“Does your family know about your wedding plans?” Ivy asked.
Phoebe looked away and a faint red flush crept into her cheeks. “No. Cody’s kind of my secret.”
“Why is that?”
“Well…” Phoebe fiddled with the fringe of her scarf. “They’ve never met him. So they’d never approve.”
“Oh.” Ivy wondered if she should pry into her new friend’s personal life.
“How did you meet him?”
The younger woman perked back up again. “Online! He friended me, and liked a bunch of my pictures, and we started talking and he just … gets me. You know? He’s not like any of the guys around here. All they care about is ball games and fishing and hunting. But Cody, he cares about big, important stuff. And he’s serving our country!” She smiled shyly. “You want to see his picture?”
“Of course!”
Phoebe took out her phone and began scrolling through her camera roll. She thrust the phone at Ivy. “Isn’t he cute?”
Ivy studied the photos. Cody the Ranger was, indeed, cute. The photos showed a muscular twentysomething, grinning into the camera, looking like an Army recruitment poster in his fatigues, or standing, bare chested, flexing his six-pack abs and considerable biceps. There were photos of Cody in his dress uniform, with a chest full of medals, and pictures of Cody cutting up in a bar with beers and buddies.
The thing that struck Ivy was that Cody looked too good to be true.
“So you two have never met in real life? Not even on FaceTime or Skype?”
“He can’t do that kind of stuff, because he’s in a high-security location with sketchy Wi-Fi and they have strict regulations about FaceTime kinds of stuff. But we email and text and talk on a secure phone as often as we can.”
“How long have you two known each other?” Ivy asked.
“In real time, about eight months. My mama and daddy only knew each other for three months before they got married and they were married twenty-five years!”
“Oh.…” Ivy let the word hang there and Phoebe immediately picked up on her reaction.
“I can tell you don’t approve. You probably think Cody’s one of those online scammers, right?”
“It did occur to me,” Ivy admitted.
Phoebe loosened the scarf around her neck and pulled a thin gold chain from beneath the collar of her blouse. A heavy gold signet ring hung from it. Phoebe kissed the ring, then tucked it back under her neckline.
“That’s Cody’s class ring,” she said proudly. “Trolls don’t send rings to girls. And they don’t send flowers every month on the tenth, because that’s our date-a-versary.”
“No, they probably don’t,” Ivy said. “He sends you flowers? So nice!”
“Daisies. Because he knows they’re my favorite. I mentioned it when we first started dating and he remembered. He remembers everything.”
“Cody sounds like a sweet, thoughtful man,” Ivy said.
“He’s awesome,” Phoebe agreed, beaming. She glanced at the phone she was still holding in her hand. “Oops! I’d better get back to work. But I meant to ask, how is it going with your search for Carlette and Everett?”
“I’ve been so busy with the house, I haven’t really had time to do more research,” Ivy said. “But I did find a whole trunk full of Santa Bob’s old letters and files, so I’m going to look through all that stuff to see if I can find any clues.”
“Let me know if you discover anything,” Phoebe said. “Mom would love to find out what happened to her old friend.”
“I just had a thought,” Ivy said. “Can you call her and ask what her address was when she lived across the street from Carlette’s family?”
“I don’t have to ask her; I know it by heart. Seven-oh-two Spruce Street. Mom used to ride me past her childhood home all the time and point it out. I don’t think anyone has lived there in a long time, though. Why do you ask?”
“Your mother said someone in Carlette’s family owned the house they were living in while her daddy was overseas. Who knows? Maybe whoever lives there now will know something.”
Phoebe shook her head. “You’re really into this, aren’t you?”
“I guess I am,” Ivy said lightly. “Besides, what else have I got to do? My furniture is stuck down in Florida somewhere, and I’m up here with no heat and no hot water. And no business.”
Chapter 7
Ivy and Punkin walked past the Main Street storefronts, where shopkeepers were just opening their doors for the day. All the streets around the downtown area were named for trees: Oak, Maple, Magnolia, Cedar …
She checked her phone for a map of Tarburton and discovered that Spruce Street was only three blocks east of where she was currently standing.
Ten minutes later, she was standing in front of 702 Spruce. The little white cottage with green-and-white-striped awnings must have been a showplace at one time. But now pickets were missing from the white fence that surrounded the lot. The overgrown foundation plantings towered over the roofline. And the awnings themselves were so ragged and sagging it looked like the house was frowning.
The house directly across the street, 705, was a tidy redbrick ranch. White-painted rocks interspersed with miniature American flags surrounded neatly trimmed beds of shrubbery. An aging Chevy was parked in the driveway and there was a wreath with a jaunty red, white, and blue–striped bow hanging on the front door.
Punkin sat obediently on the front stoop while Ivy rang the doorbell. Nothing. She waited a full minute and then rang again. Punkin looked up expectantly.
“One more time?” she asked.
The dog’s tail wagged agreement. “If you insist,” Ivy said. Her finger was poised over the bell when a man’s voice called out from inside, “Hold your horses! I’m coming!”
Finally, the door opened a few inches. The security chain was engaged, and a pair of pale blue eyes glared at her from behind thick-lensed wire-rimmed glasses.
“Whatever you’re selling, we don’t want any,” the man said.
“I’m not selling anything,” Ivy said. “I’m sorry for disturbing you but—”
“Name?” the man demanded.
“Huh?” Ivy was taken aback. “Uh, I’m Ivy Perkins, and this is my dog, Punkin.”
“Punkin Perkins?” The old man’s thin lips cracked a smile. “That’s a good one. I love a good alliteration. What do you want with me, Ivy Perkins?”
“Just some information.” Ivy hadn’t really planned her line of questioning because she hadn’t really expected anyone to answer the door.
“Is this a poll? Because I don’t discuss my politics or my religion. Not with anybody.” He started to close the door.
“No, sir,” Ivy said quickly. “I’m looking for information about a family that lived here a really long time ago. I think it would have been during the late nineteen-sixties or early seventies.”
The old man’s expression softened. He slid the chain aside and opened the door. “Maybe you’d better come inside and explain yourself, Miss Perkins.”