mumbled from under my pillow.

  “It’s celes-tial sequins,” Truman corrected me. “She found a pretty dress.”

  “Goody.” I sat up to hear more, and as the pets and I got comfortable, my father informed me Evadeen’s evening gown was “nothing less than spectacular.”

  He sighed. “And therein lay the problem.”

  “What seems to be the pickle?” I asked.

  “Chance Dooley,” Truman told me. He cringed. “Evadeen showed him her dress, Momma Cass.”

  “Don’t tell me he didn’t like it?”

  “Nooo.” Dad sighed again. “Trouble is, he liked it too much. He mentioned how lovely she would look on the dance floor at the Gala.”

  I shook my head. “And the problem is?”

  “The dance!” Truman answered impatiently.

  “The sashayla,” Bobby elaborated, and I shook my head again.

  “They do the sashayla, at the Yayla Gala?”

  “Fayla’s famous for it,” Bobby informed me. “However, poor Evadeen had forgotten all about the Fayla Yayla Gala Sashayla.”

  I glanced at Charlie. “How, I cannot imagine.”

  “But Evadeen Deyo doesn’t dance, girl. One hates to mention it, but the girl has two left feet.”

  While I explained the phrase for the little guy, the old guy insisted there simply wasn’t enough time for Evadeen to learn the sashayla. “It involves a rather complex set of steps.”

  I glanced at Notz, who was kneading the covers at my feet. “Maybe she can go to the Gala, but not dance the sashayla,” I suggested, but Dad insisted it wasn’t that simple.

  “Let us not forget,” he said ominously. “That Evadeen Deyo would be the first Whooter ever to attend the Fayla Yayla Gala.”

  Truman nodded to me. “She wants to do everything just right.”

  Dad agreed she did. “Evadeen is well aware she would be representing all Whooters, and sooo—”

  “And so, she’s refusing to go to the Gala,” I said.

  The old man sighed again. “If only it were that simple. Not only is she refusing to attend, but I’m afraid she and Chance had quite a quarrel. She’s walked out on him.”

  “She does that a lot,” Truman observed, and Dad sighed yet again.

  “Evadeen Deyo can be quite skittish,” he reminded us.

  ***

  About the time Evadeen Deyo was bugging out on Chance Dooley, Tater Ott, Prissy’s older brother, was delivering the Hanahan Herald to our doorstep. Welcome to Wednesdays at Lake Bess.

  “Read it out loud,” Truman told me as we sat down to breakfast.

  I knew exactly what he wanted to hear, and Maxine’s Lake Be
ss Lore column did not disappoint.

  “Never a dull moment!!!” I read. “Not at Lake Bess!! Not when Cassie Baxter and her son Truman Tripp-Baxter are involved!!”

  “That’s me!” Truman said.

  “It is.” I counted and spoke to my father. “Seven exclamation points thus far.”

  “That’s all?” the retired English teacher asked. “That’s almost subdued for Max—”

  “Keep reading,” the kid ordered.

  I obeyed. “Truman has found a HUMAN SKULL,” I read, “reminding your reporter of Cassie’s dead redhead-pajama incident last summer!!! The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree!”

  The little guy looked puzzled. “Apples?”

  Dad explained the metaphor, and I continued, “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” I read again, “because little Truman insists he’s not scared at all!”

  “I’m not,” Truman said. “I think skulls are interesting.”

  “And lo and behold,” I continued reading, “this skull belongs to none other than Mr. X!! Astute readers might recall the skeleton Pru Pearson found at the Fox Cove Inn all those many years ago!!!!!” I looked up at my father.

  “How many?” he asked.

  “Five.”

  “How many times does Aunt Maxine use my name?” Truman asked.

  I counted. “Four so far,” I answered, and the new local celebrity scooted off his chair to come count for himself.

  I hoisted him onto my lap and continued reading over the top of the crew cut, “Of course little Truman doesn’t know all the legends, lore, and rumors regarding the Fox Cove Inn, but I bet my readers know! So let’s all help Cassie and Truman. Mother and son are hoping to locate Mr. X’s loved ones. Mother and son are crossing their fingers that folks hereabouts can help them piece this puzzle together!!”

  “Like Humpty Dumpty,” the kid said.

  Dad pointed to the paper. “Please tell me she shared some other news?”

  I again glanced over the crew cut. “Her own contact info, and the sheriff’s,” I said. And then Maxine offered her usual—a list of Elizabethan birthdays and anniversaries for the week. “She signs off with a ‘Happy Holidays’ to everyone in Hanahan County,” I told my father, and then read out loud, “I hope Santa brings everyone EVERYTHING they want!!!!”