The Paper Detective. E. Joan Sims
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dog heard his name and thumped his tail on the floor in sleepy acknowledgment.
“I’ve read all your mysteries,” he continued. “You made a few mistakes, but they’re amusing. By the way, Leonard’s an asshole.”
“Then you are more like him than I thought,” I retorted angrily.
Again his laughter was genuine and wholehearted. I felt like a naughty schoolgirl. I turned over on my side and pulled the covers up.
“I am sleepy, after all,” I muttered. “Good night.”
He sat there in silence until I almost screamed. At long last, he got up and put another log on the fire.
I lay awake long after I heard the steady breathing coming from his bed in the far corner of the cabin.
Chapter Six
The next morning I was awakened by the sound of the county tow truck pulling Watson into the drive in front of Bert’s cabin. I grabbed my clothes and ran barefoot to the outhouse where, thanks to my host, my warm bird bath was waiting. I washed and dressed quickly. I couldn’t wait to get home.
Danny and Bert were on the front porch drinking steaming mugs of coffee and sharing a joke when I walked out. They cut their laughter short when they saw me. My cheeks burned when they avoided looking my way, leaving me little doubt as to the target of their humor.
“Good morning, Danny,” I said a little too brightly. “Thanks for rescuing Watson. How is he?”
Danny cleared his throat, “Seems fine, Mrs. DeLeon. You may want to check the alignment some time soon, but nothing’s bent underneath. Good thing you got out when you did. That exhaust was clogged up tight.”
“Yeah, so I’ve been told.”
I turned and looked directly at Bert for the first time. Despite his joking around, he looked tired and drawn. It was obvious that he hadn’t slept well.
“Thanks again for your hospitality, Bert. I’ll be in touch about our arrangements as soon as I call my agent.”
I turned to go down the steps and heard the dog whine.
“Bye, Murphy.” I said as I ruffled his furry ears. “Thanks for coming to my rescue.”
I slid twice on the icy path as I hurried to the car, but the tears didn’t start until I banged my knee against the door trying to get in. I averted my face as I backed out of the drive so Bert wouldn’t see me crying yet again. When I stopped to make the turn, I thought for a moment I heard my name in the cold crisp air. I looked back at the cabin, but the two men had gone inside. I spun the tires in the snow as I made my getaway.
“Damn!” I shouted as I banged on the steering wheel. “Damn, damn, damn!”
It was almost noon when I got home. Mother was in the kitchen making fruitcakes. The strong, sweet smell of cinnamon and nutmeg made me want to puke. I stormed through her domestic domain with barely a, “Hello, Mother, I’m home.” Her only response was an elegantly raised eyebrow.
I slammed my bedroom door and threw my clothes in the corner as I stripped down for my first whole bath in two days. Steam filled the bathroom as hot water filled the tub. I doused the water liberally with some of Cassie’s flowery bath salts and sank down in the fragrance and the heat. I didn’t turn the faucet until my limbs floated off the bottom, and even then I let the water continue to trickle to keep my bath hot.
Slowly, the hurt and anger began to disappear as my muscles relaxed. I deliberately avoided investigating the reasons for my feelings. They were better off tucked away. Out of sight, I decided, out of mind.
I had almost fallen asleep when I heard Cassie calling at the door.
“Mom, are you decent? Can I come in?”
I laughed. “I am in the bathtub, you know. Never mind, come on in, pumpkin”
The door opened, letting in a slight draft of cold air.
“Shut the door, for Pete’s sake!”
“Wow, Gran was right. She said you were in a mood. What happened out there in the woods with your mountain man?”
Cassie sat on the chair by the vanity. She looked at me curiously through the mist when I didn’t answer right away.
“It’s like a steam room in here,” she said wiping the perspiration off her upper lip. “Are you all right, Mom? I mean, he didn’t take advantage or anything, did he?”
The tears started up again, and before I knew it I was crying as hard as I had all the way home.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I sobbed. “I can’t stop crying.”
“Oh, Mom, maybe we’d better call the doctor. Danny said you hit your head pretty hard. Bert thought you had a concussion. Maybe you need x-rays or something.”
I sniffed and blew my nose on the washcloth. “No. No doctor. I’ll be fine.” I tried smiling to reassure her, but my heart wasn’t in it. I really was a very poor actress.
“Have you had breakfast?”
This time my smile was genuine.
“You sound like Mother,” I chided. “No, come to think of it, I didn’t. And I am hungry. Think maybe you could bring me some soup?”
Cassie fixed a tray for me while I dried my hair. Two days without a comb had made the curly auburn tangles almost impossible to brush out. Once again, I made the decision to get a haircut as soon as possible.
I looked in the mirror at my reflection. My face was flushed bright pink from my bath. Green eyes stared solemnly back at me over a ridiculously pert little nose. I swore softly as I realized once again how unfair it was for a forty-two-year-old woman to still have freckles.
I combed furiously at a tangle, and the pain almost brought the tears back to my eyes. The scissors in the cabinet were too much of a temptation. I decided impetuously that I could probably do as good a job as anyone in Rowan Springs. Holding up a twisted, tangled lock, I took an experimental whack. It was easier than I thought. The scissors were sharp and made a whispery little sound as I continued to snip away. The sink slowly filled with hair as my head got lighter. When I had finished, I ruffled the short, tousled cap of curls that remained with satisfaction.
“Goodbye, Raggedy Ann,” I whispered.
Cassie loved my new haircut.
Mother was appalled.
“Paisley, darling, why in the world didn’t you have the self-control to wait for a decent hairstylist?”
“Well, Mother, let’s see. Number one, I have no self-control. You’ve told me so a hundred times. And number two, there is no such animal in Rowan Springs.”
“Gennie does a very competent job on my hair, thank you very much,” she huffed.
“Yes, she does,” I agreed. “But that’s because you have beautiful silver-white hair, and you’ve spent years making her perfect that French twist.”
“Well…” she smiled, pleased with the compliment.
“Besides, I like the way I cut my hair. It feels great.”
“If you want to look like Shirley Temple…”
I interrupted her angrily. “I’m not Shirley Temple, and I’m not Raggedy Ann! I’m me, Paisley Sterling. And if I want to shave my head and paint it blue, I’ll do it.”
I stormed out of the kitchen and grabbed my jacket from the hall closet. It would take a bracing walk in the snow to cool me off. I was more than a little surprised that my boiling point was so low.
The fields and the lane were covered with snow and prohibited a walk in the woods behind the farm. Instead, I went around to the front of the house and down the driveway. Off