Instead, she started selling off the land surrounding the house to pay taxes and support herself. And later on, once legal fees had exhausted my father’s savings, Gran had to support me on that money as well. By the time I’d begun to earn a hefty salary and could provide for us both, it was too late. My heritage had vanished piece by piece. Which is why I prized the acres we had remaining.
As I maneuvered my car through the deep shadows of the white fir and blue spruce lining either side of the lane, I felt myself relax. There was something about driving down this familiar lane that lifted my spirits and eased all my worries. It was the only spot where my gerbil-on-an-exercise-wheel mind calmed down and allowed me to unwind.
Although I couldn’t see the small apple orchard or the duck pond as I passed them, I knew they were there and wondered if the fall weather would allow us to hold one more picnic before it got too cold. Or maybe we could have an autumn bonfire with hot cider from our own fruit. Gran could make her famous potato salad, and we could roast hot dogs and make s’mores.
When I got to the end of the lane, I saw that Dad’s apartment was lit up like downtown Kansas City. Should I go up and say hi?
Although I really wanted to make sure he hadn’t been too lonely at dinner, we were still adjusting to living in such close quarters. And, sadly, I wasn’t comfortable enough with our relationship yet just to stop by for a nightcap or a father-daughter chat.
After twelve years apart and only a few months together, we continued to tiptoe around each other. Having been a teenager when he was sent to prison, neither of us knew how to treat the other now that I was adult. It was an odd situation for us to be in. We were getting a bit more at ease with each other every day, but neither of us was entirely sure how to act. And my being his employer didn’t help matters.
Dad’s Grand Cherokee was in my usual spot, so I parked on the concrete pad off to the side. I didn’t want him to have to move my car if he needed to leave before me in the morning. Turning off the engine, I grabbed my purse from the passenger seat and got out.
The halogen light mounted on the garage illuminated the area, and, patting the hood of my BMW, I examined the shiny sapphire black finish for any dirt or scratches. I loved my Z4. It was one of the few luxuries of my old life that I hadn’t sold. I’d kept the expensive sports car, knowing that chances were mighty slim on my being able to afford a vehicle like that ever again. I’d rationalized that I’d never get what the car was worth and hung on to it with both hands.
As I dragged myself away from my precious BMW, I heard a noise and saw movement on the outside steps leading to my father’s apartment. Dad must have seen me pull in and was coming down to talk.
Before I could move out of the shadows, a feminine voice said, “Dinner was wonderful, Kern. But you should have let me drive myself here. Now you have to take me back into town.”
Shoot! Should I reveal myself or stay where I was until they left? Would Dad be self-conscious coming face-to-face with his daughter after entertaining a woman in his apartment? There was no reason to be embarrassed. It wasn’t as if I’d walked in on them in bed, and I was glad he’d had a date.
Wanting to know the identity of the woman who had spent the evening with my father, I edged a little closer. She was in her late forties or early fifties and was very pretty. My dad stood a few steps above her on the staircase, and when she looked up at him, I saw her dark blond hair brush the shoulders of her red sweater.
Dad moved down to her and laid his hand lightly on her generously curved hips. Her navy slacks and scarlet peep-toed pumps looked expensive, as did the purse hanging from her shoulder.
I chewed on the end of my ponytail. She looked familiar, but I couldn’t place her.
“Nonsense. A gentleman always escorts a lady to and from a date.”
My father’s voice held a happy note that made my heart lift. He’d been quiet since my mother had breezed in and out of town. He missed his ex-wife and had probably hoped Yvette would stick around after losing her husband. Knowing Dad wanted Mom to stay in Shadow Bend, I’d felt guilty that I was relieved when she left.
“I had a wonderful time, Kern.” The woman sighed. “That might have been the most delicious fried chicken that I’ve had in my entire life. And I know for a fact that was the best apple pie I’ve ever eaten. I’m certainly glad you stopped into my shop to admire the painting in the window.”
Ah! That was where I’d seen her. She’d opened up A Pretty Picture on the town square. There’d been quite a bit of talk at the last chamber of commerce meeting about the place. Opinions were split about fifty-fifty as to whether an art gallery, even one that offered painting lessons and art supplies, could earn enough money to survive in Shadow Bend.
As she and Dad stepped off the stairs, I realized how silly it was to be hiding, moved into the light, and greeted them.
My father’s emerald green eyes beamed, and he said, “Dev, I’m glad you got home in time to meet my new friend Catherine Bennet. Catherine, this is my daughter, Deveraux Sinclair. She owns the dime store across the square from your shop.”
I extended my hand and said, “Nice to meet you. I’ve been admiring what you’ve done to the entrance of your building. Very classy.”
“Thanks.” Catherine smiled. “And I love the vintage feel of your exterior.”
After a few more minutes chatting about our businesses, I said, “I’ll let you two get going. I need to make a call before it gets too late.”
We said our good-byes, and I watched them get into Dad’s Cherokee. Although my father had been away for thirteen years, he hadn’t changed that much. He was still tall and lean, with a military-like posture. Yes, his auburn hair was woven with silver strands and there were lines in his face that hadn’t been there before his incarceration, but prison hadn’t altered his personality. It hadn’t hardened him or drained the kindness from his soul.
I waved as Dad and Catherine drove away, then unlocked the front door and stepped into the foyer. Pausing, I enjoyed the rare treat of having the house all to myself. I stood, reveling in the absolute quiet. No voices, no television, no sound whatsoever.
Suddenly, the silence was shattered by a godawful yowl that reminded me that I wasn’t truly alone. Rushing into the living room, I found Banshee, my grandmother’s belligerent Siamese, sitting on the cat tree staring out of the picture window toward the rear of our property. His tail was twitching, and he looked ready to pounce on whatever he saw outside.
Afraid of his sharp teeth and nasty claws, I cautiously moved forward to see what had gotten him into such a lather. Generally, only Gran’s presence could induce Banshee to move—well, her and the sound of a can of Fancy Feast being popped open. He slept twenty-three out of twenty-four hours and used the remaining sixty minutes to eat, visit his litter box, and harass me.
When I had moved in with Gran, Banshee made it known in no uncertain terms that he disliked the new human in his kingdom. He destroyed any property of mine left unattended, peed on my bed, and took great delight in scratching any part of me that he could reach.
Lucky for me, the Siamese was so intent on whatever had disturbed his beauty rest that as I gazed out the window he seemed unaware of my presence. I didn’t see anything moving in the space illuminated by the outside light. However, the area out by the old barn was in total darkness, so a whole pack of wolves could have been frolicking under the moon, and I would have been none the wiser.
I peered into the shadows for several seconds, but other than a few leaves blowing across the driveway, everything was quiet. If there had been any creatures stirring out there, they were long gone. Maybe a small branch had smacked into the glass, startling the cat. The wind had picked up again and the trees around us were all old.
Or, it was only a few weeks until Halloween. It could be that things that went bump in the night were getting an early start on the holiday.
Chuckling, I glanced at Banshee. The Siamese had turned his back to the window and was using a front paw to clean his ears. Snubbing me, he curled up on the carpeted platform and closed his eyes.
Thankful that he hadn’t bitten me while I was distracted, I let sleeping cats lie. Before heading into my bedroom, I detoured into the kitchen and took a bottle of water from the refrigerator. I hadn’t had that much to drink, but it was always a good idea to hydrate after consuming alcohol. I didn’t have time for a morning hangover.
After changing into my nightshirt and securing my hair on top of my head, I stretched out on my bed and dug my cell out of my purse. I was shocked to see that I had missed a couple of calls and texts. Somehow, I’d managed to turn the ringer to vibrate, and since the phone had been in my bag, I hadn’t felt it shaking.
Now that I thought of it, it was odd that it had been silent all night. There was usually some sort of notification coming through.
Both Noah and Jake had been trying to get ahold of me. The men both asked me via texts to return their calls as soon as possible.
It was getting late, so instead of immediately dialing either guy, I listened to my voice mail. Noah wanted to pick me up tomorrow after the store closed and take me to dinner. He had something to tell me. My guess was that the something he wanted to share was Meg’s employment.
I sent him a quick text agreeing to the date, and then after a few swipes I heard Jake’s voice. “Dev, Winston received a ransom demand while I was at his place. I phoned Chief Kincaid, and he’s meeting us at the police station. I’ll fill you in tomorrow.”
I sent Jake a reply saying I’d heard his message and had some information about Gabriella’s activities before she’d been kidnapped.
As I scrubbed my face and smoothed cream over my skin, I thought about Jake’s news. Did a ransom demand mean that Gabriella really was a kidnap victim? Or was it just another ruse?
Crawling under the covers, I closed my eyes. It had been a long day and I was tired. A lengthy fifteen minutes later, I sighed. I usually was asleep before I could finish my prayers. Why was I still awake?
Flipping the pillow to the cool side, I threw off the covers, turned over, and rested my hand under my cheek. What was bothering me?
Was it something to do with Gabriella? I rewound everything I learned about the missing woman. Nope! There wasn’t anything there.
Next, I thought about Gran. It was a relief that she was doing so well, almost a miracle, and I was happy she was seeing so much of Tony. I needed to find out why she’d married so quickly after he was reported MIA, but that wasn’t what was interfering with my sleep.
Was it concern for my father that was keeping me awake? I was thrilled that my mother’s departure hadn’t seemed to upset him. At least, not very much. He appeared content working at the store, and his being my employee hadn’t been as awkward as I had feared.
Was it his evening with Catherine that worried me? I examined my conscience. No. I was pleased he was dating, and she seemed like a nice woman.
Then why wasn’t I in dreamland? Frustrated, I rolled onto my back and stared upward, watching a fly on the ceiling. I knew the cause of my insomnia, but didn’t want to think about the problem.
It was Jake and Noah. When Jake had suggested a weekend away, the gauntlet had been thrown down. It was time for me to make a choice, and I was torn. Actually, that was an understatement of epic proportions. I felt like a cat sitting equidistant between two cans of tuna. They both would be delicious, but how did I decide which one would be the tastiest?
For years, the men I’d dated had been nice, but none of them had made me even consider a long-term relationship. However, now there were two guys who caused me to tingle. Jake was more exciting, but Noah was a known quantity. Jake represented change, but I had loved Noah for years. So why was I still hesitating?
Poppy was sure that if I slept with them both, their performance in the sack would be the deciding factor. In theory, I liked that idea, but when I thought about it, it felt sleazy to have sex with a man before I was committed to him. I had never been a one-night-stand sort of girl.
Boone’s suggestion was even worse. He thought that the reason I couldn’t choose was that neither guy was the one for me. I tried on that notion. The thought of dating someone else made me queasy.
I didn’t want to blow an opportunity for love. I was sure that I was meant to spend the rest of my life with either Jake or Noah. I wanted a chance at the brass ring of happiness. And the only thing between that shiny circle and me was me.
Finally, about quarter after twelve, I heard the front door open and Gran’s voice saying good night. There was a low murmur, and I assumed Tony, being the gentleman that he was, had walked her inside. He’d driven them in his truck to the church parking lot, the rendezvous point for the senior bus group, and was doubtlessly ending their date on a traditional note.
Thinking about their relationship gave me an idea. I needed something dramatic to force my decision. A situation where both Noah and Jake needed me. Whichever guy I instinctively went toward would be the one I really loved.
CHAPTER 11
Tuesday was not starting out well. It was eight fifty-five when I pulled into the dime store parking lot. And by the time I got inside, put away my purse, hung up the outfit I’d brought from home to change into for my date with Noah, and grabbed the cash drawer from the safe, it was after nine.
I had wanted to get to work early in order to have a chance to talk to Jake before opening up, but I had slept in. Then, when I finally woke up, Gran had insisted I eat breakfast before leaving.
It had been impossible to turn down her buttermilk pancakes with warm maple syrup and crispy bacon. While I ate, Gran had rhapsodized about her trip to the casino with Tony. Both the penny slot machines and her beau had been hot. She’d won a hundred and five dollars, nabbed the last piece of chocolate cream pie at the buffet, and gotten a sizzling kiss from her boyfriend. Altogether, a very successful date.
When I’d edged the topic toward why she’d married my grandfather so soon after Tony went MIA, she’d stopped talking. However, she did say that she’d grown to love grandpa—grown being the operative word—so I had an opening for my next try at the subject.
Flipping on the lights as I hurried through the store, I found my high school helper, Taryn, waiting for me when I unlocked the front door. He glanced pointedly at his watch, making sure that I was aware that he knew I was late, and then marched past me with a muttered hello.
Ignoring Taryn’s pique, I greeted him and the two women who crowded in after him with a cheery good-morning. Taryn headed to the storage room to stow his backpack, and the ladies both beelined to the paperback bookrack.
It was the first Tuesday of the month, which meant a new crop of cozy mysteries were coming out. Although the books had arrived last week, after reading a writer’s blog on the importance of initial sales, I always waited until their official debut date to display them. It was a closely guarded secret that I’d managed to get my store qualified to report my sales to the New York Times and I wanted all the authors to have an equal chance to make the prestigious best seller list.
With my first customers of the day selecting their monthly reads, I carried the cash drawer to the register. A few minutes later, when Taryn joined me, I asked him to set up for the Scrapbooking Scalawags.
The group met at my store every other Tuesday morning at ten. They preserved their memories while enjoying lively conversation and tasty treats, which I provided for a small charge.
On my way into the store, I had stopped at the bakery—another reason I had been running behind—and picked up a cookie platter. The assorted pumpkin, praline, butterscotch, and butter pecan delights made my mouth water. And the buttercream-frosted sugar cookies shaped like acorns, leaves, and scarecrows were beyond cute.
In addition to the refreshments, I al
so had an enticing display of scrapbooking materials. The basics like cardstock, adhesive dots, art pens, et cetera, were in their normal aisle. However, I’d arranged a variety of fall-themed rubber stamps, craft punches, stencils, and embellishments, including stickers, chipboard elements in various shapes, fabric, beads, sequins, and ribbon smack-dab in front of the craft alcove.
As I had hoped, the tantalizing merchandise proved difficult for the scrapbookers to resist, and I did a brisk business ringing up their purchases. Between the Scalawags and my regular customers, both my clerk and I were kept as busy as Poppy’s bartender on a Saturday night.
It was a shame that I didn’t have time to quiz the scrapbookers about Gabriella. But from what I’d seen at her house, she really wasn’t the type to arrange pictures and keepsakes artfully on the page of an album. Even in her bedroom, the only visible memento had been her own photo.
By the time Taryn left for school at twelve thirty, he looked exhausted. I hoped he’d have a chance to catch his breath while he ate lunch and would be able to concentrate in his afternoon classes. I felt bad for the poor kid, but if he truly wanted to know what owning his own business would be like, this type of experience was invaluable.
In the next half hour, the store emptied out. At twelve fifty-five, when my father, carrying my afternoon bakery order, arrived for his shift, I was making a sundae for my only remaining customer.
The woman’s curly white hair was fastened to the top of her head. It matched her fluffy white sweater and the equally fluffy white anklets on her feet. She reminded me of a poodle, and when I presented her with the strawberry-covered ice cream, I casually leaned forward. I was dying to see if she also had a fluffy white tail.
Handing me the white bakery box, my father captured my gaze and raised his eyebrow in mock disapproval. I smiled sheepishly and gave a tiny shrug. After stashing the goodies, I made sure that Ms. Poodle didn’t need anything, moved out from behind the counter, and followed Dad into the back room.
Lions and Tigers and Murder, Oh My Page 10