“Huh?” he asked.
“You really need to get out more,” she said. “If you buy me a cup of coffee, the whole town will be speculating as to whether we’re dating.”
“And why do we care what other people think?” Nate propped his chin on his hand as he studied her. She could tell by the crinkles in the corners of his eyes that he found this conversation amusing.
“Let’s just say that I don’t want to be in Tara Montgomery’s shoes,” Brenna said.
“Why? What’s wrong with her shoes?” he asked. “Broken heel?”
Brenna grinned. He was teasing her by being deliberately obtuse, and it was charming. Still, just because Nate didn’t care what anyone thought of him, didn’t mean Brenna was about to let herself become an overmined vein of gossip for Morse Point.
She’d had more than her share of attention when she’d first arrived in town. She was just beginning to feel accepted, and she wasn’t about to blow it by drawing attention to herself.
“Tara is from Boston,” she explained. “She’s marrying a local man, and the residents are still undecided if this is a good thing or not.”
Nate spun on his chair to look out the window. Tara and Jake were still holding hands as they walked down the sidewalk toward the garage where Jake worked.
Haywood Auto, owned and operated by Jake’s father for the past thirty years, was where everyone in town took their cars. Everyone had a John Haywood story.
Lillian Page, the town librarian and mother of five boys ages two to twelve, had recently raced into Haywood Auto, convinced her minivan was about to blow up because it was making scary knocking noises. Turned out it was marbles in the gas tank. John got the marbles out and only charged her ten dollars because he said it was worth the laugh as she chased the boys around the garage, threatening to send them to their rooms for so long they’d think they were mattresses.
John Haywood was everyone’s favorite mechanic, and his son Jake was following in his father’s footsteps. Or at least he was, until he fell in love with Tara Montgomery.
“I don’t see how it’s anyone’s business,” Nate said. “If they’re happy, people should just butt out.”
“Damn straight,” a gruff voice said from behind them.
Brenna spun around to see Stan, the owner and cook of Stan’s Diner, standing behind them with their lattes. Stan was a beefy, red-faced man, who had retired from the U.S. Navy twenty plus years ago and still looked as if he’d be more comfortable with a rolling deck under his feet instead of solid linoleum flooring. He was an artist in the kitchen, however, and today he had shaped the froth on Brenna’s latte into a five-petal flower sprinkled with nutmeg.
“Thanks, Stan,” she said. He nodded and she realized that the two words he’d just uttered were the most conversation she’d ever gotten out of him.
Stan lumbered away, and Brenna turned back to Nate. “So, tell me, what really brought you into town?”
“You, actually,” he said.
Chapter 2
Brenna felt the hot coffee warm her hand through the thick ceramic mug almost to the point of discomfort, and yet, she didn’t let go. Some months before, she had realized that she had a very unwelcome crush on Nate Williams. Mostly it was unwelcome because she didn’t think he regarded her as anything more than a tenant/friend.
Still, it was physically impossible to ignore the warm flush of hope that filled her at his words. She took a bracing sip of coffee, hoping she had not just given herself a frothy mustache while she waited for him to continue.
“I need to go out of town for a few days,” he said, “and I was wondering if you would mind babysitting Hank?”
Hank was Nate’s exuberant golden retriever. Brenna had a crush on him almost as big as the one she had on Nate.
“I’d love to,” she said, and meant it. If she was disappointed at not being asked out by Nate, which she had known was pretty much out of the realm of possibility, she was buoyed by getting to have Hank for a few days.
“Thanks,” he said. “He worships you, and I’d worry about him if I left him with anyone else.”
“When do you leave?” she asked. She knew that asking where, which was what she really wanted to know, would be too intrusive, so she hoped this was a nice roundabout way of digging for information.
“Tomorrow,” he said.
Okay, so much for the roundabout route.
“I’ll be back on Monday,” he said.
Brenna nodded. Her one bedroom cabin sat across a small inlet from Nate’s. She often sat on her porch in the evening, especially now that the June nights were warm, and watched the sun set across the water. Because Nate seldom went out, his lights were usually on. She realized it was going to be odd to look across the lake and see his cabin dark. At least she’d have Hank for company.
“Thanks, Brenna,” he said. “I owe you one.”
“No problem,” she said. She glanced at her watch. “Is that the time? Ack, I have to go. I have to teach a class.”
She hopped off her stool and fished the money out of her pocket for the coffee, but Nate closed his hand over hers.
“No,” he said. “It’s on me.”
Brenna could feel Marybeth watching them from down the counter. Nate followed her glance and shook his head at her.
“I don’t care what anyone says,” he said. His silver gaze was intent upon hers. “It’s on me.”
“You’re just asking for trouble,” she said but knew there would be no talking him out of it. “Thanks for the coffee. I’ll be home late tonight. Can you bring Hank over before you leave tomorrow?”
“Sure,” he said. “And thanks again.”
“My pleasure,” she said as she hurried toward the door. She refused to wonder about where he was going and why. Really, it was none of her business. And maybe if she told herself that twenty times, she’d believe it. Yeah, right.
Brenna hurried back up the street to Vintage Papers. She had a decoupage class to prep for and she was looking forward to tonight’s project.
The bells jangled on the door as she entered, and Tenley glanced up at her from the worktable in the back.
The table was covered in blue vinyl, and she had already begun to put out the scissors and glue for tonight’s class.
“Did he ask you out?” Tenley asked, looking hopeful.
“No,” Brenna said. She tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice, but Tenley gave her a sympathetic look anyway.
“What did he want then?”
“I’m babysitting Hank for a few days,” Brenna said.
“Oh? Where’s he going?” Tenley asked. She fussed with a box of cutouts, trying to make them look neat.
“I don’t know,” Brenna said. “I didn’t ask.”
Tenley frowned at her. “You’re watching his dog. You’re allowed to ask.”
“It felt nosey,” Brenna said. “If he wanted me to know, he would have told me.”
“If you say so,” Tenley said. “The Porter twins are going to tell everyone that you’re dating, you know.”
“That’s okay,” she said. “He insisted on buying me coffee, so Marybeth DeFalco will probably start telling everyone that I’m expecting his child.”
Tenley laughed out loud, and Brenna shrugged. “I tried to warn him.”
Brenna stored most of her decoupage projects in a large armoire at the back of the shop. On the upper shelves, there were small letter boxes, breakfast trays, a wooden canister set, and a few other small items, all placed strategically for sale by Tenley.
The armoire itself was one of Brenna’s prized pieces. Not that she wouldn’t sell it if the price was right, but she had spent an entire summer working on it and was quite attached to it. Rescued from a secondhand shop in Boston, she had painted it a rich blood red and then used old images of powder-wigged lords and their delicate-waisted ladies to decorate each of the bottom three drawers and the cupboard doors above. It had a decided Louis XIV flavor to it, and though it matched n
othing, Brenna loved it. Tenley loved it, too, and had badgered Brenna until she agreed to let her use it in the shop.
Brenna stashed many of her rare papers in the bottom drawers of the armoire as well as supplies that she gathered for her classes. It was the bottom drawer she opened now as she hefted out a stack of clear glass plates she had purchased at a party rental place that was going out of business. The plates were square in shape with a narrow lip around the edges.
She had checked each plate to make sure it was free of chips or bubbles. These were in mint condition and tonight she was going to use them to teach her students to do decoupage under glass.
She put a plate in front of each chair and then took two plate holders out of the bottom drawer of the armoire. In the second drawer she had two plates that she had already decoupaged and she put them on display one, in each plate holder at the end of each table.
One she had decorated with cutouts of antique keys and then backed with several thick coats of creamy white latex paint. She used this plate as a key holder. The other she had covered in cutouts of old coins from all over the world. When she looked at the top of the clear glass plate, the copper, silver, and gold coins adhered faceup on the bottom of the plate and then painted over in forest green paint made it appear almost as if real coins were scattered across the dish. She ran her fingers across the smooth glass surface, pleased with how well the plate had turned out.
“Those look fantastic,” Tenley said.
“Let’s hope the class thinks so,” Brenna said.
The bells jangled on the front door and the first few students trickled in. The Porter sisters were first, followed by Lillian Page the local librarian and Sarah Buttercomb, who owned the bakery on the corner. Sarah was carrying a pink box full of sugar cookies. She frequently brought leftovers from the bakery, much to the delight of the class.
Margie Haywood came in a few minutes later. She was married to John Haywood and had been the school nurse at Morse Point Elementary for forever and a day. There wasn’t a knee under the age of twenty that she hadn’t stuck a Band-Aid on.
Margie was one of the cornerstones of Morse Point, and as president of the women’s auxiliary, she ran their annual June rummage sale, which raised funds for the community. She was short and gently rounded with close-cropped dark brown hair that was slowly fading to gray. She doled out hugs as easily as others gave hellos, and she was one of Brenna’s favorite students.
With Margie came Tara Montgomery and another woman, who looked to be a slightly older version of Tara. Her features were delicate like Tara’s but had a maturity about them that no amount of cosmetic surgery could erase. She wore her blond hair in a neat blunt cut that ended at her shoulders. Unlike Margie, this woman was not rounded with middle age but rail thin. Her clothes were cut perfectly to fit her narrow frame, and it was easy to see that there were no sales racks in her life. Brenna knew right away she must be Tara’s mother.
The Porter sisters exchanged a look with raised eyebrows, but wisely said nothing. Margie brought Tara and her mother over to Brenna.
“Brenna, I hope you don’t mind, but I thought I’d bring Tara and Tiffany to class tonight to meet some of my friends,” Margie said.
“Not at all,” Brenna said and she shook Tara’s outstretched hand and then Tiffany’s. Both women gave her a solid, warm handshake. There were no cold, limp-wristed women here.
Tara was even prettier close up, with large sky blue eyes and a cute upturned nose. Brenna could see why Jake Haywood had fallen for her.
“Tara is marrying my son Jake,” Margie said. Her eyes were wide when she said it. The engagement was only a week old, so Brenna figured she must still be trying to wrap her brain around gaining a daughter-in-law.
“Congratulations,” Tenley said as she joined them. “And welcome to Morse Point.”
“Thank you,” Tara said with a smile so genuine it was infectious. “It’s such a lovely town. I just know Jake and I are going to be so happy here.”
“Margie, you’re going to have to draft this young lady to help with the rummage sale,” Lillian said. “We’re trying to raise funds for new police cars.”
“Really?” Tara asked. “I’d love to help.”
“Then start going through your closet for donations,” Sarah said. “It’s an excellent excuse to refresh your wardrobe.”
The ladies all laughed.
“That reminds me, Margie, I have a couple of items in the back,” Brenna said. “Can you take a look and tell me if they’re what you’re looking for?”
“Sure,” Margie said and followed Brenna into the workroom.
Brenna had several designer suits she’d worn in her former life, working in an art gallery in Boston, hanging in the break room. She’d brought them in knowing she was going to see Margie. It felt like a bold maneuver to donate them to the rummage sale. As if she were making an official break from her old life and embracing this new one.
“These are exquisite,” Margie said. She ran her hand over a plastic-covered, plum Nicole Miller. “Several steps up from what I’m donating at any rate.”
Margie gestured down at her feet and Brenna saw she was wearing a pair of tan work boots.
“You really want to part with those?” Brenna asked. “They could be pretty spiffy with some hot pink laces.”
Margie smiled but it was rimmed with sadness. “They’re Jake’s. He outgrew them before he even scuffed them. I’ve been using them in the garden, but they’re too good to keep for myself. It seems like just yesterday he and Clue were catching tadpoles in the lake and begging to keep them as pets, and now he’s getting married.”
“Lillian says once you’re a parent the days are long and the years short,” Brenna said. She looped her arm around Margie’s shoulders and led her back out into the main room. “It’ll be all right.”
“Maybe you could donate some of your furs, Mom,” Tara was saying as they rejoined them.
Tiffany gave Tara a weak smile, and Brenna knew she was clearly not as enamored of the thought of her furs in the rummage sale as her daughter.
Brenna glanced over at the Porter sisters. They both looked disapproving and she hoped they didn’t give Tara or her mother a hard time.
“Why don’t you ladies help yourself to some wine and cheese?” Brenna said, and she led the way to the refreshment table. On the way, she leaned close to the Porter sisters and hissed, “Be nice.”
They both gave her wide-eyed innocent looks, and she shook her head. This was going to be a long class.
Tenley brought two chairs from the break room and shifted the places at the table to make room for the Montgomery women, while Brenna grabbed two more clear glass plates from the armoire. Tara oohed and aahed over Brenna’s work and even her mother seemed impressed.
When all of the women were seated, Brenna had them sift through the baskets of paper cutouts until they found enough to use on their plates. She then had them turn their plates upside down and glue the pictures facedown onto the glass.
“That’s a lovely engagement ring, Tara,” Lillian said as she leaned over to grab a bottle of white glue. “It’s very delicate.”
“Thank you,” Tara said. She turned her hand in the light to watch the diamond sparkle. “It was Jake’s grandmother’s.”
Margie gave her a wistful smile. “My mother wore that ring from the day Daddy proposed until the day she died.”
“And I will, too,” Tara said. She clutched her hand to her chest, looking painfully earnest.
Brenna glanced at the ring. A small round diamond was nestled in the center of an ornate gold filigree ring. It looked very Art Deco, which would be about the right time for Jake’s grandmother to have been engaged.
The diamond was not the usual size that someone of Tara’s social standing would normally wear. Brenna glanced at Tiffany’s hand and noticed she wore several diamond rings, all of which dwarfed the petite diamond on Tara’s hand.
Tiffany took Tara’s hand in hers to s
tudy the ring. “It has an old-fashioned charm,” she said. “It’s a lovely starter ring.”
Margie bit her lip, and Brenna couldn’t tell if she was holding back a sharp retort or if it was a reaction to having her feelings hurt.
“Does everyone have their pictures glued on?” Brenna asked, swiftly changing the subject.
Ella Porter was just gluing on her last picture. She wiped the excess glue off of the glass with a damp rag and looked up at the rest of the table.
“Okay, we’re going to let these dry until our next class, and when we come back, we’re going to paint the back of the plate with latex paint. I have several colors here, but you’re welcome to bring your own. When the paint is dry, we will then seal it with polyacrylic to protect it from chipping. So start thinking about what color you want to use for your backing.”
“I’m so glad I get to come back,” Tara said. She had chosen several ornate spoon cutouts, and Brenna noted that she had done a nice job with her layout. “Aren’t you, Mother?”
Tiffany glanced at the plain plate in front of her. She had done nothing with it. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”
A low buzz of conversation began amongst the students, while Brenna and Tenley began cleaning up after the night’s class.
Brenna was carrying a tray full of white glue bottles into the break room when Tiffany Montgomery approached her.
“I was wondering if I could speak to you, Brenna?” she asked.
“Sure.” She motioned for Tiffany to follow her into the break room, where they also stored their supplies, while she checked the tops on the glue bottles and put them back on their shelf.
“I had an inspiration during your class,” she said. “I’ve been trying to think of a clever wedding favor, Jordan almonds are just so last century, and while I was sitting in your class, it hit me.”
Brenna wiped a spot of glue off of the tray and turned to give Tiffany her full attention.
“I want to hire you to decoupage something brilliant for Tara’s wedding favors,” she said.
“Okay,” Brenna said slowly, not wanting to appear un-receptive. “What did you have in mind?”
Cut to the Corpse Page 2