waiting.” He gestured to the SUV on the other side of the Chevy.
Rory stroked his chin. “We’ll need to check the junkyards to see if they have a tire rim that’ll fit the Chevy. If not, we’ll go to the internet.”
John nodded. “I’ll finish up with the Honda, and then I’m on it. Oh, there were a couple of calls, too. Messages on your desk.”
“Thanks. I’ll check those and then get started on the Subaru’s transmission.”
Rory went into the office, feeling much better now that he was back at the shop. Being on the job he loved allowed him to put aside all his other problems and frustrations—at least for a while.
* * *
LACEY CLOSED THE flaps on the box she’d finished unpacking and added it to the other empty boxes ready for the recycle bin. As she’d promised Gram, they’d waited until Sunday afternoon to tackle the boxes from her old apartment. This morning they’d attended the church service in the Riverview chapel and then enjoyed lunch in the dining room with the other residents.
“We probably should quit now,” she told Gram. “But we did manage to weed out a few things to donate.” She pointed to several decorative plates, a few old cookbooks and some costume jewelry piled on the sofa.
Gram reached out and ran her fingers over the embossed roses decorating one of the plates. “Giving away these things is like giving away pieces of my life.”
“I know. But we’ve kept a lot, too.”
Gram pointed to the one container that remained. “What happened to that one? I don’t remember all that blue tape.”
“The box split apart in the parking lot when I was loading it into my car. That was when Rory came by, and he taped it. It’s full of Mother’s things.”
Gram’s shoulders stiffened. “If you think I’m giving away any of her belongings, think again.”
“No, I wouldn’t ask you to do that. But one of her trinket dishes broke.” She pulled off enough tape to remove the plastic bag enclosing the pieces. She laid the bag in Gram’s lap and opened it.
Gram reached into the bag, pulled out a couple pieces and held them up. “Ah, the dish your granddad and I got her for Christmas. She admired it at Trinkets and Treasures. Can you put it back together? There’s some superstrong glue in my kitchen drawer that ought to work. Did you get all the pieces?”
“I’m sure I did, and, yes, of course I’ll mend it.”
Lacey retrieved the cement, and while she carefully glued together the broken dish, she listened to Gram’s stories about Norella and her collection of decorative boxes and dishes. Some were gifts and others were souvenirs of places she’d visited.
By the time Lacey set the mended bowl on the side table to dry, her mother’s presence was so alive in the room she almost expected her to step from the shadows.
“I don’t want to see any more from that box,” Gram said. “Take it down to storage.”
“Just one other thing we need to discuss.” She picked up her purse and pulled out the book with the pansies on the cover. She held out the book to Remy. “I found this in the box, too, and put it aside.”
Gram nodded but made no move to take the book. “Norella’s journal.”
“Yes. Have you read it?”
“Of course not. A journal is private.”
“But Mom’s gone now. I’d like to read it, but I wanted to ask you first.”
“And I’m saying no.” Gram held out her hand. “Give me the journal, Lacey,” she said in a tight voice.
Lacey pressed the journal to her chest and took a step back. “It’s as much mine as it is yours. I’ll give it a look and then put it back with the rest of her things.” She tensed, waiting for further argument.
Several moments passed before Remy leaned back and gave a resigned sigh. “All right. But I’m betting you’ll be sorry.”
Lacey tucked the journal back into her purse. “Maybe so, but that’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
* * *
“WHICH BLOUSE DO you like, the white one or the pink?” Lacey pulled the blouses from Gram’s closet and held them up. Five o’clock had rolled around, dinnertime, which called for a change of clothes. For Gram, anyway. For Lacey, her jeans and navy T-shirt would have to do.
Gram tilted her head. “Hmm, the white has a pretty lace collar, but pink is my favorite color.”
“Pink it is.” Lacey handed her the pink blouse and returned the white one to the closet. Her cell phone rang. “Who could be calling?” she wondered aloud. Maybe Kris wants to set up a lunch date.
Lacey pulled her phone from her pocket. The number was local but unfamiliar. Could it be Rory? Why would he call? Hadn’t they parted yesterday with a finality that discouraged further contact? Just in case it was him, though, she wandered into the living room, where she’d be out of Gram’s earshot. Strolling to the patio door, she idly gazed out. The lowering afternoon sun sent long shadows through the willow trees bordering the river.
The caller turned out to be Elton Watts, publisher of the Silver River Sentinel.
“Remy gave me your number,” Elton said. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“No, not at all. What can I do for you?” As a high school senior, Lacey had written a few articles for the paper to fulfill assignments in her journalism class. Since then, she’d had no contact with Elton, other than to exchange greetings during chance encounters around town.
So, why was he calling her now?
“I’d like to discuss something with you, but not over the phone. Can you drop by the Sentinel tomorrow morning? You’ll still be in town, won’t you?”
“Yes, I’m here for a few more days. But can’t you tell me what this is all about?”
“I’d rather talk to you in person.”
“Well...all right.”
They settled on nine thirty. Lacey ended the call and rejoined Gram. “That was Elton Watts. He wants me to come to his office tomorrow.”
Gram looked up from fastening the last button on the pink blouse. “I forgot to tell you he called this morning, and I gave him your cell number. Was that okay?”
“Of course. But did he tell you what he wants to talk to me about?”
“Not a word.” Gram shook her head. “Are you going to meet with him?”
“Yes, of course.” Elton was one of the few people who had not taken sides when Rick Morgan was accused of killing Al Jr. He might have had an opinion, but if he did, like a good journalist, he kept it to himself.
“Good.” Gram smiled. “Now, how do
