Waterbury Winter, page 14
“Where are we going?” she asks.
“To the Country House. I haven’t eaten there for a long time, but I remember it fondly.”
“I’ve never been there. It’s a luxury, going to a fine restaurant.”
After a half-hour’s drive, they reach their destination on the outskirts of the town. The restaurant is in an old farmhouse, a clapboard-faced building painted white. The lights in the parking lot illuminate patches of snow and dim shapes of cows grazing in an adjoining field.
“Good choice, Barnaby,” Julia says, grasping his arm as they move toward the entrance. “It’s a change to be out of the city. I love nature.”
“Me, too,” he says.
He’s enjoying the feel of Julia’s hand on his arm and has an urge to hold her hand. Too soon, he thinks. Inside the building, the maître d’ asks Barnaby if he has a reservation. He’s proud to give his name.
“Ah, yes, Mr. Brown. Seven-thirty. Come this way.”
Their table near the fireplace is set with a white cloth and a vase of snowdrops. A server greets them and asks what they would like to drink.
Barnaby glances at Julia. “Would you like a glass of wine?”
She hesitates before answering. “Are you having one?”
He hesitates in turn. “No. Just water for me. But if you’d like a glass, please go ahead.”
“Then I won’t,” she says.
Barnaby sees the relief on her face. He has made the right decision.
They spend some minutes examining the menu.
“What do you think? Does anything appeal?” he asks.
“It’s a great selection. I’ll go for the trout almandine.”
“Sounds good. Same for me.”
He’s not familiar with most dishes on the menu and is willing to follow her lead. If he eats fish, it’s fish and chips. After they order, he relaxes and gazes across the table at Julia. Her red sweater perfectly matches her lipstick, set off by a sparkling clip in her hair. She’s lovely. He smiles at her.
“Tell me about yourself,” he says.
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything. What have you been doing all these years?”
She takes a deep breath. “Let’s see. I think I told you already that since we knew each other, I’ve been married and divorced. Single for the past fifteen years. I moved to Waterbury after I earned my social work degree, and I’ve worked in my present job since then. I own my condominium and make a decent living. That’s about it.”
“Don’t you perform any more on the stage? You were such a good actress,” he says.
“No, though I’d like to.”
“I learned recently that there’s a new production of Carousel in the works here in town. You could audition.”
“Good idea. How about you? Will you try out?”
“No. I want to concentrate on painting. Indoor scenes.”
She raises her eyebrows and meets his gaze. “Are you painting now?” she asks.
“Yes. What do you mean, now?”
“Nothing. Lisa told me you had given up.”
“Oh, Lisa. I don’t know why she would say that.”
“Well, she’s not herself these days. Something’s wrong. I haven’t seen her at work all week.”
“She’s been in New York. She called me last night to let me know several of my paintings have sold in a gallery there.”
“Did she? So she went to the city. I’ll have to talk to her.”
“Let’s not talk about Lisa. Tell me more about yourself.”
“Later,” she says. “I’m glad you sold some of your work.”
Their dishes arrive and for a few minutes they both concentrate on the food.
“The trout is perfect,” Julia says.
He agrees. He likes the delicate flavor of the fish decorated on top with grape halves and almonds. “Do you still hunt for four-leaf clovers?” he asks.
She smiles. “Oh, clovers—I had forgotten. I used to find them all the time in Providence, in grassy areas by the beach. Good luck charms.”
He smiles. “You found several for me. I think I sold a painting every time you gave me one.”
“That wasn’t luck. That was because your work had merit. Now it’s your turn. What have you been doing?”
“Not much, I have to admit. I let myself go for a long time. But that’s changing. As I’ve told you, I’m painting again, using new subject matter. I like depicting people in ordinary pursuits of life—having drinks in a bar, a drink in a coffee shop, that sort of thing.”
“You mean, interior scenes like Edward Hopper’s?” she asks.
“Not like Hopper. Not as gloomy. Lively, with a lot more hope.”
She smiles up at him and their eyes meet.
His heart flips. “It’s like being in a field of clover when I’m with you,” he says.
She flushes. “That’s a lovely thing to say. But there’s no clover here, only snowdrops.”
“Well, it’s winter. Those are brave flowers, blooming in blizzards.”
“Yes. Full of hope. But speaking of clovers, I like the old memories, too.”
He gulps. “That’s because they remind us of our younger selves. All the years in between don’t count, somehow.”
“I agree,” she says.
He reaches across the table for her hand. “I’d like to know more about you, about all those years in between.”
She pauses before speaking. “I had a rough time of it, myself, for a while. My husband became unstable, but I didn’t know that at first. Bipolar. So we never had children, and the marriage broke up. I really wanted a baby.”
She lowers her gaze, and he squeezes her hand. “I guess we’ve both had our problems,” he says, “but I’m so happy we’ve met again.”
“Me, too.”
His heart expands. He meets her glance, and a grin creeps to the corner of her eyes, crinkling her face. He allows his eyes to linger.
After dessert and coffee, they walk hand-in-hand back to the car. When they reach Julia’s condo, Barnaby accompanies her to the front door and kisses her, and his heartbeat doubles. He catches the scent of coconut in her hair and enfolds her in his arms. She feels right in his embrace, and he wonders why it has taken so many years for him to find someone like her.
“I had a wonderful time. Thank you,” Julia says.
“I did, too,” he says. “I’ll call you soon.”
CHAPTER 22
On Monday, Julia sees Lisa back at her desk.
“Where were you all last week?” she asks.
“I took a break. Went to New York. Checked out a cooking school. I might take classes.”
“That’s a good idea.”
“I’m thinking of quitting this job and opening a restaurant. Tired of trying to help people who won’t help themselves. It’s tragic when children are at risk.”
“I agree. Sounds like you have your hands full. Perhaps you would find the hospitality business more to your liking. I can tell you’re losing patience with the work here. Speaking of that, Margaret told me I’m solo on the Hawkins case now. Hope that helps you out.”
“Maybe,” Lisa says, wrinkling her brow. “Perhaps that’s as well. Listen, don’t say anything to Margaret about my plans. I want to be sure I know what I’m doing before I give notice.”
Julia pauses. This would be the opportunity to sit down with her friend and find out what’s going on. “Okay,” she says. “It’s a big decision. Would you like to have dinner and talk about all of this?”
“No. I have a lot of thinking to do first. How was your weekend?”
“Good. Unusually good, actually.”
“What did you do?”
“Had dinner at a restaurant.”
“Oh. Which one?”
“The Country House.”
“Very nice. Did you go with your friend Nancy? Your birthday’s coming up.”
“Not with Nancy. Another friend.”
Julia moseys to her office. It might be good for Lisa to change careers, but clearly she doesn’t want to discuss this touchy issue. There’s no point in telling her about her date with Barnaby. Better to let things run their course first.
Her mind keeps skipping back to the magical evening she’d had with him. She’s relieved that he appears to be living his life responsibly, avoiding alcohol, selling paintings, and taking care of his appearance. He looked downright handsome on Saturday. He had a shiny car and gave every indication of being successful, not at all the loser Lisa had warned her about. She would like to have a good man in her life.
But now she needs to focus on her online search for senior living facilities. By noon she has checked some reviews and Department of Health ratings and compiled a preliminary list of suitable accommodations. Three offer flexible room options for different budgets, are close to the Hawkinses’ house, and have space available. She picks up the phone.
“Elsa, Julia here. I’ve located some places for you to consider—”
Elsa interrupts her. “Oh, Julia. Alma’s gone missing. She must have left the house early, before I got up. I’ve called the police. I’m so worried.”
“Of course you’re worried. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“I don’t think so. The police have a description, and they’re driving around the area.”
“Do you have any idea where she might have gone? Anywhere she talked about going?”
“She usually goes to the drugstore. That’s where she gets toothbrushes to bring home. The police have already checked there.”
“I’m so sorry. All the more reason for finding a safe place for her. Do let me know when you find her.”
Julia heaves a sigh and turns her attention to other tasks. At one o’clock, Lisa sticks her head in the door. “You’ll never guess what’s happened. Barnaby called me. Turns out Alma Hawkins found her way to the hardware store to thank him for letting her keep the painting.”
“That’s great! So Alma’s not missing.”
“What do you mean, missing? He didn’t say anything about that. He called because his boss told him Alma had come by and looked lost, or something. He knew I was handling the case. I don’t know if she’s still there, or not.”
Except you’re not handling the case, Julia thinks. “I’ll go to Carano’s and find her.” she says. “Better still, I’ll phone first and tell the owner to keep her safe until Elsa or I can get there.”
“I’ll go with you,” Lisa says.
“That’s not necessary, thanks all the same.”
Julia calls the hardware store. “Mr. Carano, Julia Morgan here. I came by your store the other day about my flooded floor. I’m a social worker, and I’m working with Alma Hawkins and her family. It’s my understanding Alma came to your store today, asking for Barnaby. She’s an older woman, gray haired, and has dementia. Is she still there?”
“Don’t know. She was looking around. Hold on and I’ll check.”
A few minutes later he comes back on the line. “She’s not here. I saw her, must’ve been ten minutes ago, so she can’t have gone far.”
“Thanks. I’ll be right there. The police are searching for her, too. If she comes back, please call them.”
Lisa appears at Julia’s office, dressed to go outside. “Let’s go,” Lisa says.
“Are you sure you want to come?” Julia asks. She observes Lisa’s face, crumpling at the jaw. “All right, if you insist. We should notify the police and Elsa. Perhaps you can do that while we’re on the way.”
Julia grabs a coat and hat and they hurry to her car.
CHAPTER 23
Barnaby dreams of Julia every night. She sits beside him in her red dress in the Honda as they drive out West to California, the windows down, her hair scattering in the summer wind. He wants to ask her out again soon, but he has work to do first and tries to stay focused.
He starts a new painting of customers buying wooden shelving in a hardware store. After working on it for a while, he remembers he needs to contact Sylvester about the price he’s charging for the paintings at the gallery. He also needs to go to the store to check out computers. It will be a busy day with not much time for housecleaning. Although he promised himself to do more of that, it’s a daunting task. Besides, Popsicle will tease him and tell him with good reason that it’s a “helluva” job. He can’t accomplish everything all at once.
He picks up the phone and punches in Sly’s number. A recording comes on the line saying Goldstone Gallery is closed on Mondays and messages can be left after the beep. Barnaby hangs up. He doesn’t want to leave voice mail. In the meantime, he can have lunch and go to the computer store.
As he’s leaving, Sal calls on the phone. “Barnaby, glad I caught ya, What’s going on with ya lately? Another lady came in asking for ya. This one was older. Said she wanted to thank ya for letting her keep the painting she took.”
“Well, that’s nice of her. Must’ve been Alma. How did she look?”
“To tell ya the truth, not too good. Seemed confused. I had to tell her how to find her way out. She was wearing bedroom slippers, too.”
“Oh dear. Thanks for telling me.”
He stares out the window considering what to do. He’ll call Lisa. It’s her case. Perhaps Alma needs help. After talking to Lisa and learning that Alma has just recently gone missing, he decides to go and find out for himself. At the store, he tells Sal that Alma has dementia and might have wandered away from home. “Did anyone else come with her, and what was she wearing?” he asks.
“As I said, bedroom slippers. I think she had on a blue coat. No hat. Didn’t see anyone with her.”
A police car arrives at the parking lot, and Barnaby goes out to meet it.
“We’re searching for a woman wearing a blue coat. Have you seen her?” one of the two officers asks.
“I’m searching for her myself,” Barnaby says.
“Okay. We’ll check inside first.”
Another car pulls up. Julia steps out. Barnaby’s pulse quickens.
“Julia!” he says, approaching her. “What a surprise, seeing you here. You’ve been on my mind . . . I meant to call you.” He hesitates briefly, then dashes toward her and gives her a hug. Her eyes light up, but she pushes him away. At that moment, he catches sight of Lisa.
“Hello, Lisa,” he says.
Lisa’s face turns ghost white. She stares from him to Julia and back again. Loud voices echo from inside the store, and two police officers come out with Alma, followed by Sal.
“I can find my own way home,” she screams, “Go away.”
Julia steps from Barnaby toward Alma. She gently takes Alma’s hand.
“Oh, it’s you, Julia,” Alma says. “I don’t like these big policemen pulling me along. Can you take me home?”
“Of course,” Julia says. She turns to an officer. “Where did you find her?”
“She was in the basement. Looks like you’re a friend of hers. Do you want to take her back?”
“Yes. She lives on Maple Street.”
“We’ll need some ID from you first.”
Julia reaches into her purse and hands the officer her business card.
“Okay, thanks. We’ll follow you to be sure the lady gets back safely.”
“Hang on a minute,” Sal says. “You caught her in the basement, did you say? I usually keep that door locked. Must have forgotten. There’s valuable stuff down there.”
Julia’s throat tightens. “Oh, dear. I hate to say this, but we should check Alma’s pockets to be sure she didn’t take anything.” She whispers to the officer, “She has a habit of taking things. It’s a common symptom of dementia.”
“Well, then. We’d better check,” the officer says. “I saw a lot of antiques there. Amazing things.”
“All brass and copper,” Sal says proudly. “Clocks, light fixtures, cartridge cases, bird cages, locks. Made right here in Waterbury.”
“All right,” the police officer says. Turning to Julia, he asks, “Can you assist us here?”
Julia takes a deep breath while she considers what to say. “Alma, do you have some gloves in your pockets? It’s frosty outside.”
Alma gives her a soft smile.
“Let me help you,” Julia says.
She searches the old woman’s pockets and finds one glove.
“Here you go,” she says, pulling out the piece of clothing. A button falls to the ground.
“What’s this? Did you lose a button?”
Sal bends to pick it up. “Hold on. This belongs to me. It’s brass. These are collector’s items.”
“You’re sure this one was in your basement, sir?” the officer asks.
“Absolutely. You’ve probably heard of Chase Brass and Copper Company. They made brass buttons, among other things. I have dozens of ’em. This one has an engraving on it of a centaur, the City’s logo. You’ll probably recognize it.”
He opens his palm to reveal the button.
Barnaby chuckles. He’ll tell the professor, who might be interested in this.
“She didn’t take anything else, apparently,” Julia says. “Let’s get Alma home. Could you please call her daughter to let her know we’ve found her?”
“Will do,” the officer says.
Julia places her arm around Alma’s shoulders and escorts her to the car. Barnaby watches them go. Alma turns to glare at Lisa, still holding Julia’s car door open.
“I don’t want her going with us,” Alma says.
Barnaby sees her lurch as though she’s going to lunge at Lisa, and he steps forward to restrain Alma, who pulls back, but pays no attention to him and continues to leer at Lisa with fire in her eyes. Lisa moves out of reach and slams the car door shut.
“Can I catch a ride with you, Barnaby?” she asks. “Clearly I’m not wanted here.”
“Sure,” he says.
Lisa surveys the parking lot.
“I don’t see your car,” she says to Barnaby in a strained voice.
“It’s right here. It’s new.”
“Oh, I didn’t know. Going up in the world,” Lisa says as she climbs in.
“Poor lady,” Barnaby says. “I remember her well, but I never would have recognized her. She was always such a strong, energetic worker when she cleaned our house. She sometimes walked all the way to the hardware store to buy supplies.”
“To the Country House. I haven’t eaten there for a long time, but I remember it fondly.”
“I’ve never been there. It’s a luxury, going to a fine restaurant.”
After a half-hour’s drive, they reach their destination on the outskirts of the town. The restaurant is in an old farmhouse, a clapboard-faced building painted white. The lights in the parking lot illuminate patches of snow and dim shapes of cows grazing in an adjoining field.
“Good choice, Barnaby,” Julia says, grasping his arm as they move toward the entrance. “It’s a change to be out of the city. I love nature.”
“Me, too,” he says.
He’s enjoying the feel of Julia’s hand on his arm and has an urge to hold her hand. Too soon, he thinks. Inside the building, the maître d’ asks Barnaby if he has a reservation. He’s proud to give his name.
“Ah, yes, Mr. Brown. Seven-thirty. Come this way.”
Their table near the fireplace is set with a white cloth and a vase of snowdrops. A server greets them and asks what they would like to drink.
Barnaby glances at Julia. “Would you like a glass of wine?”
She hesitates before answering. “Are you having one?”
He hesitates in turn. “No. Just water for me. But if you’d like a glass, please go ahead.”
“Then I won’t,” she says.
Barnaby sees the relief on her face. He has made the right decision.
They spend some minutes examining the menu.
“What do you think? Does anything appeal?” he asks.
“It’s a great selection. I’ll go for the trout almandine.”
“Sounds good. Same for me.”
He’s not familiar with most dishes on the menu and is willing to follow her lead. If he eats fish, it’s fish and chips. After they order, he relaxes and gazes across the table at Julia. Her red sweater perfectly matches her lipstick, set off by a sparkling clip in her hair. She’s lovely. He smiles at her.
“Tell me about yourself,” he says.
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything. What have you been doing all these years?”
She takes a deep breath. “Let’s see. I think I told you already that since we knew each other, I’ve been married and divorced. Single for the past fifteen years. I moved to Waterbury after I earned my social work degree, and I’ve worked in my present job since then. I own my condominium and make a decent living. That’s about it.”
“Don’t you perform any more on the stage? You were such a good actress,” he says.
“No, though I’d like to.”
“I learned recently that there’s a new production of Carousel in the works here in town. You could audition.”
“Good idea. How about you? Will you try out?”
“No. I want to concentrate on painting. Indoor scenes.”
She raises her eyebrows and meets his gaze. “Are you painting now?” she asks.
“Yes. What do you mean, now?”
“Nothing. Lisa told me you had given up.”
“Oh, Lisa. I don’t know why she would say that.”
“Well, she’s not herself these days. Something’s wrong. I haven’t seen her at work all week.”
“She’s been in New York. She called me last night to let me know several of my paintings have sold in a gallery there.”
“Did she? So she went to the city. I’ll have to talk to her.”
“Let’s not talk about Lisa. Tell me more about yourself.”
“Later,” she says. “I’m glad you sold some of your work.”
Their dishes arrive and for a few minutes they both concentrate on the food.
“The trout is perfect,” Julia says.
He agrees. He likes the delicate flavor of the fish decorated on top with grape halves and almonds. “Do you still hunt for four-leaf clovers?” he asks.
She smiles. “Oh, clovers—I had forgotten. I used to find them all the time in Providence, in grassy areas by the beach. Good luck charms.”
He smiles. “You found several for me. I think I sold a painting every time you gave me one.”
“That wasn’t luck. That was because your work had merit. Now it’s your turn. What have you been doing?”
“Not much, I have to admit. I let myself go for a long time. But that’s changing. As I’ve told you, I’m painting again, using new subject matter. I like depicting people in ordinary pursuits of life—having drinks in a bar, a drink in a coffee shop, that sort of thing.”
“You mean, interior scenes like Edward Hopper’s?” she asks.
“Not like Hopper. Not as gloomy. Lively, with a lot more hope.”
She smiles up at him and their eyes meet.
His heart flips. “It’s like being in a field of clover when I’m with you,” he says.
She flushes. “That’s a lovely thing to say. But there’s no clover here, only snowdrops.”
“Well, it’s winter. Those are brave flowers, blooming in blizzards.”
“Yes. Full of hope. But speaking of clovers, I like the old memories, too.”
He gulps. “That’s because they remind us of our younger selves. All the years in between don’t count, somehow.”
“I agree,” she says.
He reaches across the table for her hand. “I’d like to know more about you, about all those years in between.”
She pauses before speaking. “I had a rough time of it, myself, for a while. My husband became unstable, but I didn’t know that at first. Bipolar. So we never had children, and the marriage broke up. I really wanted a baby.”
She lowers her gaze, and he squeezes her hand. “I guess we’ve both had our problems,” he says, “but I’m so happy we’ve met again.”
“Me, too.”
His heart expands. He meets her glance, and a grin creeps to the corner of her eyes, crinkling her face. He allows his eyes to linger.
After dessert and coffee, they walk hand-in-hand back to the car. When they reach Julia’s condo, Barnaby accompanies her to the front door and kisses her, and his heartbeat doubles. He catches the scent of coconut in her hair and enfolds her in his arms. She feels right in his embrace, and he wonders why it has taken so many years for him to find someone like her.
“I had a wonderful time. Thank you,” Julia says.
“I did, too,” he says. “I’ll call you soon.”
CHAPTER 22
On Monday, Julia sees Lisa back at her desk.
“Where were you all last week?” she asks.
“I took a break. Went to New York. Checked out a cooking school. I might take classes.”
“That’s a good idea.”
“I’m thinking of quitting this job and opening a restaurant. Tired of trying to help people who won’t help themselves. It’s tragic when children are at risk.”
“I agree. Sounds like you have your hands full. Perhaps you would find the hospitality business more to your liking. I can tell you’re losing patience with the work here. Speaking of that, Margaret told me I’m solo on the Hawkins case now. Hope that helps you out.”
“Maybe,” Lisa says, wrinkling her brow. “Perhaps that’s as well. Listen, don’t say anything to Margaret about my plans. I want to be sure I know what I’m doing before I give notice.”
Julia pauses. This would be the opportunity to sit down with her friend and find out what’s going on. “Okay,” she says. “It’s a big decision. Would you like to have dinner and talk about all of this?”
“No. I have a lot of thinking to do first. How was your weekend?”
“Good. Unusually good, actually.”
“What did you do?”
“Had dinner at a restaurant.”
“Oh. Which one?”
“The Country House.”
“Very nice. Did you go with your friend Nancy? Your birthday’s coming up.”
“Not with Nancy. Another friend.”
Julia moseys to her office. It might be good for Lisa to change careers, but clearly she doesn’t want to discuss this touchy issue. There’s no point in telling her about her date with Barnaby. Better to let things run their course first.
Her mind keeps skipping back to the magical evening she’d had with him. She’s relieved that he appears to be living his life responsibly, avoiding alcohol, selling paintings, and taking care of his appearance. He looked downright handsome on Saturday. He had a shiny car and gave every indication of being successful, not at all the loser Lisa had warned her about. She would like to have a good man in her life.
But now she needs to focus on her online search for senior living facilities. By noon she has checked some reviews and Department of Health ratings and compiled a preliminary list of suitable accommodations. Three offer flexible room options for different budgets, are close to the Hawkinses’ house, and have space available. She picks up the phone.
“Elsa, Julia here. I’ve located some places for you to consider—”
Elsa interrupts her. “Oh, Julia. Alma’s gone missing. She must have left the house early, before I got up. I’ve called the police. I’m so worried.”
“Of course you’re worried. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“I don’t think so. The police have a description, and they’re driving around the area.”
“Do you have any idea where she might have gone? Anywhere she talked about going?”
“She usually goes to the drugstore. That’s where she gets toothbrushes to bring home. The police have already checked there.”
“I’m so sorry. All the more reason for finding a safe place for her. Do let me know when you find her.”
Julia heaves a sigh and turns her attention to other tasks. At one o’clock, Lisa sticks her head in the door. “You’ll never guess what’s happened. Barnaby called me. Turns out Alma Hawkins found her way to the hardware store to thank him for letting her keep the painting.”
“That’s great! So Alma’s not missing.”
“What do you mean, missing? He didn’t say anything about that. He called because his boss told him Alma had come by and looked lost, or something. He knew I was handling the case. I don’t know if she’s still there, or not.”
Except you’re not handling the case, Julia thinks. “I’ll go to Carano’s and find her.” she says. “Better still, I’ll phone first and tell the owner to keep her safe until Elsa or I can get there.”
“I’ll go with you,” Lisa says.
“That’s not necessary, thanks all the same.”
Julia calls the hardware store. “Mr. Carano, Julia Morgan here. I came by your store the other day about my flooded floor. I’m a social worker, and I’m working with Alma Hawkins and her family. It’s my understanding Alma came to your store today, asking for Barnaby. She’s an older woman, gray haired, and has dementia. Is she still there?”
“Don’t know. She was looking around. Hold on and I’ll check.”
A few minutes later he comes back on the line. “She’s not here. I saw her, must’ve been ten minutes ago, so she can’t have gone far.”
“Thanks. I’ll be right there. The police are searching for her, too. If she comes back, please call them.”
Lisa appears at Julia’s office, dressed to go outside. “Let’s go,” Lisa says.
“Are you sure you want to come?” Julia asks. She observes Lisa’s face, crumpling at the jaw. “All right, if you insist. We should notify the police and Elsa. Perhaps you can do that while we’re on the way.”
Julia grabs a coat and hat and they hurry to her car.
CHAPTER 23
Barnaby dreams of Julia every night. She sits beside him in her red dress in the Honda as they drive out West to California, the windows down, her hair scattering in the summer wind. He wants to ask her out again soon, but he has work to do first and tries to stay focused.
He starts a new painting of customers buying wooden shelving in a hardware store. After working on it for a while, he remembers he needs to contact Sylvester about the price he’s charging for the paintings at the gallery. He also needs to go to the store to check out computers. It will be a busy day with not much time for housecleaning. Although he promised himself to do more of that, it’s a daunting task. Besides, Popsicle will tease him and tell him with good reason that it’s a “helluva” job. He can’t accomplish everything all at once.
He picks up the phone and punches in Sly’s number. A recording comes on the line saying Goldstone Gallery is closed on Mondays and messages can be left after the beep. Barnaby hangs up. He doesn’t want to leave voice mail. In the meantime, he can have lunch and go to the computer store.
As he’s leaving, Sal calls on the phone. “Barnaby, glad I caught ya, What’s going on with ya lately? Another lady came in asking for ya. This one was older. Said she wanted to thank ya for letting her keep the painting she took.”
“Well, that’s nice of her. Must’ve been Alma. How did she look?”
“To tell ya the truth, not too good. Seemed confused. I had to tell her how to find her way out. She was wearing bedroom slippers, too.”
“Oh dear. Thanks for telling me.”
He stares out the window considering what to do. He’ll call Lisa. It’s her case. Perhaps Alma needs help. After talking to Lisa and learning that Alma has just recently gone missing, he decides to go and find out for himself. At the store, he tells Sal that Alma has dementia and might have wandered away from home. “Did anyone else come with her, and what was she wearing?” he asks.
“As I said, bedroom slippers. I think she had on a blue coat. No hat. Didn’t see anyone with her.”
A police car arrives at the parking lot, and Barnaby goes out to meet it.
“We’re searching for a woman wearing a blue coat. Have you seen her?” one of the two officers asks.
“I’m searching for her myself,” Barnaby says.
“Okay. We’ll check inside first.”
Another car pulls up. Julia steps out. Barnaby’s pulse quickens.
“Julia!” he says, approaching her. “What a surprise, seeing you here. You’ve been on my mind . . . I meant to call you.” He hesitates briefly, then dashes toward her and gives her a hug. Her eyes light up, but she pushes him away. At that moment, he catches sight of Lisa.
“Hello, Lisa,” he says.
Lisa’s face turns ghost white. She stares from him to Julia and back again. Loud voices echo from inside the store, and two police officers come out with Alma, followed by Sal.
“I can find my own way home,” she screams, “Go away.”
Julia steps from Barnaby toward Alma. She gently takes Alma’s hand.
“Oh, it’s you, Julia,” Alma says. “I don’t like these big policemen pulling me along. Can you take me home?”
“Of course,” Julia says. She turns to an officer. “Where did you find her?”
“She was in the basement. Looks like you’re a friend of hers. Do you want to take her back?”
“Yes. She lives on Maple Street.”
“We’ll need some ID from you first.”
Julia reaches into her purse and hands the officer her business card.
“Okay, thanks. We’ll follow you to be sure the lady gets back safely.”
“Hang on a minute,” Sal says. “You caught her in the basement, did you say? I usually keep that door locked. Must have forgotten. There’s valuable stuff down there.”
Julia’s throat tightens. “Oh, dear. I hate to say this, but we should check Alma’s pockets to be sure she didn’t take anything.” She whispers to the officer, “She has a habit of taking things. It’s a common symptom of dementia.”
“Well, then. We’d better check,” the officer says. “I saw a lot of antiques there. Amazing things.”
“All brass and copper,” Sal says proudly. “Clocks, light fixtures, cartridge cases, bird cages, locks. Made right here in Waterbury.”
“All right,” the police officer says. Turning to Julia, he asks, “Can you assist us here?”
Julia takes a deep breath while she considers what to say. “Alma, do you have some gloves in your pockets? It’s frosty outside.”
Alma gives her a soft smile.
“Let me help you,” Julia says.
She searches the old woman’s pockets and finds one glove.
“Here you go,” she says, pulling out the piece of clothing. A button falls to the ground.
“What’s this? Did you lose a button?”
Sal bends to pick it up. “Hold on. This belongs to me. It’s brass. These are collector’s items.”
“You’re sure this one was in your basement, sir?” the officer asks.
“Absolutely. You’ve probably heard of Chase Brass and Copper Company. They made brass buttons, among other things. I have dozens of ’em. This one has an engraving on it of a centaur, the City’s logo. You’ll probably recognize it.”
He opens his palm to reveal the button.
Barnaby chuckles. He’ll tell the professor, who might be interested in this.
“She didn’t take anything else, apparently,” Julia says. “Let’s get Alma home. Could you please call her daughter to let her know we’ve found her?”
“Will do,” the officer says.
Julia places her arm around Alma’s shoulders and escorts her to the car. Barnaby watches them go. Alma turns to glare at Lisa, still holding Julia’s car door open.
“I don’t want her going with us,” Alma says.
Barnaby sees her lurch as though she’s going to lunge at Lisa, and he steps forward to restrain Alma, who pulls back, but pays no attention to him and continues to leer at Lisa with fire in her eyes. Lisa moves out of reach and slams the car door shut.
“Can I catch a ride with you, Barnaby?” she asks. “Clearly I’m not wanted here.”
“Sure,” he says.
Lisa surveys the parking lot.
“I don’t see your car,” she says to Barnaby in a strained voice.
“It’s right here. It’s new.”
“Oh, I didn’t know. Going up in the world,” Lisa says as she climbs in.
“Poor lady,” Barnaby says. “I remember her well, but I never would have recognized her. She was always such a strong, energetic worker when she cleaned our house. She sometimes walked all the way to the hardware store to buy supplies.”
