"Sure. Still, I bet you wonder if they'll show up here somewhere. It'd give me the creeps, Roe."
"It doesn't bother me," I said dismissively, and turned to the open front door to see a stranger standing there. He was looking back over his shoulder at the red-haired boy smoking on the lawn. When he turned to me, I recognized the dark man who'd been sitting in Martin's waiting room the day I'd returned from Ohio. This was Shelby Youngblood. He looked at me in that moment, and we had a good rude stare at each other.
He was about five foot ten, swarthy-skinned, with muscles that were truly impressive, even to one used to Martin's muscular build. His hair was a dusty black, shaggy, only a few threads of gray, and his mustache was the kind that framed his mouth. His eyes were blue, and he wore old jeans and a faded T-shirt. His hands looked broad and hard.
"Miss Teagarden?" he asked, in a pleasant voice. "I'm Shelby Youngblood." I'd expected him to growl.
"I'm glad to meet a friend of Martin's," I said honestly. "Please call me Roe."
We shook hands. His were very hard, ridged and scarred.
"Come see the garage apartment," I suggested.
I got my keys and led the way, out the kitchen, under the roofed walkway, over to the garage with the covered stairs running up the side closest to the house. I unlocked the door at the top, and we went in. Since the garage was not only more than wide enough for two cars, but had a deep storage room running all its width along the back, the apartment was larger than one expected from outside. It was a very good size for one person—it was basically one large open room. I hoped two people would be comfortable there. The bathroom was small but adequate, and more modern than the ones in the house, since it was the Juliuses who had turned what had been a glorified hayloft into an apartment for Mrs. Julius's mother. The tiny kitchen was not meant for producing a full Thanksgiving feast, but would be bearable for someone who was not an enthusiastic cook.
I looked at Shelby Youngblood inquiringly.
"Is this okay?" I asked, when he didn't say anything. "It's fine," he said with some surprise, as if he hadn't realized I was waiting for his verdict.
"This carpet is mildewed, I think the carpet pad is, too," I said, wrinkling my nose. I hadn't noticed this the other time I'd looked at the apartment. "I'll replace it. Is there any color you particularly like? Anything that might match your furniture... ?"
"Right now, we don't have any," he said calmly.
He seemed amused.
All right! What was so damn funny about not having furniture, about my wanting to know if their furniture was any color I should be mindful of when I ordered carpet! Didn't most people in their forties have furniture? It wasn't as if I'd asked about his racial origin or asked him to describe a shrimp fork. I could feel myself turning red.
"Angel and I haven't been in one place long enough to accumulate much," he said, and I nodded curtly.
"Then I'll rent it furnished," I said, and turned and walked out.
I stomped down the stairs breathing heavily.
I spied John Henry's wife's best friend's son going into my house with a cigarette in his mouth.
"Excuse me!" I called.
He stopped and turned.
This kid had an attitude, no doubt about it. He looked at me as if I'd crawled out from under a rock to question his God-given right to smoke in my house. "Please put out the cigarette before you go in," I said as evenly as I could manage, coming to a stop in the front yard a few feet away from the boy as he stood on my front steps.
He rolled his eyes and sneered. It was one of those teenage grimaces that make you amazed that so many of them survive to adulthood. Of course teenagers had acted like this in the library, and I had handled it then, but a few months away had resensitized me.
Already angry, I was now inwardly berserk. What this translated to on the outside was that I had my hands clenched in fists by my side, my jaw felt soldered together, and all I needed to complete my Shirley Temple imitation was to stick my lip out.
The boy dropped the cigarette on my wooden porch and ground it out with his foot. He took another step inside.
"Pick it up," suggested a quiet voice from behind me.
"Huh?" The boy's mouth was open in amazement at this novel idea. "Pick it up and put it in your pocket," the quiet voice said, as if it were implanting a posthypnotic suggestion.
With a fearful stare over my shoulder, the boy reached down, picked up his cigarette butt, dropped it in his pocket, and scuttled into the house. "Now," I said, pivoting on my heel, "I could have handled that by myself."
"I made you mad in the first place," Shelby said. I tried to think that out, but couldn't while he was standing there looking at me.
"We should start again," he said.
"Yes."
"Hi, I'm Shelby Youngblood, a friend of Martin's."
"Hi. I'm Roe Teagarden, Martin's fiancée."
We didn't shake hands again, but regarded each other warily.
"I hope you don't mind Martin suggesting we live here," Shelby said.
That wasn't easy for him. He wasn't used to being beholden to anyone. I blew out a long breath silently, gradually cooling down. I decided on simple positive sentences. "I am very glad for you to be in the apartment. I know that you plan to help out while the renovation is going on. I'm anxious to get it done as soon as possible. We'll get married in three weeks, and be back from our honeymoon two weeks after that, so I hope to have most of it done by then." "If I start work at Pan-Am Agra before then, Angel will be more than able to supervise whatever work is left to be done," Shelby said. "And by the way, she likes light orange—I think she calls it peach—and green." I could feel the tension ease out of my face.
"Will you go back to—Florida, right?—to get her, or..." "Yeah. I'll fly back tomorrow, and we'll wrap things up there and start driving up here in maybe three or four days."
"Okay. That'll work out great." By the time the Young-bloods were in place, I should be more and more wrapped up in wedding plans, and it really would be a help to have them actually on the spot.
For the first time I saw how Shelby Youngblood had gotten out to the house. He was driving Martin's car.
"He really does trust you," I said.
"Yeah."
We gave each other another long look. "Catch you later," Shelby said casually, and strode off, starting up Martin's car and driving off in it. It felt very strange to see someone else in Martin's car.
I ran into town to tell the carpet and paint people they had a new job, and one that took priority. By great good fortune, they had a peach-colored carpet in stock. Since the white walls in the apartment were still in very good shape, I asked the painter to do the baseboards and door and window frames in green. I was lucky enough to find white curtains with a little peach-colored figure at WalMart (I was in too much of a hurry to have some made), and as for furniture ... gee, this was getting expensive. I looked in the for-sale ads of the Lawrenceton Sentinel and called some of the numbers listed. By late afternoon, I'd found a very nice used bedroom suite and a couch and two armchairs in a neutral beige, and had run back to WalMart and bought queen-size sheets and a bedspread (green). The living-room set was in good shape but needed cleaning. I made a note to buy a spray cleaner, and then rushed back to the townhouse to get ready for the wedding shower.
As I sank into the warm water of the bathtub, I realized that I hadn't eaten lunch and didn't have time to eat supper. I was astonished. Meals were not something I skipped without noticing. Well, I certainly hadn't missed the calories, but I wouldn't be able to keep up this pace unless I took better care of myself. I consciously relaxed everything from my toes on up, practicing slow regular breathing. I was going to enjoy tonight. I'd waited all these years for a bridal shower in my honor; by golly, this was my night. Luckily, I'd decided in advance what to wear. I pulled the purple with white polka dots from the closet, put in the amethyst earrings Martin had bought me, slid my feet into one of my few pairs of high heels. After surveying my reflection, I added a small gold bracelet. I brushed my hair carefully and then put on a braided headband to keep the mass out of my face (and my drink, and my food).