Small-Town Secrets. Pamela Tracy
Two books remained on the shelf where Yolanda had placed them earlier.
Two?
Yolanda frowned. She only remembered carrying three books in the series. Two were on the floor; only one was supposed to be on the shelf.
“How funny,” she whispered as she picked up the top book, which was clearly not intended for the children’s area. It was dark blue, dusty and had faded embossed gold lettering proclaiming the title Stories of Scorpion Ridge, Arizona.
Unease followed Yolanda as she walked toward the history and nonfiction room. She really wished that Adam hadn’t left. She was sure this book hadn’t been in her hands this morning when she’d been interrupted by the old woman. The book certainly hadn’t made its way to the shelf by itself.
Someone else had been in her used bookstore.
Or perhaps the old woman had found the book—without Yolanda noticing?—and then realized it was the wrong one.
Yolanda might have chosen to forget the whole incident if she hadn’t been a stickler for details. Inside the cover page a name was written. Black ink, perfectly formed letters, all caps, looking almost like one word.
CHESTER VENTIMIGLIA
TUESDAY MORNING ADAM’S phone sounded way too early. He’d always preferred to wake up when his body wanted to wake up rather than when the alarm said it was time.
Nowadays he woke up a lot earlier. Mostly because he wasn’t painting way into the night.
“I’m awake,” he muttered into the phone.
“I’m trying to find Adam Snapp,” a voice said.
“You found him.”
“I’m William Woodhull Huckabee. I’m just outside of town. I own—”
“You own all the ostriches.”
Huckabee chuckled. “That would be me. Huckabee’s Harem is about to expand. We’re trying to bring more visitors to our door. I’ve seen your work around BAA, and I wondered if you’d be willing to do a mural for us?”
“No,” Adam said, swallowing hard. “No, I’m not doing murals anymore. But I can make a referral.”
Huckabee paused before saying, “No, I don’t want a referral. I was hoping to do a bit of tie-in with BAA. After all, they don’t have ostriches, and when we get visitors to town, having two places to visit is a plus. If both attractions have a similar look, we can maybe combine our advertising. I can make it worth your while. What do you usually charge?”
He’d been paid twenty-five thousand, plus room and board, for the Wildrose job. From start to finish, it had taken six months. Since then, he’d had three more offers, all in the same price range. He’d turned the jobs down and come home with an almost empty checking account.
Huckabee’s Harem, however, was not a twenty-five thousand dollar kind of establishment. And Adam, still licking wounds that weren’t healing, couldn’t take the job. Didn’t matter the payoff.
But the money could go right to his father. He paused for a moment, running the idea through his mind, trying to picture himself with a clean slate.
No picture came; only a clean slate remained.
He’d make the money some other way. He could do it. Would do it.
“Sorry, I’ve gotten out of the business. I’m doing something else now.” It wasn’t a lie. He was teaching Tae Kwon Do classes, taking over the care of his brother and remodeling Yolanda’s Victorian.
None of which would bring him the money he needed to help his father. Maybe he should take a lesson from Yolanda. At least once a day she sat down with her spreadsheet and made sure that she was sticking to her budget, following the business plan she’d created. If Adam were lucky, he’d break even this month and manage to put gas in his van and food in his belly.
He was right back where he started: just getting by. Proving his father right. But his lack of career had also made him available when his father needed him.
Getting back that career would help his father even more.
“Tell you what,” Huckabee said, “I’m not in a hurry. I’ll give you a few weeks. You change your mind, give me a call. Better yet, come on out. We’re fairly new, and the locals haven’t really taken to stopping by. I’ll show you around. Bring the family.”
Definitely not an outing that would fit into his brother Andy’s routine. Adam had taken him to BAA, but he hadn’t been able to handle all the noise and chaos.
“Okay, I appreciate that.” After a quick goodbye, not giving Huckabee a chance to say any more, Adam rolled out of bed.
Good thing Huckabee had called. Adam had to teach a class this morning. After a decent breakfast, doughnuts and milk from the grocery store in town, Adam made it to Snapp’s Studio where his first step was to head down to the dressing room and change into his uniform. He had a ten-thirty class with ten students, all at various levels. One was actually better than he was. Two were beginning their second week. There was even a mom.
An hour later Adam applauded his class for being the best they could be and went through his list of reminders: their next lesson was on Thursday, there was a competition in Mesa this coming Saturday and they still had time to sign up and that a School Special started in just over a week. For the month of September, anyone who brought in a spelling test with a perfect grade got a ten dollar coupon for a Snapp’s Studio T-shirt.
His dad believed that Tae Kwon Do had to include the whole student, not just the student who showed up for lessons a few hours a week. Adam’s dad monitored the school kids’ homework and attitude.
Nobody dared mention Adam’s own past grades or bad attitude.
Changing back into his regular clothes, Adam tossed his uniform into the laundry bag and headed for the front lobby. There would be another lesson at four, but it would be taught by Mr. Chee.
Adam’s dad and brother were in Phoenix volunteering at a food donation center. They’d been going every Tuesday morning for a decade. Andy was a natural at sorting, and sorting was just what the donation center needed.
Adam had gone with them a time or two. But the repetition, standing still, had made him want to scream. His dad, however, never even blinked at the challenge.
Adam’s mother was up front. The beginning of the school year meant his parents put out a rash of advertising. She had stacks of brochures ready to go, all crisscrossed with sticky notes marking their destination.
“Want me to deliver these, Mom?”
She looked up at him, a half smile on her face, but tears were shimmering in her eyes.
“Mom, you all right?”
“No. Yes. There’s just such a lot going on. And I appreciate you staying with Andy while...” She didn’t finish. Instead, she came around the desk and reached up to hug him. He realized just how small she was, and yet she always carried so much: his dad, his brother, him.
He was more like her than he was his father. She was the decorator, and he’d gotten his love of color from her. When he was six, he’d helped her paint the living room as well as put tile down.
After a while she let go and stepped away.
“I’ll do whatever you need me to do, Mom.”
“Your delivering these fliers would really help.”
Ten minutes later, he stood in front of Snapp’s Studio, staring at the sign, at the advertisements posted on the windows and at his mom still working at her desk inside.
It was in little more than a strip