Absence of Mallets, page 7
“I’ll be around,” I assured her.
“I’ll be here, too,” Chloe said. “I’m taking videos for my show.”
“That sounds like fun.” She waved as she crossed the parking lot. “Good night.”
* * *
* * *
When I got home, Mac and Robbie were on the couch, watching a basketball game. The cats were curled up in different parts of the room apparently uninterested in the big game.
I stood in the doorway gazing at them all and thought how happy I was to be home.
“How did it go?” Mac asked as he stood and gave me a kiss, then walked with me into the kitchen.
“Really well. It’s a good group. Five of the women live in Homefront houses, and the other seven are from town.” I chuckled. “Chloe made a grand entrance, and everyone fell in love with her.”
He wrapped his arms around me. “I’m going to bet that they fell in love with you, too.”
“I think they really enjoyed it. And the fact that I’m gearing it all toward a career in the business made it even more interesting. At least, for most of them.”
“Did you tell them they’re going to build a house?”
“Yes, and they all freaked out. In a good way.” I grinned. “I think they’re all pretty psyched.”
“So no pests in your class?”
“Just one woman who questions everything I say. She’s not too bad, just a little fearful, I guess. And I get that.”
“Any injuries?”
I laughed. “Not yet. And I don’t expect any. These women have fought in wars. I can’t imagine they’ll fall apart when faced with a power drill.”
“Good point.”
“There was one weird moment,” I confessed. “And it had to do with Lewis.”
He frowned. “Lewis? The writer?”
“Yes.”
He held up his hand. “Wait. I’m going to get my beer. And you probably need a glass of wine.”
“What a good idea.”
Mac retrieved his beer and then poured a glass of wine for me. We sat down, and I told him the story about Parks shooing Lewis and Brian out of the community center before the class, and then later, how Lewis showed up for his “date” with Linda.
“You’re kidding me.”
“No. And Julia was really concerned.” I relayed that conversation to him.
“Maybe I’d better have a talk with him,” Mac said.
“I hate the idea that you’ve got to deal with him. Like you’re a chaperone or something. They’re not kids.”
“No, and neither is Linda,” he said.
I sighed. “Linda is a lovely, friendly woman, and Lewis is a player.” I glanced up. “That was Chloe’s word for him.”
“That about sums it up.”
“Oh, and she starts working for me tomorrow.”
“Who? Chloe?”
“No.” I laughed. “Linda.”
“Is that right?”
“She’s an incredible mosaic artist, and I got the bright idea to ask if she would do some of the backsplashes in the houses.”
Mac nodded approvingly. “That’s a great idea. It’ll give some of them that unique touch you’re looking for.”
“Exactly.” I took a sip of wine and sat down at the table. “I thought she might be insulted at the idea of doing backsplashes, but she’s not working right now, so she can use the money, and she’s happy to help the cause.”
“Good. Another win-win for Homefront.”
“Yes. Oh, and Chloe will be working at the village tomorrow, too. Taking videos of our work for her show.”
“She mentioned that.” He sipped his beer. “That’ll be nice for you.”
“It will.” I smiled. “You should’ve seen her walk into the meeting room. She was in full Contractor Barbie mode. She looked fabulous. And she brought a copy of her book for everyone in the class.”
“That’s pretty nice.”
“It was awesome. And she stayed to the very end. She helped some of the women with the bench project. Answered questions. Talked about her show. She was great.”
“It sounds like your first class was a hit.”
“Totally,” I said, and yawned. “And wow, I’m really tired. I feel like I’m about to fall on my face.”
He wrapped his arm around my shoulders. “Let’s go to bed.”
* * *
* * *
The next morning, I placed my coffee cup in the dishwasher and was about to leave for Homefront when a loud alarm rang through the house. The sound was so shrill that I thought my car alarm had gone off and ran to the back door to go outside and turn it off.
“Is that your phone?” Mac asked before I’d taken two steps out the door.
I stopped and listened to the high-pitched tone. “Is it?” It took me another second or two to recognize the sound. “It is my phone.”
I ran back to the kitchen table, where I’d left my cellphone sitting on top of my purse.
I grabbed the phone and switched off the noise, then stared at Mac. “It’s the lighthouse alarm.”
“I was afraid of that,” Mac said. “We’d better get out there.”
“Wait. Let’s look at the video before we take the drive. It could’ve been birds or something harmless setting off the alarm.”
“You think birds could’ve unlocked the door?”
I smiled ruefully. “No, but let’s check first anyway.” I replayed the video to see what had set off the alarm. It was dark inside the stairwell, but the morning sunlight managed to cast its hazy light into the space. I could just make out the images.
“Oh hell,” Mac muttered when he got a look at the intruders. “They’re worse than teenagers.”
We could see Lewis, Brian, Sheri, and Annabelle tiptoeing carefully up the stairs, giggling and chattering as they went.
Lewis led the way. He held up his phone, and a bright light suddenly flashed when he turned on his flashlight app.
“The view from up there is going to be spectacular,” he said excitedly.
“Perfect for a romantic tryst,” Sheri said.
“Or a murder,” Lewis said, causing the others to laugh.
We listened to them talk for another few seconds, until they climbed out of sight and the audio could no longer be heard.
I glared at the phone, then looked at Mac. “What’s up with these writers? Aren’t they supposed to be writing?”
“I don’t know what the hell they’re doing.”
“We should call Eric and report them,” I grumbled.
Mac’s eyes were flat and cold. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
* * *
* * *
I arrived at Homefront a few minutes late, after taking the time to report the lighthouse break-in. Mac had told Eric to give those idiots something to think about. Eric promised he would send a patrol car over there to bring them down to the police station for a “stern lecture.” That worked for us.
Now I had to think about today’s work. I had already texted Sean and Johnny to ask them to bring one of the utility tables and a couple of chairs over to house number thirty-three for Linda. I wanted her work area to be close by where I was working, just in case she had questions for me. Plus, I really wanted to see what she was doing.
I was stopped at a traffic signal, so I reviewed my to-do list, then quickly texted Linda to let her know where we’d be setting up her work area. She replied with a thumbs-up, and I tossed the phone on the passenger seat as the light turned green.
It was Wednesday, so the gardeners would be arriving around ten thirty. I always made a point of adding that detail to my to-do list because I wanted to make sure that we moved any of our equipment and supplies out of their way.
I knew Chloe would show up at some point, but she wouldn’t require any coddling. She’d go wherever she wanted to go and videotape whatever she thought was interesting. I was okay with that, and yeah, I had to admit that I’d spruced up a little, just in case she insisted on catching me on camera. I could never aspire to the Contractor Barbie level that she had reached, but I did okay with some lip gloss, a touch of blush, and a quick swish of mascara.
Also noted on my list was the arrival of all the window glass for houses twenty-six through thirty. We had purchased the windows already framed, from the panes and the sash to the window sill and the outer molding. My windows team could basically slide the whole piece into place, which cut down on breakage and made our jobs easier. Once each window was in place, one of us would level the frame, then caulk it, drive in the screws, and touch up the paint. Then rinse and repeat that procedure for eight windows on five houses.
Three weeks later, the glass man would return with the exact same order for the next five houses.
All of our windows were double-paned, which meant they had two layers of glass, which gave more protection from both cold and hot weather. And they were double-hung, meaning that they could be opened from both the top and the bottom. We had made that choice for the comfort and security of the vets.
I expected the glass man to show up sometime in the late morning, so I would have plenty of time to get some work done before he arrived.
I grabbed my tool chest and headed for house number thirty-three. The houses fanned out from the community center and were arranged in blocks of five to seven houses on each side of the Parkway, the winding blacktop drive that led from one end of the property to the other. Each house had its own individual style, and each of the vets who’d moved in had added their own touches. Trees that had been planted early on were growing taller, and their leaves shimmered in the light sea breeze. Colorful flowers lined the sidewalks, making the whole place feel friendly and welcoming.
I spotted Linda sitting at the utility table next to house number thirty-three, already at work. At this point in the development of the community, the houses were unfinished, and although they were surrounded by grass, there were no flowers or trees planted yet.
“Good morning,” I said. “I’m impressed that you got here so early.”
Linda smiled a greeting. “Some of your crew were already here, so I figured I was right on time.”
“Most of the guys like to get an early start, and so do I.”
“Me, too,” she said. She wore her hair in a simple ponytail today, and her outfit of jeans, cotton pullover, and work boots was construction-site approved. Not that it mattered to me, but I had a feeling that Julia had schooled her on what to wear. Her long pretty skirts and loose sweaters might be damaged if they came in contact with the jagged edge of a plywood board or some other hazard around here.
“I like your outfit,” I said. “You fit right in with the rest of the crew.”
She grinned. “That’s the look I was going for.”
“How was your date last night?” I asked, then immediately wanted to bite my tongue. It was none of my business. But when had that ever stopped me? Besides, I’d just seen that video of Lewis breaking into the lighthouse, and I wanted to try and give Linda some warning.
Linda gave me a patient look. “Now, you know it wasn’t a date. He’s just a nice young man, and I think he’s lonely. We had a very nice time.”
“Um, good. I’m glad.” A nice young man? I shook my head. Linda made Lewis sound like a high school kid and she was his teacher. In reality, he was probably in his early to mid-thirties while she was close to forty, which was not that much older. And despite her protests the night before, Lewis had considered it a date. Not that it was any of my business.
I distracted myself by checking out the myriad boxes of glass fragments and pottery shards that were carefully arranged by size, shape, and color. It was a little bit of artwork in and of itself.
“Were any of the other writers there?” I asked. I couldn’t help myself.
“No, just Lewis.” She sighed. “He’s been so successful with his first book that he’s afraid the others are jealous.”
“Really? Is that why you think he might be lonely?”
“Yes. And what the others don’t understand is that he’s really struggling with this second book he’s supposed to write.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“It’s true. There’s a lot of pressure on him to produce something equally impressive this time around, and the poor guy doesn’t know what to write yet.”
“But isn’t the second book due in a few weeks?” I asked. Living with Mac, I’d begun to get a sense of publishing schedules and deadlines and such. Wouldn’t Lewis’s publisher want him to send in his next book pretty soon?
“It’s due next month,” she said. “He’s really beside himself with worry. He admitted that he has nothing inside him, not even a germ of a story. It’s so sad. He actually said his well had run dry. It broke my heart.”
“Can’t his writer friends help him out? I don’t mean help him write the book, but maybe they could all help with plotting or with keeping to a schedule or helping him avoid distractions.”
“They won’t,” Linda said, and she sounded so sad and so full of empathy, it was painful to listen to her. Don’t get me wrong; I didn’t feel sorry for Lewis. I felt sorry for Linda! I was pretty sure that if Lewis weren’t such a giant pain in the neck, he would probably get more sympathy from his writing group.
The weird thing was, the other writers seemed to worship Lewis. They doted on him. Admired him. So why wouldn’t they help him out? Maybe Lewis was pulling a number on Linda, telling her lies to drum up sympathy that wasn’t deserved.
“What about Brian?” I asked. “The two of them seem like really good friends.”
“Oh, they are,” Linda said. “They grew up together, and now they support each other in every way.”
In every way? I wondered. Just what did that mean? Was it possible that Brian had written . . . no. As soon as I thought it, I stopped. I was grasping at straws.
With my mind on Lewis and Brian, I stared blindly at the table, then blinked in surprise at what was right in front of me.
“Wow,” I whispered, and focused in on the neat line of at least ten or twelve different mallets laid out at one end. Some were no-nonsense tools, one looked more like a gnarly chunk of wood than a tool, and a few of them were obviously so old, they might’ve been antiques. They all were arranged in order from the very smallest mallet, about six inches, to the largest at almost two feet long. I went ahead and counted them and mentally confirmed that there were twelve of them.
“Wow,” I said again. As a tool fanatic, I instantly coveted her collection. “What a fabulous assortment of mallets. I assume you use them for your mosaic work.”
“Yes. Aren’t they great?” She beamed. “Some of these were my grandfather’s. The ones on that end are antiques.”
“I thought so. The wood is really beautiful.”
She picked one up. The wood was bloodred and as smooth as glass. “Look at this one.”
“It’s so . . . primitive,” I said, imagining the multitude of hands that had worked and worn down the handle over hundreds of years.
“That’s the perfect description,” Linda said. “I just love the feel of in in my hand. But as old as it is, it still gets the job done.”
“I believe it.” I reached for the biggest antique mallet and weighed it in my hands. The handle was almost two feet long, and the head of the tool came to a rounded point on one side. “This feels a lot lighter than I thought it would be.”
“That one is a few hundred years old. The wood has become porous over the years, so it’s not as heavy as it once was. But it’s still reliable for cracking glass.”
“I believe it,” I said. “Did your grandfather work with mosaics?”
“Oh yes. He’s fairly well known in the esoteric world of mosaic art.” I could hear the pride in her voice. “In fact, some of his pieces are on permanent display in the American Folk Art Museum in New York City, among other places.”
“That’s so impressive. Is that how you got into it?”
“Yes.” She smiled. “Grandpa wanted my father to follow in his footsteps, but Dad was tired of living the artsy-fartsy lifestyle—as he put it. So he sold out, as my grandpa would say. He went off and became a high-priced lawyer.”
I grinned. “But you wanted to learn the art.”
“Yes. Grandpa was thrilled to teach me, but my father was furious. In fact, he threw a fit, which made me angry enough to run off and join the army.”
“Ah. I wondered how you wound up in the military.”
“Yes, running away from dear old Dad. Things are much better between us now that I’m back home, but he still talks about me going off to law school one of these days.” She rolled her eyes. “Not in this lifetime.”
“Well, you seem to be doing what you love, and that’s important.” I picked up another mallet. “Now this one is heavy.”
It was big and obviously handmade, with a large rectangular head about eight inches long and four inches thick. The thick handle was a gorgeous piece of wood, about ten inches long.
“Yes, that’s quite a serious tool.”
I lifted it again. “It’s beautiful. And wow, I’m amazed how heavy it is for a wooden mallet.”
“I agree, it’s beautiful. My grandfather made it from white ash and black walnut. And there’s a reason why it’s so heavy.”
I studied the smooth wood grain. “Why is that?”
“Because it’s filled with lead.”
I blinked. “What?”
“Yeah, lead.” She grinned. “He’d made a big, beautiful mallet and then decided that he wanted to add some weight to it. So he melted down some chunks of lead, then drilled a hole in each side of the head, carefully filled the holes with the melted lead, and let them dry. Then he sealed it all up with another slab piece of wood, and voilà. He added almost two pounds to the head.”
