“Time for you to go.”
Allison nodded. “All right.” On impulse, she opened her purse and took out a small pad. Tearing off a piece of paper, she wrote down her phone number. “If you hear from Anson again, would you call me?”
Cherry didn’t answer.
“I’ll let you know if he phones me.”
When Cherry turned her back, Allison laid the sheet on the table and quietly left the trailer.
Sixteen
When Charlotte left the Garden Club meeting, she stopped by her friend Helen’s on Poppy Lane. Ben was playing bridge with some other men, and then later Charlotte would meet him for soup at the Pot Belly Deli, one of her favorite lunch spots. Their homemade soups were not to be missed. However, she’d promised Helen Shelton a quick visit before lunch. Her friend was working on a Fair Isle sweater for her only granddaughter and wanted Charlotte to take a look. At one time or another, Charlotte had tackled just about every type of project in the knitting world, and Fair Isle was no exception. Helen found this sweater a challenge; Charlotte admired the way she’d refused to give up, although she’d had to restart more than once before she figured out the correct tension.
Charlotte and Helen were both widows. They’d begun as casual acquaintances, but their friendship had grown through their involvement in the Senior Center. Now Charlotte considered Helen one of her dearest friends. She knew Helen had been in France during World War II, but only recently had she learned that Helen had been part of the French Resistance. This information came to her by accident, when Charlotte happened to see a faded poster while visiting her friend. She’d asked about it and then, reluctantly, as though every word had to be forced out, Helen explained that as a young college student, she’d been trapped in France after the German invasion.
Determined to support the Allies, she’d joined the French Resistance, helping downed American and English pilots find their way back to England. Although Charlotte had tried to ask further questions, Helen sidestepped them. Instinctively Charlotte had realized that her friend didn’t want this information shared. The only person she’d ever told was Ben. The friendship between Helen and Charlotte had deepened from that day forward.
Helen met her at the door of her duplex and immediately ushered her inside and out of the drizzle. No one used umbrellas in the Pacific Northwest—or residents didn’t, anyway. An umbrella was a sure sign of a tourist.
Now, as she sat in Helen’s living room with a cup of tea, Charlotte examined the body of the sweater, which was knit in the round. This was the method Charlotte had recommended and it seemed to be working well.
“It’s all in the tension,” Charlotte said, looking closely at Helen’s knitting. She nodded. “Nice job.” Holding a strand of yarn in each hand was a learned skill, but one grew accustomed to it quickly enough. “Ruth’s going to be thrilled when she sees this.”
“I certainly hope so,” Helen said, shaking her head. “I can’t tell you the number of rows I’ve had to take out.”
“You’re doing just fine.”
Helen set her tea aside. “Ruth’s engaged—did I tell you?—and I’m thinking of knitting something for her wedding.”
Since Helen was already knitting her granddaughter this difficult sweater, Charlotte was loath to suggest a wedding coat, which was meant to be worn over the wedding dress following the ceremony. She’d come upon a 1970s pattern for one and was quite taken with it. Perhaps she’d find an excuse to knit it up herself.
“Let me look through my patterns to see what I can dig up,” Charlotte said.
Helen thanked her with a smile. “I’d appreciate that. Any suggestions are welcome.”
Charlotte finished her tea and bade her friend an affectionate farewell, promising another visit soon. She put on her raincoat, collected her large purse and stepped into the May drizzle. With gas prices what they were, Charlotte had decided to walk. Fortunately the Garden Club meeting room, Helen’s duplex and the deli were located only a few blocks apart.
By the time she arrived at the Pot Belly Deli, Ben had secured a table and was reading the menu. As soon as her husband saw her enter, he stood, giving her a discreet kiss on the cheek and helped her remove her coat. The fact that Ben exhibited such impeccable manners had endeared him to her from the very start. Such courtesies didn’t play much of a role in social relationships anymore, so when they existed, she felt they were often indicative of real respect. In Ben’s case that was definitely true. Those protective, caring gestures—opening a door, helping her into a car, walking on the curb side of the street—touched her. She and Ben believed in treating each other with politeness and consideration. Her first marriage, to Clyde, had been marked by those same small displays of love.
“How did the meeting go?” Ben asked after seating her and reclaiming his own chair.
Charlotte was afraid he’d ask. “I was elected president again,” she said with a slight grimace. “Everyone’s so busy these days, and no one else wanted the position.” The Garden Club didn’t require a lot of her time, but it was a monthly commitment that took her away from him.
His lack of response unsettled her. “Are you upset with me, dear?”
Ben lowered the menu and his eyes widened at her question. “Why would I be upset? If I were a Garden Club member, I’d want you as president, too. You’re the perfect choice. You’re organized, practical, responsible—and the most incredible woman I’ve ever met.”
The things this man said. Things that made her heart expand with joy. “Oh, Ben, I do love you.”
Smiling, he set the menu aside. “I know, and I consider myself the most fortunate of men because you do.”
They both ordered the chicken-and-wild-rice soup, with large chunks of warm-from-the-oven sourdough bread. The restaurant owner had once told Charlotte that the sourdough starter had come from Alaska and was more than a hundred years old. Whether or not the story was true, the bread did have a flavor that couldn’t be matched.
“I stopped by the house before I came down to the deli,” Ben told her as they got ready to leave. “Justine phoned and asked if we could see her at the bank before one.”
Charlotte had heard only a few days ago that her granddaughter had gone back to work for First National part-time. Justine had served as manager until shortly after her wedding to Seth. She sincerely hoped the young couple wasn’t having financial problems, although she didn’t think so. Olivia had told her that Justine and Seth were getting interim insurance payments. She had the feeling that her granddaughter had returned to the bank more to structure her time than for financial reasons. Justine had never been a girl who liked being idle.
After their bill was paid, Ben helped Charlotte on with her coat and together they left the deli. Although she’d enjoyed their lunch, Charlotte missed The Lighthouse. It had become a popular place in the community and she was so proud of everything Justine and Seth had done. Any meal there was a notable dining experience. She couldn’t begin to understand why anyone would burn it down. She had to believe it’d been a random act of violence. Surely no one would wish her granddaughter and Seth any harm.
Perhaps because this was a Monday, the bank didn’t seem too busy. Justine sat behind a desk set against the far wall and stood when she saw them.
“Hello, Grandma,” she said, smiling. “Ben.” She came forward to meet them and kissed Charlotte’s cheek, then led them toward her desk. “Sit down, please.”
Charlotte couldn’t remember her granddaughter calling her into the bank even once. There must be some problem with Justine’s finances, after all. Her gaze seemed to avoid Charlotte’s, as if she was embarrassed about something.
“What’s wrong, dear?” Charlotte asked, holding her purse on her lap and leaning forward in the chair.
“Ben,” Justine said, looking directly at him. “You deposited a check for a thousand dollars a while back.”
“That was from David, his son,” Charlotte explained before Ben had a chance. Although he hadn’t said anything, she knew Ben had been pleased with David’s gesture in repaying him part of the money he owed. Father and son were estranged, and Charlotte had done her best to bring them together. Ben didn’t discourage her efforts, yet she had the distinct feeling that he thought it was a waste of time. Certainly David was a problem child.
“The check was returned—insufficient funds,” Justine said, keeping her voice low. “I’m so sorry. As soon as I saw the name, I took the check and handled it myself.”
Ben remained stoic. “The truth is, I’m not surprised. Could I have it, please?”
Justine handed it to him and without so much as glancing at it, Ben tore it in two.
“Ben!” Charlotte was shocked at her husband’s action. “I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for why this happened.”
“It’s worthless,” her husband said without emotion. “I should’ve known that from the first. David’s had constant financial problems from the time he was a youth. He’s never been able to repay me a dime he’s borrowed. That’s why I refuse to lend him money anymore.”
“Oh, dear,” Charlotte murmured, genuinely saddened by this turn of events.
“His lack of financial sense is the reason he went to Charlotte for a loan, which infuriated me more than just about anything David’s ever done in his life,” Ben continued.
“You can’t let money stand in the way of love,” Charlotte admonished. She made sure her tone was without censure.
“Don’t misunderstand me,” Ben said, his words weighted with sadness. “I love my sons, both of them. David, however, has never grown up or learned to accept responsibility. It’s always someone else’s fault, always a temporary condition. Everything will be better later, and instead of facing the truth, he looks for an easy out or a quick fix. His immaturity has cost him deeply, and his excuses have only led him further into debt.”
Charlotte placed her hand on her husband’s. “You aren’t to blame.”
“I made a call to David Rhodes,” Justine said, interrupting their conversation.
Charlotte turned her attention back to her granddaughter.
Justine seemed decidedly uncomfortable. “David asked if I’d hold the check until the first of the month, which I did.”
“And when you resubmitted it, the same thing happened. It was returned because of insufficient funds,” Ben finished for her.
Justine confirmed his suspicions with a nod. “I couldn’t hold on to it any longer.”
“Of course not,” Ben assured her with such a facade of calm that even Charlotte was nearly fooled. She, however, knew her husband far too well—and knew that Ben was both embarrassed and unsettled. “Please, if anything like this ever comes up in the future, do not do my son any favors.”
“I’m sorry, Ben,” Justine said sympathetically.