Skinny Dipping Season (7 page)

I heard Bob's comment before the door closed on their conversation. “Well, stealing the man's car and driving it across the football field was pretty asinine.”

She shushed him and I could make out the words “sixteen” and “more than fifteen years ago.”

 

Ten minutes later, I slid the quarters into the coin slots at the Laundromat. No wonder Officer Hardy was grumpy. I hadn't exactly been popular my whole life, but at least I wasn't the butt of bad jokes.

When I had stopped in at the Family Fare a second time last week, I had been greeted with enthusiasm. It seemed strange after my shoplifting cover-up. But now I wondered if it was because I had given the acting sheriff a hard time. Marva, the manager, plied me with coupons, making sure to let me know about the specials. The checkout clerks greeted me by name and smiled brightly when I produced my Mylar bags, complimenting me on my earth-friendly spirit. A couple in line even asked how I was settling in. They seemed to think that I was some kind of novelty. It hadn't made sense until now.

I started the machine and realized I wouldn't have enough change for the dryer.

“Excuse me,” I asked a woman who was folding clothes. “Do you have change for a five-dollar bill?”

She shook her head. “I only had enough to do my own wash. You could go over to Dairy Cow. They just opened for the season and might have change,” she said.

Leaving my laundry basket on top of the washing machine, I left the Laundromat and walked in the direction of the Dairy Cow. I passed the vacant bookstore with a torn awning and dirty front window. Sadly, at least half-a-dozen buildings on Main Street were vacant. What a shame.

I felt guilty not buying anything at the Dairy Cow, but the young bearded man behind the counter winked and told me not to worry about it. Walking back, I wondered how most businesses in Truhart sustained revenue during the winter months when visitors were few. The town looked like it needed a boost. But according to Corinne, the only high-profile citizen was a reporter on the
Morning Show
who lived in Atlanta, and a Pulitzer Prize–winning author who spent a summer here fifty-five years ago. I was pretty sure he was dead.

On my way back to the Sit and Spin I spotted a group of teenagers huddled across the street at the dry cleaner's. Clouds had darkened the sky and it was hard to make out their faces. They slouched by the front of the building, gazing up and down the street in a restless energy that I vaguely remembered from my teen years.

One gangly, longhaired girl attempted to climb on the shoulders of a tall boy as they stood in front of the Colony Cleaners sign. The sun peeked out and illuminated their faces. Curious, I moved closer to get a better view. I was almost certain the young girl was my elusive shoplifting friend. As I watched, she reached up and tried to pull a letter off the Colony Cleaners sign. When it became obvious what she was doing, I couldn't help but giggle. With a final swipe of the letter, it came down, almost hitting another teen on the shoulder.

Now Colony Cleaners had become
Colon
Cleaners. Business was sure to be interesting tomorrow.

I laughed again.

Several kids jumped at the sound. One boy turned and hit two others on the shoulders. They swore before scrambling away. The bottom half of Cherry's human stilts dumped her on the grass and ran after them.

I called out, “Cherry!”

Cherry the shoplifter, as I was now thinking of her, picked herself up off the ground and took off with surprising speed. The kids made fun of her as she scrambled to catch up.

“Miller, hurry up!” one of them yelled.

“Wait!” I tried again. She never slowed down.

It had been a couple of months since I had exercised. I didn't feel like giving chase now. Too many Twinkies, too little motivation. I wondered how many other times Cherry and her friends had vandalized a building or swiped a magazine. Was this the beginning of a long string of more serious crimes, like Officer Hardy suggested? That meant I had a role in her journey to the dark side.

Something metallic gleamed from the weeds under the Colony Cleaners sign. I walked over to get a closer look. I picked it up. It was an older model cell phone. Lucky me. I seemed to have become a lost-and-found magnet.

The Laundromat was empty now. I sat down and rifled through the phone, picking up a name, Cherry Miller, but no address. I searched the tables of magazines scattered around the Laundromat for a phone directory. I finally found one underneath an old issue of the
Farmer's Almanac
. I looked up the last name: Miller. There were quite a few Millers in the county. Surprising, considering it seemed like there were no more than a hundred residents. I dismissed the ones that were in neighboring towns. But an S. Miller was listed on Tall Pines Lane in Truhart. If my memory was right, that was a mile or two down the county road. I wrote down the address on a sheet of paper and tucked it into my purse.

A
t 9:00 the next morning, I drove my Honda past the cedar sign that marked the entrance to Tall Pines Homes. I could have left the cell phone sitting in the crabgrass under the Colony Cleaners sign, but it was sitting next to me on the front seat. I had no idea why I was pursuing Cherry Miller. I was either bored or I had a conscience that wouldn't quit in the face of teenage stupidity.

Cherry Miller needed to know I was not going to stand by and cover for her like I did the other day. I prepared my stern-teacher facade. The one I never had the chance to use.

The Millers' trailer looked like other units on the lane. The manufactured buildings varied in size, some single and some double, but they all had shallow roofs and aluminum siding that had dulled from the elements. Pulling into the narrow drive that led to 1333 Tall Pines Lane, I parked behind a battered minivan that was missing several trim pieces, grabbed the cell phone, and made my way to the cinder-block step.

I was dressed simply in jeans and a white cotton blouse that I left untucked. I used to wear it for work with a pencil skirt and a silk Hermès scarf. The skirt and scarf were still back at my apartment, and I didn't miss them at all. This morning I made sure to dump my Kate Spade purse for a cloth sack a college roommate had brought me from Peru. On my feet I wore my favorite Toms.

I perched on the cinder-block doorstep and took a deep breath. I smoothed a piece of hair behind my ears and knocked. From the window beside the door, a little hand pulled away a curtain and a child peered out. I leaned in to get a better look and abruptly the curtain was released and the face disappeared. I waited, wondering if perhaps no adult was home. Then I knocked again.

The door swung open and a tired-looking woman wearing sweatpants and a frayed Detroit Lions T-shirt gripped the edge of the door. Her brown hair was pulled back from her face haphazardly with little clips that reminded me of what Grandma used to do with her curlers.

“Can I help you?” she asked before her eyes widened. “Oh, I remember you. I gave the flashlight to Officer Hardy yesterday.”

My mind was racing to connect things. I had suspected that Officer Hardy knew Cherry when they clashed at the Family Fare. They hadn't acted like strangers tangling over the law, but more like siblings caught in a recurring feud. Now I had a fuller picture. Cherry's mother was the receptionist at the sheriff's office.

“Thanks. But that's not why I'm here. Are you Cherry Miller's mother?”

She sucked in her breath. “Yes. Why do you ask?”

I studied Sandy Miller's face. She looked like she hadn't slept well. Dark circles under her deep-set hazel eyes and a brave smile painted a picture of an overwhelmed woman. She gazed into my face with a guarded expression, as if she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Any chance that I was going to discuss Cherry's shoplifting with her mother was diminishing by the second.

“I was hoping to talk with her.”

The other woman expelled her breath as if she'd been holding it. “Well, by all means, come in,” she said with a weak voice.

She opened the door for me to pass. Once inside, I peered around and resisted the urge to put my hands in my pockets. To the right was a small, exposed kitchen littered with bowls of breakfast cereal still sitting in soggy milk and glasses with remnants of dried orange juice on the rims. More dishes piled over the top of the sink. I attempted to smile as I took in the worn, discolored carpet of the living room and a thread-worn couch with a faded design that had long since passed recognition.

Sitting on the couch, shyly clutching her knees to her face, was a little girl: No doubt the little person who had peeked out the window a moment ago. The redheaded girl wore pajamas with faded princesses all over and grasped a stuffed rabbit that was missing an ear. I guessed she was about eight or nine.

“Ellie, go get Cherry and tell her to come here, please,” said the woman.

Ellie vaulted off the couch and ran down a narrow hallway. I held out my hand. “I should introduce myself again. I'm Elizabeth Lively. I moved into my grandmother's house on Crooked Road recently. Well, you know that already.”

She smiled nervously, and for a moment I saw how pretty she must have been ten years ago. “I'm Sandy Miller. Welcome to Truhart, by the way.”

“Thanks.” I heard someone gasp and when I turned I saw a flash of long black hair and hunched shoulders. She was trying to make a break for it.

“Cherry! Come back here and see Miss Lively. She wants to talk to you.” There was steel in Sandy Miller's voice that surprised me. She crossed her hands in front of her chest, preparing for a battle. It made me wonder how many times this scenario had played out.

Turning around, Cherry raised her hands. “Really, Mom, it was no big deal. Lots of kids do it all the time.” Sandy stood stiffly and waited. I could see her bracing for bad news.

With a sinking feeling, I knew what I was going to do before I opened my mouth. I wanted to kick myself. I was a sucker for troubled women!

Turning to Cherry, I smiled with all the sweetness of the box of Lucky Charms on the counter. “Now, Cherry, I think you need to take a little more credit here. I don't know that many kids who would have done what you did.”

Her eyes dilated. “It was the first time I ever did it, though. I barely knew what I was doing!”

“Cherry,” I said calmly. “Certainly your mother is proud of the fact that you helped out a perfect stranger like me. Sometimes I can be so airheaded! My only excuse is that I'm new here and things are crazy trying to get settled.” I turned to Sandy Miller. “Cherry loaned me the money at the checkout counter when I forgot my credit card. I was so embarrassed and she handed me two dollars when I was short. Her actions kept me from becoming a spectacle.”

I knew it was crazy, but I was doing it for her mother. The poor woman looked like a strong wind—or bad news—would blow her over.

Cherry opened her mouth and shut it several times. “I did? I mean, I did—but, uh—I would have done that sort of thing for any stranger.”

Not a bad recovery. Relief passed over Cherry's face. But I squinted my eyes and tilted my chin, sending a telepathic message.
Don't think for a moment I am being nice for your sake.

“You left your phone in my cart.” I took it out of my pocket. “And just to show you how much I appreciated all that you did, I wanted to give you back a little extra.” I reached into my purse and pulled out a ten-dollar bill. The girl hesitated. I smiled wider at the pain I was about to inflict. Bribes were excellent things sometimes.

“Consider it my way of passing it forward . . . so to speak!”

“No, that's all right. The phone is enough for me,” she said.

“Come on, Cherry. You deserve it for that kind of gesture,” Sandy said.

The girl reached out her hand and took the phone and then the money as if it were filthy.

“Thanks,” she said weakly.

Sandy clapped her hands together. “Wow. That's really nice, Miss Lively.”

“Call me Elizabeth,” I said.

The little girl clutching the stuffed rabbit jumped in front of Cherry. “Hey Cherry! Can we get some ice cream today? Now that you've got some money we can finally get a treat like you've been talking about since school got out!”

“Ellie, enough already!” said Sandy Miller. “Cherry can do whatever she wants with that money. It's not for you!”

Cherry looked over at her mom and shrugged her shoulders, “It's okay, Mom. I'll take her to the Dairy Cow later today.”

“Fine, but try to leave some for yourself. Just a few weeks ago you were bugging me to buy you a few of those teen-gossip magazines.” She turned to me with a new giddiness in her voice. “You know how teenage girls are. Always following some heartthrob in one of those magazines they love to read.”

Cherry lowered her head with all the misery of one who hoped a sinkhole would open up. I was pleased.

“But Mom,” said Ellie, “she already has magaz—”

Cherry gave her sister a swift kick in the back of her calf. “Go change out of your pajamas, squirt, and we'll go get some ice cream soon.” The little girl was distracted by the promise and ran off happily.

“Well, I should be going. I have to drop some dry cleaning off at Colony Cleaners,” I said loudly. I was wicked. “Although someone was fiddling with the sign last night and it looks pretty funny this morning. . . .”

“You are certainly responsible about returning things,” Sandy said.

I sent her a lopsided smile. “That's me, the queen of returning things.”

I moved toward the front door and noticed a brochure for makeup sitting on the table near the door. “Oh, I have one of those brochures too. Are you going to a makeup party?”

“Well, no, actually. I just started selling makeup on the side.” She put a hand to her chest. “I always used to tell myself I could never sell home-based products. But times are hard and even with extra shifts at the Sherriff's Department I feel like I'm constantly scraping by.”

“Have you worked at the Sheriff's Department long?”

I had no intention of bringing up our mutual acquaintance, “Officer Hard-ass,” as Cherry called him. But I was curious. Officer Hardy hadn't mentioned the run-in at the Family Fare to Cherry's mother. Maybe he would have given Cherry a warning instead of arresting her after all.

Sandy was still talking. “Sometimes I work more than I'd like. But Sheriff Howe is in Arizona, and another receptionist is on sick leave. J. D. needs extra support and I owe him a lot. But it's hard. I always worry about the girls when school is out. Ellie loves to hang out at the office, but Cherry has been on her own a lot lately. But with the economy and bills . . .” her voice trailed off when she realized Cherry was listening.

“Oh, I understand,” I added. I thought of the broken washing machine and my own limited budget. “You know, I could use a makeup consultation.” So much for my bank account.

“Really?” Sandy reached over for a large brochure. “If you host a party you can receive twenty dollars of free products and ten percent of the profit. I haven't actually had any volunteers who will host a party for me . . . my friend Carla gets all the clients, it seems. But she's the one who got me involved in this line. It would be great if you could be my starting client!”

“I would love to.” Glancing over at Cherry, who looked more miserable by the second, I smiled, ready to pounce. “Speaking of making money, I might be in need of a little help around the house. I'm afraid it was vacant for quite some time . . . the weeds have taken over. If your mom is okay with it, I would love to
pay you to help for a few hours
, Cherry.” I stared at Cherry and enunciated the last words carefully.

“That sounds fine with me,” Sandy said.

I leaned forward. “I think it would be worth your time.”

“I wanna help too.” Ellie was dressed already and hopped into the room.

Before her mother or sister could protest, I reached out and clapped Ellie's hand in victory. “Perfect!”

Ellie wiggled her hips. Excitement danced in her eyes. This little one was a heart-stealer.

Cherry was a different story. Utter despondency dragged her face down.

But her mother didn't notice. She was too excited about the possibility of her first break in the world of home-based beauty products. “Oh, Cherry is great around the house. Helps me clean all the time.” I tried not to glance at the dirty dishes in the sink. “Just call and let her know when you need her.”

A few moments later, I hopped down the front step. I had the girl right where I wanted her. Cherry Miller was going to think twice before she hid magazines in her armpit again!

 

“That's a funny elf in the front yard,” said Ellie two days later.

She was carrying old newspapers that had been stacked in the kitchen closet by the previous tenant. I helped her load them in paper bags for recycling, while Cherry pulled weeds outside in the glaring sun, and muttered something about “kids' rights.”

It was the first hot day of the summer and even I wished I had postponed working today. A book, a lawn chair, and a fan would have been heaven.

“Thanks. My grandmother used to buy me a small gnome every summer.”

“Where are the rest?” she asked.

“I don't know.” In a landfill, probably.

“Cherry collects beads. If I'm careful, she lets me sort them with her. She even gives me ones she doesn't want anymore.” I paused in front of a stack of papers, feeling surprisingly envious. Alexa and I had never had the kind of relationship Cherry and Ellie had.

I had asked Grandma to buy Alexa a female gnome too, that first visit. All summer I imagined the two of us curled up on the floor, making up stories about our gnomes. When I returned to Toledo and proudly presented the tiny lady to my sister, she had burst into tears and complained bitterly that it wasn't fair. She had told Grandma she wanted an American Girl doll.

My parents bought her two the following week.

“I'll bet that's a beautiful bead collection,” I said, trying to forget my sister.

While Cherry yanked the weeds with a ferocity that would have impressed her mother, Ellie had chatted nonstop all afternoon. She told me all about her school and her friends and how she planned to meet them at the public beach on the Fourth of July.

“J. D. says I can ride in the police car in the Labor Day parade if I want to.”

I bit my lip, weighing the urge to hear more about J. D. “That will be fun for you. Is J. D. going to let you work the siren?”