Driven to Abstraction - Chapter 2

Driven to Abstraction
Chapter Two

Charcoal-edged thunderheads filled the sky, threatening an imminent downpour in spite of the ninety degree temperature. I hurried to locate an RV park and take up temporary residence. My dad’s old Ford pickup’s windshield glass speckled with drops, and the smell of rain came in through the open windows. Soon the clouds gave way to the deep blue of a summer afternoon.
Luckily the Iris Hill RV park manager, Jack, helped me set up the ancient airstream trailer that my parents vacationed in before Dad died. The only directions I’d gotten were Mum’s brief instructions before I left Zephyr Cove. Without Jack’s help, I’d probably still be trying to figure it out.
Mum insisted I use the trailer when I got the surprise call from Andi Harmon saying she’d heard how I could transform a new business into a money-making machine in no time flat. I agreed to take it. After all, cash was limited. The cost of an RV space in comparison with the price of a motel room could be the difference between eating and committing to a starvation diet for the duration of the trip. The old silver trailer had been sitting beside Mum’s garage for the last four years, ever since Mum and Dad’s last trip to the coast. Dad suffered a massive coronary while jogging along the shore. No one had been inside the trailer until the day we aired it out and packed it up for my trip. Mom never showed a single stitch of distress going inside. But, I knew she had to be living the whole scenario over in her mind as we cleaned the inside of the compact living space.
“How flattering,” I had said to Andi, “but how did you hear of my services?”
“My partner, Candace, who heard about you from an old friend out of Portland, who heard it from her sister in Salem, whose friend’s daughter started a salon in Macaroon and got some tips from her friend who works at the Zephyr Cove Police Department, who knows this hunk who you helped put together a whole business on the internet. She said he turned his first million within three months of starting his business.”
Apparently word had gotten around. She must be talking about Braden McFadden. He was Mum’s tenant. He rented a cottage, located a bit behind her place; a mother-in-law’s house, I believe it’s called. Brady teaches fourth grade at the same elementary school where Lucy would be going in the fall. I helped him put together a child-find website. He said he wanted another way to help kids and their parents. He seemed to know a lot about finding people in general, even the ones who didn’t want to be found. It seemed like a good match. Except that his heart was bigger than his bankbook would ever be. His fees were minimal and virtually nonexistent for those who couldn’t afford it. So, I was sure his earnings were nowhere near a million dollars. Through the process of working together, Brady was getting attached. I didn’t need the kind of permanence in companionship he’d been hinting at. So, when this job came up I didn’t have to think long or hard about it to know the breathing space was what we both needed.
“Oh my. Well that may be a bit of an exaggeration,” I’d said. The phone shook in my hand as I pondered my only competing job offer, a waitressing stint at The Crow’s Nest Café in Chameleon, a forty-five minute drive from home. The long, on-your-feet, hours as well as looking at tofu and sprouts all day wasn’t nearly as interesting as being an integral part of a new business. Transforming the tiny chick tracks of someone’s idea into a bird that could fly and sing on its own versus waitressing, something I’d done more of than I cared to think about, was no choice at all.
Then there was Lucy, my ten-year-old daughter. She’s quiet and shy, yet like a cat with a mouse in its jowls when she gets an idea in her head; a trait she inherited from me. Two years ago she saw a female cellist playing in a fourth of July band. I couldn’t draw her attention away from the site all evening, not even with the temptation of her favorite treat, a frozen banana dipped in chocolate and rolled in walnuts. She’s dreamed of her own cello ever since. Right there on the phone with Andi, I kind of promised to fulfill that wish. The girl didn’t ask for much after all.
Lucy’s all too aware of our financial situation. Sad for her, the same depleted circumstances have persisted throughout her life. In addition, finishing my business degree via the internet was a top priority. Still, even online classes required tuition. I wouldn’t have moved back home if Mum hadn’t pulled the Lucy card.
“The child is growing up,” Mum had said. “You won’t be able to get away with t-shirts and discount trainers much longer.” Running shoes are called trainers if you’re from England, which Mum was originally. I knew she was right, hard as it was for me to admit. A waitress’s salary spreads about as far as frozen peanut butter.
Andi’s offer represented the exact area of business I hoped to get into after completing my degree. I wondered if I was ready at that point. But, as usual, I jumped in head first anyway. Andi Harmon and I had worked out contract arrangements, which spelled out the areas of consulting she needed most. The generous dollar amount Andi offered would take care of a lot of financial worries, at least for the moment.
The RV manager appeared from the other side of the trailer, interrupting my thoughts.
“There ya go, Missy. She’s spit-shined, polished and ready for habitation.” The shaggy-haired man in his late fifties rubbed his hands together, a gesture of a job well done. He smelled of Old Spice. I always thought of it as the workingman’s cologne.
It was moving on to the latter part of the afternoon. In spite of the earlier threat of a storm, the temperature was holding with the threat of nudging up against the one hundred mark. Jack hadn’t even broken into a sweat. Still, I never quite acclimated to the hot summer atmosphere that pushed in on your flesh like a wrap of rising bread dough and filled your lungs with dehydrated tapioca air. Everyone said it was a dry heat, but not today. I never understood how that made a difference anyway. Ovens are hot, period, aren’t they?
“Hey, thanks a lot. I really appreciate the help.”
“So, what ya doin’ in these parts all on your lonesome?”
“I’ve been hired to consult with a new art gallery, Total Abstraction. Do you know it? It’s located just off Main on Woodland Avenue.” Jack didn’t seem the sort to frequent such an establishment. It was just polite conversation.
“Is that the Harmon girl’s new place?”
“Why, yes, Andi Harmon is the owner.” I swiped at a salty trickle descending the side of my face.
“Nope, can’t say I’ve been by there. Haven’t seen the girl, up close, since Will died. Oh, ‘bout seven or eight years ago. I’ve heard bits and pieces about her, through the years, down at Bernice’s Blue Ribbon Café. S’pose she finished college. The girl was always smarter than your average bullfrog. We went way back, Will and me.” Jack’s eyes glazed over with memory.
“Will?”
“Yeah, Andi’s daddy. Last time I saw him was at his funeral. After Nadine left him, run off with that insurance salesman, he pretty much gave up. Never really came back to life after that. The Harmon girl weren’t much more than a half-grown tadpole, but she became more like his mother and he more like her child. Course, she was a Robinson back then.” He pulled his lips tight and shook his head.
“Yep, that girl lost all sight of her childhood after Nadine up and skedaddled.”
“Sad story. So why didn’t you and Andi keep in touch?” I was starting to see Andi in a new light. Her tough childhood must account for her bold demeanor. And I certainly knew what putting off your personal dreams felt like. If I could convince myself she wasn’t guilty, I’d feel a lot better about working with her.
“She’d already gone off to school at the time. Went back after the funeral, I guess. Without Will around, our lives just seemed to go in different directions. I sure miss that little whippersnapper. Called me Uncle Jack, ya know. Sounds like the girl done alright for herself, anyway.”
“Yes, I think the gallery will do very well. I’m excited about working on the project. Although she’s run across some problems, I think we can get everything back on track soon.” I didn’t want to mention the murder or that Andi had been accused. Perhaps he hadn’t heard, and I wasn’t going to be the one to tell him that the daughter of his old friend might have killed someone.
“Yeah, s’pose so, as long as that husband a hers don’t get in her way. Come from the big howdy-do rich mansion up on the hill.” Jack pointed off to our left.
I couldn’t see anything but some purply-brown dried stalks that looked like they might have been irises earlier in the spring.
“Sounds like you don’t think much of Mr. Harmon.” I was curious about Andi’s husband. What kind of marital relationship would let Andi think she could openly be intimate with another man? Maybe they had an agreement. Perhaps it was an open marriage. I’d heard of such things, although they made no sense to me. Despite my need for independence, where male-female relationships were concerned, I held the traditional belief of monogamy.
“She could have done better, that’s all,” Jack said. “The girl deserves some happiness after all she’s been through, and I don’t think she’s likely to snatch any piece of mind from that fella. Heard tell he nearly ruined the Harmon business. Quite a scandal, it was.”
I perked up my ears. It seems Jack had a lot to say on the subject of the Harmons, and I wasn’t about to deter him. A juicy scandal can be a motivation for murder.
“Go on,” I said.
“They kicked him out without so much as a penny. That whole clan of his as much as disowned him. Left him plumb broke. And those kinds don’t know how to survive without their luxuries. He’d a been out on the streets if the Harmon girl hadn’t taken him in.”
“’Bout the only thing he could do is play golf. Nearly made it into the pros when he was nothin’ but a punk kid. He’s too old to make a go of it on the tour now or maybe he never had the edge. No doubt he’s hatchin’ a new plan. Just don’t want to see him chew the girl up and spit her out. She’s too good for that kinda treatment.”
Jack shook his head. “Course that ex-wife of his is one to watch out for. She’s a barracuda, she is. No ma’am, not a woman you’d want to turn your back on. Rumor has it, she turned on him when things were going to hell over there at Harmon Enterprises, and kicked him in the behind on his way out the door. Yep, she’s a piece of work, she is.”
I must have had a quizzical look on my face because he continued with an explanation.
“I hear tell he’s got a point to prove to that family a his. It’ll have to be a big point for those Harmons to take any notice, if you know what I mean. That lot is from another world. At least one that sits up above everyone else, to hear them tell it. They do things big. Why they own half the town and more than that a whole bunch of the people in it. That’s all they know, money and power. Got more money than they’ll ever need. But the power, well, people with that kinda sickness can never have enough of it.”
I didn’t completely understand what Jack was talking about. Besides, I needed time to process it all and see how it might fit into a motivation for murder. That and my stomach was growling from lack of food. My mind started wandering off to thoughts of one of my hamburger based concoctions.
When I first started coming up with economy meal variations, the cheaper protein was used out of necessity. As the years passed, Lucy and I made a game of it, coming up with our own recipes all with the base of ground beef. Soon we added to our repertoire an additional line of recipes in which macaroni and cheese became a main staple. We dubbed ourselves the Beefy Bluestone Baritones. We’d put the oldies station on the radio and see who could sing along in the deepest voice while we concocted our food formulas. Tonight I had a craving for Lucy’s favorite, my famous Alfredo Moo Mac and Cheese. Well, it was famous to Lucy.
Food was always important to me, but at the moment, air conditioning moved up to top dog. The day had sizzled hot with no consolation of a cool breeze in sight from the moment I headed south out of Zephyr Cove. And it hadn’t helped that the air conditioning had gone out in my dad’s old Ford pickup fifty miles after leaving home. Sweat plastered my white cotton t-shirt to my body and left my long black braid in a stringy tangle down my back. I couldn’t afford to have the pickup air repaired just yet, but the travel trailer would be cool by the time I got back with groceries.
The scent of barbequed steaks wafted past us. A mother’s call brought clambering children to a prepared picnic table. I wondered if Jack heard the ravenous rumble coming from my mid-section.
“Well, thanks again for helping me set up the trailer. I better be getting to the store for some supplies before settling in for the night.” I started to move towards the pick-up, now detached from the travel trailer, thanks to Jack.
“Try Watson’s,” he said. “You should find anything you need there.” He stuck out his hand. I clasped it. Rough calluses scraped the soft skin of my palm while I received a hardy shake. “You betcha, Missy. You need anything else, you come and see Jack. I’ll get ya fixed right up.”
What I really needed was a fresh start on this project with no corpse involved, and Jack wasn’t likely to be able to fix that right up.