Love Me If You Must

18

Dietz glared down at me, his eyes shot through with jagged blood vessels.

“Ms. Amble,” he said with a terse nod. “Just the person I’m looking for.” A faint odor of pipe tobacco emanated from his clothing.

“I dispatched your denial letter this morning,” Dietz said. His hat moved up and down with his clenching jaw.

At his words, my own teeth clamped together in defiance. Sandra Jones may have been easy prey for a bully like Martin Dietz, but he’d find I wasn’t one to trifle with. The more he pushed, the harder I’d fight back.

“The meeting isn’t until next week. How can I have been denied already?” I forced the words through taut lips. Behind me, I heard scuttling, and I figured the biddies were running for cover.

Dietz nodded with cruel satisfaction. “I knew your project had a timetable and I didn’t want to be the one holding things up. So last night, I called a special meeting of the Historical Committee. Your plan to demolish the cistern was rejected. In fact, they even rejected your plan to wall it in. Seems it’s the only one of its kind in Rawlings, and they want to protect it for posterity.”

His leer grew more vicious with every detail. “I guess you’ll have to give up your basement renovation plans altogether.”

My lip started to quiver, whether from impending defeat or sheer terror, I couldn’t yet tell.

A snide comeback was formulating in the back of my mind. But I reminded myself that Dietz carried more clout in the community than some nameless newcomer. If possible, I needed to get him over to my team.

I smiled a sweet, submissive smile.

“Wow. Thanks for pushing that request through for me. That really helps solidify things.”

His chin tilted and his shoulders dropped into a less-guarded pose. “No problem.”

I kept my face neutral as I squeezed past him to the door. I clutched the bag with the fuzzy sweater and silky pants to my chest, grateful I’d finished the transaction before Dietz had shown up.

I hit the cold November air, then turned up the street toward the Beauty Boutique. Martin Dietz might think he had just pulled one over on me, but I’d figure out a way to get my project through, with or without him.

I entered the Beauty Boutique and saw Tammy sitting at her nail station. She waited with slumped shoulders and head resting on her palm. Wads of white tissue peeked through the cracks of her fingers.

“Fighting a cold?” I asked in greeting.

She looked up at me with a blotchy face. She caught a nose drip with the tissue ball. “No. I’m crying my eyes out. A good friend of mine died yesterday.”

“Was it Casey from down the street?” I asked.

I thought of Coffee Girl and tried to imagine her and Tammy as friends.

“Yeah.” She drew a rasping breath. “Sorry I’m such a mess. Let’s get you started.”

She wiped tissue along the bottom of her eyes, diminishing the dark circles of mascara that had puddled there. She straightened her shirt, scooted her chair, then invited me with an open hand to sit across from her.

“I’m really sorry,” I said, sinking into the floral upholstery. “I understand Casey’s death comes as quite a shock.”

Tammy opened the bottle of adhesive and painted a layer on my three bare nails.

She shook her head. “Arsenic poisoning. That’s the most ludicrous thing I’ve ever heard. I’m guessing the founding fathers are just using Casey’s death to get the village water filter system pushed through.”

Tammy pressed my replacement nails, almost bruising my fingertips with her barely controlled anger. I knew how frustrated Tammy must feel. I remember the multitude of villains I held responsible for my mother’s death.

The mixer beads in the bottle of Flamingo Pink polish clicked like mini maracas. Tammy unscrewed the top and painted my nails, starting with the new ones.

“Casey was an amazing person. You wouldn’t believe the girls she influenced in a positive way at our church’s youth group.” Tammy painted furiously, talking more to herself than to me. “She didn’t deserve to die.”

Her brows knit into deep lines. She finished the last nail, then started the process over again. “Maybe she didn’t dress the greatest. So what if she had face jewelry. God looks at what’s inside. And so should the rest of this town. If it had been someone like Rebecca Ramsey, there’d be a better explanation. Everyone hates Rebecca, but she’s somehow more worthy because of her money and class.”

Job done, Tammy slammed the nail polish down on the table. She rubbed absently at the crescent-shaped dent left by the bottle. “I’m sorry to go on a rampage. But I can’t figure it out. Life can be so unfair.”

“I know how you feel.” What more could I say?

She looked at me for the first time. “Thanks for listening. Sorry I brought up Rebecca. I know tonight’s your big date with David. I don’t mean to put a damper on things for you.”

“Not at all. I guess it doesn’t hurt to know a few things about David’s ex-wife before we go out.”

“Ex-wife? I didn’t think she’d ever get around to divorcing him. Sorry to have been snotty at the supermarket that day. I just wanted to make sure you knew he was tagged. Guess it wasn’t necessary.”

“He told me last week he’d gotten the papers in the mail.”

“Maybe she met someone out in California. Some richer-than-mud millionaire who meets her high standards. I mean, the Metropolitan Magazine Woman of the Year deserves better than a computer dweeb husband, right?”

“If you say so.” David didn’t strike me as a dweeb of any sort. I’d rarely seen a man more handsome than he. As far as manners and character went, both seemed impeccable. And from what I could tell, he made a lucrative living. His drop-dead gorgeous Greek Revival home said all there was on the subject of monetary success. The thing must have cost a fortune to renovate.

Anyway, I couldn’t help but be awed by a man who could spearhead a project like that one. The thought processes that supported that kind of vision were rare indeed. I looked forward to dinner tonight when I could get David’s insights on my own renovation project.

There would be no time for talk of Rebecca.

I followed Tammy up to the register and paid for my touch-up.

“Thanks for fitting me in on short notice,” I said.

“Glad you came. I needed to vent. That’s the other thing about you that reminds me of your twin. You’re a good listener. I sure miss doing her nails. Toward the end, she could have passed for my therapist.”

“I’m surprised to hear you say that,” I commented. “I got the impression the other day that you two were rivals from way back.”

Tammy looked at her hands resting on the counter. “Yeah. I guess we were. But about six months before she left town, she started helping me with the church youth group. We actually got to be pretty close. And the girls loved her. She used her background as an image consultant to build these girls into confident young women.”

She paused. A sad look came into her eyes. “I guess I’m still mad at her. You’d think she could at least drop me an occasional e-mail. Martin may have been the world’s biggest jerk to her, but she had friends here. She could have held her head up and weathered his tantrum.” She twirled a hand in the air. “There I go again. It’s been quite a year. And now Casey.”

I nodded in sympathy. “Yep. I’ve had whole decades like that. It’ll get better.”

I turned to go, reaching for the door pull.

“Hey,” Tammy called to me. “Do you want to come to church with me on Sunday? The girls would love to meet you.”

Church. A place I’d successfully avoided for almost twenty years. Hard pews. Excessive singing. Snooty old ladies. Boring sermons. Not a place I felt like dealing with at this point in my life.

“Thanks for the invite,” I said. “Sundays are a little too hectic right now. But after the first of the year, I should have things a little more under control.”

“I only ask because you’re so much like Sandra. It might take the sting out of Casey’s death if you were there.”

Guilt trips were the foundation of my upbringing. I recognized one a mile away.

“Thank you, but no,” I said and hustled out the door. I speed-limped toward home, obsessed with the image of a little white church house crumbling to the very foundation as I walked through its doors.

The bracing wind cleared my mind as I headed home. I stopped at the Fitches’ driveway and looked both ways before crossing the road.

I gave a little groan.

There, parked against the curb in front of my house, was a police cruiser. The driver’s door showed a number three next to the Village of Rawlings crest. That was the same one Brad had been driving the day he practically arrested me for jaywalking.

I didn’t see him in the car, in the yard, or up by the house, and I wondered where he was hiding. My shoulders pulled back automatically as I put up my wall of defenses.

I made it to the front porch without incident and turned the door handle to go in.

“Tish.” I heard Brad’s call behind me. He waved from Dorothy Fitch’s front porch.

I watched with irritation as he gave Dorothy a hug. I refused to let the sweet gesture melt any part of my grudge toward Brad. From where I stood the two looked like Papa Bear and Baby Bear. Without her bulky coat, Dorothy had nothing to her.

Brad sprinted over to my yard. He took the porch steps two at a time. Then he was next to me, filling up a good chunk of vertical space.

“So tonight’s your big date, huh?” he asked.

I crossed my arms, giving him the cue to get to the point.

He passed me a white envelope.

I flipped it over. It was addressed to Patricia Amble.

That was me.

The return address listed the Village of Rawlings, Department of Building and Zoning.

That was Martin Dietz.

I glared at Brad. “I don’t believe this. Dietz told me he’d dispatched a denial letter. I thought he meant U.S. Mail, not private gopher.”

Brad’s eyes slanted. “Don’t shoot the messenger, Ms. Amble. I’m only doing my job.”

I rattled the letter at him. “Yeah, well, only in this screwed-up town are the cops in the pocket of the zoning board.”

“With good reason. Look at yourself. How do I know you’re not going to grab a shotgun and go after Dietz just for upholding a village ordinance?”

“Of course I wouldn’t do that. I’m not crazy.”

He humphed. “Maybe you’re not, but a few years ago, Dickie Boggs went nuts. The zoning board turned down his privacy fence application, and he took it out on the director. A shotgun in the face, right at his desk. It’s been village policy ever since to have armed officers be the bearers of bad news.”

A shiver snaked up my spine. Everyone in this town was on the edge.

I tucked the letter in the bag with my date clothes. The sight of the light blue fuzzy yarn reminded me that some things were more important than pushing through my cistern-demolition agenda at city hall. Tonight could have longer-term significance. After all, I planned on selling the Victorian next summer. But David and I might find ourselves in a more permanent arrangement. And that meant cooling off over the whole Martin Dietz thing so I didn’t drag my rage to dinner.

“Thank you, Officer.” I nodded to Brad in dismissal. “I promise I won’t take my aggression out on the honorable Mr. Dietz.”

I jerked open the storm door, turned my key in the lock, and scooted inside to lick my wounds.

Fortunately, I couldn’t bask in my misery too long.

Six o’clock was just a short time away.