Leaving Unknown (7 page)

She lifted a candle and stepped in her gifted, precise way through a door opposite, away from Lulabell’s roost. A hallway stretched into the shadows. I followed the dancing candle past a series of darkened openings, and through another glass door, which put us outside, the hallway becoming a covered adobe walk. We stopped in front of a door with a brass numeral affixed. Room Number One. Ruby opened the door.

“I trust you’ll be comfortable. There are towels in the bathroom. I’ll expect you for breakfast at eight thirty. I know it’s early considering your night, but that’s when I do business.”

I nodded. She set the candleholder down on a bedside table. As she passed me, she paused. She took my hand and gave it a squeeze. “Sleep well. Everything will sort itself out. Or we’ll get it sorted.” With that she was gone, with the exact number
of steps required to reach the door, pass through it, and close it behind her with a soundless click.

I sat on the bed, awake only long enough to take off my shoes, secure Oliver in his tent, set the alarm, and register that the bed was pillowy soft, before blowing out the candle and sliding under the covers and into sleep for the second time that night.

When the alarm dragged me awake in the morning, the sun was brilliant. I flung out a hand to silence the beeping, and encountered…air. I blinked at the bedside table, but it wasn’t there. I realized the sound was coming from the
other
side of the bed, then recalled I was not home. I was in a strange bed owned by a strange woman, with no clue what I was going to do about my car. I hit the snooze button and fell back into the bed. My eyes drifted shut as I contemplated the depth of my tiredness. I’d rest while I could, I decided, so I’d be equipped to handle whatever was thrown at me today.

Then my eyes flew open and I bolted upright in the sickening way you do when you’ve had a sudden, horrifying realization. My eyes leaped to the clock. I wilted in relief when I saw it was only eight and I hadn’t missed meeting Ruby. The proud owner of a thumping headache, reward for my abrupt blood-pressure spike, I rubbed my temples and surveyed the room.

Coral adobe walls met ochre tiles, accented by sage-green window trim. White curtains flanked windows on both sides of the room. My headboard boasted an image of horses cantering across the prairie that you might expect to find painted on velvet rather than inlaid on beautiful wood in an otherwise tasteful room. The walls were decorated with colorful inlaid tiles and hammered metal mirrors. I pushed back thick feather-filled covers and stepped out of bed. My dusty back
pack was on an antique dresser that matched a wardrobe and bedside table. Ruby must have brought it in. I retrieved a clean sweater and underwear. After some deliberation I decided on my favorite parrot-adorned knee socks. I hoped Ruby would like them. I stepped into the bathroom, taking advantage of Oliver’s silence to shower.

Refreshed and dressed, I collected Oliver and left the room. My door opened to a passage flanking a square courtyard. To my right the corridor passed doors numbered to 6. The courtyard was enclosed by adobe walls, and looked to be a combination of flower garden and vegetable garden. To my left was the door we’d exited last night. I went through it.

Daylight revealed a beautifully decorated house with a Native-American motif. Through an arched doorway on the left was a sunken living room, with more doors beyond. On the right I could see a comfortable social room with a number of small tables and a television. I kept walking. Ahead was presumably the front door we’d ignored the night before. Before reaching it, I turned into the kitchen, pulse accelerating out of uncharacteristic nervousness.

Ruby Ransome was sitting at the long table, red reading glasses studded with rhinestones perched on her nose, perusing a paper. She didn’t look up when she said, “There’s coffee.”

I helped myself to a cup from the carafe on the sideboard, loading it with milk, and listened absently to the low murmur of talk radio. I avoided a bowl of boiled eggs with a shudder. As I tried to decipher what the program was discussing, I realized that it wasn’t the radio, but live voices. Human voices, not Lulabell’s uncomprehending mimicry. The fireplace dominating the far wall was a through and through, another hearth opening into the room opposite. The voices were coming from that room.

I sat across from Ruby, curious. Three minutes passed while she finished reading, then with meticulous movements, she folded the paper and placed it aside.

“Good morning.” She assessed me. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes ma’am, thank you,” I said.

“No more ma’am,” she said, and I knew it wasn’t a “don’t, stop, don’t stop” thing. She meant no more ma’am.

“Sure,” I said. There was a burst of laughter from the other room. “Is this a hotel?” I worried about paying her.

“More of a boarding house. People live here,” she said. “Tell me your plans.”

More like the great sucking sound of a complete lack of plans, I thought. “I’m driving to California,” I said. “Or, I was. I drove across from New Mexico yesterday, through Tombstone. I’ve been on the road a few weeks, but it should only take a few more days now. I’m going to Los Angeles. To start over.” I mentally groaned. Why had I said that last bit?

“What are you starting over from?” Ruby pounced.

“I needed a change,” was all I said. What else was there to say?

She nodded. “You’re going to have some setbacks, I’m afraid. Unknown’s mechanic, Barney, is out of town for a bit. You barely missed him. He wasn’t supposed to leave until tomorrow, but when that fool Ronnie put the lights out Barney decided to leave early.”

I nearly laughed out loud. Could my luck have been worse? “A bit?”

“Yes. You never know how long with Barney and these trips. Sort of depends on his luck at the tables. Simon Bear will drive over from Sierra Vista with the tow truck and bring your car to PIGS in a few days, but Barney could be gone anywhere from a week to a month.”

“PIGS?” I ignored her last statement. No way he’d be gone a month. I denied.

“Politically Incorrect Gas Station.”

“But…surely there’s someone else.” Ruby looked at me.

“How many towns did you pass on your way from Tombstone?” she asked.

“One,” I answered, dreadful awareness sinking in. “If it counted as a town. It was more like an intersection.” I recalled Sonoita.

“It counted. Around here you won’t find a stoplight until Nogales.”

My mind raced. There had to be a way out. I was desperate to get to California. The idea of being stalled in the middle of nowhere made me want to scream. Maybe I could rent a car. Or catch the Greyhound. Or…as my brain churned, my heart conceded. I wasn’t going to abandon Elsie. First of all, I loved her. Second, I couldn’t afford a new car. Hell, I had no idea how I was going to pay for the repair…a horrifying thought cut through.

“I don’t have the money to stay here,” I confessed. “I just have my tent and enough gas money to get to California. I don’t know what to do.” The last was more to myself.

She regarded me some more. It was like she could see everything. “You seem healthy.” I was, but I felt irrationally guilty and furtive, as if a remainder of every sick day was germinating within me.

“Yes.” My answer was breathless. “I am.”

“Then I see no reason why we can’t work out an arrangement.” She folded her hands, neat on the tabletop. “For some time I’ve been chafing at the demands of the boarding house, as I’ve wanted to spent more time on other pursuits. You can manage those requirements for me, in exchange for room and
board. Number One is empty. If you like the room and feel the arrangement is a fair bargain, it’s yours.”

I was speechless. She was offering to let me stay in this oasis. I wondered if it was too much charity to accept.

“It isn’t charity, mind you.” Ruby read my thoughts. How was it everyone could do that? “You’ll do what’s needed when it’s supposed to be done, and correct the first time. I won’t be paying you, so you’ll have to discover other ways to earn the money you need to pay Barney. The schedule here is plenty flexible to allow for that, and I suspect you are a resourceful girl.”

I said the first thing that came to my mind. “What on earth makes you think I’m a resourceful girl, when I’m broke and stranded in the middle of nowhere?”

“Unknown, Maeve. You’re in Unknown. Nowhere is in Oklahoma,” Ruby admonished. I almost asked her where, wondering how I’d missed it, but held my tongue. “A young lady who gets herself this close to California on a shoestring and boiled eggs in a 1970s relic while taking care of her bird is resourceful in my book. Not to mention walking twelve miles in the dark and managing to pitch a tent in the middle of the town square during a blackout.” She broke into a wide smile. “I can just see Lawrence debating with himself over what to do when he saw that tent.”

I said the only thing there was to say. “I accept your offer, Ruby. Thanks. Um, how did you know about the eggs?” As of now, I was officially not ruling out supernatural occurrences in Unknown.

“The rest of your things are in the common room. We retrieved the keys from your rucksack and Lawrence brought them by this morning. I took the liberty of discarding the last egg. It looked a little forlorn. And it appears the donkey and the chicken may need a good cleaning. Dry cleaning would be best.”

I decided not to try to explain.

“Not that eggs are a bad idea. You could stand to gain five pounds,” Ruby added, as an afterthought. She cocked her head, considering. “Make that eight. You’re quite tall. Now follow me.” She stood and eyed Oliver, who had been docilely sitting on my head the whole time. “I expect it’s about time we introduced your young man to Lulabell.”

I followed Ruby through the door to the left of the hearth into a large common room stretching the length of the house. The room was cozy despite its size. Opposite were windows and paned double French doors opening into the courtyard. A collection of café tables was arrayed in front of them, doubling as dining tables and games or work tables. Two women were having breakfast at one, the source of the chatter I’d heard earlier. Immediately right, in front of the hearth, was a squishy tan leather sofa, flanked by two matching armchairs. In the corner was a kitchenette with a curious family of refrigerators—one large one next to six smaller versions, like a mother duck and her ducklings. A large rolltop desk hugged the far left wall, along with another sofa and armchair grouping centered around a television. Crowded bookshelves filled the space between.

Next to the door was a palatial birdcage that made Oliver’s modest home look like a single-wide. Inside was an inquisitive-looking pearl cockatiel. Oliver came to attention. I scooped him down to my hand as a precaution.

“This is Lulabell,” Ruby pronounced. “She’s very friendly. Normally she’s free to wander, but since your man is human bonded, I thought we’d see how they got on for a bit first.”

Oliver’s cage had been set adjacent, on the cabinet. I slipped him inside, and we both stepped back to watch. Lulabell didn’t move, affecting an air of disinterest, though following Oliver’s every move with her eyes. Oliver hopped from one perch to
another in a constant cycle of movement—alighting millimeters from Lulabell’s cage before jumping away—all the while muttering to himself. He didn’t seem perturbed, so I stopped worrying.

“Great hair,” he finally squawked. I was impressed at his savvy choice.

Lulabell just eyed him.

“Are you thinner?” Oliver tried again.

Lulabell tilted her head.

“Pretty,” Oliver repeated.

“Show some tits.” Lulabell was won over, and the two of them began madly chirping back and forth.

“Lord knows there’ll be no peace now,” growled one of the ladies.

Ruby smiled. “Maeve, let me introduce you to the Cowbelles.” We walked over to two women who could have been a hundred and looked to have another hundred in them, each. “April War Bonnet.” Ruby gestured to a tiny Native-American woman with long, still dark hair and a brown face as wizened as a crab apple. “And Busy Parker.” Busy’s skin was powdery pale, every wrinkle emanating the essence of smiling, and framing snapping blue eyes.

“And who’s this?” April’s voice was gruff and low.

“This is Maeve. She’s going to be staying for a while.”

April considered me. Busy stood and embraced me in a cloud of violet perfume. It was so unexpected that tears welled in my eyes. I blinked rapidly to conceal them.

“Welcome, welcome.” Busy fluttered, all bonnets and tea services. “Don’t mind April. That’s just her way. She’s a total bitch.”

I was surprised into a belt of laughter.

“Better that than a lavender-wearing, stranger-hugging nincompoop,” April retorted in her gravelly voice. She shook my
hand in a firm clasp. “April War Bonnet. You need any bodies buried, you let me know.” I wasn’t sure she was kidding.

“Let’s go a little easy on Maeve her first day,” Ruby said with equanimity.

“What’s a Cowbelle?” I gave in to my curiosity.

“Back in the forties, a group of ranch women organized to foster social interaction among women living on isolated ranches, and called themselves the Cowbelles. April and I are the last founding charter members of the Santa Cruz County Cowbelles,” Busy explained. “We still have regular meetings.”

“At eight o’clock here for breakfast, at noon over there for lunch, and at five on the sofa for sherry.” Ruby’s tone was dry.

“Bite your tongue, Ruby,” April growled. “Sherry, my ass. It’s scotch. And mind we don’t run out. The bottle’s light.”

“That’s Maeve’s job now,” Ruby said. “I’m about to show her the ropes.”

And she did. And just like that I became a boarding-house manager with a room of my own.

A
n hour later my head was swirling, and I panicked I’d forget everything. Ruby was not a person to disappoint. My job was to clean the common areas and Ruby’s kitchen, do dishes, laundry, and keep the cupboards full of clean sheets and towels. I wasn’t to go into boarders’ rooms. This was unfortunate, as I was fascinated by April War Bonnet. In addition to April and Busy, there was the regional circuit judge who spent one week a month in Unknown, and the occasional random visitor. Ruby provided breakfast supplies and household basics, so I was in charge of stocking those things. I also did Ruby’s personal grocery shopping. There’d be supplemental tasks, like helping Ruby in the garden, as needed. It was definitely a good deal, but I had to figure out how to make some cash to pay for the tow and repair of Elsie. I didn’t anticipate many costume gigs in Unknown.

I scribbled
throat lozenges
on the grocery list, as my throat was sore and scratchy after my nocturnal adventures, and stepped outside. I promptly had a sneezing fit. I hoped I wasn’t becoming one of those people allergic to sunshine. I followed Ruby’s directions from our address on Emerald Street to the center of town. It wasn’t far. Unknown consisted of a handful of streets, named after the rainbow. No stoplight. There was a center square, on which I’d pitched my tent. It hosted the community center, housing the town hall, sheriff’s office, and jail. All of the commerce existed on Main Street and Red Road, which flanked the center square. It was an eclectic mix. There were several local artisan craft stores, the Guess Who’s Coming to Diner, and two clothing stores. You wouldn’t lack for hand-crafted jewelry in Unknown, but if you wanted a video, better sign up for Netflix. The Wagon Wheel Saloon boasted that it was Unknown’s original cowboy bar, serving cold beer and pool. The Velvet Elvis offered pizza, several doors down from a shuttered PIGS, sign proclaiming “Back in a few.” The smiley face dotting the
i
didn’t soothe me but seemed well intentioned. Gathering Grounds had an appealing coffee-shop allure. Up Market was your only bet for groceries and sundries.

“So it’s fancy stuff then?” I’d asked Ruby.

Her look was quizzical. “No, it’s quite normal. It’s owned by Patrick and Jenny Up.”

I was heading in that direction when I was arrested by a store called the Little Read Book. The sign featured a grass-skirted Hawaiian dancer and Chairman Mao, both reading red tomes as they swayed to the hula. Unable to resist a bookstore, I pushed open the door and was greeted with the heady smell of many volumes gathered in one place. It was perfect. The hardwood floors creaked just right. The sun slanted through the front windows, perfectly highlighting floating dust motes. There was a table for staff picks and favorites, and the best sell
ers were displayed on a front-facing bookshelf. Comfy chairs and couches occupied sunny nooks, and café tables invited people to linger over coffee. The sound of grinding beans drew me to a small café within the store, where a beautiful woman worked an espresso machine. She was exotically unique, with almond eyes and long dark hair.

“Aloha!” A beatific smile accompanied her greeting. “What can I do for you?”

I developed an enormous girl crush. My second in two days. Her wide smile made you want to know her.

“I’m Maeve,” I said.

“Tuesday,” she said, in response to my non-answer, smile widening.

I frowned. It was Thursday, I was pretty sure.

“Coffee in five days?” I asked.

She giggled as if I’d told the funniest joke in the world. “No, silly. Tuesday’s my name. You’re funny.” I had the urge to say something hilarious. She had that kind of laugh.

“I just got here,” was my inane response.

“Cool.” Her nod supported my decision. “I live on Purple Street. My car is the one with the bumper sticker saying, ‘I’d Rather Be Doing the Hula.’”

“Mine is the one sitting outside PIGS waiting for Barney to get back into town and fix it.”

“Ah. A compulsory visit.” Tuesday laughed.

“Kind of,” I admitted. “That’s why I came in. I’m looking for work.”

“Oh yay!” Tuesday beamed at me, giving a little hop. “I need more time off.”

My heart burst. I’d found a job. In a bookstore! “I love your shop,” I gushed.

“Yeah, it’s good. But it isn’t mine. I teach hula and dance. I only help out when Noah’s in a bind.”

“Noah?”

“Grouchy owner extraordinaire.”

“Want to be my best friend?”

“Sure!” Her laugh was rich. “Where are you staying?”

“Ruby Ransome’s boarding house.”

“Oooohhh, I love Ruby. Lulabell is the bomb.”

“I have a bird. He’s learning dirty words from Lulabell as we speak.”

“Rut-ro. So you want to work here?” A wrinkle appeared. She leaned closer. “Listen, new best friend, Noah’s not really that grouchy, but maybe you could come back tomorrow morning? Today isn’t the best…”

“Tuesday?!” A bellow interrupted her. “Tuesday!”

She sighed and gave a shrug. “Here comes Cranky McCranky Pants. Guess you’ll meet the man himself now.”

She turned to the disembodied voice. “In the coffee bar.”

A man appeared from around a bookshelf. He was tall, very tall, maybe six foot four, with dark brown hair and startling green eyes. And a frown. I’d never allow a furrow that depth on my forehead.

“Did you see where I put the receipts from the Decatur Book Festival?” As he spoke, he sighted me and did an unexplained double take, before refocusing on Tuesday. He peeked at me sideways more than once.

“Nope,” she said with a wide smile. I waited for him to yell again, but he didn’t. He looked perplexed.

“I swear I put them somewhere special.”

“I’ll bet you did!” Tuesday chirped. “Remember the Monkey Flower special orders? You put them on the top shelf of the cookbook section.” She winked at me. “We found them two years later.” Noah’s forehead remained creased.

“But I never lose things.” More divot. My hands itched to rub it out.

“Only when you put them in ‘special places,’” Tuesday agreed.

“Helen came in,” Noah explained, “looking for a copy of
The Book of Murder
.”

“Ah.” Apparently this made sense to Tuesday, as she nodded. “You’ll find them. You always do. You’re the most organized person I know.”

“Apparently not.” He gave a rueful laugh, then turned distractedly to me, extending a hand.

“Sorry. I’m Noah. Glad to have you here. Traveling in the area? Anything I can help you find?”

I took his hand. It was strong and knew how to shake properly. In fact, all of him was fit. Long and lean, with defined features. I’m a sucker for killer cheekbones, and Noah had them like razors. Plus all the rest.

“Maeve Connelly.” I felt a little fluttery. “In town temporarily.”

“Nice socks,” he said. “I like socks with birds on them.” I gripped the coffee bar counter to keep upright. His attention returned to Tuesday. “Well crap,” he said. “So I’ve lost them.” I got the impression that for him it was more like misplacing a kidney than an expense sheet.

“Um. Maybe. We found the Monkey Flower special orders.” She tried to sound a ray of hope.

“I’m very organized.” I piped up. They both looked at me. “I keep great track of things.” It was true. I might not always deal with my paperwork, but the stacks were meticulous.

“That’s an excellent quality.” Noah maintained a polite demeanor.

“Noah, Maeve’s looking for work,” Tuesday said. I thrilled that my new bestie remembered my name. “She wants to help out in the store.”

Noah assessed me, then turned away. “I’m sorry. We’re not hiring.”

“What?” Tuesday and I yelped in unison. I was so in love with the store and its one employee, I’d moved in, in my mind. I had to get this job.

“Noah, I need help!” Tuesday wailed.

Noah’s green eyes evaluated. “Do you have bookstore experience?”

I hated answering. “No.”

“And you’re looking for a temp position?”

I wanted to lie, but it was true, so I nodded.

He shook his head. “I’m sorry. This is a bookstore, not a summer job fair. My staff has to be knowledgeable about books, and intend to stick around more than three weeks.”

“I’ve spent legions of time in bookstores, as an avid customer,” I protested. “I know more than some college kid who worked in his uncle’s bookshop one summer.”

“I’m sorry. We’re the only book seller in a fifty-mile radius, and people come here because we know literature. You look more like a…a…model, or something, than a book geek.”

“Hey!” Tuesday objected.

He looked uncomfortable, and it was probably common sense not to hire anyone who wandered in off the street, but he was pissing me off. “You don’t look like a creepy evil child toucher, but I’m reserving judgment. The neighbors always say you can’t tell.”

“Don’t take it the wrong way.” He held up his hands. “I take matching people to books seriously.” Pause. Frown. “And I’m not a child molester.”

“Well, not a good one, at any rate,” I snorted. “You don’t have any kind of children’s section to speak of.” I pointed. “If you had a genius like me working here I’d shift those shelves over and turn that corner into a kid-friendly section called the Little Read Picture Book or the Little Little Read Book, and offer Saturday story time.”

“Noah,” Tuesday’s eyes widened at my suggestions. “She isn’t Gina.” I caught her eye and she mouthed,
Tell you later.
To Noah, she said, “Ruby trusts her. She gave her a room.”

“It wouldn’t be responsible to hire an unqualified person off the street.” Noah resisted.

“Test me before you decide I’m unqualified.” I faced him, hands on hips.

He held up his. “I’ve hired walk-ins before. It doesn’t work—even if they have charming braids and funky kneesocks. I’m being realistic.”

“Try me.” I repeated my challenge.

“Try you?”

“You’re the customer, I work here. Test me. Ask me a literary question I can’t answer. If I can answer five toughies, I get the job.” I crossed mental fingers. I’d read a lot of books but I was no Seamus Heaney.

Tuesday’s eyes jumped between us like she was watching a tennis match.

“What are you reading now?”

Easy. “
The Bean Trees
, Barbara Kingsolver. I’m being regional.”
The Bean Trees
was set in Tucson.

“Who wrote
The Dubliners
?”

I fought back my eye roll. This was almost insulting. “James Augustine Aloysius Joyce. Who also wrote
Ulysses
,
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
,
Finnegan’s Wake
, and some mediocre poetry. My favorite short story from
The Dubliners
is ‘The Dead.’”

“His middle name was Aloysius?” Tuesday giggled.

“Okay.” Noah squinted. I knew it was going to get harder. “I like the classics. I’ve read most of them. I’m looking for something I haven’t yet discovered. What do you recommend?”

Tuesday snorted. “Like
that’s
ever been a real question. Who reads all of the classics?”

We ignored her. I racked my brains. “
I Capture the Castle
by Dodie Smith or
Good Behaviour
by Molly Keane are excellent choices.”

He shifted his feet. “I like thrillers but don’t want garbage. What’s an intelligent new release?”

“Oh come on,” said Tuesday. “I work here and I don’t know that.”

“I think the new Jack Reacher novel by Lee Child is at the top of the chart,” I said. I’d spied it on the best-seller shelf when I’d walked in. Noah’s furrow indicated my answer was sound. I made a mental note to buy a copy.

“I’d like something for my son,” Noah persisted. “He’s thirteen.”

I paused. I didn’t want to give the obvious Harry Potter answer. I pondered a moment, then nailed it. “
The Boy Who Could Fly
,” I announced. “It’s not that well known, but it’s a wonderful book where a boy who loses his father escapes into his imagination as a superhero while he struggles to take care of his mother and sibling.”

“You are
so
hired.” Tuesday burst out laughing.

Noah looked uncomfortable. And oddly distressed. Too bad.

He caught Tuesday’s eyes. Then, “Ruby took you in?” Clipped.

“Uh-huh.”

They exchanged glances, communicated something I didn’t understand. She nodded.

Finally, “Fine.” His tone was terse. “You can help out a few days a week. Come Monday at ten. Tuesday, you’ll train.”

“Sure.” Tuesday’s head bobbed.

Noah walked away, then paused. “But we don’t recommend
The Boy Who Could Fly
around here,” he said before disappearing through a door at the back of the room.

I was confused, especially as Tuesday’s giggles amplified. I looked at her questioningly.

“Oh,” she said. “He wrote it. He wrote the whole series. He’s N.E. Case.”

And my jaw hit the floor just like that.