Bodies and Blueberries Page 3

  “Can’t that loser cook for himself?”

  “He’s not a loser, Mom.”

  “He is a loser and a user. He’s probably at your place right now, asleep, waiting for you to come home and make supper. My cat treats me better than he treats you. There’s a lot more fish out in the sea.”

  “You and Jenny have been spending way too much time together. You sound just alike. I’ll see you at the meeting tomorrow night,” she said, shaking her head as she walked out the door.

  The closer Tabby got to the center of town, the louder the yelling became. Everyone walking on Main Street had stopped in front of her future shop and was listening to the argument that was taking place inside the real estate office across the street. The windows were open and the locals could hear every word being said.

  Tabby looked around. This had to be a new record. A crowd was gathering and Gladys Twittle was nowhere to be found. Donald Twittle and his wife owned the Penny Poor Antique Shop two doors up from Tabby’s building. If there ever were two people that fit the “opposites attract” theory, it was Donald and Gladys. He was a quiet, pleasant man, and well liked in the town.

  His wife was as wide as she was tall. The locals never knew what color Gladys would dye her hair for the coming week as she always tried to match the bright colors in the flower print dresses that she loved to wear. Known as “The Town Mouth”, she had a way of showing up at the right place at the right time. She never missed anything. The next morning you would find her on the first stool at The Tilted Coffee Cup, next to the register, telling everyone the latest gossip. She knew everything, and if she didn’t, she would dig until she did. She was pushy and bossy and not liked at all.

  True to her nature, Gladys came waddling up the street. She stopped at the edge of the crowd, next to Mrs. Ryan, the second nosiest person in town.

  “What have I missed already?” Gladys asked in a loud voice.

  “Shhh,” urged Mrs. Ryan, as the voices started up again from across the street.

  “Where have you been?”

  “I was out taking care of some business.”

  “What business? Anything to do with my holdings?”

  “Just business,” Fink answered belligerently.

  “Who told you that it was acceptable to raise all the rents on my properties?” Mr. Wells demanded. “You didn’t discuss it with me.”

  “I’m doing my job, trying to make you more money.”

  “I have plenty of money. I believe you raised the rents to make yourself more money, that’s what I think.”

  “You have no idea how this business really works,” Fink asserted. “You’re just an old man who is set in his old ways. If you really knew what was going on in your buildings, you would have a heart attack.”

  “Well, this old man is pulling all my business from your office as of right now. I will be back for all my files, keys, and anything else that pertains to my properties,” Richard Wells bellowed. “I will be returning with the sheriff because I don’t trust you. Have everything ready for me including a final bill of commissions.”

  “You can’t do this to me. You own seventy percent of everything in town. Without your business, I have nothing,” Fink lamented. He looked out the window and to his mortification he realized they had an audience.

  He slammed the window closed, shutting out any noise that could escape out to the listening crowd. Several minutes later Mr. Wells came storming out the front door. His face was red which made his snow-white hair stand out even more than usual. The veins were bulging in his neck. He walked straight to the sheriff’s office at the edge of the town green.

  “That was interesting,” Tabby commented, breaking the silence of the crowd.

  People nodded in agreement. The show being over, the locals continued on their way. Mrs. Ryan followed Mrs. Twittle into her shop; they would no doubt analyze everything they just heard and come up with their own conclusions. Tabby noticed that Mr. Pierce had been standing in the door of the shop listening to everything being said. He seemed very interested in what was going on even though he had moved to town only a month ago.

  “Mr. Pierce, can I speak with you a moment?” Tabby requested, moving towards the shop door.

  “And you are?” he asked.

  “My name is Tabitha Moon. I am renting this shop space when you leave.”

  “Yes, I recall Mr. Wells mentioning that to me. What can I do for you?”

  “I am moving into the apartment above the shop soon. I was hoping you would let me up the back stairs so I can see what needs to be done before I move in,” Tabby replied. “I live a quiet lifestyle. It will be myself and my boyfriend most nights.”

  “Mr. Fink didn’t say anything about anyone renting upstairs. I have stock up there. If you hold on for a minute, I’ll go up and close the boxes and then you can look around.”

  “That’s fine. I have all afternoon.”

  Sam Pierce disappeared up the inside stairway that connected the shop space to the apartment above. Tabby walked around checking out her future rental space. It was a good size. There was a small back room that she could use as a work space. The stairs to the cellar were located to the right of the small bathroom in the back corner of the shop. Maybe she could talk Mr. Pierce into selling her the new counter he had installed; it would be perfect for her register area. Hopefully, he wouldn’t take it with him if he moved to the larger store at the other end of town.

  “Everything’s set. You can go up and look around. I will move the stock out this weekend. It’s pretty dirty up there; I don’t think anyone has used the apartment for a long time.”

  “I think the last person to live there was Mrs. Ryan. Her husband died and she didn’t want to live alone so far out of town so she sold their house and moved in here. That was like… eight years ago. She lives at the bed and breakfast now because the stairs got to be too much for her to climb every day. Thank you for making time for me. I’ll be down shortly.”

  Tabby climbed up the back stairs not knowing what to expect. Mr. Pierce was right; it was filthy. It would take a week of cleaning every day just to bring it up to a livable condition. The living room was a good size and at the front of the building overlooking the street. The kitchen was small, but had everything she needed. The bathroom had a stand-up shower and no tub. A large bedroom with a big walk-in closet was at the back.

  There was a smaller room that could be used as a second bedroom or a storage area. Tabby decided she would use this area to store her jams, jellies, and inventory that she would acquire over the summer. The whole place could definitely use a fresh coat of paint.

  In the far corner, she noticed something had been covered with a blanket. She walked over and peeked underneath. A telescope perched on a tripod had been hidden from view. Tabby stood there thinking about how odd this would be to sell in a baseball card shop.

  As she continued to look around she noticed three small circle impressions in the dust on the floor, directly in front of the bay window. The telescope must have been there at some point as the legs of the tripod lined up with the spots in the dust. He must have moved it when she was going to inspect the upstairs. Mr. Pierce had only just rented the space yet he seemed to be watching someone or something.

  What was he up to?

  She stood inside the triangular area that the three circles formed on the floor to see where the telescope was focused. The only place in direct line of vision was Whipper Will Real Estate. Tabby noticed several black boxes piled behind the telescope that had wires hanging out the sides. On top of one of the boxes was a set of headphones. As she stood looking out the window, Mr. Pierce appeared in the doorway.

  “Are you almost done? I have some place I have to be,” he quizzed as he stared at the covered telescope.

  Tabby didn’t want him to know she had been nosy and snooped under the blanket.

  “I was looking out the window and thinking what a beautiful view I will have of the town green when the fall colors appe
ar. That’s my favorite time of year, the fall. What’s your favorite time of year, Mr. Pierce?” she asked, continuing to look out the window.

  “Uh, summer, I guess. Look, I really have to get going. Are you done?” queried the antsy Mr. Pierce again.

  “Yes, I am. I will see you soon. Thank you for your time,” Tabby responded, as she gave her best smile and then hurried past him.

  Chapter 3

  * * *

  On the drive home she was deep in thought trying to figure out what or who Mr. Pierce was watching with his telescope. It couldn’t be the stars; the buildings and trees on Main Street blocked any kind of view of the sky. Maybe he was a pervert and was looking in people’s windows. All the buildings on the opposite side of the street had apartments on the second floor. She would have to remind herself to do more nosing around.

  Finn’s truck was already in the parking lot when she arrived at home. She strolled into her apartment, threw her keys on the table, and stepped over to the fridge to reach in for a refreshing wine cooler. Her boyfriend was asleep in the recliner just like her mother said he would be. He didn’t work this time of year so why was he always so tired? It was Saturday night which meant beans and hotdogs for supper. Why couldn’t they go out for dinner? Some things never changed.

  Tabby sipped her drink, looking at Finn. She wanted things to change; she needed things to change. Finn Morton had been her boyfriend since the first summer she came home from college. They met at the local drive-in where she worked a summer job to earn money for school. They had been dating for six years. It was a weird relationship. He was there every night for supper but the word “commitment” was apparently not in his vocabulary or his plans. He wanted to come and go as he pleased and do what he wanted, when he wanted. Why hadn’t she acknowledged this before now? Her stomach churned as her emotions boiled.

  It had been over a year since he had taken her out on a date or spent any money on her. He was at her apartment every night to eat, but never brought any food with him. People around town said he was a user; a self-centered cheapskate. The top priority in his life were his things, and he was a collector of everything. Sometimes Tabby felt like his stuff was more important than she was. So why did she always step up and defend him? Maybe she was afraid to move on. It had been so long since she dated and tried different things. Tabby was obviously stuck in a very deep rut. But did she really want to stay there?

  Every day it was work and come home to be at Finn’s beck and call. She knew in the back of her mind that she was getting tired of this way of life, but didn’t want to admit it to herself or to anyone else. Her mom’s and best friend’s words were starting to ring true. He was nice to look at but that was it. Is this what her life was going to be like forever? The longer she watched him sleep, the more furious she became. She did deserve better; a lot better.

  Finn woke up and looked over to see Tabby staring at him.

  “Like what you see?” he asked, smiling confidently.

  “Not so much,” she answered, walking into the bathroom and closing the door with a slam.

  While sitting in the bathroom, Tabby weighed the pros and cons of her relationship with Finn. As she became more upset her stomach began rolling and she almost threw up. It had to end tonight. She came out of the bathroom fifteen minutes later hoping that he had left; but no such luck. He was in the kitchen making his nightly drink. Tabby didn’t feel like dealing with this tonight, but she knew she had to. Her mood was not going to improve. Maybe she was depressed because of not winning the fountain and everything was making her mad. No, she was sure it was Finn and his ways that had finally gotten to her.

  She went to the living room, turned on the news, and guzzled her wine cooler, wishing she had picked up a second one out of the fridge before she sat down. Then she saw it; a pile of stuff tossed in the corner of her living room.

  “What is that?” she asked, pointing to the corner.

  “What is what?” he responded, looking at where she was pointing.

  “That.”

  “I bought some things at the flea market today. I didn’t have any room at my place for it so I brought it over here,” he answered, sitting down on the couch next to her.

  “No. My place is not going to become a storage unit like your place. Get it out of here now.”

  “Where am I going to put it?”

  “I really don’t care. Put it in your truck or anywhere, but not here,” she demanded, crossing her arms. “Tonight; I want it out of here tonight.”

  “What set you off?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it right now,” she replied, continuing to stare at the television. “I’d really like to be by myself tonight. Take your stuff and go.”

  “No supper?”

  “Go eat at the diner.”

  “Fine, but I’m taking my drink with me,” he said. “I don’t know what your problem is.”

  “You want to know what my problem is? You are my problem. You bring all your crap over here without asking, you eat over here every night without ever contributing anything to the meals, and you haven’t taken me out on a date or spent a cent on me in over a year. Most people that have been together for six years are engaged or married.”

  “You know how I feel about marriage.”

  “I sure do. You want a place to crash unless you have made other plans, supper cooked for you every night, and no commitment. Well, you know what? No more. I’m done. Take your stuff and get out. I’m breaking up with you.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yes, I am. Dead serious. Don’t take the drink with you, it’s my glass,” Tabby demanded, storming over to fridge and opening a second wine cooler.

  Finn downed the drink and then threw the glass at the kitchen sink, shattering it everywhere.

  “There’s your glass,” he yelled.

  Finn picked up as much as he could carry from the pile that sat in the corner. He brushed past her with the first load. She watched him out the window as he flung everything into the back of his truck. He marched into the kitchen and picked up the bottle of gin.

  “This is mine. I paid for it,” he declared, staring her down, waiting for her to disagree.

  “Whatever,” Tabby responded. “Just get the rest of your stuff and go.”

  “Nobody ditches Finn Morten. You’ll be sorry,” he added in a threatening voice as he stalked out the door. “You’ll be calling me.”

  “I doubt it,” she yelled, closing the door with a slam and locking it.

  She watched him get in the truck and speed away. The tears came suddenly out of nowhere, what had she just done? Six years down the drain. Six wasted years. She opened and guzzled another wine cooler, then grabbed her last one and threw herself on the couch to drink it at a more leisurely pace.

  In between the tears, a feeling of relief washed over her. Tabby could get past this. It would hurt tonight, but tomorrow things would look better. She had a new place to live, a new business starting soon, and now, a new and better love life to find.

  She must have been listening subconsciously to her mother and Jenny all this time. The pile of stuff in the living room had been the final straw. Just wait until Jenny found out that now they would be single together at the same time. This might not be so bad; in fact, it might actually be fun.

  Tomorrow night Tabby would show up for supper before the meeting. She would tell her mother about the break-up and watch her dance around the diner. For the next week, she would be the number one story in all the local gossip. Losing the fountain, the break-up, and now the flood of tears had taken its toll on her; she dropped into bed, exhausted.

  Tabby didn’t wake up until ten-thirty the next morning. She had slept right through church. Luckily, she wasn’t on greeting or refreshment duty. Spending the day in pajamas wasn’t such a bad idea. It had been a long time since she took a day for herself. She made a nice breakfast of blueberry pancakes and bacon with fresh squeezed orange juice. Finn always wanted eggs and
sausage; he wouldn’t even try her world-famous pancakes. From now on, she could have whatever she wanted for breakfast. The more she thought about it, the more she liked the idea of being single.

  Her cell phone rang. She could hear it buzzing but couldn’t find it; where did she leave it last night? It stopped ringing before she could get to it. She didn’t want to answer it anyway; this was her liberation day and she was darn well going to enjoy it. Anyone trying to call her would think that she was with Finn and that was why she didn’t answer. Boy, were they going to be surprised.

  Tabby stayed on the couch most of the day reading a mystery novel. She loved a good mystery and had read nearly every one the library carried. Her common sense and analytical mind made it easy for her to figure out who the killer was before the end of the book. She had never been able to put her deducing talent to work in real life as nothing exciting ever happened in the small town of Whipper Will Junction.

  She made a list of things she would need to buy to get her new apartment in livable condition. The list contained mostly cleaners. She would work during the day at the cable company and go clean for a few hours each night. If she rented a small moving truck, she could move everything at once. Now that Finn wasn’t around, she had to find someone to help her move. Maybe she could pay some of the high school seniors to assist her; she’d have to check around.

  When her cell phone went off again she looked at the screen and saw it was Finn calling so she didn’t answer; it was over and he was going to have to accept that. Nothing he could say would bring them back together. She threw the phone on the couch and headed for the shower. The committee members were meeting at the diner at five o’clock. Her day of leisure was over; it was time to get back to the real world.

  At five-fifteen Tabby pulled into the diner parking lot. Her mother’s car was already there along with several other cars that she recognized as belonging to committee members. She entered the diner and strolled to the back room that was used primarily for private functions.