Aloe and Goodbye Read online

  “I’m working on it.”

  “Can I buy some art supplies? Allie and I could paint something ….”

  “No painting for you. You’re not an artist anymore. You don’t want someone to recognize you by your work.”

  Victor was right. I’d been lucky to have become a successful artist. My distinctive, bold painting style had made me a darling in the New York galleries, as well as high-end specialty shops across the nation. There’d been articles in magazines about me, and I’d completed several high-profile commissions. But I couldn’t create my art anymore, or I risked being recognized. Since I’d been in the public eye, they’d insisted I change my look.

  The marshals were not happy with the multicolored streaks in my hair and suggested I dye it all one color. I’d have chosen a vibrant red for my long curly locks, to match my new name, but Victor frowned at that idea. My new hair color was dark brown, as it had been when I was younger. It was boring, but if it kept me safe, I’d learn to live with it.

  “I know. It’s just so plain around here. Maybe I could buy a few things to make this house less sterile. I’ve told you about my beautiful art-filled apartment next to Central Park, right? You know what it was like before … here.”

  “I know, I know. I will personally make sure you get the furniture you need. We’ll set things right for you, but you need a little patience. You’re going to need to give up that New Yorker pace if you know what’s good for you.”

  “Got it. Loud and clear. Couldn’t I just use some of the money in my bank account? Or Claudia’s?”

  “All of your sister’s assets are frozen. Your assets are too, but I’m working on making some money transfers to fix that. It takes a little time.”

  “How much is ‘a little’?”

  “As long as it takes,” he said, that slow drawl replaced by a terseness that told me he was losing his patience.

  “If you’d just let me call my sister, I’m sure we could figure something out,” I said, my intensity rising.

  “Sorry. No. Not at this point. It’s for your safety.”

  “But maybe someday? No need to even answer. I know what you’re going to say, ‘Be patient, Ruby.’ So, where can I get some cash? We need some groceries, and maybe a little more clothing than what we bought in Wendlewood.”

  “We’ll support you. You know that. But you also need to start thinking about a job.”

  I sighed. A job—a real nine-to-five job. I hadn’t had one of those in years.

  “You’re going to have to be patient, these things take time,” I said, throwing his advice right back at him. “So, how am I supposed to find this job? And how am I supposed to get there without a car?”

  “I’m sure you know how to find a job. And as for transportation, you haven’t yet shown a need for a car. If you find a job that requires one, you’ll get one. In the meantime, we put you in a walkable location.”

  “If I were a mountain goat.” I looked out the front window at the steep street that headed toward downtown Paradise.

  “Think of it as good exercise. There’s money, a checkbook, and an ATM card in the orange juice can in the freezer.”

  “Freezer?” I would’ve found it if I’d had vodka to make a screwdriver. A screwdriver sounded fantastic right now, but I reminded myself that day drinking wasn’t a habit I’d ever indulged in.

  “It’s one place that crooks never look when they’re robbing your house. I always like to think of it as cold, hard cash,” Victor chuckled and hung up the phone.

  I found a packet of chilly twenties inside the OJ can along with an ATM card and a checkbook, just as Victor promised. Thank heavens! At least Allie and I could get some food and a few other things to make it feel like home around here. I slipped out onto my back porch and watched as the medical examiner’s truck drove away. A deputy was talking with the man who’d arrived a few minutes ago. Since I was too far away to hear what they were saying, I went inside and changed into a clean T-shirt and jeans. This would be my new uniform for living in small-town America, along with my completely unstylish white Keds. I found Allie sitting on the side of her bed, still in her pajamas.

  “Good morning. How about some breakfast? Maybe we can find a café in town? Then we can go and find your new school.”

  Allie nodded as she got up from her bed and headed for her backpack to find an outfit for the day. She got dressed in another flavor of a black T-shirt, with black jeans, and her black sneakers.

  “Let’s see if we can find a shop and get you some more clothes too. That Kmart stuff wasn’t the best. And somehow, you ended up with everything in black.”

  “On purpose,” Allie mumbled as we headed for the door.

  We hiked toward downtown, although it was more like uptown given the sharp incline of the street that led into Paradise proper, my thighs burning with each step. At least I’d be getting some good cardio since I didn’t have a gym around the corner like in my old neighborhood. Arriving at a switchback, we turned the sharp corner and headed farther up the street. In the crook of another switchback at the edge of town, we spotted Bette’s Place and went inside.

  Inside the cozy café, booths ran along a row of windows and barstools were pushed up against an old-school Formica counter with the kitchen’s order pickup window beyond it. In a standard-issue white uniform dress with a yellow apron, a waitress met us with menus as we entered. Her complexion was the color of copper, with a constellation of freckles across her nose and cheeks.

  “Well now, who have we here? You folks visiting? Where are you from?” The woman peppered us with questions, leaving no time to answer. “My name’s Bettenaya, but I go by Bette. Bettenaya? I know, such a long silly name! My mother must’ve been crazy to name me that. Not must’ve—she was definitely crazy,” she said with a cackle, tossing back dozens of tiny braids on her head.

  Bette, who looked to be about my age, kept up with questions as she took us to a booth. She didn’t really wait for an answer, and the rest of the diner was busy and noisy. It felt good to be here, after weeks when our only contacts had been law enforcement.

  “Coffee?” Bette asked. For the first time since we walked in, she waited for a response.

  “Yes, I’ll have a cappuccino—”

  Bette held up two carafes of coffee, one in each hand.

  “Decaf or caf?” she asked, giving me a patient, toothy grin. Ah. This wasn’t a place where I could order any sort of espresso drink. Got it.

  “I definitely want the caffeinated kind, please. And what do you want?” I asked Allie. She shrugged. “Chocolate milk for my mostly mute daughter.”

  Allie stared at me from across the table, but at least it wasn’t a glare. Things had always been good between us, and this new attitude was uncharted territory for me. I knew that while things were rough for me, they were more challenging for Allie, and any small thing I could do to make her feel better would help with her adjustment. At least I hoped so.

  We ordered pancakes and sat and listened to the buzz around us. Everyone seemed to be talking about the same thing: A woman was found dead in her home this morning.

  Bette came back with our drinks. My curiosity was piqued, so I decided to see if I could get answers and not just questions from her.

  “Excuse me, Bette? Could you tell me what happened? Did someone die?”

  “Oh yes, Greta Stramtussle, the poor thing. Died in her house. She did so much for our little town. None of us would be here if it weren’t for her! She was perfectly healthy, you know, getting up there in years, but aren’t we all? The sheriff’s department isn’t saying what happened. I bet her heart just gave up on her. She was no spring chicken, ya know,” Bette said, patting her chest where her heart-shaped name tag was pinned.

  I would take Victor’s advice and keep clear of anything that had to do with anyone’s mysterious death. We had better—and frankly, more important—things to do like settling into our new home and getting Allie started at school.

  “I’m so sorry. I’m sure Mrs. Stramtussle’s family and friends are upset.”

  “You never said—you’re not from around here, are you? Just passing through?”

  “We just moved in. We’re living on Castlerock Road, just down the hill from here.”

  “Castlerock Road? Are you living in that old house there, number thirty-three?”

  “As a matter of fact, we are.”

  “Oh! Well, then you live right next door to the house where Mrs. Stramtussle died. May she rest in peace.”

  I hoped that the woman had simply died of natural causes. If she hadn’t, I’d likely have a cop knocking on my door later today, which made me shudder. I wasn’t sure I was ready to recite my newly created background, especially not to someone trained to interrogate people.

  Allie and I finished our breakfast and went off to explore the rest of downtown. Just past an animal rescue storefront, we found a small clothing shop and stopped in. Allie made a beeline for a rack of T-shirts, while I looked at some handmade felt purses in all the colors of the rainbow. I wanted to buy one, to give myself a present for having made it this far, but Victor’s scolding about not standing out echoed through me. I looked down at my plain brown purse. It would have to do for now.

  Allie found a black T-shirt with a green cactus on it. Underneath the image, it read, Handle with Care. While I always encouraged her to show her creativity and her true self through her clothing, this new desire of hers to dress in all black like Johnny Cash was something I’d not expected.

  At least the shirt she chose had a fun image on it. As recently as a few months ago, she would have spent hours choosing hair ribbons and selecting the perfect sundress, but that was behind us, at least for the time being. As I looked around, it occurred to me that working in a
shop like this could be fun. I took Allie’s shirt to the register. A squat woman with a long braid of vibrant red hair sat behind the counter, knitting a colorful rectangle that was likely destined to become another felted purse.

  “Great shop you have here,” I said as I placed Allie’s new shirt on the counter by the cash register.

  “Thanks,” the woman said, as she continued working on her knitting project.

  “We just moved here,” I said, trying to chat her up in hopes I could casually ask about any job openings.

  “Hm. Well, that’s nice,” the woman said, finally looking up and checking the tag on the shirt for a price.

  “We’ll come back and buy a few more things soon.”

  “Sadly, it’s our last week in business.” This woman’s voice was almost entirely devoid of emotion. It made me wonder whether she was like this with everyone or particularly indifferent to me. “We’re going to switch over to being an online-only store after that.”

  Rats! So much for an employment opportunity.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. You’ve got such cute things, and all handmade, too.”

  “We’re just not getting enough foot traffic up here. They promised me so much when we rented this spot. They said the tourists would be pouring in. Well, that hasn’t happened.” Her tone sounded more pessimistic by the minute.

  “If you hear of anyone needing help, I’m looking for a job. I’m Ruby.” I offered her my hand for a friendly shake. She shook my hand but didn’t provide her name.

  “And you are?”

  “Sorry, I’m just a little preoccupied. I’m Sally Graber. Nice to meet you,” she said, as she wrapped the shirt and put it in a handled shopping bag for us. It was a splurge, and I was feeling a bit guilty about it. The shirt seemed to cheer up Allie the tiniest bit, and that was a move in the right direction. Victor wasn’t going to give me money forever, and I had to get a job—sooner rather than later.

  As we walked, I remembered all the times Allie and I went shopping together in New York. We loved to visit Macy’s, especially at Christmas, to see the sparkling lights and festive decorations. As I thought ahead to the holidays, I wondered what they would be like for us this year. When my parents were still alive, we’d visit them and have a family Christmas. Before she passed away, my mother always made tamales, just like my grandmother used to make. My father insisted on making posole—a soup made with hominy—which was always so spicy we couldn’t eat more than a bowl without breaking into a sweat. At times my sister, Claudia, and her husband, Ricky, would show up. They would arrive at the last minute and never stayed for long.

  As we walked, I thought about Claudia and wondered where she was now. I had been whisked away by the marshals after I saw Claudia’s husband kill a man at a hotel late one night. Ricky was arrested for his involvement with the Mexican Mafia’s drug trade, and I ended up in witness protection so I could testify against him. Allie arrived the next day at the hotel where the marshals had housed me temporarily. With my permission, she was escorted by a marshal who had picked her up in New York and brought her to me.

  The marshals never told me what happened to Claudia. I was unsure if she was also in witness protection and wondered how much she knew about her husband’s dirty business dealings. I hoped she was in WITSEC and that I’d see her again someday.

  THREE

  Allie and I strolled along Stewart Street, a shop-filled road which had a hairpin turn at one end and a staircase in the middle that connected the upper and lower blocks. Each of the quaint stores had a tiny metal sign above its door indicating what the building had been back when the town was first built—a blacksmith, a saloon, a bank, a general store. Each had its original façade or had been rebuilt to look like a storefront from the late 1800s. The side of a building at the end of the street was painted with an ancient Levi’s advertisement, now peeling to reveal the worn red brick wall. I still had my reservations about living out in the desert but was intrigued by this funky little town.

  We arrived at the next switchback and turned the corner. Up ahead was Paradise School, an unassuming low-slung cinder block building. It was quite utilitarian, and about the same color as my house, no doubt a Pantone color called Drab Gray. We arrived during recess and watched children, who were much younger than Allie, as they played handball against a concrete wall with fat, red balls. Other children sat at metal tables on a scruffy patch of grass chatting and eating snacks.

  What struck me was how different this school was from the private school Allie used to attend. At the Hawthorne Academy, ivy-covered brick walls encircled the campus. Every child wore a navy jacket and white shirt, part of the required school uniform, which, along with a tuition payment rivaling an Ivy League school, was merely what you did if you wanted your child to get an excellent education in the Big Apple.

  Allie’s father, who had decided early on in Allie’s life that he wasn’t cut out for parenthood, had left her some money he hoped would make up for the fact that he wouldn’t be around to raise her. While that endowment had meant we had no problem paying Allie’s tuition, she didn’t have a father in her life, nor did I have a partner to help me raise my child. It was just Allie and me, which was fine with me. As for Allie, she couldn’t miss someone she had never known and had turned out to be a pretty well-adjusted girl.

  While this new school was different from what she had experienced thus far, it reminded me of what school had been like for Claudia and me when we were young—no uniforms, no tuition, and no nannies dropping off well-groomed students each morning. Instead, we rode our bikes a mile down the road to Clovis Elementary School in California’s Central Valley.

  “Come on, let’s go find the principal,” I said, heading up the steps to the administrative offices while Allie grudgingly followed three steps behind. We found the office and took a tentative step inside. A harried woman in her mid-thirties with a strawberry-blond pixie cut cradled a phone in the crook of her neck and took a message on a notepad while trying to put a thermometer in the mouth of a boy standing behind her desk. If this woman had an extra hand, I imagined she could be typing an e-mail and stuffing envelopes simultaneously. She finished with her message, hung up the phone, and clamped the boy’s mouth around the thermometer all at once, a smooth move of multitasking if ever I’d seen one.

  “How can I help you today?” the secretary asked, stuffing a note in the principal’s inbox and tossing some paperclips into a kid-made clay bowl before turning her full attention to Allie and me. I didn’t think she knew how to do one thing at a time.

  “I’m Ruby Shaw, and this is Allie. We’re new here, and I need to get her set up to attend seventh grade. She’s anxious to start right away.” Allie stood next to me and silently nodded her head.

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Meg,” she said, her hand lightly touching mine in the quickest of handshakes. “Now, let me see. Okay, it looks like we’ve got your daughter enrolled. I’m sure the principal wants to meet you,” she said as she flipped over a pile of folders on her desk, grabbed one, and headed down the hall at a near trot. While Meg went to check with the principal, I noticed the name plaque on the desk. Ms. Stramtussle. Rats! Meg was another Stramtussle. She had to be related to the recently deceased Greta Stramtussle. Judging from Meg’s age, she was likely Greta’s daughter.

  “Okay, the principal is ready for you,” Meg said, popping around the corner to get us. We followed her down a short hall to a cramped office stuffed with books where the principal stood in the doorway.

  “Please come in. Sit, sit!” She sidled past us and into the hall. “Meg? Have you seen my red glasses? I can’t seem to find them anywhere.”

  “Sorry, ma’am, no,” Meg said. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to leave now. I need to talk with my brother about … you know.”

  "Of course, dear. Take as much time as you need,” Mrs. Heard said. She turned to us and added “Meg found out early this morning that her mother has passed away. I told her not to come in to work, but she wanted to bring her daughter to school and stay for a little while.” She frowned and shook her head, no doubt thinking about Meg’s loss.

  “Yes, I heard that Mrs. Stramtussle had died. That must be a terrible shock to the whole town.”