by Denise Carbo
“Must be good then.”
I peek at him to judge if he’s being sarcastic or sincere. He smiles at me when he catches my gaze. Granted, it’s not an Oscar or anything, but people around here aren’t exactly known for trying new things, they tend to stick with what works and not rock the boat. There had been plenty of concerned warnings I would fail, my own family’s included.
“I guess you will have to try it yourself and see.”
“I’m going for a run, so I’ll stick with a black coffee and one of those bagels with everything on it, but I’ll take a couple of the muffins for later.”
That explains the outfit. The women of Granite Cove are likely to adjust their schedules to get a peek or two at him running. I can just see tomorrow’s headlines now. “Woman causes an accident watching local celebrity instead of the road.”
“Do you want the bagel toasted with cream cheese?”
“Yeah, do you have chive cream cheese?”
“Yes.”
Sally moves behind me to get his coffee while I grab his bagel from one of the baskets on the wall holding the assortments of baked breads.
I glance in his direction and away and run my tongue along the inside of my teeth.
I need to finish his order. “What muffins do you want?”
“Blueberry.”
I bag two muffins while Sally takes the bagel to toast and put cream cheese on it.
“Do you work until closing?”
“Yup. If the bakery is open, I’m here.” Even when it’s not, I’m often here.
“Here you go.” Sally hands him the bagel and coffee while I step to the side and wipe down the already clean counter.
I sense his gaze on me, but I refuse to look up.
So much for my plan. So much for being able to avoid Mitch. He’s living right upstairs and will likely be frequenting the bakery.
“See you later, Franny.”
I raise my hand in a feeble wave and dash to the kitchen when he opens the door to leave.
Slapping my hands down on the marble counter, I stare at the lake. Gasps of air tighten my chest and throat. Tears fill and overflow my eyes and the view of the lake grows blurry.
What the hell am I going to do now?
My dream is dead and buried.
There’s no positive spin I can put on this.
Did he do this on purpose? Is he playing some sort of game? Why would he buy my building? It wasn’t even listed for sale. If it was just for a business decision, wouldn’t any other building do?
Is he trying to ruin my life?
The bastard!
Chapter Four
Setting the alarm and locking the back door behind me, I take a deep breath of fresh air and peek up the back stairs to Mitch’s apartment. I’m forcing myself to call it that now, hoping it will help me get used to the fact that my dream of owning the building and living in the apartment is over. Kind of like when you rip a band aid off instead of peeling it slowly.
There is a plaintive meow and a nudge against my calf. I smile down at the large orange cat. “Mr. Pudding, what are you doing here?”
I glance at my watch and bend down to scratch him behind the ears while he winds in between my legs. Mrs. Roberts will worry if her cat isn’t home for dinnertime.
Mrs. Roberts has to be close to eighty, if not older. I’m not sure of her exact age, she was old when I was a kid and not the old kids believe anyone over the age of thirty to be. I mean the white hair, slow gait, and reverent tone everyone addresses her with kind of old.
Scooping Mr. Pudding up into my arms, I waltz down the alleyway toward her house up the street. It’ll add more time to my walk home, but I’m not in a hurry. I have no plans, unless you count a silent meal with my parents, if they’re home, or a quiet dinner alone.
The cat settles into my arms and starts to purr. I’m beginning to believe he might do this on purpose. It’s not the first time he’s shown up at my door at closing and I’ve carried him home. Are cats cunning enough to orchestrate a free ride? I wouldn’t know since I’ve never owned one myself, or any pet. Animals aren’t allowed in my parents’ house. Mother claims she’s allergic but having never witnessed her even sneeze around an animal, I suspect she simply doesn’t like them.
One more reason to get a place of my own, like I need additional motives.
Using the crosswalk to the left of the bakery, I stroll up the sidewalk to her white Victorian house with the sunny yellow door and wide front porch.
The ping of the doorbell echoes back after I press the button. A moment later, Mrs. Roberts opens the door and smiles when she spots her cat in my arms. Her snow-white hair is in a loose bun on top of her head. Her ankle length plum colored dress is crisply ironed. I don’t recall ever seeing her in pants of any kind. Mr. Pudding leaps from my arms and sashays down the hall to the kitchen reinforcing my opinion he wanted me to carry him home.
“Thank you, Franny. I put out his dinner a few moments ago and it worried me when he didn’t come to the door when I called. Come in. Come in.” She shuffles back and holds the door open. “I still have some of those delightful meringues you brought me last week. Would you like some?”
Meringues aren’t much more than egg whites and sugar. I make a batch every couple of weeks and bring them to her because they’re a favorite of hers and keep well as long as they’re in an airtight container.
“No thank you. How are you Mrs. Roberts?”
“Oh, fine, fine. At my age each day is a blessing when it is routine and pain free.” I follow her to the kitchen.
Mr. Pudding is devouring the food in his dish.
Glancing around the small kitchen, I search for any evidence of a meal for her in preparation. When I don’t spot one, I frown. I’ve seen her freezer packed with frozen dinners before.
Mrs. Roberts rests a hand on top of the stove next to a cherry red tea kettle. “Would you like tea?”
“I’ll get it. Why don’t you have a seat?”
She lowers herself into one of the chairs at the round table. Mr. Pudding jumps into her lap and curls himself into a ball.
Once I fill the tea kettle and set it on the stove to heat, I get her a teacup from the cabinets flanking the window over the sink.
“The meringues are in that cabinet there.”
I open the cabinet she points to, and locate the familiar white ceramic hinged jar she keeps the cookies in. There are a few boxes of pasta in the cabinet nestled in among various jars and boxes.
“How about I whip you up spaghetti for dinner?”
Her eyes perk up and she smiles. “Only if you will join me dear. I was planning on having one of those Salisbury steak dinners from the freezer, but spaghetti sounds so much more appealing.”
“I’d love to.” I putter about, grabbing a pot and other ingredients to prepare a meal for the two of us. I know where most items are from previous visits.
She doesn’t have any family nearby, at least none she’s ever mentioned, or I’ve seen.
Once the steam blows from the tea kettle, I pour the hot water over a tea bag and place her cup on the table.
“Agatha and Steven are having a baby.”
“That’s exciting.” I’ve only spoken to the couple who rent the apartment upstairs in passing. They’re both in their late twenties, not too much older than me. A baby. Wow, I can’t even contemplate the thought of having a child yet. Of course, first I would need someone in my life to father that baby.
“Yes, Agatha showed me this black and white picture with squiggles all over it and said it was a picture of the baby inside her womb. I didn’t tell her I couldn’t see a baby.”
Chuckling, I add the pasta to the boiling water.
“I think it will be awhile before it looks like a baby. When is she due?”
“Some time in the winter, I suspect. They didn’t mention any plans to leave, but I’m not sure how much longer they’ll want to stay now they’re starting a family.”
I glance ov
er my shoulder and peruse her expression to see if she’s worried about them moving out and leaving her without a tenant and the help and companionship I’m sure she’s grown accustomed to. They’re the third tenants she’s had since I started coming here.
She pats her sleeping cat while staring out the window over the sink.
I gather the olive oil, herbs, and a can of tomatoes I find to make a quick topping for the spaghetti. I’m sure she’ll be able to find another tenant if they do move out. Her house is part of the village and prime real estate.
Her house is steps from my bakery. I could rent the apartment now that my plans are kaput.
“Well if they do move out, you could rent it to me.”
I keep my back to her and hold my breath during the momentary silence. I whisk the ingredients together and wait for her response.
“What happened to your plans to buy your bakery’s building?”
Mrs. Roberts is the only one I’ve confided in about my dream to own the building and move into the apartment.
“Mr. Brick sold it to someone else.”
“That weasel!”
A bark of laughter escapes me, and I glance at her. She’s scowling and Mr. Pudding raises his head as if to see what disturbed his mistress.
“I agree, but there’s nothing I can do about it, so I need to make new plans.” Thankful she doesn’t chastise me over not having an agreement in writing to purchase the building, I stir the spaghetti and grab two bowls to serve it in once it’s ready.
“What do the new owners plan to do with it?”
“He said it was just business, whatever that means. He said he’s not raising the rent or changing my lease, but he’s living in the apartment.”
“You’ve talked to the new owner?”
“Yes, Mitch Atwater bought it.”
Not sure whether she knows who he is, I peek over at her while I grab two forks from the drawer.
“I heard he was back in town. Daisy Howard chewed my ear off about him the last time I stopped into the store to get my groceries.”
After draining the spaghetti and mixing in the sauce, I put a serving in each bowl and carry them to the table.
“How do you feel about him being back?”
I plop into the chair and stare at her. What does she know?
“Pop those eyes of yours back into your head missy. I may be old, but I’m not blind or feeble minded. I know you two have a history.”
“History is all it is. It was a long time ago and he means nothing to me now.”
After I’d calmed down and could think rationally, I realized how unlikely it was that Mitch had hatched an evil plot to ruin my life. I doubt I even crossed his mind when he decided to come back to Granite Cove. I might have been a slight blip of a memory but nothing more.
The pungent olive oil and tender pasta slide down my throat as the rich scent of parmesan fills my nostrils. I sense her gaze on me, but I concentrate on my food. Hopefully she’ll drop the conversation.
“Did I ever tell you about my late husband?”
I pause with a forkful of pasta hovering over my dish. I knew she was a widow, but that was it. “No.”
She leans back against her chair with a sigh. “He was a charmer. I had stars in my eyes from the first day I met him. He was several years younger than me. Quite scandalous in those days.”
A smile teases my lips imagining her young and in love.
“My parents were both long gone by then. They left me this house.” She gazes out the window, but I think it’s the past she really sees.
She waves her hand in the air. “We were married within months. I had been well on my way to becoming a spinster so I saw no point in waiting. He was a travelling salesman and would be gone weeks, and sometimes months at a time.”
“You must have been lonely.”
“I was.” She nods. “I was, but I was also used to being alone. I liked to say he had a wandering soul.”
Leaning forward, she raises her eyebrows and frowns. “It sounded more romantic. The truth is he liked to have this as a base to come back to when he was tired. I would be waiting here with open arms every time. He would stay awhile, but that itch would get him and he would be gone again.”
She takes a tissue from its place tucked in her sleeve and dabs at her nose. “Some men aren’t born to stay in one place for long. Things might have been different if we were able to have kids, but it wasn’t meant to be. Looking back, it was probably for the best.”
Because he travelled so much? Wouldn’t a child have been a comfort to her being left alone so much?
A long drawn out sigh escapes her. She raises her chin and turns her gaze back to me. “He was a thief.”
My eyes just about pop out of my head.
She nods and wipes a finger along the edge of the table.
“What do you mean?” Does she mean metaphorically, like he stole her heart?
“Exactly what I said, he was a thief. When he was away, he was stealing and robbing. Oh he still sold things from time to time to keep up appearances, but his real profession was crime.”
Wow!
I can’t think of a single thing to say. Mrs. Roberts was married to a thief. Did she know all along? No, I can’t believe that. She wouldn’t condone something illegal. Although people did things for love they wouldn’t normally do all the time.
“I got suspicious when his clothes kept getting fancier and he started bringing me jewelry. I thought maybe his sales must have picked up, but he was always complaining how bad they were. So I did a little snooping in his briefcase and suitcase. I checked his jacket pockets. There were receipts from places different from where he was supposed to be. At first I thought it was a sign he was unfaithful.”
“That must have been so awful for you.”
“It was. I thought my heart would break into a million tiny pieces and never heal again. But then I got mad.”
“Understandable. You felt betrayed.”
“Oh, I was. I kept digging. He was unfaithful. I found notes from other women, but I also found newspaper articles.”
She folds her hands over her stomach and nods. “The fool kept clippings of his crimes. I compared the receipts and the newspapers. They all matched.”
“What did you do? Did you confront him? Was he caught?”
I would have heard about this if he was, wouldn’t I? I mean she’s been a widow for as long as I’ve known her, and this may have all happened before I was even born, but surely someone would have mentioned Mrs. Robert’s husband was a criminal if they knew.
“Yes, he was caught, but no, I didn’t confront him. I was too afraid. He wasn’t the man I thought he was. Fear kept me silent. Fear and shame. Shame I didn’t really know who he was or what he was capable of. Shame that I let him fool me.”
“I don’t blame you a bit for being scared, but you shouldn’t feel ashamed. He was the criminal, not you.”
She smiles wanly.
“So he got caught?”
“Oh yes, he went to prison They arrested him out in California.”
He must have died in prison. What a story. Does no one know what happened to Mr. Roberts since he was arrested so far away? It wasn’t like the internet age back then when everyone knows everything about you because they can look it up online. I’ve been visiting her for over ten years and had no idea.
“I’m telling you this story for a reason, child. To make sure you understand you always have choices even when you believe you don’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t let fear blind you to all the options which might present themselves. There’s always a path to take. It might not be the one you were hoping for, but it will still get the job done. After all, it’s the end result that matters.”
Umm…okay. Is she trying to tell me staying at my parents’ house might not be a terrible thing? Because it most definitely is.
Or perhaps she means I need to find another solution.
“
Charming men can hide a black heart.”
Woah, is she talking about Mitch?
“If you mean Mitch, I told you he’s in my past, not my future.”
“I don’t know what that young man is up to. I only want you to be careful and not be blinded by his good looks and charisma.”
“No worries there, Mrs. Roberts. I am totally focused on my bakery and finding a new place to live.” I bring the dishes over to the sink, rinse them out, and set them in the dishwasher. Leaning back against the counter, I fold my arms across my waist.
“Which brings me back to finding a solution to your problem.”
Is she going to offer me the apartment? It’s not a bad solution. It’s convenient. I’ve never seen it, but at this point I’m not in a position to be too picky.
“Do you know why my husband went to prison in California?”
“Uh, no. I assumed because that is where he was arrested.”
“Yes, but there were plenty of other states he committed crimes in. Right here in New Hampshire for one.”
She leverages herself up using the table. “No my dear, he was arrested there because I wanted him as far away from me as possible.”
“I don’t understand.” I doubt the justice system would take the wife of a criminal’s preferences into account.
“I didn’t have the gumption to confront him personally, but I couldn’t tolerate letting his foul deeds go unpunished. Nor did I want anyone to know about my shame. So I gathered together all the evidence I could detailing his crimes in California and sent them anonymously to a police station there.”
She walks over and rests a hand on my shoulder. “I found an option I could live with.”
Chapter Five
“It needs work, but it’s on the lower end of your budget.”
Needs work? A massive understatement.
I stuff my hands in the front pockets of my shorts and lean to the side to look underneath the counter. A layer of grime coats everything. It’s an old diner with a standard setup of a long counter with stools, booths lining the outer perimeter, and there’s a pass-through to the kitchen accessed by a swinging door on the right.