Goose in the Pond - Earlene Fowler [49]
“We’re checking it over one last time,” said Meg, a thin woman who was partial to long, baggy cotton dresses and musk perfume. Her specialty was modern quilts based on paintings by women artists.
“Looks perfect to me,” I said.
She and the other lady chuckled. “You know quilts are never perfect or finished,” Meg said. “Just abandoned.”
I smiled at the comment I’d heard so many times from artists. “Well, I’ve bought twenty-five dollars’ worth of raffle tickets, so I’m hoping it comes home with me. I have the perfect spot for it in my living room.”
“Good luck,” Meg said, laying tissue paper across the top of it and rolling it up. “I can’t think of a better home for it.”
After checking with the security guard we’d hired for the week to make sure he knew the proper way to lock up after the last artist left, I headed home, wondering what interesting scene awaited me tonight.
Ash’s new Mustang convertible was arrogantly parked in the driveway, blocking the garage. He and Rita emerged when I was halfway across the lawn. She wore a pink lace dress that would have made a good doily and matching four-inch heels.
I scowled at him, hoping I conveyed my mental disapproval of him dating my cousin who was still a married woman. He answered with a smooth, knowing smile.
“Don’t wait up,” Rita called over her shoulder, climbing into his car. “I’ve still got my key. And you got a message from Dove.”
“What?” I stuttered, watching the silver sports car back out of the driveway and resisting the temptation to throw something at it. Who would have ever expected her to keep a key after all this time? And what did Dove want? I found Sam in the kitchen tossing a salad in a large glass bowl and singing. The table was set for three. A basket of whole-wheat dinner rolls sat in the center of the pine dining table.
“Rita won’t be joining us,” Sam said, setting the salad on the table. It was a green salad using romaine lettuce, radishes, cherry tomatoes, and Parmesan cheese. He pointed at the salad. “It doesn’t exactly go with the chicken, but it’s all you had.”
“Looks wonderful,” I said.
“I called Dad’s office,” he said, turning back to the oven and pulling out the chicken. A heavenly aroma of garlic and ginger filled the room. “According to Maggie, he left about ten minutes ago.” He opened a pot on the stove and poked at the rice, then checked the vegetables he was steaming.
I picked up a roll and tore off a bite. “The station’s only a mile away. He should be here any minute.”
Sam set the food on the table, and we tried to make light conversation and not watch the cow-shaped kitchen clock. After thirty minutes it became pretty clear that he wasn’t going to show up.
“Maybe he got called back to the station,” I said. “That happens sometimes.”
He gave me a cynical look. “Right. Well, enjoy it.”
Before I could answer, he was out of the kitchen, and I heard the front door slam. I looked at all the food spread out in front of me. Resigned, I picked up the salad tongs and served myself. I was in the middle of my second helping of the ginger-garlic chicken when I remembered that Rita said Dove left a message. I chewed my chicken thoughtfully, wondering if she was trying to pawn Garnet off on me. She obviously knew by now that Rita was here as well as Sam and that I didn’t have any spare bed space.
After putting away the leftovers, I reluctantly checked the answering machine. To say she’d left