An Allegheny Homecoming Page 12

  Walt leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head. “The owner wants his tea brewing demonstration filmed. The last time you got distracted with the Betty story. This time stay on track. You said you want interviewing experience, and you’re close to home.”

  When she didn’t answer right away, Walt shrugged and said, “Whatcha gonna do?”

  Wendy looked down at the Kilimanjaro photo. Walt still wanted her to combine weather with a fluff interview, but this could be her chance. She knew Joe Kowalsky brewed more than tea.

  As soon as she finished with the noon report, she headed for Bear Meadows. She parked across the street from the coffee shop. She sat in the car watching the storeowners decorate the tiny strip mall. Of course, it was the day after Thanksgiving. Black Friday. The start of the holiday season.

  Cheri, the owner of the consignment shop, hung lights along the banisters that edged the boardwalk in front of the storefronts. Her trademark hoop earrings sported tiny dangling Santa figures. Her long, dark curly hair was tied back with a red ribbon. She said something to Megan Martin, who stood, forefinger on chin, staring at a sleigh filled with colorfully wrapped boxes.

  Wendy exited the car, crossed the street and walked up the steps. “Looks nice, ladies.”

  Megan slid the sleigh to the other side of her front door. “Thanks.”

  “Megan can’t make up her mind. We’ll be here all day if she doesn’t get a move on.” Cheri plugged in the lights and stood back as they lit. “Ta-da!”

  “There’s a right way and a wrong way. I want to balance the decorations so the eye is drawn.”

  “She has a point, Cheri.” Standing nearby, Carolyn Hoffman painted a winter scene on the window of The Wildflower.

  “You’re so talented.” Wendy remembered she was an art teacher. “Looks great.”

  “Thanks.”

  She left the three women discussing the merits of balance and entered the coffee shop. The overhead bell dinged when she opened the door. She was surprised to see Holly behind the counter. A sharp cry drew her attention to the seating area, where Louise sat, the two babies in carry seats on the table. Wendy felt no sweeping maternal urge to have a baby of her own, but she was happy to meet this little one. She looked down at the tiny infant. “So small.”

  “Not for long.” Louise held her own two-month-old son in the crook of one arm while she held the other baby’s bottle. “R.J. has already grown out of a lot of his clothes.”

  Wendy smiled. “What does R.J. stand for?”

  “Robert for his dad and John for Mac because he’s been so good to us.”

  Wendy walked to the counter. “And what did you name your little fella, Holly?”

  “John, for his father. But we’re calling him Jack.” Holly was beaming watching the babies. “The usual?”

  “If you’re up to it. How are you feeling?”

  “I’m doing okay. I’m only here for a couple of hours. Already I was missing adult company.”

  Wendy nodded. “Hi, Mrs. Hershberger.” The former teacher waved to her.

  “Hello, Wendy. What’s the forecast for tomorrow?”

  “Partly cloudy. Or maybe partly sunny. I get those two mixed up.” As she had hoped, the comment coaxed a smile from the older woman. “How’s your husband? Is he home yet?”

  Mrs. Hershberger said, “He comes home tomorrow.” She flipped through a magazine.

  Watching her, Wendy got an idea. Walt’s warning aside, she asked, “Mrs. Hershberger, could I interview you sometime?” The interview wouldn’t garner national attention, but she had a feeling. The locals had loved the Riley interview, and everybody in town loved the retired teacher.

  “Why would you want to do that? I’m not very interesting.”

  “You’ve taught hundreds of children.” If nothing else, an interview might cheer the woman up.

  “We’ll see. I’ll ask Hank what he thinks. If we do, he’ll want to be out of the way.”

  “Is your husband afraid of being on camera? A lot of people get nervous when they’re being filmed.”

  “It’s not that. He was always so active before, when he ran the marina.”

  “He ran the marina out by the lake?”

  “He used to.” She closed her magazine. “Well, I should be getting home.”

  * * *

  THE DAY AFTER THANKSGIVING, Josh was working alone on the cabin. He had left Wendy sometime after midnight. After two late nights in a row, he’d slept late this morning. So once he’d had a quick bite of breakfast, he’d taken stock of where he was. The stairs were almost complete. The banister still needed to be installed above, along the front of the loft. The cabin was suitable for just what it was intended for. A weekend retreat. No electricity. A green toilet. No running water, except the well outside. But that was okay, because he would soon be gone. And it would give his mom a place to hang out in the summer, when it would be more comfortable for her. It made him think of the rosebush by the front steps.

  One more step to nail down and the stairs would be finished. Holding the nail in place with his left hand, he pounded the head once, feeling the vibration all the way up to his shoulder. He had to remind himself why he had left Montana.

  He’d thought his mother was sick.

  His mother wasn’t sick. Not physically, anyway. She was humiliated. And his idea to try to get his parents back together had been a colossal failure. If he hadn’t messed up so miserably in college, they wouldn’t have had anything to argue about, and by extension, years later, maybe his father wouldn’t have cheated on his mother, and they would still be living together. He pounded the nail again, this time hitting the head so hard the hammer left a mark in the wood. Well, he never claimed to be a carpenter, did he?

  So why was he sticking around? For a girl who couldn’t wait to get out of Bear Meadows? A girl who, if she really wanted to, could probably figure out his secret if she did any real digging. He stood, turned and threw the hammer, just missing the open door and his visitor.

  “Whoa.” Hawkeye threw up both arms to protect his face. “Guess I should’ve knocked. But then, I wasn’t expecting flying hammers.”

  Josh’s face reddened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear anyone coming.”

  “You and the weather girl have a spat?”

  “What makes you ask that?” He was annoyed at the question.

  “My many years of bad judgment and missed chances.”

  Josh nodded.

  The old farmer remained standing in the doorway, one hand still on the knob. “Joe and I brought you some railing.”

  “You did?” He felt even worse. “You shouldn’t have.”

  “Your mother makes us some special bakery orders, so it wasn’t any trouble. Besides, I’m hoping for an invitation to fish off the bank when the weather improves.” He looked over his shoulder and then back at Josh, as if uncertain whether to stay or go. “Should we put it on the porch or...?”

  Josh peered through the open door. Joe Kowalsky. Should he just leave things be? Leave his parents be? Forget about this town? “We may as well bring everything inside,” he said and followed Hawkeye to the truck. “Thanks, Joe.”

  The next day, Hawkeye and Joe returned, and the three men worked together all day. Early afternoon, Skinny showed up with turkey sandwiches and iced tea. Skinny gave them a hand and three hours later, the cabin was as complete as they could make it. The stair treads and risers were installed. The recycled banister ran across the front of the loft and down the staircase. Except for furniture, there was nothing else for Josh to do. Thanking the men for their help, he watched them leave. Joe wasn’t such a bad guy after all. His mother was an adult. It was time to let the chips fall where they may.

  * * *

  SUNDAY MORNING JOSH drove into town, knowing his mother would be at the b
akery preparing the standard order for rolls for the nursing home. As soon as he opened the door, he was assailed by the aroma of fresh-baked bread.

  “I’m closed,” his mother called from the kitchen.

  Josh went to find her. “You’re such a warm, fuzzy kind of person, Mom, it’s a wonder you don’t have customers hanging out with you all day.” He spied a cabbage on the counter.

  Sue chuckled as she mixed rice into raw hamburger in a big bowl. “They don’t have to like me, just my baking.”

  “Which they do.” Josh peeked over her shoulder. “Halupkis?”

  She nodded. “Skinny gave me a cabbage from his garden. He said they were partial to stuffed cabbage. Hint hint.”

  He kissed his mother on the cheek. “Do I get any?”

  His mother laughed. “Of course.”

  Josh poured a cup of coffee, grabbed cookies from the counter and sat. “Joe and his uncles helped me finish the cabin yesterday.”

  “Really?” She turned to look at him as if for verification. At his nod, she turned and resumed her work. She peeled off a limp piece of cabbage and quickly rolled the meat in it, then put it in a roasting pan. “Finish? As in I can go up the stairs to the loft?”

  “And hold on to a banister at the same time.”

  “Fantastic. So sweet of those boys to help. I’m glad I decided to make these today.” His mom lifted the neatly rolled bundles of meat and cabbage into a casserole dish and poured a tomato mixture over the top. “These are going to take a while. Want to run up to the nursing home with me?”

  “We’ll take my truck.”

  By the time they had delivered the rolls and visited with a number of the residents, the stuffed cabbage was finished.

  She wrapped the dish in a quilted carrier with a handle on top.

  “I’ll come with you.” His mom seemed surprised, but said nothing.

  They crossed the street and entered Tea for You. Josh was taken aback to see Wendy near the wall of glass jars with tea. Her camera was on the same tripod from a few days ago. The only other occupants were Deb and Bill, sipping tea at a corner table.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Joe. Are you busy?”

  “Suzanna, come in, come in.” He gave her a wide smile. “Especially if you’re bringing what I think you’re bringing.”

  “Hi, Josh.” The female voice was one he’d remember for the rest of his life. Joe took the carrier dish from him and led Sue into the kitchen.

  Josh turned and encountered a puzzled look from Wendy. He asked the first thing that popped into his head. “What are you doing here?”

  * * *

  “WHAT AM I DOING HERE? What are you doing here?” Wendy’s hands shook. She hadn’t expected such an audience for her blindside of Joe Kowalsky. But the mayor and her boyfriend had just happened to be passing by and thought they might like to try a new tea. And then here was Sue with something that smelled delicious in a casserole dish. And, of course Josh. Would he be happy or appalled with what she was about to do?

  “I was just visiting my mom. Are you taping another interview?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, I’ll get out of the way then. See you later.”

  “Josh, wait. You might want to watch this.” She would take the risk that Josh would be satisfied to see the tea shop owner discredited in the eyes of his mother. Which was worse? Infidelity or criminal behavior?

  “Why don’t you stand behind the table with me, Wendy?” Joe smiled.

  Wendy did so and held the microphone. “What do we need to know about teas?”

  “Teas are at their best with the right temperature water, and different teas take different temperatures.” He spooned a scoop of crumbled tea leaves into a diffuser. He drained hot water from a kettle sitting to one side.

  “Chamomile tea is an example of an herbal tea. It’s made from the flower and, if you drink it just before bed, can help you sleep. Herbal teas take a higher temperature than black or green teas and steep a bit longer.” He handed the delicate china cup with the fragrant tea to Wendy with a smile. “Would you like to try?”

  “Delicious.” She watched as Joe prepared other varieties of teas and discussed each one.

  “You seem comfortable in front of the camera, Joe. Have you done this before?”

  He laughed and shook his head. “Tea for You is my first commercial business.”

  “You worked for a large bank in Pittsburgh. Didn’t you do a lot of presentations in your position as a mortgage loan officer?”

  Joe held a cup under the spout of the teapot. He made no facial reaction. The tea he was pouring overfilled the cup and spilled onto the saucer. Suddenly, Joe’s hand jerked, and hot water hit the tablecloth. He looked up at the camera, as if to see whether the light was still on. Then he studied Wendy. His friendly expression was gone. He looked as if he had fallen for a trap, which he had. “I don’t think my former occupation is relevant to the tea business.”

  Wendy pushed on. Her instincts hummed. Secrets out in threes. And here she was with number two. If she didn’t get the words out, he would disappear into the back room and her chance would be lost.

  “Joe, Mr. Kowalsky...” She pulled the Pittsburgh paper out of the briefcase at her feet. “This paper from last year says you were implicated in a fraud scheme at the bank.” She spread the paper on the cloth-covered table.

  Joe appeared sick. Wendy had often seen the expression on the faces of the people her sister had interviewed. He had been caught. This was it. She had her story. Joe just stared down at the headline.

  “You were named as an accomplice by Vanessa Black, another employee of the bank where you worked.”

  She tilted the microphone toward Joe’s lips. But he had gone to that place in his mind he went the last time she interviewed him. His face was blank.

  “Is it true you and the accused, Vanessa Black, are engaged to be married?”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “FRAUD? ENGAGED? JOE, what is she talking about?” Sue looked up at the man, whose face was as white as the color of the tablecloth. “And who’s Vanessa? Is this some sort of joke?”

  The look in Joe’s eyes told everyone Wendy’s accusations were no joke. “Suzanna, I can explain.”

  Sue’s voice was soft. “You wouldn’t steal from innocent people.”

  The room was so quiet you could’ve heard a tea bag drop. Joe, having no good answer, disappeared into the back room. The only sound was the scraping of chairs as Deb and Bill stood. They walked over and glanced down at the paper.

  Bill looked at Deb and said, “Number two.” Deb just shook her head, took Bill by the arm and together they exited the shop. That left Josh, his mother and Wendy, who was busy putting away her equipment.

  His mother rested a hand on his arm as if for support. “I guess there really is no such thing as a good man.” She smiled sadly and then patted his cheek. “Except you.” She turned and headed for the door.

  Josh’s heart flopped in his chest. If she only knew. He wasn’t sure how to react to the last few minutes. One thing he knew though, Wendy wasn’t some innocent local journalist reporting on lost puppies and county fairs. Skinny had been right. She was looking for the big ticket to propel her to stardom. Unluckily for Joe, he could very well turn out to be said ticket.

  Josh walked over and looked down at the wrinkled Pittsburgh newspaper. A bold headline ran across the top of the page:

  LOCAL BANKER IMPLICATED IN SCAM

  Underneath the text was a picture of Joe smiling up from the page.

  Josh skimmed the entire article. Due to a lack of evidence, Joe had been released, while Vanessa Black had been convicted and sentenced. Josh threw the paper on the table. “So this is what you do.”

  Wendy knelt and stuck the camera into a black bag. Then she folded
the tripod and put it into a side pocket. “Aren’t you happy? Your mother could never care for a man who’s committed a criminal act. Now that she’s no longer interested in Joe, maybe she’ll find a way to forgive your father and they’ll get back together.”

  “You’re a weather girl.”

  “For the last time, I am not a weather girl. I am a weather—” She seemed to be searching for the right word. “Weather forecaster.”

  “All the same, I didn’t know you did these ambush-style interviews.”

  Wendy looked startled. Well, maybe Josh didn’t wear suits and work in an office, but he had been around.

  “How did you find out about this?”

  “I’m a reporter. That’s what I do.”

  “Let me ask the question another way. Who gave you the newspaper?”

  Wendy had been busily stuffing cords and other items in the black canvas bag, but at his question, her hands stilled.

  Josh flashed on the memory of Wendy in his grandmother’s rocker after Thanksgiving dinner, talking to his father. For a man whose wife had left him and reconciliation was nowhere on the horizon, he looked happy relaxing in the recliner. When Josh walked into the room, she had been stuffing something into her purse. The newspaper. “My father.”

  “Yes. But I thought this might mean she’d give your father a second chance. That’s what you wanted, right?”

  Now he knew how his father had met the new librarian. He had been doing research. Josh caught a glimpse of his mom through the window. She was slowly climbing the steps to the bakery, her shoulders bowed as if she carried a heavy load. “Not like this.” Thinking she might need to talk, he turned and started for the door.

  “What about the matches?”

  Josh stopped next to the register, where the Tiffany lamp gave a cheerful glow to the polished wood counter. “What matches?” He glanced at the window again, not wanting to look at Wendy anymore. But he couldn’t help himself. He met her unflinching gaze. “What matches?” he repeated.

  “The matches at the cabin. On the mantel. The ones you start fires with. Haven’t you ever looked at them?”