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?”
“Oh dear,” she said, her mouth downturned. “I’m not sure who you heard that from, but Edna Clark passed away. Her great-niece is living here now. I can’t imagine a single young woman like her would be interested in renting out a room.”
“Such a shame.” He even managed to blink as if about to cry. “I was willing to pay top dollar. I’m really desperate.” And then he spun a story explaining his urgent need to spend a few days in Pullman. He explained how he’d been driving home from the hospital up north after having had surgery and needed to rest a few days before continuing the trip home. “I thought I could do it,” he said sadly. “But I’m weak as a kitten. I should have listened to the doctor and stayed a few more days to recover, but you know how we men are. Too proud.”
She nodded thoughtfully, her hand resting under her chin. “I might be able to help you,” she said finally, her head tilting in the direction of the house next door. “I have a guest bedroom that’s sitting empty.”
Ricky held back a grin. Sometimes the universe opened up and gave you a gift, and the best thing to do was not grab at it too quickly. “Oh no, I couldn’t impose on you like that.” He put out his hand and said, “I’m Richard, by the way. And you are?”
“Lorraine Whitt.”
He gave her hand a gentle grasp and met her eyes. “I can’t believe I got myself into this mess.” He let go of her hand and clutched his abdomen as if in pain.
“What kind of surgery did you have?”
“Emergency appendectomy. I was lucky. They got it before it burst. Hurt like a son of a gun.” He feigned a small smile.
“Oh, you poor thing.”
“Not listening to doctor’s orders was stupid on my part. I’m so tired now, I could sleep standing up.”
She nodded in sympathy and offered her guest bedroom again, but he demurred, saying he didn’t want to be any trouble. It seemed that the more he held back, the more insistent she was that he stay with her. “Well, maybe for a few days,” he said. “You’re so kind. I can’t thank you enough.”
Within minutes, he’d parked his car inside her garage, taken his suitcase into her house, and given her a stack of cash along with words of gratitude. “If only there were more people like you, the world would be a better place, Mrs. Whitt.”
“It’s actually Miss Whitt,” she said. “I never married.”