“You look like a natural.”
Kate glanced up to see Matt watching her from the doorway. She pulled on the knife, but it had gone in too deeply and wasn’t coming out. She tried to rock it back and forth. No luck. “I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”
He approached her. “Problems?”
If one counted among them a heady overappreciation of a man dressed in something as simple as a black polo shirt and jeans, she had exactly two at the moment.
“The knife is stuck.”
“Let me see if I can help.”
Matt came around to her side of the table. Wow, but he smelled good. She caught a hint of woods and green fields. And, unlike her, he didn’t have a bit of pumpkin slime on him.
Kate moved her hand away from the knife, but not quickly enough. They touched, and she swore she felt an electric tingle as her hand involuntarily began to close around his. The sensation was far more satisfying than stabbing into a pumpkin. Good news on the mental stability front.
Matt wrapped his hand around the knife’s handle and winced.
“Sorry,” she said. “I guess everything’s a little messy at this point.”
With his free hand, he brushed a fleck of pumpkin from her cheek. “So it is,” he said, “but it still looks good.”
He turned his attention back to the pumpkin and pulled the knife free with an ease she envied.
“Tell you what,” he said. “Why don’t you get a bunch of these outside to line the front walk, and I’ll finish up the last three?”
Kate shook her head. “No, you don’t have to do that. It’s my job, and I’m all about finishing what I set out to do.”
“You’re not just talking about pumpkins, right?”
“I moved to Keene’s Harbor for a reason. To start a new life and build something I can be proud of.”
“And I’m the guy trying to take that away from you? It’s not personal. It’s business. And it was in the works a long time before you even moved to Keene’s Harbor.”
Kate crossed her arms. “Look. I know that. But that doesn’t mean I like it. And I’m going to find your saboteur, collect my $20,000 bonus, and buy back my house.”
Kate didn’t want to even think about the fact that a contractor had spent an entire day at her house trying to locate and fix her water leak. She didn’t have the money to pay him, either. Yet. And she wasn’t about to ask her parents for help. She wasn’t even sure they had the money, what with her father retired and living on long-held investments.
“Right now, all I want to do is carve a pumpkin,” Matt said. “Cut me a break here.”
“Well, since you put it that way, I could use a break, too. I’m pretty much pumpkined out.”
He smiled. “Consider yourself sprung.”
Kate grabbed a cart and loaded it with four jack-o’-lanterns. She made her way to the front of the house, where costumed beer lovers had already gathered. Once there, she slowed her pace enough to check out the guests. The event, like her emotional state, was high school all over again. The women had taken the borderline bawdy path to apparel, while the men had gone for minimal effort. Among the male ranks, there looked to have been quite a run on Grim Reaper costumes. Kate counted five of them in the crowd already. Two Grims were tall and skinny, and the other three of more well-fed dimensions.
The taproom was in full Halloween mode, too. The front windows were edged with strands of orange lights that glowed warmly against the dark wood trim. Tealights adorned each table, adding to the festive look. And an appetizer bar had been draped with orange linens and decorated with absurdly grinning skulls that shone from within. Kate wished she could stay and mingle, but there was work to be done.
She thanked one of the tall-and-skinny Grims as he held open the front door for her and the pumpkin cart. A sharp blast of wind greeted her. No doubt a storm was brewing out on the lake. Chilled, she hustled the cart over the mosaic mural, then hung a left to the end of the jack-o’-lantern line that Laila had already started.
Once Kate had her pumpkins in place, she patted her pockets for a light. She had none, of course. She turned her back to the wind and headed to the bar to snag a pack of matches. Inside, she spotted Laila chatting with a Grim Reaper. Market owner Marcie Landon was with them. She was very fittingly costumed as a tape measure. The bit of tape showing from the front of the bright yellow box was probably marked to perfect scale. The tall-and-skinny Grim definitely liked Laila, hovering close enough to be in her personal space. Laila didn’t seem to be objecting, either. She was laughing at something the Reaper had just said. Kate smiled, waved, and moved on.
Outside again, she hunkered down by the first jack-o’-lantern and pulled out her pack of matches. Two sputtered and died even before she could get them to the tealight waiting inside, and the next two were snuffed by a draft coming through the pumpkin’s eyes.
“Okay, then,” she said to herself and sat down cross-legged on the sidewalk. Clearly, she would be there awhile.
“You need a lighter.”
Kate looked up past a pair of sensible white server sneakers and standard Depot uniform to Laila’s serene face.
“I don’t suppose you have one?” Kate asked.
Laila pulled out a rectangular silver lighter adorned with what looked to be crystals. She flipped it open with a distinctive click, bent down, and did in two seconds what Kate hadn’t accomplished in four matches.
“Sometimes the old things are the best,” Laila said.
Kate smiled. “Obviously, you haven’t seen my house.”
* * *
AT ELEVEN that night, Kate lay in bed, unable to sleep. The contractor had found her leak. Evidently, when Junior had regrouted the shower tile in her master bathroom, he hadn’t inspected the shower pan. It had completely failed. Even worse, he’d reset the toilet without a proper seal, and raw sewage had swept underneath her bathroom floor. The water damage from the shower and toilet had infiltrated her living room, causing her floor to warp. The contractor was coming back tomorrow to pull up her water-damaged floor and tile. Kate had tried to call Junior several times but he wasn’t answering—probably in his best interest, given the problems he’d caused.
The good news was that it seemed like a pretty simple fix, and the contactor thought he could do it for a couple thousand dollars. More than Kate had but doable, especially with the bonus money she planned to earn.
Kate set aside the magazine she’d been leafing through. An article on “Ten Ways to Drive Him Wild” wasn’t what she needed to get Matt Culhane out of her head. Indulging in each of those ten with him might do the job. But she wasn’t going there.
Kate’s cell phone rang, and she jumped at the unfamiliar sound. She hadn’t received too many phone calls since her big move away from the city.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Katie-bug!”
“Dad?”
“I know it’s late, but I picked up this new phone today that does everything but clean the pool, and I wanted to be sure I had your number right.”
Her father sounded pretty chipper—about one double Manhattan’s worth was her guess. She could picture him sitting in a lounge chair out back of their Florida house, with the pool lights and stars shining. He was probably wearing his favorite navy cardigan and blue-and-white seersucker trousers. And Mom was probably inside pining for the days of wholesome television and good old-fashioned family values. Kate loved her parents, but it was like they’d just been freed from a 1960s time capsule.
“You’ve got the number right, Dad.”
But he’d never called it before, always opting for the landline when she’d lived back downstate. And she hadn’t heard from either her mom or her dad since that highly uncomfortable family dinner three months ago, when she’d had to admit how broke she was. Of course, she hadn’t called them since then, either.
“So as long as we’re chatting, I was wondering how … The Nutshell is?” her dad asked.
“The house is fine, Da
d.”
“No issues with the plumbing? I know we’re due for a new septic system.”
“It’s all good,” she said.
“And that loose step on the way down to the beach?”
“I nailed it back down,” she fibbed.
Fact was, she hadn’t ventured to the water. All she’d done since she’d landed in Keene’s Harbor was focus on finding a job and nailing down her future. Beach walks had seemed like a luxury she hadn’t earned just yet.
“Well, that’s just great,” her dad said with more enthusiasm than the conversation warranted.
“Are you and Mom okay? There’s nothing going on down there that I should know about, is there?” she asked.
“We’re fine, Kate. Just fine! How’s the refrigerator?” he asked. “Do you need any help stocking it?”
They’d finally reached the real purpose of the call. Kate was glad no one was around to witness her embarrassment. The last time her dad had asked questions like this, her brother, sister, and their respective spouses had been watching. Kate had felt like the loser-girl on a reality TV show.
“I promise I have more than diet soda and shriveled-up apples in the fridge,” she said.
She still had that head of purple cauliflower, after all. But so long as she loaded up on the cheap employee meals at work, shopping was optional.
“Just checking. I know things have been tight.”
“It’s okay. I found a job.”
“Really? What are you doing?”
“I’m washing dishes and doing prep work at Depot Brewing.”
The line fell quiet for a beat.
“That’s great! It’s a tough job market out there. You should be proud. If you come up short, let me know and I’ll slip a care package your way. Just like your old college days.”
Ugh. Kate knew he was trying to be positive and supportive, but she was right back to feeling like the loser-girl. Kate wanted to be there for her parents, like her siblings were. Not the other way around.
“Thanks for the offer, but I’m doing great,” she said. And it was true, if “great” could be defined as able to splurge on a fake cappuccino the next time she put gas in the Jeep.
“Just say the word, Katie-bug…”
She wouldn’t, though. Her parents were retired, and money didn’t grow on trees. They probably had a woefully out-of-date concept of how much money was needed to get the house in shape. But more important, Kate had something to prove. Not to her parents, but to herself. She could stand on her own.
SIX
On Friday night, Matt walked into Woodsmen’s Hall with a parent at each elbow. The crowded room was filled with laughter and the blended smells of three dozen casseroles that probably all included crispy fried onions. This was an old-school Keene’s Harbor food-and-gossip fest, right down to its location. Other than getting an occasional refresher coat of paint, the long and narrow single-story hall hadn’t changed in a hundred years.
Matt felt pretty okay with being there until he saw Deena Bowen over by the beer table. In her bright blue V-necked dress, Deena was as much a knockout as she had been on the one date they’d had together. One date had been more than enough for Matt but not for Deena, and a woman scorned is a woman to be feared. Matt turned his head before Deena could catch him looking. It was the same technique he used when faced with a black bear in the woods. Deena and that bear bore a lot in common, personality-wise.
“You’re dragging your feet, son,” Matt’s father said.
“Just soaking it all in.”
“Come along, Patrick,” his mother said. “I want to see what’s over in the silent auction.
“Harley Bagger has offered up a couple of lighters from his collection, and Enid Erikson was donating some of those fun toilet paper covers—you know, the ones with the dolls’ heads and frilly dresses?”
His parents headed to the back of the hall, Dad with less fervor than Mom. Matt stuck to the front. One of those blank-eyed dolls would be staring at him from the back of a toilet at his parents’ home soon enough. Mom would probably give him one for Christmas, too. Unfortunately, Chuck could sniff out chewy plastic items the way most of his breed could raccoons. The doll would be history.
Matt stopped and talked with Bart, his brewmaster and buddy, about the upcoming hockey season. They were defending league champs, and Bart had his eye on a prospect to be sure they stayed that way. Matt gave Bart a fist bump and took the slow route toward the three refreshment tables. The first held soda and mixers, followed by high-octane punch, and then beer. He stopped and chatted with as many folks as he could. He wanted to give Deena time to move on.
Clete Erikson, the town police chief and husband to toilet paper doll-maker Enid, was manning the brew table. Clete reminded Matt a little of Chuck. Not that Clete was missing a limb. He just had the same droopy hound features.
“Hey, Chief,” Matt said.
Clete returned the greeting and slid a red plastic cup of beer Matt’s way. “Guess you’re wanting one of these.”
“Sure am.”
Matt took a sip and scanned the stream of new arrivals flowing into the hall. And then he saw her. Kate was a flash of scarlet sweater and spiky blond hair, so obvious among the less vivid colors surrounding her. The night was looking up.
* * *
“IT’S THE townie mother lode,” Kate said to Ella as they worked their way into Woodsmen’s Hall. The place was packed, which made it all the better to be with Ella. Kate’s friend was gorgeous. She was tall, with straight black hair that just swept her shoulders. She also possessed a figure that Kate envied but didn’t want to work to attain. Crowds just kind of parted for Ella.
“This is also the safest place on Earth,” Ella said.
Kate could see why. She’d already spotted a handful of police officers and most of the volunteer fire department, all of whom she recognized from her brief stint at Bagger’s.
As Ella and she wove through the throng toward Ella’s unstated destination, Kate said hello to the people she recognized. She was pleased to even get a few return greetings that didn’t come with that confused “Where do I know her from?” look in the eyes.
“Where are we heading?” Kate asked her friend over the noise of the music that had just started.
“Beer table for the first stop,” Ella said.
“I don’t suppose there’s a wine table?”
Ella shot her a dubious look. “You’re not serious, are you?”
She had been, but she’d never admit it.
Ella had a conspiratorial look in her eye. “I have a plan for you.”
“And beer is part of it?”
“If you don’t want a beer, just make sure you grab something to drink, because you’re going to need it.”
“That sounds marginally dangerous.”
“If it’s only marginally, we’re doing pretty good,” Ella said.
They rounded food tables packed with the kind of calories a sensible woman would avoid, but which Kate considered staples. She looked away from the temptation, but suddenly the evening’s danger factor rose. Matt stood at the beer table, and something way hotter than hunger for ham casserole rippled through Kate.
“Hi, Matt!” Ella called.
Matt very slowly turned his attention from Kate. This was a first, since usually when Ella called, guys hopped to.
“He’s into you,” Ella said to Kate in a low voice.
Kate shook off the moment. “Punch sounds good. Really good.” She moved on to the table directly to the left of Matt.
Ella lined up with Matt, got a cup of beer, and chatted a little with Clete Erikson.
Kate investigated the punch. Clearly, this was the grandma drink, complete with the obligatory island of orange sherbet slowly melting in a sea of bright pink liquid studded with chunks of melon and strawberry. Not her beverage of choice, but still about ten thousand spots ahead of beer. She ladled herself a big plastic cup, trying to avoid the fruit. If anyone was going to have
the bad luck to create a scene with a public fruit-choking incident, Kate knew she’d be that person. To make up for the fruit, she added a little more punch, plus some of the orange stuff.
She glanced over and caught Matt watching her, a broad smile on his face.
“You sure you want to drink that?” he asked.
“Not really, but I’m going to give it a try, anyway.”
“Note the people lining up for the beer and note the continuing absence of people at your table. What does that tell you?”
“That Keene’s Harbor is a haven for beer snobs?”
He grinned. “Live and learn.”
She raised her cup of sludge in a sketchy toast. “That’s my general plan.”
Ella, who’d been watching, fought back a laugh. Kate glanced into her cup again. It wasn’t the prettiest stuff she’d ever seen, but it couldn’t be that bad.
“We need to get moving,” Ella said. “We’ll catch you later, Matt.”
With that, she snagged Kate by the wrist and began hauling her and her foaming punch back past the sirenlike lure of the casseroles.
“You still sing, right?” Ella asked.
The summer they were sixteen, they had nothing better to do than drive around town and sing along to the radio. Kate had a shiny new driver’s license and a less shiny hand-me-down car. And when they’d needed money for more gasoline, Ella had played the guitar and Kate had sung on the street corner until they had change for a few gallons or the police told them to close up shop.
“Not even in the shower. I keep the water temperature set too low to carry a tune,” Kate replied.
They passed through what was obviously a silent auction area. Kate halted at a collection of old vinyl albums up for bid. Her parents had stuck their ancient stereo at The Nutshell. There was nothing Kate would like more than to mix a little retro Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin in with the Frank Sinatra and Barbra Streisand already in residence.
Ella nudged her along. “No time to window-shop. You’ve got music of your own to make.”
Kate noticed the small stage at the back of the long hall. About a half dozen people were in a line to the stage’s left, and Marcie Landon was onstage aligning a microphone stand behind a monitor of some sort. She seemed to be giving the arrangement the same OCD level of scrutiny she gave the shelves at her market.