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Authors: Dallas Schulze
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his hands on what you need, but it could be a few days before he knows for sure."
"A few days?" Neill looked over his shoulder and out the big windows at the street. Mayberry, he thought, watching an ancient blue pickup rattle past. I've landed in Mayberry.
"Is that a problem?" David asked. "Do you need to get somewhere in a hurry?"
Anne had asked him the same thing, Neill remembered.
"No." He shook his head slowly. "No, I was more or less killing time." He didn't have to stay, he reminded himself. All it would take was a phone call and he could have a car sent to get him. His brother was in Chicago, just a few hours away. If he had any trouble arranging a car, Tony could probably be persuaded to come to his rescue. A few hours—tomorrow at the latest—and he could be on his way. He didn't have to stay.
"It's no problem," he heard himself say. "I guess I can kill time here as well as anywhere."
Chapter Four
"You had lunch with the hunk?" Lisa dropped the length of purple velvet ribbon she'd just picked up and stared at Anne in shock. "You actually had lunch with him?"
"At Luanne's," Anne confirmed, trying to look casual.
The two of them were sitting in Lisa's studio, which was a small storefront wedged between Betty's Best Bet for Hair and the newspaper office. She could have worked out of the little house she'd rented when she moved back to Loving, but she'd decided that if she was going to turn her knack for decorative hats and accessories into a business, she should have a place in which to do business. She used the narrow sliver of a shop as a studio, working regular business hours, and though she didn't run it as a retail business, the door was usually open, and several times a day she could count on someone wandering in to see what new flight of fancy she was concocting.
She liked the company, she'd said when Anne asked her how she could work with someone watching her, talking to her, marveling over the fact that there were people who would pay good money for a hat they weren't even going to wear. Now and again someone brought in some item they'd found in the attic or stored away in a cupboard—plastic fruit, flocked artificial flowers, pine cones glued together to form some barely recognizable animal. Lisa cheerfully accepted all donations, finding a place for them on the filled to overflowing shelving that lined three sides of the studio. Ribbons, laces, old prescription bottles filled with beads, baskets of feathers, stacks of vintage fabric and ancient canning jars full of buttons jostled each other in cheerful chaos, but, despite the lack of anything resembling organization, Lisa could usually lay her hands on any particular item.
The colorful clutter was so typically Lisa, Anne thought. Tonight the other woman was wearing jeans so old that the holes in the knees had nothing to do with fashion and a billowy silk shirt that swirled with mad splashes of color. Her feet were bare, revealing scarlet toenails. Her bright red hair was caught up on top of her head in a careless bun that was held in place with a yellow pencil. Big gold hoops hung from her ears, and a pair of blue rhinestone trimmed reading glasses were perched on the end of her nose. She looked like a cross between a gypsy and a school teacher. In the trim jeans and plain white shirt she'd changed into after work, Anne felt like a sepia-toned photo next to a film done in living Technicolor processing.
"You want to run that by me again?'' Lisa asked, peering at her over the top of her glasses.
"I had lunch with the hunk from the gas station." A grin spoiled her attempt to look blasé. "I was squeezing cantaloupes at Bill's, and he came up behind me and said I should try sniffing the stem end to find a ripe one."
"A hunk who knows produce. Wow." Lisa looked suitably impressed. "So you sniffed a couple of melons together and then just went off to lunch with him?"
"Actually, I gave up on the melon," Anne said. Not even to Lisa would she admit
"A few days?" Neill looked over his shoulder and out the big windows at the street. Mayberry, he thought, watching an ancient blue pickup rattle past. I've landed in Mayberry.
"Is that a problem?" David asked. "Do you need to get somewhere in a hurry?"
Anne had asked him the same thing, Neill remembered.
"No." He shook his head slowly. "No, I was more or less killing time." He didn't have to stay, he reminded himself. All it would take was a phone call and he could have a car sent to get him. His brother was in Chicago, just a few hours away. If he had any trouble arranging a car, Tony could probably be persuaded to come to his rescue. A few hours—tomorrow at the latest—and he could be on his way. He didn't have to stay.
"It's no problem," he heard himself say. "I guess I can kill time here as well as anywhere."
Chapter Four
"You had lunch with the hunk?" Lisa dropped the length of purple velvet ribbon she'd just picked up and stared at Anne in shock. "You actually had lunch with him?"
"At Luanne's," Anne confirmed, trying to look casual.
The two of them were sitting in Lisa's studio, which was a small storefront wedged between Betty's Best Bet for Hair and the newspaper office. She could have worked out of the little house she'd rented when she moved back to Loving, but she'd decided that if she was going to turn her knack for decorative hats and accessories into a business, she should have a place in which to do business. She used the narrow sliver of a shop as a studio, working regular business hours, and though she didn't run it as a retail business, the door was usually open, and several times a day she could count on someone wandering in to see what new flight of fancy she was concocting.
She liked the company, she'd said when Anne asked her how she could work with someone watching her, talking to her, marveling over the fact that there were people who would pay good money for a hat they weren't even going to wear. Now and again someone brought in some item they'd found in the attic or stored away in a cupboard—plastic fruit, flocked artificial flowers, pine cones glued together to form some barely recognizable animal. Lisa cheerfully accepted all donations, finding a place for them on the filled to overflowing shelving that lined three sides of the studio. Ribbons, laces, old prescription bottles filled with beads, baskets of feathers, stacks of vintage fabric and ancient canning jars full of buttons jostled each other in cheerful chaos, but, despite the lack of anything resembling organization, Lisa could usually lay her hands on any particular item.
The colorful clutter was so typically Lisa, Anne thought. Tonight the other woman was wearing jeans so old that the holes in the knees had nothing to do with fashion and a billowy silk shirt that swirled with mad splashes of color. Her feet were bare, revealing scarlet toenails. Her bright red hair was caught up on top of her head in a careless bun that was held in place with a yellow pencil. Big gold hoops hung from her ears, and a pair of blue rhinestone trimmed reading glasses were perched on the end of her nose. She looked like a cross between a gypsy and a school teacher. In the trim jeans and plain white shirt she'd changed into after work, Anne felt like a sepia-toned photo next to a film done in living Technicolor processing.
"You want to run that by me again?'' Lisa asked, peering at her over the top of her glasses.
"I had lunch with the hunk from the gas station." A grin spoiled her attempt to look blasé. "I was squeezing cantaloupes at Bill's, and he came up behind me and said I should try sniffing the stem end to find a ripe one."
"A hunk who knows produce. Wow." Lisa looked suitably impressed. "So you sniffed a couple of melons together and then just went off to lunch with him?"
"Actually, I gave up on the melon," Anne said. Not even to Lisa would she admit
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