Chapter 42
As she headed out of the store, she felt something catch hold of her and reel her back, like a fish on a hook. The fisherman, Gloria Ledieu, leered at her with her painted clown face.
“Ingrid White.” Gloria now had a grip on Ingrid’s other arm, imprisoning her. “Honey. I’m so glad we ran into you. You know we saw you in church last week. You should’ve told us you were coming. We would’ve saved you a seat.”
Ingrid’s nose detected sickly-sweet perfume. She tried not to physically recoil.
“We like the eight-thirty. That way we can beat the crowds to brunch. Were you at the early service?”
“No. Not this week. I was just …” She gestured limply at the bookstore. She wished she was still hidden between the stacks, in the dim quietude of the books, ignored by everyone around her.
“Well, praise the Lord anyway, is all I have to say.” Gloria said, then looked sharply at Harmon, her husband, a teddy bear of a man squeezed into a summer seersucker suit with a tie so tight it was causing him to tug at his collar and contort his neck in order to get a proper lungful of air.
“Praise the Lord,” Harmon echoed wheezily and looked at his watch.
“We’ve been praying for you, you know.” Gloria’s aquamarine-blue-lined eyes searched hers.
Ingrid set her teeth. “You mentioned that. Several times.” She had that automatic Southern-bred instinct to add thanks, but clamped her mouth shut. She didn’t have to be polite. She didn’t owe this woman anything.
“It must’ve been so hard to lose your grandmother.
And with Tess run off to Florida, too …” Gloria trailed off, but her eyes had gone watery and were darting around nervously.
“I almost couldn’t bear the idea of you keeping up with that big old house all by yourself.
And carrying on your business. And with nobody to help but that little boy … that friend … of yours.”
Ingrid frowned in surprise. “That’s why you were praying for me? Because I lost my grandmother?”
Gloria looked affronted. “Well, why else, hon?”
Ingrid glanced from Gloria to Harmon, both of them now regarding her with expressions of curiosity. “I don’t know, I guess.”
Gloria sought Harmon’s hand. “After the funeral, I wanted to have you over, but you seem to prefer your space and, listen, hon, I understand. When my mother passed, I was just a wreck. So we left you alone. But I have prayed for you, every day, that you would have some sort of comfort in your loss.”
Ingrid shook her head, a laugh bubbling up in her throat. “I thought you were praying for me because I’m a …” She swallowed.
The skin between Gloria’s penciled-on brows creased.
“… a psychic.”
Gloria barked out a laugh. “Oh, Lord, no. That was before, in the nineties, you know, back when we went to that charismatic church out on Highway 16.” She stretched out a hand to her husband.
“Harmon, tell her. Those folks were very strict about psychics and tarot readers and all that. But they were up there, calling people down to the altar, telling people’s fortunes, too … only they called it prophesying.”
Harmon nodded. “They did say pretty frequently that psychics were an abomination unto the Lord.”
“Harmon.” Gloria shook her head. “I’m sure I probably said something in poor taste to poor old Edie, now that you mention it—”
Harmon chimed in. “Oh, Glo, you definitely said something in poor taste—”
“Anyway”—Gloria spoke over him—“that’s the past. We left that church, and now we’re here with the Lutherans, and we accept all lifestyles and choices and preferences, don’t we, Harm?”
“That we do,” Harmon agreed.
“Even psychics,” Gloria said. “And witches,” she added with a lower, more playful tone of voice. She patted Ingrid’s arm. “You’ll come to lunch with us, won’t you?”
“Oh.” Ingrid was already shaking her head, scrambling for an excuse. “I don’t—”
Gloria wrapped her skinny arms around Ingrid and squeezed. “You can’t say no. I’m not gonna let you. Dean Remington’s asked Harmon and me over for brunch. A whole summer spread. You can ask your boyfriend …”
“Miles. But he’s not my—”
“The more the merrier. Sheffield always has a collection of collectibles over, whenever we go. It’ll be a party.”