by Nancy Pickard
Art by Jason Eckhardt
* * * *
Said the San Diego Union: “Nancy Pickard is acclaimed as one of today’s best mystery wri-ters. Mounting evidence suggests that this description is too limi-ted.... Pickard (is) one of today’s best writers period.” One of the qualities that makes her so is surely her adeptness at capturing the small but telling moments that mark vital turning point for her characters. The Virgin of Small Plains is now out in paperback.
* * * *
When the toddler in the restaurant highchair grinned at Emily, she sensed a movement to her right. She glanced that way and saw a single man waving in a playful way at the little boy. When he realized he’d been caught looking like a doting grandpa, he said across the expanse of his table, to hers, “Do you miss your grandkids as much as I miss mine?”
She nodded her head and grimaced. “It kills me to be away from them.”
He was older than her own sixty-five years, she thought, by maybe ten more.
“We all retire to Florida,” the man said, speaking of their generation, “thinking it’s going to be the good life, but we forget we can’t take our grandkids with us. Where are yours?”
“Minneapolis. I wish I was there, when I see little ones like this.”
The toddler, she meant. They both stared at the back of the child’s head. His young mother was feeding him scrambled eggs from her own plate.
“You’d take the snow and cold again?” the man asked her.
She nodded.
“I would, too,” he admitted.
“Where are yours?”
“New York. They used to live with me, but my son got a job up there.”
“I’ll bet they miss you.”
“I don’t know about that,” he said with a modest air, “but I sure miss them. How many have you got?”
“One son, three grandchildren. A girl and two boys. Nate, Aston, and Jennifer.”
“I’ve got a Jennifer, too.”
She smiled. “Everybody’s got a Jennifer.”
The man laughed out loud, sounding genuinely amused by her wit, and then he said, “I’ve also got a Russell and a Jason.”
Emily smiled, murmured, “That’s nice,” and bent her head back toward her own breakfast.
* * * *
The second day she was seated first, and pretended not to notice when the hostess brought him to the booth he had occupied the day before. She didn’t assume he would remember her. And, in fact, he didn’t seem to notice she was there, so busy was he with chatting first to the hostess, then to the waitress, then looking over the menu, and then reading his newspaper.
When they finally spoke, it was because they saw twin babies go by in a stroller.
“A double-wide,” the man said, and smiled as the little girls passed him.
Emily, who thought that was very funny, laughed as she waved at the children.
It was kind of pathetic, she thought, as she observed other senior citizens break into grins at the adorable sight. They all—we all, she corrected herself—flock like lonely gulls if we spot a grandchild, anybody’s grandchildren. Florida, the perfect retirement state, could turn out to seem awfully far away from home.
The man in the next booth was still gazing at the twins, and looking a little lost and sad. When he felt her glance, his face brightened again.
“Good morning!”
“Good morning,” she said, more sedately.
An awkward moment followed, which he ended by picking up his newspaper. After a moment, however, she heard his voice addressing her, so she looked up to find that he’d put his paper down again.
“How old are your three?” he asked her.
“You remembered? They’re nine, six, and two.”
“Somebody’s busy,” he said, wryly.
“That would be my daughter-in-law. She’s home with them.”
“Lucky.” He looked serious for a moment. “I guess. I don’t know what’s best anymore. My wife always worked, and I think our son turned out just fine. But now my daughter-in-law worries about being away from home so much.”
“It’s hard to know the right thing to do.”
“It is,” he said, before picking up his paper. He put it down again. “I come here for breakfast every morning.”
“Good food at a good price.”
“It really is.”
Both of them seeming satisfied with that bargain, they smiled at one another and got down to eating what was in front of them.
* * * *
“Would you mind if I join you?” he asked her on the third morning.
“Please do. Have you already eaten?”
“There’s still plenty of coffee to drink.” He slid onto the red vinyl bench across from her. “I wouldn’t want to make them throw any away.”
“Yes, that would be such a waste.”
They both laughed.
He was about five foot nine inches, Emily had already observed, and he was slim with a narrow face. He wore glasses and he had about six inches of grey-white hair left above his collar, from one ear to the other. He wasn’t handsome, and probably never had been, but he was pleasant and respectable looking. Like a retired college professor, or the CEO of a small company, she thought. He wore tan slacks, a white shirt, and a blue-and-tan golf jacket. When he had moved from his booth to hers, she had seen clean white athletic shoes on his feet, with white socks.
“I’m Bob Hearne.”
“My name’s Emily Steele. Nice to meet you.”
“We’re nearly old friends by now.”
She smiled her agreement back at him.
He was a widower, she discovered from the conversation that ensued as she ate her own light meal. His wife, Ruby, had been gone for three years.
“My husband died five years ago,” she told him.
“Is that your wedding ring?”
She looked where he was looking: at the gold band with the big sparkling stone.
“Yes,” she said, simply.
“It’s spectacular. He must have been a successful fellow.” Bob smiled. “Or else, you were.”
Emily leaned across to whisper, “It’s not real.”
“What?” He looked shocked, and even a little disappointed, as everybody was when she told them. “It looks as real as any diamond I ever saw!”
“That’s what Ted thought when he bought it for me for our thirtieth anniversary,” she said, and then she smiled with affectionate rue.
“No! Did he pay a fortune for it?”
Emily nodded. “And all we got was this fake diamond.”
“That’s terrible! But you still wear it...”
She said softly, “It really was the thought that counted.”
“You must have loved him very much to forgive him for a boner like that.”
Emily shrugged. “We were both idiots about finances. I couldn’t throw the first stone.” She looked up and grinned at the man across the table. “Although, if I did, I have just the one to do it.”
He laughed out loud, and then he reached out and lightly touched the stone.
“In its own way, that’s a sweet story.”
Emily nodded, and wondered what her late husband would think of Bob.
“I’d swear it’s real,” he said, staring at it again. “It looks so real. You’re not going to tell me that necklace isn’t real, either?”
Emily fingered the sparklers on the gold chain around her neck.
“Real as plastic. Real as rhinestones.”
“Well, then I’m not the judge of things I thought I was, ‘cause they sure fooled me.”
“I hope they don’t fool any burglars or muggers,” she admitted. “My son says I’m crazy to keep wearing them.”
“I think he may have a point, don’t you?”
She rubbed the necklace stones. “Well, if somebody takes them, I won’t lose anything but memories.”
“Unless they knock you out to do it.”
She frowned a little, and he added quickly, “Not that it’s any of my business. They’re very pretty. They look nice. You should be able to wear them if you want to.”
“I do want to,” she said, a little stubbornly.
When their bills came, Bob tried to sweep up hers along with his.
“Don’t you dare!” she exclaimed.
“But I’d like to.”
“Nope.” Then, feeling a little bold, she added, “If you ever asked me out to eat, that would be one thing, but I brought myself here.”
“I’ll remember that.” He looked into her eyes, with a twinkle in his own blue eyes.
After they paid their separate bills at the cash register, he said, “I usually follow breakfast with a walk along the beach.”
Emily smiled, waiting for what she had a feeling was coming.
“Would you want to go, too?” he asked her.
“I’d like that,” she said, sincerely.
When they walked out the front door, with Bob holding the door for Emily, the woman who had waited on both of them walked toward the front window to watch them go. The hostess, noticing, said, “I think your nice old guy has found himself a new lady friend.”
The waitress snapped, “Don’t call him that.”
“Why not? I thought you said he was—”
“He’s not a nice old guy. So don’t call him a nice old guy, all right?”
“Well, excuse me,” the hostess muttered behind her. “He’s always nice to me.”
The waitress, frowning as she stared at the departing couple, ignored her. Then, on an impulse, she hurried outside the restaurant where she could use her cell phone.
* * * *
On their walk, Bob told her that he had founded and owned a small company that manufactured a tiny part for airplanes. Ruby had always worked in the business with him, he said. When Emily admitted that she didn’t know the first thing about airplanes, he laughed and said, “Between you and me, Ruby never did, either. She didn’t even like to fly!”
“Oh, that’s funny. I don’t feel so bad now, though.”
“Oh, don’t! It was a pretty boring business.”
Emily had to laugh, because he was so frank and honest about it.
They were walking north along the boardwalk, with the ocean gently gobbling up sand to their right, and Art Deco, low-rise condos mixed in with high-rise buildings to their left. There were a lot of For Sale signs. South Florida was experiencing a real-estate glut.
When their shared amusement ebbed, Emily asked gently, “How did she die, Bob?”
He seemed to shudder. “I wish I could say it was something natural, even cancer, as awful as that sounds.” He glanced at her, as if to gauge her readiness to hear what he was going to say. “Ruby was killed in a house invasion, Emily. Two men broke in late one night while I was in California on business, and when she woke up and stumbled out to the hallway, they beat her to death with their guns.”
“Oh my God!” Emily’s hands flew to her mouth.
Before she could ask anything else, and possibly to save her from having to say anything, he said quickly, “How about your husband? I hope it wasn’t anything awful, like that.”
“A car accident.”
“Oh, dear. That’s plenty bad enough. I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too.” Impulsively, she took his hand. “For them. For us.”
When she started to let go, he held on to her.
They continued walking down the boardwalk, hand in hand.
“Where do you live, Emily?” he asked her a little further down the way.
“A few blocks from the restaurant. It’s just a little studio apartment.” She smiled and held up her right hand so the wedding ring sparkled in the sunlight. “This was the investment that was supposed to secure my future.” With the same hand, she touched her glittering necklace. “And this.”
“What did he do?”
“Do?”
“For a living.”
“Not much.” She laughed, but even now it held an affectionate, tender tone. “Bob, the truth is that my husband bought these pretty things with my money. He bought a lot of other pretty things with my money, too.”
“Good grief, Emily. You don’t even sound mad about it.”
“Oh, what’s the point, really? It was inherited, so it’s not as if I earned it. And so what if I live in a tiny studio instead of a fancy high-rise? It’s a tiny studio two miles from a beach! We had fun while the money lasted. I had lots of fun with him for thirty-five years, and he was a good daddy, too. There are worse things in life than an easygoing husband with no head for business.” She laughed, and looked up at him. “Where do you live, Bob?”
He looked a little embarrassed. “In one of those high-rises, Emily. Would you like to come to breakfast there tomorrow?”
She smiled, feeling happy. “And miss our favorite booths and our waitress?”
“I’ll fix you something special to make up for it.”
* * * *
He insisted on picking her up at her place and driving her to his.
“We’re so close I could have walked,” she said, as she opened the door for him the next morning at nine A.M. “And I would have worked up such a good hunger, too, for your special surprise.”
“I’m old-fashioned in some ways,” he admitted, as he stepped in. “This is very nice, Emily.”
“Well, it’s not so hard to decorate one little room.”
Almost immediately, he walked over to a small painting on a side wall. “Emily, is this what I think it is?”
She came up beside him, standing close. “If you think it’s a copy of a little-known van Gogh, then you’re right.”
“A copy? But those brush strokes...”
“Oh, the artist was good, I’ll give him that.”
Bob, who had bent down to examine the artwork, straightened up and looked at her. “Oh, no, don’t tell me.”
“Yes.” She laughed. “This is another one of Ted’s famous bargains.”
He started laughing, then stopped himself. “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t laugh—”
“May as well,” Emily assured him. “I do, all the time.”
“Where’d he get it?”
“Garage sale. He knew just enough about art to be dangerous.”
“So he didn’t pay much for it?”
“No, that time, he didn’t pay much.” She reached out to straighten the painting in its ornate gold-colored frame. There was amusement bubbling under her words. “But he thought he was going to make millions with it, so he spent quite a bit of money on things we wanted, in anticipation of making his fortune in art.” The bubble broke into a burst of laughter. “It’s cheerful, isn’t it?”
“Like you,” Bob said, with admiration in his voice and his eyes. “Cheerful and really pretty, like you.”
She let him kiss her then, briefly and sweetly, like a teenager who wasn’t quite sure of himself.
* * * *
“I’m the only person left on my floor,” Bob said as he opened his front door with three keys. “That’s why we let the doorman go. Too few people paying too much in residence fees.”
“Doesn’t it feel lonely? A little spooky?”
“Sometimes, but mostly I kind of like it.” He shut the door behind them. “Hell, Emily, I’m already lonely, so what difference is a little more?”
She had only long enough to glimpse a beautiful, spacious apartment with a view of the ocean. Then she turned back around, stepped close to him, put her arms around him, and they hugged each other tight.
* * * *
“They haven’t been in again,” the restaurant hostess observed.
“Who?” the waitress asked her.
“That attractive older woman and Mr. I Can’t Call Him That.”
“What are you talking about?”
“That old man who’s nice, but I’m not supposed to say so.”
The waitress started paying attention. “They haven’t been in? Since when?”
“Since that time they left together.”
The waitress turned her face to look out at the sunny day. She didn’t say anything, but she frowned as if the sun was too bright for her eyes.
“I thought you always waited on him,” the hostess said.
“Not always. He likes that booth, that’s all.”
“He likes you.”
The waitress shrugged. “Are you sure they haven’t either of them been in again?”
“Am I standing here every day?”
“Yes.”
“So, I’m sure.”
The waitress looked at her. “I don’t know what to do.”
“About what?”
The waitress told her.
“Call the cops,” the hostess said, suddenly serious.
“But...” The waitress hesitated. “...it’s just these suspicions I have. How she traded booths so she could sit there. How she kept looking at him until he looked at her. How she made sure she sat next to his favorite booth for the next two mornings. How eager she was to let him sit down with her. And how I know her conniving type. And how I wouldn’t trust her any farther than I could throw that big diamond ring of hers. I wonder who bought that for her.”
“Trust your gut,” the hostess advised.
“My gut says he’s a nice man who doesn’t know a spider when it bites him.”
“You told me I couldn’t call him that.”
“That’s not what I meant. He is nice. But he’s a lot more than just a nice old guy. When you say it like that, it makes old people sound like children. But he’s dignified, he was successful, he’s had a life. They all have. You should treat them with respect. I always try to treat them with respect.”
“Okay, okay! Call the cops. That would show respect.”
The waitress took out her cell phone, the one on which she had snapped several photographs of the happy couple on the last day they were in the restaurant.
* * * *
In a homey cafe in Jacksonville, an attractive older woman smiled at the antics of a little boy jumping up and down on his daddy’s lap. She looked up and caught the eye of an even older gentleman who was also amused by the child. He wasn’t as easy to snag as the last one had been. Bob. Bob Hearne, who hadn’t suspected a thing. Bob, whom she had spotted as prosperous, alone, lonely, and likely.
Bob, whose body could lie in that empty condo for weeks before anybody missed him, or even noticed the strange odor.
Bob, who had credit cards, cash, and his late wife’s jewelry.
And a pile of gold coins, which had been a lovely surprise.
Even with the coins, it had been nowhere near as good a haul as the very real diamond on her right hand or the equally real ones around her neck. And nowhere near as valuable as the authentic van Gogh she had lifted from one man’s home. Her son wanted her to sell the damned things, so they couldn’t get her in trouble, but she liked them, and she wanted to enjoy some of the pretty things she earned. Emily wasn’t worried. She was always gone long before anybody remembered the pretty woman with whom the men had last been seen.
There was nobody to connect her to anything.
When the new man didn’t say anything, Emily spoke first.
“Do you miss your grandchildren as much as I miss mine?”