Dovetail(31)

Calling the operator, he asked for the number of a restaurant in Pullman, Wisconsin. “I’m sorry, but I can’t remember the name of it,” he said. “The something family restaurant maybe?” Kathleen loved those kinds of eateries—little hole-in-the-wall places, family-owned and operated. If it had the words Family Restaurant or Diner in the name, she was sure to want to eat there. He himself never enjoyed eating in greasy spoons, but he begrudgingly had made an exception for her, and only for breakfast, a meal that was hard to mess up. He was willing to make that concession for a meal of eggs and toast, and he knew she was grateful for that. Marriage took compromise, and he was willing to give a little to make her happy.

“The Pine Cone Family Restaurant?” the operator asked.

“That’s the one!”

She gave him the number, and he jotted it down, one step closer to finding his wife. When he called the Pine Cone Family Restaurant, he made up a convoluted story about trying to track down a classmate for an upcoming reunion. “Kathleen Dinsmore. Pretty girl in her twenties. Someone told me she moved to Pullman a few weeks ago. Do you know how I can reach her?”

“Edna Clark’s great-niece? The one who runs Secondhand Heaven now?”

“I guess so. Is her last name Dinsmore?”

“I don’t know, but it’s gotta be her. She’s the only Kathleen who’s new in town.”

“What’s Secondhand Heaven?” In the background, he heard the bell of the cash register and a thunk of the drawer popping open. On the other end of the line, the girl’s voice counted out change and wished someone a good day. “Sorry about that,” she said hurriedly. “Super busy today. Secondhand Heaven is the resale shop here in town. Cute place. You can probably get the phone number from operator assistance. I don’t know it offhand.” And with that, she wrapped up the conversation, and the line went dead.



The decision to pack up and go to Pullman, Wisconsin, came easily to Ricky. He’d called the store first, and when he heard Kathleen’s voice answer, “Secondhand Heaven, how may I help you?” he’d gruffly said, “Sorry, wrong number,” and hung up. He smiled. She was there. He felt smug at having figured it out.

He told his boss his father had a brain tumor, and he’d be gone for at least a month. Luckily, he was well liked at the office and a good salesman, so they were willing to give him the time off. He would have gone with or without their permission, but it was better to keep his options open. He stopped shaving and grew a full beard, a look he’d never had before. It made him look so different, even he was shocked when he caught sight of his reflection.

Within days, he was ready to go. He left his apartment behind, taking only the possessions that would fit in his car. On the way out of town, he emptied his bank account, taking most of the money in fifties and twenties. Cash was king, and so was he.

Ricky had a plan, a good one. He would watch Kathleen and learn about her new life in Pullman, and then, when the time was right, he’d create a dangerous situation in which he could play the hero. She’d have to take him back. He remembered a time in their marriage when her car had broken down in a dicey part of town, and she’d called him from a pay phone, terrified because some teenagers had tried to shake her down for some money. He arranged to meet a tow truck there and found her locked in her car, overjoyed at his arrival. The look on her face made him feel invincible, and the warm feeling had lasted for days. Over the next few days, she’d curled up against him in bed in her sleep, as if he were her security blanket. Remembering all this now made him sure that his plan of action should include some crisis in which he could save her. Women loved that in a man, and Kathleen was no exception.

The closest motel Ricky could find was nearly an hour away from Pullman. That would never do. He had to find something more conveniently located. If nothing else, he could sleep in his car. The important thing was to be close to her.

When he first spotted Kathleen in Pullman, he was shocked to see her wearing a dress with a full skirt. The hemline fell to midcalf. In keeping with what had to be a 1950s theme, she wore short white socks and saddle shoes. Her hair, longer than he remembered, was pulled back into a high ponytail, a style he didn’t care for at all. That day, he was sure she must be heading out to some costume party after work, but when she was similarly attired the next day, this time in 1940s garb, he figured it must be something to do with the store.

Within the first forty-eight hours, he’d figured out where she lived and her basic work schedule. Another woman worked at the store as well, a tomboyish sort who was always on the move, from what he could see through the front window. Asking around town, he learned that Kathleen’s great-aunt Edna had left her both the store and a house. Ricky had never heard of Edna Clark, so it was puzzling that Kathleen would inherit the whole shebang, but who knew why old people did what they did? Most of them were senile anyway.

One evening when Kathleen had taken off in her car and he hadn’t been able to follow, he made good use of the time by going to her house. He was on her porch, peering through the window next to the front door, when her busybody neighbor startled him by coming up from behind. “Can I help you, sir?”

Ricky, looking down on her from the stoop, turned and gave her a wide smile. He raised his sunglasses and perched them on top of his head. “Well, hello there.” He proceeded to turn on the charm, something that worked on women old and young alike, and he could tell by the way the old woman’s hand flew to her hair that it had the same effect now. “Maybe you can help me,” he said, his voice a purr. Women loved to help; that was a fact. “I need a place to stay, and there don’t seem to be any hotels around here. Someone told me that Edna Clark might want to rent out a room?”