Sweet Tibby Mack. Roz Fox Denny
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Tibby leaped out of her chair. “Take my word for this, O’Donnell—touch one stick of wood in that federal building, and I’ll contact the authorities.” Tibby lowered her voice as Winnie Toliver strolled through the front door. The pert woman eyed the two who stood rigidly, glaring at one another.
“Afternoon, Cole…Tibby,” she said, inclining her neatly cropped hair. “The Moped Mavericks rode past the cemetery today. The fresh flowers look beautiful, Tibby.”
Tibby relaxed. “Thanks. It didn’t seem right to decorate just my grandmother’s plot. Not when she gave May baskets to everyone.”
Cole, who’d reached the door, stopped. “I meant to ask who decorated the graves. This morning I paid my respects to Gramps. Your flowers brightened the place and made my visit easier,” he said, his voice rough with feeling.
Tibby hitched up a shoulder. “You’re welcome,” she mumbled, avoiding his eyes. “He needs a headstone, O’Donnell. The kind with a built-in vase. Your mother only authorized one of those cheapie markers.”
“Tibby.” There was a note of shock in Winnie’s tone.
Tibby frowned at Cole. “I can’t help it. The marker is tacky. It’s not like Yale was a pauper. He deserves better.”
Cole wrenched the door open. “Anna didn’t mention needing a stone. Actually she didn’t mention Gramps had died, either. Consider it done, Ms. Mack. The kind with the vase. Two damned vases if you’d like.”
Winnie jumped as the door banged sharply on his dramatic exit.
Tibby didn’t bat an eye. “Of all the arrogant, insufferable, overbearing—”
“Why, Tibby!” Winnie’s eyes widened. “This is so unlike you.”
Ashamed of letting her feelings show, Tibby closed her eyes and massaged her temples. “Sorry, Winnie. I don’t know what’s come over me.”
“I do. You’ve been working too hard. You were by our house at six this morning, and I’m sure you rose earlier to cut all those flowers. You probably stayed up half the night making baskets, too.” Her face softened. “They are pretty, though. Made out of wallpaper, aren’t they?”
Tibby nodded. “Last time I went to buy stakes for my tomatoes, one of the paint stores in Indio was selling sample books,” she said. “Wallpaper holds up better than construction paper for heavier flowers like lilac and jasmine. This year the trees are overloaded.”
“I noticed that the desert verbena’s beginning to bloom, too. And the smoke trees are starting to leaf. The Mavericks rode south toward El Centro today. I wish you’d been with us, Tibby. I remember how you used to love finding the first burroweed blossoms.”
“That was before Gram got so sick. I honestly don’t know how she managed the gardens, the orchard, the store, plus the housework. Especially at her age.”
“She devoted her whole life to this community after she lost Leo. It became her obsession after your parents were killed. But, Tibby, you’re too young to bury yourself in work. You haven’t lived yet.”
“This is certainly the day for everyone to lecture me. First Henrietta, then Mabel and now you. Have I turned into such a terrible grouch?”
“No, sweet Tibby. But all work and no play makes for a dull life.” Winnie left, giving Tibby no chance to respond.
Tibby wondered if Winnie had dropped by just to scold her. Was she working too hard? No. And right now she had better things to do than speculate. This week she was scheduled to print the newsletter. In addition to that, she had to find where Grandmother Mack had put Yale’s letter. Frankly, Tibby would’ve liked nothing better than to shove that document in Cole O’Donnell’s face, along with a copy of the scathing article she planned to write in the newsletter denouncing his golf course. Couldn’t the residents see that this was exactly the kind of development that’d make Cole a millionaire—and Yaqui Springs just another toilet bowl for the rich?
THE NEXT EVENING Cole took his sandwich and cup of coffee to the screened porch. The setting sun gave off just enough light to see. He and his grandfather used to have some great talks out here. The old man had been able to debate both sides of any issue and do a convincing job of it. Cole wished he’d known about his grandfather’s heart condition; he’d have turned down that last job. All the hours they’d spent together, and Gramps never once mentioned being on high-blood-pressure medicine or having to use nitroglycerin tablets. Joe Toliver had supplied that information yesterday.
The people of Yaqui Springs had really loved Gramps. They made Cole see the value of belonging to a closeknit community. They looked after their own; they really were a community. At his condo complex on the coast the residents had iron grates on their doors and windows, and he knew barely any of his neighbors. Yes, sinking roots in Yaqui Springs appealed to him.
For no reason at all Cole recalled the baskets of flowers Tibby had placed on everyone’s door yesterday. Every door except his. After visiting the Tolivers, Fred Feeny and Ralph Hopple, Cole had to admit he’d more or less expected to find one at his place. Winnie had expected so, too. She’d lent him a vase. Apparently she didn’t know sweet Tibby as well as she’d led him to believe.
Weird how everyone called her sweet Tibby Mack as if it was her name. She hadn’t shown him any sweetness.
Swallowing the last bite of sandwich, Cole leaned back to enjoy his coffee. Boy, Tibby Mack was a classic case of a caterpillar turning into a butterfly. She used to be skinny as a post, and so bashful she’d made Cole nervous. Even then, her eyes had resembled huge moss agates, always watching him from the shadows.
Yet…if he hadn’t met Cicely, he might be tempted to ferret out that sweet personality everyone raved about. But he had met Cicely. Which reminded Cole of how lonely he’d been this past year. When they’d begun dating two years ago, a loose relationship suited them both. Cicely wanted freedom to pursue her acting career, and he flew off on short notice to design golf courses for conglomerates. The last time they’d spoken, Cole suspected Cicely’s career had stalled. Now here he was with the chance of a lifetime dumped in his lap. And with him staring thirty-one eyeball to eyeball, and Cicely a couple of years older…By the time his course opened, they should both be more than ready to settle down and start a family.
Assuming he could begin excavation soon.
Cole slammed his mug down on the glass-topped table. There was still the little matter of that prime land his neighbor had usurped. He checked his watch. Eight o’clock. Was it too late to have another go at talking her around? Rising, he carried his plate and cup into the kitchen. From there he had a fair view of the Mack house, where lights still blazed. Maybe he hadn’t approached Tibby the right way yesterday. What if he offered to compensate her for the cost of rebuilding elsewhere? Not that he owed her. But if it’d facilitate things, Cole guessed he could bend a little.
TIBBY WAS ELBOW-DEEP in printer’s ink when someone knocked at her back door. “Come in!” she yelled, hoping it’d be Pete Banks. He was Yaqui Springs’ all-purpose mechanic. Someday she hoped to be able to afford a computer and laser printer. Then, putting out the newsletter would be a snap. For now, she had to nurse this ancient printing press along.
She glanced up as Cole O’Donnell poked his head hesitantly around the door. What was he doing here? Tibby suffered a moment’s panic. Black ink covered both her hands and no doubt smudged her face. She knew her reaction was pure vanity, yet she’d rather anyone but this man caught her looking like a chimney sweep.
“Why would you shout ‘come in’ when you had no idea who was at your door?” Cole stepped inside. “An unlocked door is asking to end up a murder victim.”
“Do