by Sarah Fox
“Ah . . . Yes, it is,” he said, as if he hadn’t noticed that was the case until she’d mentioned it.
He too had his hands deep in his coat pockets, and I detected an antsy energy from him, as if he were in a hurry and didn’t want to be held up.
“But you’re clearly on your way somewhere,” I said, doing my best to sound polite, “so we won’t keep you.”
Shontelle shot a look my way, but I stepped aside to make room for the brewery owner to carry on down the sidewalk. As I moved closer to the curb, a flicker of orange light drew my attention. I gasped and grabbed for the nearest arm.
“Fire!” I managed to exclaim, using my free hand to point westward.
“What? Where?” Shontelle hurried to my side so she could see the flames.
Realizing that it was Grayson’s arm I’d grabbed, I quickly released it. As soon as he saw the dancing flames, he broke into a run, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket. Shontelle and I took off after him, hampered by our high heels, but still managing a good clip. When we turned left at the end of the street, we pulled up short, stunned by the sight before us, despite knowing that we were heading for a fire.
On the side street leading away from the village green, the fire was hungrily consuming a building housing two storefronts, flames bursting up through the roof, and dark, acrid smoke billowing out into the cold air. Sirens wailed from somewhere nearby, and a fire truck rounded the corner a second later, its lights flashing, adding to the bright and wavering glow of the raging fire.
As the firefighters jumped down from the truck, the remaining section of the roof collapsed with a booming crash and a frenzy of sparks and flames. There was no doubt that the building was a total loss. The question was, how much more of the town would go down with it?
Chapter 3
We stayed well back from the scene, watching the fire crew battle the blaze. A second truck had arrived right after the first, doubling the number of firefighters on hand. As the minutes passed, more townsfolk poked their heads out of their windows and gathered on the street, clustering together to watch the dramatic sight of the burning building.
“At least no one should have been inside at this time of night,” a familiar voice said, and I realized that Grayson had returned to my side at some point.
What he said was true. As far as I knew, there were no living quarters above the antiques shop, and the store would have closed hours ago. The second unit of the building was empty, and had been as long as I’d been in Shady Creek.
Rhonda Hogarth and Harvey Jelinek joined the growing crowd of onlookers, craning their necks to get a better look at the fire.
“Does Barry know this is happening?” Harvey asked the crowd in general, referring to the proprietor of the burning store. “What about Frank Fournier?” He turned to Rhonda. “Doesn’t he own the building?”
“He does,” Rhonda replied. She worked as a secretary for Fournier Real Estate and Developments.
“I called Barry,” a man spoke up. “It took three tries before he picked up, but he’s on his way now.”
“I’ll try to get in touch with Mr. Fournier,” Rhonda said, pulling out her cell phone and detaching herself from the crowd.
“It looks like the fire won’t spread to the neighboring buildings.”
It took a second for me to realize that Grayson was talking to me.
“That’s a relief.” I put the sleeve of my coat over my nose and mouth as a cloud of smoke billowed in our direction.
My eyes watered, but I could see well enough to tell that Grayson was right. It looked as though the fire crew now had the blaze under control.
Shontelle put a hand on my arm as I lowered my sleeve from my face. “I need to get home.”
I gave her a quick hug. “Say hi to your mom for me?”
“I will.” She shifted her attention to Grayson. “Good night, Mr. Blake.”
“Please, call me Grayson,” he said to her. “And good night.”
Shontelle flashed him a smile and managed to elbow me in the ribs as she set off for home. I frowned and kept my eyes on the dwindling fire. I knew Shontelle thought I should make the most of having an attractive man standing next to me, but I couldn’t bring myself to share her opinion of him. Although, to be fair, he didn’t seem grumpy at the moment, and even standing there in the shadows he looked awfully good.
I was wearing heels, but he still had a couple of inches of height on me, and his thick brown hair was stylishly tousled. The emergency lights highlighted the strong planes of his face in flashes of red between moments of deep shadow, and a day or two’s worth of stubble covered his jaw. He had the collar of his black wool coat turned up against the chilly air, and while I couldn’t see their color at the moment, his blue eyes remained fixed on the decreasing fire.
Maybe, for some reason I couldn’t pinpoint, we’d simply started off on the wrong foot. I’d only been friends with Shontelle for three months, but I had no reason to think she wasn’t a good judge of character. And it wasn’t as if I hadn’t been wrong about men in the past. Eric was a prime example of that.
Thinking of Eric reminded me that he could still be waiting for me at the pub. I knew I should get it over with and go see if he was there, but my feet remained rooted to the spot. If he’d waited this long, I figured he could wait a few minutes more.
I glanced at the man beside me and decided to give him another chance. Not that I was interested in having anything beyond a business relationship with him. But it would be nice if we could at least get along.
“How are things at the brewery?” I asked him.
Without taking his eyes off the smoking wreck of the destroyed building, he frowned. “Fine, thank you.” His words had a chill to rival the autumn night air, and the set of his jaw was anything but relaxed now.
I bristled. “Heavy on the bitter and short on the sweet.”
The words came out before I could stop them. My mother had told me countless times throughout my life to think more before speaking, but at age thirty that was something I’d yet to master.
Slowly, Grayson turned his eyes my way. Now the flickers of red light and shadows crossing his face seemed more sinister than anything else.
“Are you insulting the quality of my beer?” The chill in his voice had deepened, but it wasn’t nearly enough to cool the heat of my temper.
“Not at all,” I said with seething politeness. “That was directed at you yourself.”
I spun on my three-inch heel and marched away with my head held high.
It wasn’t until I’d passed Aunt Gilda’s hair salon that my fuming dwindled to a simmer, and that had less to do with any diminishment of my annoyance with Grayson Blake than with the thought that I could be moments away from coming face-to-face with my ex, someone I’d never expected—and certainly never hoped—to see here in Shady Creek, Vermont.
The farther I got from the fire, the quieter the night became around me. By the time I crossed the footbridge leading to the old mill, all I could hear was the gurgling of the creek passing beneath me. The light was still on over the front door of the pub, and I was relieved to see that no one waited for me in the pool of light. I tested the door and found it locked, as it should have been at that hour.
I rummaged around in my purse for my keys and opened the door, slipping inside and locking it behind me. Damien had left the light on over the bar at the far end of the room, giving me enough light to see by as I wound my way around the tables. Everything looked as it should, and no shadowy figures lurked in the dark corners. Not that I would have expected Mel or Damien to allow Eric to wait for me in the pub after hours and unsupervised. Still, I let out a sigh of relief as I switched off the light over the bar and climbed the creaking staircase to my apartment.
It was probably too much to hope that Eric had given up and gone home to Boston, but at least I wouldn’t have to face him that night. Sure, it would have been best to get our conversation over with, but that didn’t mean I wa
s unhappy to put it off until morning.
Inside my apartment, I switched on the light, shed my coat, and dropped my purse on the couch. Wimsey was curled up on the nearby armchair, blinking sleepily at me with his blue eyes.
“Did you miss me, bud?” I asked, picking him up and pressing my cheek against his soft fur.
He purred for a second or two, but then placed one paw on my nose, pushing my face away. He wasn’t much into cuddling, although he did humor me on occasion.
I set him on the chair, and he hopped down a moment later, following me across the wide plank floors to the kitchen, where he sat next to his empty food dish and let out a pointed meow. Obediently, I poured a few kitty treats into his dish and set out fresh water for him before heading to the bedroom, where I pulled off my dress—now covered in long white cat hairs.
Once in my pajamas, with my face washed and my teeth brushed, I climbed into bed. Wimsey had followed me into the bedroom, and now curled up at my feet.
“I wish you could explain men to me, Wimsey,” I said as I fluffed up my pillows, “because I’m not sure I’ll ever understand them.”
Wimsey ignored me, crossing his front paws before resting his chin on them, his eyes closing.
With a sigh, I resigned myself to not being able to unravel the mystery of the male of the species, at least not that night. Switching off the bedside lamp, I hoped I could at least enjoy a few hours of peace before I had to face Eric.
* * *
I wasn’t much of a morning person at the best of times, and knowing I had something unpleasant to face only made me all the more reluctant to leave the coziness and warmth of my bed the next day. A certain someone with blue eyes and a cute pink nose wasn’t about to let me laze about for long, though. I had the side of my face smooshed against my pillow, my quilt pulled up to my chin, when I felt four little paws walk their way up my leg and over my rib cage. One of those paws then went tap-tap-tap against my shoulder. When I cracked my eyes open, Wimsey’s blue ones stared back at me.
Groaning, I closed my eyes again. “Five more minutes.”
Wimsey gave my shoulder another tap, this time adding an insistent meow.
I knew from plenty of experience that this was a battle I had no hope of winning. Accepting the defeat that was staring me right in the eyes, I gave Wimsey a scratch on the head, getting a rumbling purr as a reward. With much yawning and stretching, I managed to stumble into the kitchen in my pajamas, doling out Wimsey’s breakfast as he brushed up against my legs, his motor going full tilt.
Once His Lordship was eating happily, I continued my morning routine with a quick shower while my coffee brewed and my bread toasted. Wrapped in a bathrobe, my hair still damp, I stood in front of my open closet. My first instinct had been to grab jeans and a sweater, but I hesitated, wondering if I should dress up a bit.
I quickly nixed that idea. I didn’t need to prove anything to Eric when I saw him. I didn’t need to go out of my way to make myself or my new life seem shiny and fabulous. My life in Shady Creek was fabulous, but that was beside the point. Sadie Coleman on a typical morning in small town Vermont was the Sadie Coleman Eric would get to see.
Hopefully for a very limited time.
After I’d dressed in jeans, a white V-neck tee, and a long and cozy gray knit cardigan, I allowed myself some time to indulge in my first cup of coffee of the day and some reading time. Engrossed in the latest Temperance Brennan mystery by Kathy Reichs, I sipped at my hot drink and nibbled on a piece of toast.
When I’d finished a chapter, I forced myself to stick a bookmark between the pages and close the book. As much as I would have liked to allow myself a second cup of coffee and more reading time, I knew I couldn’t procrastinate all day. I spent a few minutes drying my hair and putting on a touch of makeup, but soon after that, I was on my way out the door, pausing to kiss the top of Wimsey’s silky head as he settled into the armchair next to the woodstove.
Instead of going out the back door of the old mill, I passed through the pub to go out the front way. I pushed open the red door, half-expecting to find Eric hanging around outside, but only some birdsong and a light breeze greeted me.
Now that morning had arrived, I wanted to get our encounter out of the way so we could both move on with our lives. But I didn’t know if Eric was staying at one of the town’s B&Bs or at the small inn up the road, and I wasn’t about to waste my time tracking him down. I had other plans for the morning, and I was going to stick to them. I’d drive out to the pumpkin patch, load up the trunk of my car with pumpkins and decorative gourds, and return for a spot of decorating and catapult construction before the pub opened in the afternoon.
Across the bridge, I followed the gravel footpath that led past one of the colorful maple trees to the small parking lot at the edge of the mill property. The town didn’t allow parking on the streets around the village green, so I kept my aging white Honda in the same lot where any customers arriving by car had to leave theirs. With the pub currently closed, my vehicle was the only one in the lot, and as soon as I caught sight of it, I knew something was wrong.
“What the Charles Dickens?”
I broke into a run, not wanting to believe my eyes, but when I arrived at my car, there was no denying what I saw. Sometime during the night, someone had slashed all four of my tires. My Honda sat low on the ground, useless.
My temper flaring, I let out a loud, “Argh!”
A crow flapped out of the nearest tree, quickly retreating.
I made one circuit around my car, and then another, but no matter how much I fumed or how much I stared at the tires, they remained slashed. So much for my trip to the pumpkin patch.
Still fuming, I stormed my way back along the footpath.
Who would have done such a thing? Eric?
Why would he drive all the way to Shady Creek just to slash my tires? Or was it because I didn’t talk to him last night?
I nixed that theory. Despite his faults, this wasn’t Eric’s style. Maybe it was teenagers having a laugh, or someone who’d targeted me specifically.
I couldn’t think of anyone who would do the latter, except . . .
Could Grayson Blake’s dislike of me run so deep that he’d vandalize my car?
It seemed like such a vicious prank, and while the brewery owner was far from my favorite person, I never would have guessed that he’d stoop that low. But unless it was a random act of mischief, I couldn’t think of any other suspects aside from Grayson.
Before I knew what I was doing, I was marching straight past the pub and down the road to the driveway that led up the wooded hillside to the Spirit Hill Brewery. There was one way to find out if Grayson Blake was responsible, and that was to confront him directly. I wasn’t afraid to give him a piece of my mind if he deserved it.
I’d almost reached the foot of the driveway when I realized I wouldn’t have to go all the way up to the brewery. Grayson was on his way down the driveway on foot, a white German shepherd trotting along with him. The dog couldn’t have been very old. He still had a puppy’s lankiness about him, and his ears looked far too big for him. The effect was ridiculously cute. Almost cute enough to distract me from my ire, but not quite.
I confronted Grayson as soon as he reached the road. “Did you slash my tires?”
“Did I what?” he asked, sounding baffled.
“Slash my tires,” I repeated, enunciating the words.
He stared at me like I’d suddenly grown a second head. “Why would I do that?”
“Maybe because you have a problem with me being in Shady Creek?”
“That’s not what I have a problem with.” His gaze moved away from me, following his dog as it disappeared down the embankment toward the creek, its nose to the ground. “Bowie!” he called out, but the puppy didn’t reappear.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “So you’re saying you didn’t slash my tires?”
His blue eyes returned to me. “No, I didn’t. I’m not some punk. But if you
need the number for a tow truck, I know—” A volley of loud barks interrupted him. “Bowie!” he called toward the creek, but once again the dog ignored him.
Grayson left the side of the road, heading toward the creek, and I followed after him. When he crested the highest point of the embankment, he halted and called out to his dog again, his voice urgent and commanding this time. I caught up to him as Bowie came bounding up the bank. Instead of my gaze following the puppy, it locked on something down by the creek.
A man lay sprawled on his back at the water’s edge, unmoving on a bed of mud and wet leaves. Even from where I stood, I had no trouble recognizing him.
It was Eric. And the front of his shirt was stained with blood.
Chapter 4
I let out an involuntary, strangled cry and took a step forward. Grayson’s hand closed around my wrist, halting me.
“Stay here.”
Under other circumstances, I might have been irritated by his command, but I was too dazed to argue, and I wasn’t sure if I would have been able to make it down the embankment anyway. My legs had gone all weak and shaky, making it a challenge just to stay on my feet. Maybe Grayson noticed that because he nodded toward a tree stump near the foot of his driveway.
“Why don’t you go sit down?”
“But Eric . . .” My eyes zeroed in on his bloody shirt and his gray face. “He needs help.”
“You know him?” Grayson asked with surprise.
I could only nod in response.
Grayson rested a hand on my upper back and gently turned me away from Eric’s body. “It looks like he’s been dead for a while now. I’ll call the police.”
I wanted to protest again, to argue that there could still be a chance to save Eric, but I couldn’t get the words out. I knew they weren’t true.
“Sit down,” he said once we reached the stump.
“I’m not going to faint,” I grumbled, but I sat anyway. I didn’t want to prove myself wrong, and my legs weren’t going to support me much longer.