Shop On the Corner, page 12
‘That’s good, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it is. Mom and I have tried hard to keep their parents’ memories alive for them.” He paused, his voice dropping. “That first year after Alise and Hudson died was a really hard year, though. Death is never easy, but two little kids that young don’t understand well when their parents are suddenly gone.”
He turned into the parking lot behind Quinlan’s. “You want to come up and see my place? I’ll make us a couple of bacon and tomato sandwiches for dinner if you do. After that big Sunday lunch, a sandwich will do it for me.” He hesitated. “I borrowed a movie Mom recommended to watch called The King’s Speech. It’s a British historical drama about King George VI who had to cope with a stutter. Somehow, I missed it when it came out originally and Mom said it was really good. We could watch it, too, if you have time.”
“I’d like that,” she said and smiled at him. “And if you don’t have popcorn, I can run over to my place to get some.”
He grinned at her. “I always keep popcorn. You gotta have popcorn with a movie.”
Laura followed him in the back door of Quinlan’s. She’d already stopped by to tour the business and to see Mitchell’s office before, but as he’d mentioned the other night, she hadn’t been upstairs yet to see his apartment.
She walked around in his place with interest after he let them in, eager to see where he lived. His apartment was neat and immaculately clean, and, like he’d told her, decorated in mostly neutrals—tans and browns with touches of cobalt blue. On the walls were many of his mother’s paintings, mainly outdoor scenes, painted in rich acrylics rather than her usual watercolors.
Laura stood studying the eagles painting he’d mentioned, hanging in his office. “I thought your mother painted only in watercolors.”
“She paints mostly in watercolors. It’s her favorite media and the paintings she does in watercolors sell well, but she takes seasons when she likes to work in acrylics. I talked her out of these for my place. I like the feel of them.”
“I do, too. They’re glorious.”
They walked back to Mitchell’s living room, and she noticed he was acting odd and antsy. She turned to look at him and Laura felt that sweep of attraction hit her again, exactly like at the first. It was a heady feeling.
She walked closer to put a hand on his face. “I’m so glad you came into my life,” she said softly. “You’ve been such a blessing to me.”
“Well, your blessing would like to get a little closer for a minute.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, easing off some of the tension in the air. Some, but not all of it.
“You’ve turned my well-ordered life upside down, Laura O’Dell,” he said against her lips after a minute.
“I hope that’s a good thing,” she whispered, threading her hands into his hair.
“Oh, yeah, it is.” He kissed her again, long and well.
She felt passion rising and a new gentleness in his kiss this time.
“You know I’m falling in love with you, don’t you?” he asked after a time. “I’ve experienced a few relationships that grew serious for a short time, but nothing like this, Laura. I’m on all new ground with you.”
“I hope that’s good.”
“Yes, it’s good.” He kissed her again and Laura felt a warmth roll right through her heart she’d never known either.
“I think maybe I’m falling in love with you, too, Mitchell Quinlan.”
“Well, then this is a moment to remember.” He kissed her again long and deep before stepping back and taking a breath. “I think it might be good for us to make bacon sandwiches now. Too much of a good thing is starting to take my mind down a much warmer path than I think we’re ready to travel yet.”
She smiled, trying to settle her own heartbeat, too, and turned toward Mitchell’s kitchen to put some space between them. “Let’s go check out your kitchen to see what we can find for dinner. I was so nervous meeting all your family that I didn’t eat much.”
“They were nice to you, though, weren’t they?”
“As sweet as could be,” she said, pausing to lean against a counter. “What if my sister and Chance show up some time, Mitchell?”
“Then we’ll deal with the situation together, like anything else that comes along for us.” He pulled a package of bacon out of the refrigerator. “Your problems are my problems now, kiddo, and my problems are yours, so settle your mind to it.”
She giggled a little. “You always make me feel better.”
“Good. Now come cut tomatoes and put mayonnaise on some bread for us while I work on this bacon.” Laura moved into the kitchen, marveling at how her life had turned from such a hurtful season to this wonderful time of falling in love with Mitchell Quinlan.
CHAPTER 10
It was the first Friday evening in May now, and Mitchell, Laura, Becky Ray, and Rob Killian made their way into one of Waynesville’s downtown restaurants, the Birchwood Hall Southern Kitchen. Fortunately, knowing the owners and making a reservation ahead, they’d snagged a nice booth for dinner. The four of them had been enjoying the Art After Dark event in downtown Waynesville.
“Good thing you made a reservation, Mitchell,” Becky said, sliding into the booth. “It’s crowded tonight in town with Art After Dark beginning again.” She looked across the table at Laura. “The event shuts down during the winter. Tonight is the first Friday since last year for it, which explains the crowd.”
“The shirt-sleeve sunny weather helps, too,” Rob added.
They ordered sweet tea and then studied the menu.
“What do you like to order here?” Laura asked. “This is my first visit to Birchwood.”
“Everything is good,” Becky replied. “But after nibbling hors d’oeuvres at so many of the galleries we popped into, I’m ordering something light. I love the tomato pie here with tomatoes, herbs, cheeses, and a biscuit crust. I’m ordering that and I’m adding a small house salad.”
“That sounds good to me, too,” Laura said, as the waitress came back. She and Becky gave their orders.
Mitchell watched a waiter walk by carrying a plate loaded with a big hamburger and fries. “That looks good to me. I’m getting the Pimento Cheese Burger with fries.”
“I love those burgers. I’ll have the same,” Rob said as they handed their menus back to the waitress. He grinned at Mitchell. “Whoever thought of that idea was a genius.”
Becky smiled at Laura. “How did you enjoy our evening at Art After Dark, poking around in all the participating art galleries in Waynesville?”
“It was wonderful. The small Mississippi town where I grew up doesn’t have anything like this, but then it doesn’t have many galleries or craft shops like Waynesville.”
“Waynesville grew up catering to tourists with shops and entertainment. It’s always been a part of our history.” Rob leaned back in the booth to get comfortable.
“The entire downtown area, bounded by Main, Walnut, and Beech, is now a Historic District,” Becky added. “As is the Frog Level Historic District along Richland Creek. You do know the funny story of how that part of Waynesville got its name.”
Laura laughed. “Yes, Nolan entertained me with that story one day at the shop, telling me that locals often said the creek there sometimes flooded to frog level, and that the name stuck.”
Mitchell listened to Rob and Becky share other funny stories about Waynesville’s history with Laura. He was glad the four of them got along so well; he and Rob, as cousins, had always been close.
“We should go the Frog Level Brewing place one evening, order some burgers, and sit outside by the creek,” Rob suggested.
“I’ve explored many of the shops in Frog Level,” Laura offered, “especially because several thrift stores are in that area. Sometimes I find wonderful fabrics at those stores or old furniture pieces I can pick up to reupholster.”
“I noticed you were putting some pieces for sale in the big window on the Montgomery Street side of your store,” Becky said.
“Yes. It draws people in so they see the showroom area, examples of our work, and learn more about the shop. I find that if people can see the kind of work you do, it inspires them to consider getting some of their own furniture reupholstered.”
“I know you have a lot of fabric in the showroom, but what if it isn’t what people are wanting for the pieces they want to have done?” Rob asked.
“I give them an estimate of the fabric they’ll need and refer them to a couple of the fabric outlets around the area where they can find more options,” Laura answered.
Their food arrived and the topic of conversation shifted to a discussion of the gallery events they’d visited that evening. Mitchell’s mom had been a guest artist at the Twigs and Leaves Gallery, although she also had paintings at the Haywood County Arts Council as well, where she sat on the board and taught classes. They’d run into Nannie V there helping with hors d’oeuvres and talking to visitors. She’d been a long-time supporter of the arts in Waynesville.
“Who’s keeping the kids tonight?” Becky asked him.
“They’re with Mimi and Frances.”
“Did they have a good time at the beach on their Spring Break?”
“Yes, they did,” he answered. “They came back tanned, excited, and full of stories of all the places they’d visited around Savannah. They really love spending time with their Granddad Sam.”
Mitchell thought Sam Jacobs would find little time to spend with his mom and the children on their break, but, evidently, he’d been able to take off more time from work than originally planned. For the first time Mitchell wondered about all the time his mother spent at Samuel Jacobs’ home with the children. It seemed silly to wonder about it, with them both older adults and widowed. The two were on their own a lot though, whenever Evelyn took Mackenzie and Charlie to Sam’s place in Savannah or when Sam came through town and stayed at their house on Church.
He frowned at the thought.
“What?” Laura asked, catching his eye.
“Nothing, just wool-gathering.” He grinned at her.
“What did you think about the latest town theft?” Becky asked, introducing a new subject. “This makes four now—first the flag, then the bell, then the statue, and now Harold Jacobson’s convertible.”
Laura wrinkled her nose. “What does an old convertible have to do with the other historic items taken?”
“It’s not just any convertible,” Mitchell explained. “It’s the classic aqua blue 1950s Chevy convertible the mayor always rides in for Waynesville’s parades, like at Christmas or the Fourth of July.”
She nodded. “So all of these thefts seem to be linked more and more to the town of Waynesville’s government in some way, don’t they?”
“That seems particularly obvious now,” Rob said. “My dad’s on the Board of Aldermen right now and they really talked about this at their meeting on Tuesday night.”
Becky jumped in to explain more about Waynesville’s government to Laura. “The Town of Waynesville officials, like the Mayor, and the Board of Aldermen on the Council, are elected to serve four-year terms. The board usually meets monthly to determine budget directions, policy, and to oversee day-to-day operations of the town and its departments.”
Mitchell turned to Rob. “Did they come up with any ideas as to why any of this is happening?” he asked. “Did they remember any big policy changes, legal actions, or arguments that might have instigated a sweep of revenge acts like we’ve been seeing?”
Rob shrugged. “Dad said nobody could think of anything more than a few minor grievances.” He smirked then. “If you’d ever sat in on their meetings and listened to some of the items they discuss with the townspeople, you’d be even less likely to imagine any major grievance behind this. They hear complaints of workmen scaring someone’s cats, trampling someone’s roses, or grumbling about fines or ongoing roadwork noise.”
Becky laid down her fork after finishing off most of her pie. “Maybe it’s more personal—an ugly divorce or a betrayal of some kind relating to someone in a government position, someone getting fired from a city job, or maybe someone exploited or cheated in business by an official in the government in some way.”
“They’ve tried to consider every possible angle, Becky,” Rob replied. “Even in some private meetings, held to probe more into each other’s personal lives, they’ve found nothing. I admit, though, that people can get kind of crazy about personal issues and wrongs they feel were done to them.”
“I’ve seen that in the staffing business and occasionally seen some retaliation but never anything to this extent.” Mitchell shook his head. “These thefts involve a team effort, too. One person alone couldn’t haul off a big statue or a historic bell.”
“Well, it’s upsetting and it’s hurting the town’s image because no answers are being found.” Becky tapped a fingernail on the table. “It worries me, too, that someone may get hurt in this. So far no one seems to have been around on the nights when these thefts occur but what if someone is one night? Harold was out of town when the thieves broke into his barn and hauled off his convertible. He loves that old car and he’s not happy about this. What if he’d have been home? You know he’d probably have done something foolish.”
“That’s a good point, “Mitchell put in. “These thefts seem to be carefully orchestrated for times when no security, witnesses, or people are close around. But that luck can’t last.”
“Dad said they realize the theft acts must involve team work, planning, a big truck or van, and skills to even remove and move some of the things they’ve taken.” Rob stopped to talk to the waitress who’d brought their checks.
“Does anyone want dessert?” he asked.
“No.” Becky groaned. “I am stuffed, and I need to head home. I have an Open House starting early tomorrow morning and Saturdays are always busy for me at the realty.”
“I don’t usually work on Saturdays myself but I have a meeting with a client at the bank tomorrow, too, about some changes in their investment program. It’s the only time we could connect and we need to act on this opportunity now or not at all,” Rob said, fishing out his credit card from his wallet. He was a Financial Advisor at a bank on Russ Avenue.
After paying their bills, Laura smiled at everyone. “I’ve had such a wonderful evening,” she said with her usual warmth and gratitude. Mitchell always liked that about her.
“Me, too,” Becky added, giving her a hug.
A short time later, Mitchell and Laura walked down Main Street from the restaurant and turned the corner to start down Miller, passing the Old Mountain Music sculptures in front of the brick wall of Davis Home Furniture.
“Those big statues always make me smile.” Laura paused to look up at the two statues, hovering over them in the darkness. “How tall are those things anyway?”
“About fifteen feet tall each, the bass player taller than the banjo picker. They’re made of recycled steel and were created by a sculptor named Stefan Bonitz. I met him once with Mom at an art event. He lives in the Western Carolina area, grew up in Asheville. He does a lot of whimsical work like this.”
“Well, I love that they’re on our street. People are always stopping to take pictures here with the statues.”
“Yeah, it helps to bring business our way,” he replied as they walked on.
“I always think of Nolan now when I see those statues, now that I’ve heard him play with his bluegrass group.”
“The Waynesville Boys. I enjoyed their show last month. Didn’t you?”
“I loved it. Nolan practiced his banjo some at the shop on his breaks ahead of time, entertaining Rita and me while we worked.”
“Did Rita sing? Even though she doesn’t sing with the group all the time, she has quite a voice.”
“She joined in sometimes. She does have a great voice.” Laura sighed as she dug out her keys.
“Thinking of your sister?” he asked.
“Yes. It’s hard to not know if she’s okay, if life is going well for her.” She started inside. “Do you want to come up a minute for a cup of coffee?”
“Sure.” He followed her upstairs and into her apartment.
Still noticing she was overly quiet, he asked. “Do you ever Google the group your sister sings with, to see where they’re traveling, to see if there’s any news of how well they’re doing.”
“I admit I’ve looked a time or two. I’ve never seen more than a brief announcement of the Mississippi Ramblers being at a local club somewhere.” She shook her head. “I don’t think they’re doing well.”
He sat down on the sofa while she started coffee, flipping through a pile of magazines and fliers in a stack of mail on the table. “You sure get a lot of upholstery and fabric catalogs.”
“That shouldn’t surprise you.”
He paused at a personal envelope with a Nashville postmark on it.
As she came back to join him, she seemed to pick up on his change of mood.
“You got something from Nashville, hand-addressed.” He passed her the letter.
Laura sat down beside him to study it. “It’s not Georgina’s handwriting. She writes with a flowery hand and puts circles over all her “i’s” and little curlicues on many of her other letters. She has a distinctive hand.”
“Are you worried about opening it?” he asked, watching her hesitate.
“I don’t know, but I have a bad feeling about it. I can’t think right off of anyone else I know well in Nashville.”
“Well, you don’t have to open it now if you don’t want to.”
“No, I’m being silly.” She slit the envelope with a nail, pulling out a sheet of paper to look it over.
Mitchell heard her gasp and cry out, and then saw the letter drop from her hands.
“What?” he asked, picking it up to look at it as he saw the tears welling in her eyes.
