Lock, Stock, and Over a Barrel Page 6

She nodded. “I think I am tired.”

  “Maybe we should let her have some time to herself,” Karen said quietly to Dad. “And don’t forget, Gene and Marsha are probably already there.”

  “We have a standing date for bridge at the country club,” Dad explained. “Monday nights at seven. But I can cancel if—”

  “No,” Daphne said. “Karen’s right. I am tired and I could use some time to myself. I have a lot to think over right now.”

  “But you said your plans have changed? Does that mean you’re going to stick around awhile longer? To figure out what you’ll do with Dee’s estate?”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “I will definitely be around.” She forced a smile. “So, no worries, Dad. You and I will have plenty of time to talk later. Go ahead and meet your friends. I think I’ll just grab a bite to eat, then do some reading and go to bed. Thanks for cleaning up.”

  “All right.” Dad looked a little uncertain, but Karen nudged him, pointing out that they were already late. And without further ado they left. Daphne watched out the kitchen window as Karen got into her flashy Mustang, backed up quickly and confidently out of the driveway, and then drove at what seemed a fast speed for this neighborhood. Dad followed along at a distance and, predictably, at a much slower speed. Like the tortoise and the hare.

  It wasn’t that Daphne didn’t like Karen. Except that she just didn’t. But, more than that, she didn’t quite trust the fiftysomething fast-talking blonde. Daphne might be wrong, but it seemed that Karen’s energy was linked with opportunity. And Daphne couldn’t help but wonder if the vivacious Realtor would’ve befriended Dad if there hadn’t been some real estate involved.

  Normally Daphne liked to believe the best in people and she didn’t like to pass judgment on anyone. But this was her down-to-earth dad—the slow-moving, good-hearted Donald Ballinger. The rules all changed on the home turf.

  Daphne kicked off her pumps and peeled off her black suit jacket, but before she started raiding the fridge, she remembered the girls. “Lucy,” she called, “Ethel, where are you?”

  She realized they must still be locked in the spare bedroom, so she went up to rescue them. But as she went up the stairs, running her hand along the smooth cherry banister, it began to sink in . . . this could all be hers. If only.

  “There you are,” she said as she opened the door and the two cats shot out. “Sorry about that, girls.” She went in and fetched the litter box and water dish, carried them downstairs, then set them back into place in the laundry room, where the cats were now milling hungrily around their food bowls. She knew the girls were agitated from all the noise and activity today . . . and for all she knew, they could be grieving for their mistress too.

  After feeding them, she filled herself a plate of leftovers and zapped it in the microwave. Then she sat down at the kitchen table and, watching out the window, she slowly ate. How many times had Aunt Dee sat here doing this same thing? Daphne had decided to continue calling her Aunt Dee. It was just too hard to wrap her head around calling her “grandmother.”

  Grandma had been the wrinkled white-haired woman who lived in a nursing home just outside of town. She’d been placed there shortly after Grandpa died. Dad had taken Daphne to see Grandma occasionally, but all Daphne remembered was the pungent aroma of overcooked vegetables combined with other smells she didn’t care to think about and that Grandma could never remember her name. She couldn’t even remember Dad’s name. Daphne later learned that the poor old woman had dementia. Perhaps even Alzheimer’s, although Daphne didn’t recall anyone using that term back then.

  Of course, Daphne wasn’t quite seven when Grandma died. And after having lost her own mother just two years earlier, Daphne had drawn the childhood conclusion that all adults would die before long. She expected that Dad and Aunt Dee wouldn’t be around for long either. As a result she lived in an almost-constant state of anxiety and fear as a child. And it didn’t get much better as she grew older. She still had a fear of her loved ones leaving her.

  It was about three years after her breakup with Ryan that Daphne began seeing a therapist. With Sylvia’s help Daphne had made great strides, working her way through this phobia. Sylvia had shone the initial spotlight on Daphne’s own personal fear of dying young . . . like her mother. They talked things through and Sylvia helped Daphne to incorporate some positive thinking into her life, utilizing everything from uplifting and lighthearted music, to biofeedback CDs before bedtime, to meditative prayer and memorizing favorite Scriptures. All of it had helped. And for the most part Daphne felt perfectly normal. Except for when she didn’t. Like now.

  Daphne sat there, poking at her warmed-over chicken-and-broccoli casserole, listlessly staring out the window and feeling completely out of sync with the world. Or perhaps she was simply out of sync with Appleton. Really, how would she ever fit in here?

  She imagined Dad and Karen happily playing cards at the country club with their friends Gene and Marsha. She imagined Jake enjoying time with his daughter, Jenna, and presumably his wife as well. Then she imagined Ricardo Martoni cheerfully greeting patrons at his restaurant, where everyone seemed to know everyone. Even when she imagined her disgruntled relatives, it seemed they all had other family members to go home with. Thomas Wolfe was probably right. “You can’t go back home.”

  Daphne considered New York now. Wasn’t that supposed to be her home? At least that’s where her return address had been listed for more than a dozen years. But when she thought of her dead-end job as Amelia’s grunt-girl, or her dismal apartment in Brooklyn, or her preoccupied roommates, or even her pregnant best friend, who was suddenly ready to build her nest in the suburbs, it didn’t feel very welcoming. Seriously, who wanted to go “back home” to that? Maybe she didn’t fit in anywhere.

  A lump grew in her throat as she pushed the barely touched plate from her. She jumped in surprise as Lucy gracefully leaped onto her lap and started purring loudly. Meanwhile, down under the table, Ethel was rubbing against Daphne’s bare legs. It was as if the cats wanted to comfort her. Or maybe they just missed human companionship. Or more likely, they were grateful she’d fed them. Whatever it was, it made her feel better.

  As she petted the cats, talking to them like old friends, she wondered if she was destined to become just like Aunt Dee. Maybe it was something woven into the depths of her DNA. And really, was it such a bad sort of life? Alone and independent, coming and going as she pleased. Even if she turned out to be a spinster too, what was wrong with living out the last of her days in this sweet old house with—?

  “Wait a doggone minute!” She eased Lucy from her lap and stood. “I can’t even do that.” Thanks to Aunt Dee’s airtight will, Daphne would be tossed out of this sweet old house just a year from now. Lucy and Ethel would be sent to the Cat House, where they would surely live in high feline style. And then Daphne would do what? Return to New York to beg for her job back? Go live with her father in the old folks’ condo units? Become a thirty-four-year-old bag lady in Appleton?

  “Oh, don’t be such a silly goose.” She scraped the food from her plate into the garbage disposal. “You’re overdramatizing again. What would Sylvia say?” As she rinsed the plate, Daphne could just hear Sylvia. She’d be telling Daphne to make the most of this. She would say something like, “Enjoy this year in Appleton. See it as God’s way of giving you a much-needed vacation. Take time to figure out what you want to do next in your life. No one has a guarantee of what tomorrow will bring—you only have today. Why not live it to the fullest?”

  Feeling slightly heartened from her make-believe pep talk, Daphne considered poking around and exploring the house, but it was such a lovely evening outside, she decided to do something far bolder. But first she changed her clothes, replacing the serious black business suit for khaki pants, loafers, and a mossy green cashmere sweater set. The look wasn’t as fun and lighthearted as she wished, but it was wha
t she had packed for casual wear and it would have to do.

  Next she grabbed her purse and went to the laundry room, where she opened the little door that concealed the spot where Aunt Dee hung all her spare keys on little brass hooks. And there, sure enough, was what Daphne knew was the old car key. Hopefully the old car that went along with it was still here. She removed the key marked carriage house, a.k.a. the garage, and went outside and unlocked the double doors, letting them swing open to expose just what she hoped to find.

  Shrouded in old sheets with faded red roses printed on them was the shape of a classic Corvette. Daphne’s heart beat a little faster as she slid the sheets off to reveal the gorgeous convertible. Using the wadded-up sheets, she dusted the car, starting with the ivory-colored convertible roof to the sleek, long hood that still reminded Daphne of a shiny new Lincoln penny. Aunt Dee had purchased this car straight from the factory in 1955, long before Daphne was even born.

  “A very limited number of copper-colored cars were produced,” Aunt Dee had told Daphne years ago. “So Bonnie is very special.” Daphne had thought nothing was strange about naming a car Bonnie. And looking at Bonnie today, the name seemed as fitting as ever.

  “Want to take a spin, Bonnie?” Daphne tossed the sheets aside.

  Hopefully the car still ran. And knowing Aunt Dee, who rarely drove the car but was a firm believer in regular maintenance, there was a good chance that Bonnie was raring to go. The odometer had less than twenty-eight thousand miles on it, which meant Aunt Dee averaged less than five hundred miles a year.

  Of course, that made sense considering that Aunt Dee walked everywhere. Even to the grocery store. Daphne wondered if she remembered how to put the top down and although it took a few minutes, she eventually got it. Now the car looked sleeker than ever.

  Daphne felt a shiver of guilt as she slid into the driver’s seat. Like the rest of the car, the upholstery was in mint condition. She slipped in the key and, holding her breath, turned the starter and stepped on the gas, just the way Aunt Dee had taught her to do nearly twenty years ago. And to her delight, after a couple of tries, the engine roared to life. Aunt Dee was the one who taught Daphne to drive—and in this very car. And today, since it had been years, Daphne hoped that driving was like riding a bike.

  She tried not to remember the reason that Bonnie had been completely repainted back in the nineties. After Daphne, then sixteen, had scraped the passenger door against a cement post at the gas station, Aunt Dee had been understandably distressed, but she quickly recovered. She made a few phone calls and eventually reassured a sobbing Daphne that Bonnie would look better than new with a gleaming new coat of paint. And indeed she did. She still did now. However, the unfortunate incident had taken away some of Daphne’s enjoyment of driving. As much as Aunt Dee would encourage her to take out the car, Daphne was always hesitant. Not tonight.

  Daphne put the gearstick in Reverse and carefully backed out, and just like that she was driving down Huckleberry Lane—and sitting on top of the world. She even turned on the radio, which was still tuned to Aunt Dee’s favorite station, a station that played music from Bonnie’s era—the fifties. Not exactly Daphne’s favorite kind of music, but in honor of Aunt Dee, she left it playing as she cruised around town.

  To her surprise, the old car garnered a few waves and honks and definitely turned a lot of heads. And that was fun. Then as she was making her second run down Main Street, her stomach began to rumble and she realized she was ravenous. And there, with a parking spot right in front, was Midge’s Diner.

  She pulled right into the parking spot, near a couple who were dining outside. The woman’s back was to her, but the guy gave her a solid thumbs-up. “Perfect set of wheels to park in front of a fifties-style diner.”

  “Thanks.” She smiled, but as she got closer to the door, she noticed the woman’s profile and paused. “Olivia?” she asked cautiously.

  The petite brunette turned around, then leaped to her feet. “Daphne!” Now they were hugging and exclaiming and trying to figure out why they were both in Appleton. So Daphne explained about Aunt Dee, and Olivia admitted that she lived here in Appleton now.

  “I just got back from a weeklong business trip this afternoon, so I only just heard about your aunt passing,” Olivia said. “I’m so sorry.”

  “She had a good, full life.” Daphne suppressed the urge to go into detail about how full it was. That had to remain her secret.

  “Do you remember Jeff Sorenson?” Olivia finally appeared to remember the guy with her. “He graduated from ASH too. He was a senior when we were freshmen.”

  Daphne studied his bright blue eyes and billiard-ball smooth scalp. “I don’t really recall.”

  Olivia laughed, smoothing her hand over Jeff’s shiny head. “Yeah, that’s because he had hair back then.”

  “I still have hair,” he protested. “But this is my low-maintenance do.”

  “Low maintenance?” Olivia shook her head. “That is a big, fat lie. He shaves it almost daily and when he thinks I’m not looking, he oils and polishes it. That head gets more attention than I do.”

  Jeff frowned. “And how much time do you spend on your hair, Livvie dear?”

  “Never mind.” Olivia turned back to Daphne. “Are you eating here?”

  “Yes. I was just going inside—”

  “Eat with us,” Olivia insisted.

  “Oh, I don’t want to intrude. I can just go—”

  “No, no, we want your company. Don’t we, Jeff?”

  “You bet. I want to hear more about that stunning Corvette. What a sweet ride.”

  “Please,” Olivia begged. “We can catch up.”

  “All right,” Daphne conceded. “If you’re sure.”

  “I’ll go tell Ricardo,” Jeff said as he ducked into the diner.

  Olivia was already dragging another chair over to the table. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks.” Daphne sat down and took in a deep breath. “I actually wanted to eat outside tonight, but I was afraid it would look pathetic. You know, a lone woman eating by herself out here.”

  “Well, I don’t think that’s pathetic. But anyway, you don’t have to worry about that now.” Olivia smiled. “You look great, Daphne. Very sophisticated. That must be from living in New York all these years. How exciting!”

  Daphne shrugged. “To be honest, it was starting to get old.”

  “Oh, you’re just saying that to make me feel better. The closest I got to living in a big city like New York was Omaha.” She laughed. “But the truth is, even that was too busy for me. I moved back home four years ago . . . when my sister got sick.”

  “Your sister?”

  “Remember Bernadette?”

  “Of course. How could I not?” Bernadette had been two years ahead of them in school, she’d been class president, and admired by everyone.

  Olivia’s dark eyes grew sad. “Bernie passed away three years ago. Pancreatic cancer. She didn’t even know she had it until it was virtually untreatable.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. I never heard about that.”

  “I know . . .” Olivia sighed. “We lost touch.”

  Daphne reached for Olivia’s hand. “You know how many times I thought of you . . . and wondered how to get in touch . . . but then life would get busy.”

  “Yeah. I know. And I’m one of the few people on the planet who has not succumbed to the social network.”

  “I tried it for a while. But really, I just don’t see the point.”

  “Sorry to take so long.” Jeff handed Daphne a menu and napkin and silverware, but he didn’t sit back down. “But I was talking to Ricardo in there. And then he noticed your car—and knew it was you.” Jeff gave Daphne a sly look. “And he asked if he could join us.”

  “Yes!” Olivia nodded eagerly. “Tell him absolutely.”<
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  Ignoring her, Jeff turned Daphne. “I think he wanted your approval, not Livvie’s.”

  “Oh, sure,” Daphne said. “Of course he can join us. It’s his diner.”

  Jeff laughed. “Yeah, well, I don’t think Ricardo uses that as his invitation to sit down and dine with all his customers. But I’ll go let him know you girls gave him the green light.”

  “A double date,” Olivia said happily. “Who knew?”

  Daphne nodded as she laid the napkin in her lap. Yes, who knew? And although she was flattered that Ricardo wanted to join them, she suddenly felt suspicious. Had her dad said something to him? She remembered how Dad had gone on and on about Ricardo being such a hot bachelor commodity in this town, as if he was ready to play matchmaker for her. Was it possible Dad had already known about the strange conditions of Aunt Dee’s will?

  Chapter 7

  I feel like a party crasher,” Ricardo apologized as he joined them.

  “No, I was the party crasher,” Daphne told him.

  “Here’s to crashers.” Olivia held up her water glass.

  “And here’s to Appleton High alumnus,” Jeff added.

  “Yes, this is like a mini-reunion.” Daphne smiled at her friends as they clicked glasses.

  They paused as a pretty blond waitress named Kellie came out to take their orders. She reminded Daphne of Shelby back in New York, and she vaguely wondered if Johnny Junior had popped the question yet. But for some reason it all seemed like another world right now and very far removed.

  “And remember, no check,” Ricardo quietly told Kellie. “This is on the house.” Naturally they all protested but he insisted. “Hey, if I can’t treat my friends at my restaurant, what’s the point in being the owner?”

  “Good point,” Jeff said. “And now I think I’ll have the steak and lobster and a bottle of your finest pinot noir.”

  Ricardo laughed. “I think you’ve got Midge’s confused with The Zeppelin.”

  Kellie finished taking their orders and Daphne looked around the table with a happy smile. “This is so great. You guys are making me feel right at home.” She waved to where the old-fashioned iron streetlights were just starting to come on, glowing warmly in the dusky blue light. “And the town looks so beautiful. I never remembered it being like this before.”