Apple Turnover Murder (Hannah Swensen, #13)(72)

“But how can the mayor possibly expect Herb to go two nights without sleep?”

Lisa laughed. “I guess I forgot to tell you. Mayor Bascomb relieved Herb of all his other duties until the city maintenance crew can put up motion lights. They promised him the lights would be up and working by Sunday afternoon. They’re sending a man out there this morning to take photos and measurements. They did the same thing with the road past the apple orchard. They put up motion lights.”

“I wonder where the kids will move next?” Hannah mused. “And I also wonder if Mayor Bascomb owns stock in any motion light company.”

The next two hours passed quickly while Hannah baked. She was about to mix up a batch of Mystery Cookies when Lisa came in from the coffee shop.

“Norman’s here to see you,” she said. “Shall I tell him to come back here to the kitchen?”

“Yes, please,” Hannah said, wondering why Norman hadn’t simply parked in her spot and come in the kitchen door.

It appeared that Norman had been waiting very close to the door for Lisa’s summons, because Lisa left and only a second or two later, he pushed through the door.

“Hi, Norman. Coffee?”

“I’d love some. Thanks. Is it okay if I sit here?”

Hannah nodded when Norman pointed to a stool at the workstation. It was the same stool where he usually sat. Either Norman had suffered some unfortunate memory loss that had erased all recollection of their former relationship, or he was withdrawing again.

“Here you go,” Hannah said, setting his coffee in front of him. “How about a cookie?”

“That would be nice. Whatever you’ve got is fine.”

Hannah placed a Molasses Crackle and a Black and White on a napkin and handed them to Norman. And then, because she was frustrated with what she thought of as a subterfuge, she asked, “What’s wrong, Norman?”

“What do you mean?”

Since he’d dropped his eyes, Hannah could tell he knew exactly what she meant, but she decided to spell it out for him. “Sometimes you’re warm and loving, just like you were before the wedding. But other times, like now, you’re cold and distant. You’re perfectly polite, but you’re treating me like a stranger.”

“Fair enough.” Norman signed deeply. “I’m sorry, Hannah. It’s a personal problem I’m trying to work out. It has nothing to do with you.”

“But it affects me.”

“Yes. It does.” He was silent for a moment and then he gave her a little smile. “Just try to be patient with me. I’ll work it out eventually.”

“And then things will return to normal?”

“I hope so. Just give me a little time, Hannah. That’s all I ask. Will you do that for me”

“Of course,” Hannah said. What else could she say? But she was left with a vague and unsatisfactory answer to what was obviously a big problem. Rather than dwell on it and make both of them miserable, she smiled brightly and asked, “What did you learn from Kyle Williamson? I’ve been on pins and needles, waiting to hear.”

“I learned a lot.” Norman returned her smile. “I like him and I think the feeling’s mutual. At least he really opened up to me. He reminds me of me at that age. A little nerdy, a little bit too non-athletic to be very popular with the girls, and a little too eager to speak up in class when he knows the answer.”

“He sounds like a kid I might like,” Hannah ventured.

“You would. And he’s not really a kid. He’s got a degree in music from Juilliard, but it’s like he says, there’s not much work for a concert pianist who came in fourth in the important competitions and didn’t quite make the concert circuit. You know what I mean?”

“I do know. I thought for a while that I wanted to write poetry. I cared so much and I tried so hard. I put my heart on the page, but I just wasn’t good enough.”

“Do you still have any of your poetry?”

“It’s probably kicking around somewhere in the guest room closet.”

“If you’re willing, I’d like to read it sometime.”

“Maybe sometime,” Hannah said, wondering if that would ever come to pass. She couldn’t help but doubt the depth of their relationship. Right now, at this moment, Norman was his old self. But he could change in an instant to that distant stranger.

“I painted,” Norman said. And then he was silent. Hannah wondered if he were wishing he hadn’t revealed that about himself.

“What did you paint?” she asked.

“Houses.” Norman waited for a beat and then he chuckled. “Gotcha! You’re thinking house painter, right?”

“Yes, I was. But you painted …?”

“Cityscapes mostly. I concentrated on urban architecture. Houses, apartment buildings, landmarks … that type of thing. Mine were a bit different than most because the frame was always a window. And occasionally the perspective was not from the window itself, but from a point across the room from the window.”

Hannah stared at Norman in amazement. She’d seen several paintings of that description in the house Norman had built. She’d assumed they were prints of famous works, or original oils purchased for their investment potential. “The belfry?” she asked referring to the painting she’d noticed hanging in his study.