The Bride Takes a Powder (2 page)

"Thanks again. This is a
lovely apartment." Norah closed the door and turned to peruse the quaint
space. Back in the city, as a senior associate, she made good money and had a
beautiful condo in a high rise overlooking Lake Michigan. But right this minute
she didn't miss her modern furniture and views. This apartment was sweetly
decorated, very pretty and girly with flowered upholstery on the sofa, two
turquoise micro-suede side chairs, and a round smoked-glass dining table with
four chairs. Four may be a tad ambitious since her guest list included zero
people. She found she didn't miss the lake because the view out these windows
was of a lovely old-fashioned town with beautiful buildings, parks, and trees.

The surprises were adding up.
Big-city girl settles in small town and goes country.

Well,
let's not get too carried away.

On the way to the house, she'd
spotted the grocery store conveniently located next door and ran over there for
items she'd need to get started. She'd also asked Zelda for a doctor's name and
made an appointment for the next day. It was late afternoon by the time she put
her purchases away in the kitchen, and now she had nothing to do. She'd
received a text from her folks telling her Garrett was furious about the bank
account. She texted back that she didn't give a shit how he felt. There was
nothing directly from him though.
Miserable
creep.

Jittery, unlimited time with her
own thoughts and the dubious attractions of TV drove her out of the apartment
to the square in the center of town and the quiet-looking tavern across the
street from the courthouse.

Ollie's shadowy interior suited her
with its little white Italian lights draped above the polished bar in the
center. Dark wood wainscoting lined the walls topped with plaster painted a
rich, deep crimson. Light streaming through the open door helped her scope out
a corner table in the back. A few tables were already occupied.

"Welcome. What can I get you?"
The woman's voice, soft but whispery husky, sounded friendly enough, and the
smile on her face seemed genuine. Norah took a couple of steps toward the bar. "Beer
is fine."

"Go ahead and sit down wherever
you want. I'll bring it to you, honey."

"Oh, that's okay. I'll just
pick it up here."

"Suit yourself." The
bartender scanned her. "First one's on the house. You're new here, aren't
you? I haven't seen you in here before."

"Yes." She drummed the
bar awkwardly. Used to being anonymous in the city, she should have realized
she'd be noticed as a new person in a small town.

"I'm Bernice. My husband and I
own this place. And my son." She handed over an iced beer mug then swiped
a towel over the already clean wooden surface of the bar.

"Thanks." Norah placed a
five on the bar and waved away the change which Bernice dropped into a tip jar
with a thank you. Sliding onto a chair at a table in the back, she hoped to
send a message—don't approach. She sipped the cold brew and surveyed her
surroundings. Ollie's looked like a nice place, not trendy but definitely not
shabby. Clean. The hardwood floors were spic and span. Matching chairs
surrounded sturdy tables with votive candles in the center. She tapped her foot
along with songs from the fifties and sixties playing on the vintage jukebox
near her.

"Hey, Mom, I'm home."

She ducked her head and peered over
her shoulder at the sound of the deep male voice uttering a little boy's words.
A tall, lean figure strode briskly through the door from the kitchen, and a
sharp breath stuck for a moment in her lungs. The downright handsome man seemed
to fill the room with his boisterous voice and happy grin. He'd swung his arms
wide as if embracing everything in his sight.

"Got any cookies?"

There was no way she could squelch
her snort. She covered her lips in embarrassment when she realized he'd heard
and was staring at her. "Sorry," she mumbled and quickly shifted her
gaze back to her beer. He looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn't quite place
him. How could she? She didn't live here.

"Hey, no problem." He
winked. "You're never too old for cookies and milk after school, are you,
Mom?"

"No, sweetie."

School? Too old to be a student,
Sweetie was a gorgeous hunk of a man with inky-black hair obvious even in the
dim bar, a long face, strong nose and square chin. His khakis fit him to a T
flaunting his flat belly and narrow hips. A white shirt, open at the neck with
long sleeves rolled up over muscular forearms, gleamed in the low light. He
stood with one hand on his hip, the other hooking a sport coat slung over his
shoulder. When he turned his back to go behind the bar, she took note of his
gorgeous butt and took a hasty sip of beer to cool off her imaginings.
What the hell's happening to me?
Hanging
the jacket on a hook behind the bar, he tied a waiter's apron around his waist
and ran a rag over the already clean bar. Sweetie whistled along with the old songs
and was pretty good at it. She felt like she was in Disneyland or Mayberry,
somewhere happy.

Glancing at her, his gaze narrowing
and lingering, he said, "You okay, miss?"

She lifted her mug and nodded. A
few more people came in and the place got noisier. One man, his dark hair tied
back in a ponytail, took a stool at the bar and leaned over it. Sweetie pointed
to a table where both men sat down. She watched his face, which wasn't a
hardship. His expressions went from a friendly smile, to eyes wide in shock, to
a frown of distress, his lips pressed flat.

Boy, he looked shocked and angry.
She wondered what made him so upset then remembered she was having a bit of a
trauma herself. She had no interest in getting involved in his. Besides, how
bad could it be? He, his mom, cookies, a nice clean bar? Idyllic small town?
Bah! What could be wrong?

Chapter Two

The instant he heard her squelched
snort, Mike Banning had recognized the gorgeous woman sitting at the back
table. Norah Ballard. She looked even more beautiful and sophisticated than she
had in college. What the hell was she doing here in B Falls?

He loved teaching English at B
Falls High School, but Ollie's was his family's bar and he'd always been a part
of it. After mentoring kids and grading papers, he was committed to doing
whatever was needed to help out his folks. And now he had work to do. Settling
himself behind the bar, shirt sleeves rolled up, apron on, he checked his
supplies. Olives, cherries, celery sticks, mixer. All there. Beer dispensers full
and ready to go. The place was filling up, which was great for the profit
margin.

He smiled and chuckled. Keeping an
eye on the clientele was like keeping watch over a classroom of teenagers. He
had to know where everyone was and what they were doing.

His life was going just the way he
wanted. Yeah, he wished for a woman in his life. He wanted to fall in love, get
married, have kids and was positive it would happen one day. The women he dated
were nice enough, but no one really caught hold of his heart to the extent he
couldn't let her go. Was it him? Maybe he was too dull but what could he do to
appear more interesting? Skydive? Motocross? Bull fighting?

Shaking his head, he placed a beer
in front of a customer at the bar then glanced at the front door. Stu Pressman,
Davy Marsh's boyfriend and a local reporter for the
Morning Herald
, slid onto a stool, lifting a hand in greeting. "Hey,
Stu, what can I get you?"

"Nothing right now, Mike. I
need to talk to you. In private."

"What's up?" The skin on
Mike's nape prickled at Stu's cool expression, odd because he was usually
friendly. "Let's go over there," Mike said, pointing to a nearby
table that had just been vacated. Taking a cloth to clean up and a tray for the
empties with him, he followed Stu.

Stu leaned across the table so only
Mike could hear. "The paper'll be printing a story tomorrow, online
tonight, about B Falls High School."

"What about?" Stu looked
too somber for the story to be about baseball or the upcoming prom.

"Test score manipulation."

Mike's eyes widened and his head
rocked back in surprise. "Did I hear you right?" He scrutinized Stu's
face for any sign he was joking. Raking a glance over the customers, he assured
himself no one was near enough to hear. "Test scores? Standardized test
scores?"

Stu regarded him with a steady
dispassionate gaze, then nodded.

"Here?" Mike was stunned.
This had happened in other towns, other school districts, other states. "In
B Falls?"

"I'd like a statement from you
for the article."

"Stu, I know nothing about this.
I can't even believe it."

"Is that your statement?"
he confirmed, pen poised over his notebook.

"Yes, I guess it is."
Mike's gut had taken a direct hit. Who would do this? Was it true? "Where'd
you hear this? Did someone report it?"

"I can't tell you that, but I
can tell you that Moira is investigating and she'll be talking to you soon."

Moira Logan, the city's assistant
prosecuting attorney. This was a grave matter if the law was involved. "I'll
be glad to talk to her." Mike shook his head slowly in bewilderment. Yes,
they'd had an increase in test scores the last couple of years, but he'd
considered it the result of the high quality of teachers at BFHS. His
coworkers. His friends.
What the hell's
going on?

He noticed a party of three sidling
up to the bar at the same time his mom called his name. "I have to get
back to the bar, Stu. Like I said, I have no idea what this is all about. Okay?"
His mind and heart raced as he tried to catch a deep breath.

Stu closed his notebook, sliding it
into the breast pocket of his sport coat. "Sure, Mike. I just wanted to
warn you and to get a quote. I can't let Davy's or my friendship with you
influence my writing of the story." His brows drew downward with an
apologetic wince.

Yeah, Mike got that. Everyone knew
everyone in a small town. "Thanks for that, I guess." In shock, he
made it back to the bar. He needed to get away for a few minutes and think this
through. After serving the new customers, he said, "Mom, I've got to go in
the back for a minute."

"Sure, hon."

"Is Dad in the kitchen?"
He felt as if everyone were looking at him, and he had to get out of view. Who
else knew about this? No other teachers were in the bar at the moment, but he
saw them every day. How could this have been going on without his knowledge? He'd
never even suspected.

"Yeah, he's flipping burgers."

"Okay, good. I'll just be a
few minutes." Pushing through the swinging door, he saw his dad at the
grill.

"Hi, son, can you grab me that
spatula?"

Oliver Banning had been his mentor
and biggest supporter next to his mom and all around best dad a guy could have.
Sure, they'd tangled over the years especially when he'd been in high school
and he'd stayed out after curfew or had been caught drinking. Both father and
son knew that was normal behavior. He just hoped his dad knew him better than
to believe he was involved in cheating.

Still stunned, he blurted out what
Stu had told him, the very little information he had. Leaning on the back wall
against the bulletin board with the health department notices, he chewed on his
lower lip and stared at the floor.

"Damn it!"

"Yeah, Dad. I hope you know I'm
n—"

"Of course, I know it!"
Ollie exploded. "Where did this story come from?"

"I don't know. Stu wouldn't
say. I've been racking my brain trying to think of who would be involved. I
thought I could trust everyone at school."

"Well, obviously this would be
secretive. It's not like the guilty parties would be discussing it in the
teachers' lounge."

"The article is coming out in
the paper tomorrow. This'll be all over town and the school. I just don't know
what to say." Mike slumped defeatedly against the cork board. The fact
that he wasn't involved seemed to be the least of it. God. He was furious that
people he'd respected could be guilty of cheating. He'd thought it something
that happened in big cities and expected more out of his own small town.

Shit.
Are you that naïve?
He'd never thought so. To him, B Falls meant small-town
goodness and values and safety. Sure there were the usual problems the same as
with a city of any size, but they'd been relatively minimal here. The murder of
Marc Rahn's parents and the discovery, a decade after the fact, of their insane
killer Butch Wilcox had been the worst of the local crimes. Test score
manipulation was so very wrong, so… The thought of it made him want to puke.
And suspicious. And paranoid. Who knew about it? Maybe he
was
that naïve.

Still dumbfounded and angry but
ensured of his father's belief in him—his mother would be too when he told
her—he went back to the bar. Hump night and the place was jumping. Bouncing
people crowded the tiny wooden dance floor in front of the '58 Seeburg jukebox
that still played the old tunes. The place was loud and happy and customers
were slugging down the beer as if it were their last. That was good for him. It
kept his mind off Stu's bombshell and the big scandal that would rock the town
tomorrow.

A movement toward the back of the
bar caught his eye. Axel Davis, a hulking bald former football team member from
a dozen years ago, leaned over Norah Ballard's table to get right in her face.
She shook her head. Axel leaned closer. She shook her head again, and her lips
moved. Mike had forgotten all about her when Stu sprang his news on him.

Axel grabbed for her arm.

Mike sprinted around the bar, pried
the guy's hand off her wrist and prodded him toward the front door. He did all
this as low key as possible hoping no one else would notice. Axel resisted but
Mike growled, "Leave quietly now. I don't want to call Marc Rahn but I
will. You're drunk. Sober up before you come back here. Understand?"