At Wick's End - Tim Myers [21]
“I’m ready if you are,” I said as I led her back to the workroom where the classes were held.
Mrs. Jorgenson paused to answer her cell phone, and after a whispered conversation, she offered the caller an exasperated good-bye, shut her telephone off and said, “I’m afraid I’ve got to reschedule our lesson. Margaret Blaine is in charge of the luncheon at the club, and things are falling apart on her.” She looked quite pleased with the news.
With a wave of her hand, Mrs. Jorgenson added, “Still, my visit today was interesting. I found several things I like. I trust we’ll be able to begin our lessons tomorrow. Shall we say eleven o’clock?”
“I’ll be here,” I said, relieved that I’d have more time to prepare, but disappointed that we couldn’t get started immediately. I was excited about sharing my newfound knowledge with someone. On second thought, after talking with Mr. Young, I realized I was depending on Mrs. Jorgenson’s patronage more than I’d expected.
Mrs. Jorgenson took a few steps toward the door, then stopped and turned back toward me. “Oh my goodness, I just remembered I’m already committed all day tomorrow, I’ve got a charity board meeting at the hospital. Let’s make it Monday. I never go out on the weekends.”
To my surprise, I felt like a kid who just found out his midterm tests had been canceled. I was more nervous about teaching than I’d realized.
“Monday will be fine,” I said, fighting to keep the joy out of my voice.
Eve rang up Mrs. Jorgenson’s purchases, looking at me quizzically a time or two, then handed her the bag. “Thanks for coming by,” Eve said as Mrs. Jorgenson left, but the socialite didn’t take the trouble to reply.
She was probably already thinking about how she was going to make Margaret Blaine squirm.
If I’d been Margaret, I doubt I would have made the call. Sometimes the frying pan is better than the fire.
Chapter 5
Before I could explain to Eve what had happened, a customer came in, one who approached my assistant with a frantic plea for help. As they started to discuss the woman’s candlemaking problems, Pearly Gray walked into the store.
“Do you happen to have a moment, Harrison?” he asked with that cultured voice of his.
“I’m all yours. What’s up?”
“I just wanted to speak with you about the break-in.”
Millie had been right; there was no need for a newsletter for the folks at River’s Edge. It appeared the grapevine in place took care of distributing information just fine without it. “I don’t know much about it myself,” I said. “Mr. Young, Belle’s attorney, had just done an inventory of her things, and when he checked the place again, he said nothing was missing.”
Pearly frowned. “But then he didn’t know your great-aunt as well as some of us did. Who’s to say he didn’t miss something during his first canvass?”
“Pearly, you haven’t always been a handyman, have you?”
“Why do you ask?”
I said, “You just seem a little too...”
“Eloquent?” he asked with a smile.
“Exactly.”
Pearly paused a moment, then reluctantly admitted, “In another life, I served the world as a clinical psychologist.”
“So what happened to bring you here?” One look at his face told me I’d overstepped my bounds. “Sorry, it’s really none of my business.”
Pearly shook his head. “Actually, I understand your curiosity. Harrison, when I finally realized I couldn’t save the world, I decided to lower my sights and keep River’s Edge running. It’s a glorious old place.”
I knew there had to be a lot he wasn’t telling me, but I wasn’t about to push him any further. I had to get over the fact that Pearly was dressed in a pair of faded bibbed overalls and clunky work boots, and accept the fact that the man was most likely a great deal smarter than I was. It was just so easy to take him at face value based on his appearance and forget the life he’d led before opting to become a handyman.
“If something was stolen from Belle’s, it’s long gone,” I said. “There’s nothing anyone can do about it now.”
“Still, I’d like to survey the scene on my own, if you don