The same thing happened the next night, although I didn’t channel surf. I went right to the show. The third night was a Saturday. When Elvis started for the bedroom, I’d said, “It’s Saturday. No Jeopardy!”
He’d stopped in his tracks. I’d waited to see what he’d do. After a moment he’d turned and come back to his bowl. Not only did I have a cat that liked to watch quiz shows, but somehow he also knew it was a weeknight thing.
Luckily, the TV had a sleep timer so I could set it to turn off in thirty minutes, when the show was over. I pulled my hooded red sweater over my head and grabbed the beaded bag Jess had given me for my birthday.
“I’m leaving,” I said to Elvis.
His eyes didn’t move from the screen. His tail twitched once and he made a low murp that was probably the cat equivalent of “Okay. Fine.”
The streets in North Harbor were spread out in no pattern that I’d ever been able to figure out. It seemed that as the town grew, streets were laid down wherever they seemed to be needed, so it wasn’t always easy to get from one place to another in more or less a straight line. But that was part of the town’s charm, too. I was only three blocks from the harbor front. An easy walk.
Jess had already snagged a booth along the back wall when I got to The Black Bear. One elbow was on the table, head propped on her hand, and she was staring at a basket of Sam’s spicy corn chips.
“Why are you torturing yourself?” I asked as I slid onto the seat opposite her.
“It’s not torture,” she said, without looking up. “I’m expanding my sphere of willpower.”
“Just because you’re trying to eat healthier doesn’t mean you can’t have the occasional corn chip, Jess,” I said.
Jess was trying to live a healthier lifestyle but it kept getting derailed by her love of all things deep-fried and her loathing for any activity that made her sweat.
“I don’t want a corn chip,” she said in a flat voice, like she was repeating some kind of mantra. She was concentrating so hard there were frown lines between her blue eyes.
“Okay,” I said. I reached over and pulled the basket across the table. I knew the crisp little tortilla triangles would be spiced with cracked black pepper and lemon. I grabbed two. They were delicious, still warm from the oven. I ate a third one.
“How can you sit there and eat those right in front of me?” Jess asked, an exaggerated aggrieved edge to her voice.
“I’m removing temptation from your sphere of willpower,” I said, reaching for another chip.
She made a face at me and leaned against the back of the booth. She was wearing her long brown hair loose with a pumpkin-colored sweater, jeans and brown knee-high boots. She had a funky, eclectic style and she could find humor in just about anything.
Jess had grown up in North Harbor but we really hadn’t been friends, probably because I was a summer kid. We’d gotten close when I put an ad on the music-department bulletin board at the University of Maine, looking for a roommate. Jess had been the only person to call. She’d been studying art history and I’d been doing a business degree and taking every music course I could fit into my schedule, but we’d hit it off. After we’d been living together for a couple of weeks she’d confessed that she’d taken the ad down about five minutes after I’d pinned it up.
“I would have put it back if I hadn’t liked you,” she’d said.
“What if I hadn’t liked you?” I’d countered. We’d been out on the lawn, painting a trash-picked table we’d carried half a mile home, walking on the edge of the road like a couple of nomads.
Jess had grinned. “Now, what were the chances of that ever happening?”
“How was your day?” she asked me now.
I blew out a breath. “That’s a long story,” I said, looking around for a waitress.
“I already ordered for us,” Jess said, waving one hand dismissively at me.
“Why?” I asked as I pulled my sweater off over my head. It was warm inside The Black Bear. Even though it was a Monday night the place was about half-full. Three tables had been pushed together in the center of the room for what I was guessing was a group of tourists, at least a dozen. There was another tourist, a woman wearing a Red Sox cap and sunglasses, in the booth behind Jess. The folded map on the seat beside her was a dead giveaway,
“Because I know you like Sam’s fish chowder and Sam said they seemed to be having a run on it tonight. Did you want something else?”
I shook my head. “No, that’s good. Did you order me some of those little cheese biscuits?”
She nodded. “I told Sam you’d figure out your own dessert.”
I smiled at her. “Thanks.”
She laced her fingers behind her head. “So, tell me the long story about your day.”
“Let me see if I can sum it up for you,” I said. “I got a great price on two boxes of Fiestaware. I saw a seventy-five-year-old man naked. And Charlotte and I discovered a dead body.”
Jess blinked. “Wow,” she said. “That beats the heck out of a seagull stealing my French fries at lunch.” She leaned forward again, forearms on the table. “Start with the dead body.”
“His name is—was Arthur Fenety.”
“Wait a minute. Does he have a sister named Daisy?”
“Yes,” I said, stretching my legs under the table. “Why? Do you know her?”
“I altered a dress for her. Silk. Beautiful, beautiful fabric. What happened to her brother?”
“I’m not sure,” I said carefully. I explained how Charlotte and I had ended up at Maddie’s house.
Jess shook her head. “Poor Maddie. She’s such a nice person. You know those buckets of tulips that are out in front of the shop?”
I nodded.
“She helped me plant all of them. She gave me fertilizer to put in the water. She even told me when to water them. You know me—I can’t even keep plastic flowers alive.”
Our waitress arrived then with two oversize steaming bowls of Sam’s fish chowder, a plate of cheese biscuits and a little pot of butter.
We ate for a couple of minutes in silence, cut only by our little murmurs of satisfaction. If there was fish chowder that was better than Sam’s, I hadn’t tasted it yet.
Jess set down her spoon and reached for a biscuit. “So, how does the naked seventy-five-year-old man fit into this?” she asked.
I laughed. “He doesn’t, really. Remember I told you I was doing a workshop for a bunch of Gram’s friends down at the seniors’ apartment building?”
Her mouth was full so all she did was nod.
“Well, it turns out there’s an art class there at the same time.”
Jess nodded and brushed crumbs off the corner of her mouth. “Isn’t Eric teaching some kind of drawing class?”
“That’s it,” I said, scooping up a fat scallop with my spoon. “Do you know Alfred Peterson?”
“Little bald man? Pants are always up under his armpits?”
I nodded.
Jess paused, spoon halfway to her mouth. “Wait a minute. You saw Mr. Peterson naked?”
I nodded again.
“Did he know?”
“That he was naked or that I saw him?”
Jess thought for a moment. “Both.”
I fished a chunk of red-skinned potato out of the bowl and ate it. “Yes and yes.”
“So Eric’s class is drawing nudes and Mr. Peterson is their model?”
“Not exactly,” I said. I leaned sideways and looked around the room. Sam had just come from the kitchen. He gave me a sheepish grin when I caught his eye, and started over.
“I’m sorry,” he said as he got close to the table, holding up both hands as though he was surrendering. “I really did think Alf knew Eric was just going to have the class draw hands.” He was trying to keep the grin in check but it wasn’t working. “Was he really completely . . . ?” The end of the sentence trailed off.
“In all his glory,” I said solemnly.
Sam laughed. “I’m sorry, Sarah. If I’d had any idea that Alf didn’t know, I would have told him. I swear.”