Irene picked up a head of romaine lettuce with exquisite care and turned slowly to face the big-haired, sharp-featured woman behind her.
“Hello, Mrs. Johnson,” she said politely.
Betty gave her a superficial smile. “I hardly recognized you. You look so different.”
“So normal, do you mean?”
Betty went blank. “What?”
“Never mind.” Irene put the lettuce into the cart and gripped the handle. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a number of things to do.”
Betty regrouped and tightened her grip on the shopping cart handle. “Must have been a dreadful shock, finding poor Pamela Webb the way you did.”
With her peripheral vision, Irene watched two other shoppers halt their carts a short distance away. One woman was making a show of choosing carrots. The other picked through a pile of baking potatoes as though searching for one made of solid gold. Both had their heads cocked in a way that indicated they were listening intently.
“Yes, it was a shock,” Irene said. She steered her cart around Betty Johnson.
“I heard that nice Luke Danner was with you when you found the body,” Betty said, swinging her cart around in hot pursuit. “You’re staying out at the lodge, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am.” Irene wheeled the cart around the end of an aisle and plunged between rows of shelve illed with six-packs of beer and bottles of wine.
She chose a modestly priced white wine and then hesitated. Luke looked like the type who preferred beer.
“Someone noticed that you seemed a little upset this morning after you talked to Chief McPherson and Senator Webb,” Betty called out behind her.
Irene grabbed a six-pack of beer and kept going. She could hear Betty’s cart picking up speed behind her.
“Pamela Webb was a very troubled woman, you know,” Betty said. “Always was wild. Why, I remember the time your father found her using drugs along with some of the local kids in one of the boathouses at the old marina. Had to sweep the whole thing under the rug, of course, what with her being Ryland Webb’s daughter and all.
But everyone in town knew what had happened.”
That did it. Irene halted suddenly, let go of the cart handle and stepped quickly to the side.
Betty Johnson was following so closely and at such speed that she was unable to stop in time. Her cart plowed into Irene’s with a shuddering clash of steel. Betty staggered under the impact.
Irene smiled politely. “Your memory is a little faulty, Mrs. Johnson. My father didn’t do any favors for Ryland Webb.”
Betty made a tut-tut sound. “Now, dear, everyone knew what Pamela was doing down there at the boathouse.”
“The same way everyone knew that your husband was stinking drunk the night he drove his truck int he front window of Tarrant’s Hardware store.”
Betty stared, stunned. Then her face suffused with outrage. “Ed wasn’t drunk. It was an accident.”
“You could say that Dad swept that incident under the rug, too, because he didn’t arrest Ed, did he? He knew that your husband had just been laid off. He realized that an arrest for drunk driving would have made it very hard for him to find a new job.”
“It was an accident, I tell you. Your father understood that.”
“An accident.” Irene looked around and saw a vaguely familiar face at the end of the aisle. “Like th ime Jeff Wilkins and two of his buddies accidentally stole Harry Benson’s new truck and took it joyriding out on Bell Road.”
Annie Wilkins blanched. “How dare you bring up that old incident? It was just a childish prank.”
“It was grand theft auto, and you’d better believe that Benson was determined to press charges,” Irene said. “But my father convinced him to calm down and back off. Then Dad had a chat with your son and his pals. Gave them a good scare. And guess what? Jeff and his friends avoided getting a rap sheet.”
“That happened years ago,” Annie said fiercely. “I’ll have you know that Jeff is a lawyer now.”
“Talk about life’s little ironies. I’m sure Dad would have found that very amusing.”
Irene turned slowl n her heel, selecting another target from the small crowd. “Let’s see, who else benefited from the way my father did his job?”
A shudder went through the small cluster of people poised at the end of the aisle.
Two shoppers at the rear abruptly reversed course, trying to escape.
Irene pounced on the woman with fake red hair who was taking a hard left into CA ruits & VEG.
“Becky Turner, right? I remember you. I also recall the time your daughter got mixed up with that group of summer kids who were causing so much trouble—”
Becky did the deer-in-the-headlights freeze and then lurched toward the checkout counter.
All the shoppers in the vicinity were in motion now, wheeling their carts toward the nearest exit. There was a lot of clanging and clattering, and then an acute silence fell.
For a few seconds Irene thought she was alone in the beer and wine aisle. Then she sensed a presence behind her.
She turned slowly and saw an attractive middle-aged woman watching her with an amused expression.
“Hello, Irene,” she said.
“Mrs. Carpenter?”
“Call me Tess. You’re not in my classroom anymore. No need to be formal.”
Tess Carpenter pushed her cart down the aisle, closing the space between them. For the first time since she had arrived in town, Irene experienced the kind of inner warmth that came with happy memories.
Tess had taught English at Dunsley High. She had enthusiastically encouraged Irene’s hunger for reading and her desire to write.
Her honey-colored hair was subtly streaked with blond to hide the gray and there were some new crinkles at the edges of her eyes, but other than that, Tess seemed to have aged very little.
“Looks like you cleared out the market,” Tess said, laughing. “Congratulations.
Pamela would have been proud of you. She loved scenes, didn’t she?”
“Yes, but only if she was the one causing them.”
“That’s true.” Tess’s face softened. “How are you, Irene? Someone said you had become a journalist?”
“I’m with a small paper in a town on the coast. What about you? Still teaching at Dunsley High?”
“Yes. Phil owns the garage now.”
Irene smiled. ” Dad always said that Phil could work magic when it came to cars.”
“Your father was right.” Tess surveyed Irene with concern and sympathy. “I heard what happened, obviously. The whole town knows about Pamela. I’m very sorry that you had to be the one to find her.”