Studying herself in the mirror, she was now thinking of doing something different to it. Exactly what changes she was going to make, she had no idea. Maybe she’d ask Miss Deb for some guidance.
On the bed behind her was a heap of old shirts. She’d decided to go through her closet and take inventory of her wardrobe. She’d ask Robbie if she wanted any of the old shirts. Lord knows, that girl didn’t seem to have much of a wardrobe.
Abbey shrugged off Robbie’s teasing that her newly found interest in a more feminine appearance had anything to do with Ronald Coleman. As she explained it to Robbie, she’d simply put on a few pounds and needed new clothes to accommodate her changing shape.
Robbie chose a yellow window-pane plaid and held it in front of her, pushing her chest out and studying her own reflection in Abbey’s full-length mirror. Abbey watched out of the corner of her eye as the young girl sucked her belly in and out, watching the shirt move when she inhaled and exhaled. Robbie tucked the shirts under her arm, and Abbey took that for acceptance of her offer.
Her new tenant sat on the edge of the bed jabbering at Abbey, who only heard about half of what she was saying. Later Abbey would only recall she had been excitedly telling her something about a wild man on a motorcycle that had nearly run over Hitchcock, the cat. Since Robbie started sleeping in the back of the diner, Hitchcock had changed his loyalty as quick as a Senator McCarthy witness. The two of them had become conspiratorial confidents.
Abbey shined her front teeth with her index finger, brushed through her eyebrows with the rat tail comb, and pronounced her grooming finished, before heading into the diner.
Her mind was in a spin as she thought back over her conversation with Ron Coleman as the two of them had driven into town that day.
Ron had asked her several times if anyone but the mechanics had toyed with her car radio. He would only say he had his reasons for asking and that he’d let her in on it later.
At first Abbey had answered negatively. “No, just Cadlin and Scotty. It quit working with the rest of the bug a few minutes after I pulled into Cherry Creek.” But then on second thought, she added, “You know, Ron, I’m wrong about that. Just before I left Oregon it started making static. I figured it was just wearing out. I mentioned it to the service man at the Texaco in Medford. There was a gentleman coming out of the men’s room that overheard and simply reached in the window and gave the dashboard a quick thump with his fist. Worked fine again until I came here.”
Ron seemed to grow quiet. Then he went on to ask her if she had any way of getting into the colony of poets on the hill. He confided that a certain science professor from the college up at Boulder had been interned there for his own safety. He was incognito, but if Abbey could find a way into their midst, he’d give her a description. Ron said it was of extreme importance to his mission in Cherry Creek to ascertain the professor was still safe and in residence.
Before Abbey could answer or question him further, they had arrived in front of the Sheriff’s office. She had expertly swerved the baby blue bug parallel into the last parking space. Ron was out and putting pennies in the meter before Abbey had exited the car. She then gave Ron directions to the bank and the Pale Rider and told him she’d look for him in an hour.
If Abbey was hoping for a quick solution to her problem with Christopher, she didn’t receive it from Sheriff Pat. His best advice was to hire herself a lawyer. Not a divorce lawyer, he cautioned, but told her to look for an estate lawyer. He left her with a promise to ask around for a recommendation.
When she left the City Hall, that pesky Scooter Jackson was standing on the sidewalk, snapping her picture. When he asked her to pose for a moment on the granite steps, Abbey put her palm out in front of her face and politely asked him to go find some news to report. Instead he’d followed her to the car, hinting that he did have some “news” about her “boyfriend” he was sure she’d be interested in.
“Scooter Jackson!” Abbey turned and moved inches from his face. “If you even try to stir up dirt about Mr. Coleman, I’ll be paying a visit to your boss before you can reload that borrowed camera!”
Undeterred by her scolding, Scooter wondered aloud if Abbey had been to Over Creek lately. Before she could ask him what he was intimating, her attention was drawn to a note tucked under her windshield wiper.
“Phooey!” She’d spoken out loud. The note was from Ron Coleman, telling her to return to Sally's without him. He had “business” to attend to and would call her soon. She left Scooter talking to her back as she dejectedly slid into the Volkswagen and headed home alone.
The bells on the diner door jarred her out of her revelry. Scotty and Cadlin were walking in, eyeing her like two pole cats who’d swallowed more than just canaries.
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