12
Evanee waited anxiously by the window that afternoon, watching as a colorful array of fallen leaves blew past her shop.
Whitley sat on one of the coffee shop’s chairs, watching her intently. “Is he here yet?”
Evanee shook her head, but she couldn’t speak, lest Gemma hear her talking and think she was talking to herself again.
A car pulled up to the building, and a woman in her early thirties got out. It was Abilene Baker, one of Evanee’s best customers. She stopped into the shop at least twice a week looking for new items.
“Is someone here?” asked Gemma from across the shop. She was busy cleaning up one of the new pieces Evanee had picked up at the flea market the night before.
“Yeah, it’s just Abby,” said Evanee.
“Just Abby? Were you over there waiting for someone special?” asked Gemma, a hint of interest in her voice.
“Someone special? Like who?”
Gemma stood up and shrugged. “I don’t know. Prince Charming, perhaps?”
Evanee giggled. “Prince Charming? Haven’t we already established that Prince Charming doesn’t live in Stoney Brook?”
“Well, the way you’re watching out that window really makes it look like you’re waiting on him.”
“Hardly. I just thought I heard something,” said Evanee, nibbling on her fingernail nervously.
The door opened and Abby Baker strolled inside. “Good afternoon, girls.”
“Hi, Abby,” said Evanee from the window, now busying herself so it didn’t look like she was just standing around waiting for Lane Dawson to show up to deliver his gourds.
“Hey, Abby,” said Gemma.
“Tell me where that adorable little mason jar planter box is. You know, the one that you had on your fall Instagram story,” she begged.
“See, Ev? I told you posting that set was a good idea.” Gemma giggled. “It’s right over here, Abby. Wasn’t that just perfection?”
“Yes! I saw it this morning when I got to work, and I thought as soon as I’m off, I’m running down there. I almost emailed you to ask you to hold it for me.”
“Next time, do! I’ll totally hold it for you,” said Gemma.
In seconds, the two women were immersed in conversation about what kind of dried flowers would look cute in the jars, and Evanee’s eyes were back on the parking lot. “This is what time he came yesterday,” Evanee explained to Whitley in a hushed whisper.
Whitley pulled her legs up to hug them to her chest. “So do you know what you’re going to say to him?”
Evanee shook her head as her stomach did a flip-flop. “No. I have no idea.” Her eyes widened as a vehicle appeared on the covered bridge just west of her shop. “Oh! I think this might be him!”
As soon as he was off the bridge, she nodded at Whitley. “It’s him.” She pulled on her pair of work gloves and headed towards the door. “Gem, our gourds are here. I’m going outside to help Mr. Dawson unload them.”
Gemma lifted a brow and looked in Evanee’s direction. “Sure thing, Ev. You go do that.”
Even though she heard a bit of teasing in Gemma’s voice, she ignored it and instead breezed outside. It was a crisp September afternoon. There was a bit of a chill in the air. She’d been hearing all day that they were in for a cool down and temperatures were supposed to drop that evening. So as Lane pulled into the driveway, she hugged her long gray cardigan tighter, and she and Whitley watched him park.
The late day sunlight glared off his window, making it difficult to see inside. This time Lane backed his truck right up to the pergola so there wouldn’t be much walking required.
“Hello!” Evanee called out before making a beeline straight for the driver’s-side door. She wanted to make sure she didn’t scare him this time. Maybe then they could get off on the right foot instead of arguing from the get-go.
She stopped short when a man got out of the vehicle that she didn’t recognize. He was older, with salt-and-pepper hair, more salt than pepper, and what appeared to have been a smooth face that morning but now was stubbled with the early signs of dark whiskers. He wore denim jeans, cowboy boots, and a threadbare gray crewneck sweatshirt. He barely stopped to acknowledge Evanee, giving her only the tiniest nod before heading right to the back of his truck to get started unloading.
Whitley looked confused. “That’s Lane?”
“You’re not Lane,” said Evanee with a note of disappointment in her voice. She’d been so hoping to talk to him about his mother and the fire that she hadn’t even considered for a second that he might not be the one delivering the order.
“No, ma’am,” said the man as he unhooked the tailgate of the truck. “I’m his father.”
Whitley’s hand clamped over her mouth as her eyes widened.
Evanee’s adrenaline sped up. This was Steve Dawson! In the flesh! The man many in Stoney Brook had accused of killing his wife! What if he was indeed a killer? And now she was alone with him. Evanee glanced over at Whitley and wondered if she’d be able to help her if things went awry.
“I thought Lane was delivering my order.”
Steve paused for a brief moment and glanced up at Evanee, squinting into the low-lying sun. “Lane’s caught up with some work on the farm. He asked me to handle this delivery.”
Evanee swallowed hard. She knew the real reason that he hadn’t wanted to make the delivery. Because they hadn’t gotten off on the best foot the day before. She didn’t blame him, really. She hadn’t particularly cared for him either, but now she had a reason to want to talk to him, so she was disappointed he hadn’t come.
“I see. Well, I’ve got my work gloves on. I sort of like to rearrange the produce to make it look visually appealing. Do you mind if I do that as you unload?”
Steve made a little grunting sound. “They’re your gourds now. Do as you please.”
She gave him a beaming smile. “Thank you.” She got right to work, taking the first armful of gourds that Steve handed her and arranging them carefully around the pumpkins.
“These sure are nice-looking gourds.”
“Yep.”
“So, you’ve lived in Stoney Brook all your life, is that right?” she finally said after a few seconds of working in silence.
“Yep.” He handed her another load of gourds.
Evanee placed them around, not paying as much attention as she usually would have. It was obvious Steve wasn’t going to be much of a talker. She’d have to work harder to draw information out of him, but she wasn’t really sure what else to say.
“Ask him about being a firefighter,” whispered Whitley.
Evanee nodded. She cleared her throat and tried her best to act casual. “So someone mentioned to me the other day that you used to be a volunteer firefighter.”
“Yep.”
She nodded. “You know this building used to be the old fire hall back in the day. But you probably already knew that.”
“Yep.”
“Cool,” said Evanee uncomfortably. Steve certainly wasn’t making this easy for her. She forced herself to smile and put on a cheery voice. “You know, I love hearing old stories about my building. Do you have any good old stories about it?”
“Nope.”
She lifted her brows and nodded. “Ahh. That’s too bad.”
They worked again in silence while Evanee considered what else she could say that might open him up a little.
But Steve surprised her and actually piped up on his own. “My boy might have some stories. I quit firefightin’ right before they started using this here building.”
Evanee smiled at him. “Oh, sure. Maybe I’ll have to ask him sometime. So, you quit firefighting before they used this building. Why’s that?”
He stopped for a long moment and stared at Evanee like he was trying to see inside her soul. Finally, through a clenched jaw, he answered her. “I just did. That’s all.”
“Right. Nothing made you stop?”
“I didn’t say that.”
<
br /> “Oh. I was just curious why you’d quit,” she said, her voice wilting.
Steve squinted his eyes and looked at her bitterly. “You got something else you wanna ask me, lady?”
Evanee’s heart dropped into her stomach. He didn’t like her line of questioning, and she suddenly felt bad for prying. But what other choice did she have? She had no idea where else to start the investigation other than with him or his son. And his son, who had seemed like the better option of the two, wasn’t there to question.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Dawson. I wasn’t trying to—”
“You’re just like everyone else in town. You think it’s all a big joke. You think you can all pass judgment on me and my son, but none of you would know the truth if it up and smacked you in the head with a two-by-four.”
“Sir, I’m sorry, I wasn’t passing—”
He put a hand on his hip. “I think I’d prefer to unload this delivery by myself, if you don’t mind.”
Evanee stared at him helplessly. She felt horrible for offending him. It hadn’t been her intent. The blood left her face as her mouth gaped slightly.
“Ev. You should probably listen to him,” whispered Whitley. “We can investigate some other way. Let’s just go inside.”
“Mr. Dawson, I apologize. I didn’t mean to make you upset. I was just curious.”
“Sure you were. Just like every other busybody woman in this town. You all just gotta go snooping around in my business. Well, I tell you what. My life is none of your damn business.” He shook his head as he went back to work. “My son was right. You sure are a piece of work.”
Evanee’s brows lifted. Lane had called her a piece of work? She suddenly felt like crying. Before running back inside and making a beeline for her loft, she managed to squeak out her final apology. “I’m sorry Mr. Dawson. I really am.”
Even though she’d gone to bed early that night, Evanee just couldn’t put her brain to rest. She tossed and turned, thinking about the conversation she’d had with Steve Dawson and how the look on his face and his biting words had told her how much she’d offended him by bringing up the fire department. Her thoughts had eventually shifted to Rachel Dawson and how horrible it was that she’d died at such a young age.
So when she’d discovered that Whitley was having just as much trouble sleeping as she was, they’d woken Prim and Esmerelda and taken them downstairs to start a bonfire. She hoped the combination of the heat and watching the flickering flames roll off the logs would make her sleepy.
Evanee watched with a bit of a smile on her face as Prim followed Esmerelda around the bonfire and then jumped up on the chair to sit next to her.
Esmerelda glanced at Prim out of the corner of her eye. “Can you please stop following me! Jeesh!”
“Why don’t you want to be friends with Prim, Es?” said Whitley. “She seems like a nice kitty.”
Prim snuggled up tightly against Esmerelda’s fur.
Esmerelda looked disgusted at the slightest touch. “Oh, trust me, Whit. This kid’s not looking for a new BFF. He’s hot to trot for a girlfriend. I can read the signs. He’s in love with me.”
Whitley and Evanee both stifled laughs.
“Oh, please, Es. You thought every boy back home was in love with you. They can’t all love you.”
Esmerelda licked her paw and then rubbed it across the fur between her ears. “They can all love me and they do. This guy’s the perfect example. He’s totally into me.” She turned to Prim. “But I’m. Not. Into. Him,” she bellowed into his ear.
But Prim didn’t seem to care. She continued to purr comfortably next to Esmerelda.
“See?” Esmerelda shook her head. “Nothing gets through to him.” She threw up her paws. “But who am I to argue? I’d be in love with me too if I was a dude.”
Whitley rolled her eyes. “You’re crazy.”
“You’re crazy,” Esmerelda snapped back.
“You’re both crazy,” said Evanee. She unfurled her legs and stuck them out in front of her, warming them against the fire’s heat. Letting her head fall backwards, she sighed. “This totally sucks.”
“I think the fire feels amazing,” said Whitley.
“Not the fire! The fact that I made Steve Dawson mad at me. I wasn’t trying to make him mad at me. And now he’s never going to want to talk to me about what really happened that night!”
“Oh, that,” said Whitley glumly. She blew a lock of hair out of her face and snuggled into her oversized quilt. “Yeah, that does suck. I have no idea how we’re going to solve this mystery without his help.”
“From what I heard, you went about it all wrong,” said Esmerelda. “No one likes it when you pussyfoot around an issue.” She grinned. “No pun intended. People appreciate it if you’re just direct with them. To the point. That’s how I live my life.”
Whitley groaned. “Oh, don’t I know it. You haven’t pulled a single punch since we were born, dear sister. But I think you’re wrong. Everyone does not appreciate your directness.”
Esmerelda leaned back in her seat. “Oh, trust me. Men do. And I know an awful lot more about men than you do, dear sister. So trust me, Evanee. Be direct and to the point. It’s the only way to go.”
Evanee shrugged. What difference did it make now? Steve wasn’t going to have a conversation with her about it now. She’d ruined any chance she had of getting him to talk. They sat quietly, watching the fire crackle, when out of nowhere, Evanee heard a banging on the other side of the building.
“What was that?” she whispered, glancing over at Whitley uncomfortably.
Whitley, Esmerelda, and Prim were all on high alert now.
The pounding was now accompanied by someone hollering.
“It sounds like it’s coming from around the front of the building,” whispered Evanee, her heart racing. “Whit, go check it out.”
Whitley’s green eyes widened. “Me?! Why me?”
“Because no one can see you, obviously!”
Whitley slowly got up from the love seat where she sat snuggled up next to Evanee. “Essy could go. No one would know a cat was there.”
“Nah, I don’t wanna go,” said Esmerelda, shaking her head before laying it down on her paws. “Whit, you go.”
Whitley groaned as the pounding and the hollering grew louder. “Oh, fine.”
In the dark of the night, she slowly crept around the side of the building. Evanee peeked her head around the corner and watched, waiting for her to return. Seconds later, Whitley was back.
“It’s some guy. He’s pounding on the front door of your building.”
My adrenaline raced. “Some guy? What’s he saying?”
“He’s saying, ‘Lemme in! I need to have a word with you! I’m not leaving until you lemme in!’”
Evanee’s mind blanked. Who in the world would be at her place at this hour, screaming like a maniac? “Should I call the cops?”
“For sure you should call the cops,” said Whitley. “Call them right now!”
“But I didn’t bring my phone down with me. It’s up in the loft. What if he sees me go inside?” breathed Evanee, now completely petrified by the crazy person outside her door.
Whitley shook her head. “He won’t see you. We’ll be careful.”
Anxiously, Evanee walked over to scoop Prim up and then led the four of them inside. Esmerelda and Prim hightailed it for the loft, but with Whitley right on her heels, Evanee paused at the bottom of her rustic lumber steps. She could hear the man’s voice now. “Evanee Woods!” he bellowed as he pounded. “I’m not leaving until you open this door!”
She tipped her head sideways. “That voice sounds kind of familiar,” said Evanee. Without turning on any lights, she quietly tiptoed towards the front of the shop.
“Ev! Where are you going?!” hissed Whitley. “He could see you!”
Evanee motioned for Whitley to be quiet and slid up against the building’s outer wall, right next to one of the two big picture windows that faced the parking
lot. There was a truck outside that she didn’t recognize. With her back against the wall, she carefully slid over to the front door and peered around it, trying to get a look at him without him getting a look at her.
But no sooner had she peeked around the corner than Lane Dawson’s face appeared in the window. His eyes widened as their eyes met.
“Ms. Woods! You let me in right now! I need to have a word with you!”
13
Evanee sucked in her breath. She spun around the door so that her back was to the wall next to it and sank to the floor. Her heart raced a mile a minute. “Oh my gosh, Whit. That’s Rachel Dawson’s son!”
Whitley eyes sprang open wide and she covered her mouth with her hand. “No way!”
Evanee’s head bobbed as her own hand went to her mouth. Panic filled her chest. Why was he here? And why was he screaming at her and pounding on her door? Does this have something to do with my visit with his father earlier today? she wondered.
Lane continued to pound on her door. “Ms. Woods! Open up!”
Evanee couldn’t breathe. She was too scared. She wondered if she should call the cops on Lane. “Go away,” she yelled. “I’m gonna call the police!”
“I’m not leaving until you open this door!” he hollered. “And you can call the police if you want. I’m not gonna hurt you!”
Evanee’s eyes flitted over to Whitley’s. “Is that what murderers say before they murder you?”
Whitley shrugged. “I have no idea.”
And then suddenly, Lane stopped pounding on the door and everything went completely silent.
Evanee held her breath, listening for the sound of a truck backing up. But she didn’t hear it. Carefully, she peered around the doorjamb to stare back out into the darkness. She couldn’t see Lane anymore, but his truck was still outside. “He’s still here,” she whispered.
“Where did he go?” asked Whitley, sneaking over to peek out one of the two picture windows. She looked from side to side. “I don’t see him.”
Suddenly, the women heard someone trying the door in the back of the building.
Snow Way Out: A Mystic Snow Globe Romantic Mystery (The Mystic Snow Globe Mystery Series Book 2) Page 9