Share the Moon

by Sharon Struth

“I guess that’s great, but owning the land carries other stresses. I’ve told you. Mostly financial.”

  Duncan curled the corner of his lip upward, one of those cat-who-ate-the-canary grins. “What if that wasn’t the case?”

  “Why?”

  “After I removed my offer, I asked the brothers if they’d agree to accept the previously agreed upon price with your family.”

  “But the money is still—”

  “Please. May I finish?” He waited and she nodded. “I’d like to offer to buy a percentage of the business. Not RGI.” He tapped his chest with his finger. “Me. As a silent partner.”

  All the times she’d watched Duncan in any setting, he’d never been silent.

  He frowned. “What?”

  “The offer is generous. Amazing, in fact.” She touched his forearm. “If I were to be honest, I can tell you’re a take-charge kind of guy. I don’t want your presence to overpower the rest of us, no matter how well intended.”

  Duncan’s chin buckled as he thought. “Okay. Thanks for being honest, but I still think this can work.” He took her hands. “Things are busy at RGI right now, so I won’t get involved with much of anything. Maybe you guys can tap into my expertise with the business end. Or marketing.” He cocked a confident grin, one as sure as a poker player who’d just laid down the winning hand.

  “I suppose we could use some help. Having another owner would sure boost our financial situation. We’ll have to talk to Dad and Jay.”

  Sophie sifted through a list of pros and cons, one large con stood in the forefront.

  He studied her closely. “Now what?”

  “I hate to be Debbie Downer, but what if something happens between us?”

  “I thought about that, but the way I feel with you, I only plan on us getting closer. A lot closer. Don’t you feel that way?”

  The story of her life had just turned a page and her entire existence on Blue Moon Lake suddenly fell into place. “You bet I do.”

  Chapter 30

  Sophie’s stomach growled. The aroma of coffee and grease cut through the air in the old-fashioned diner, located outside of Bloomfield, Connecticut. She glanced around the busy eatery, hoping to spot the waitress with her omelet. Skipping breakfast before work hadn’t been her smartest move. She never dreamed the interview would take until almost lunchtime.

  This morning’s trip to a Bloomfield farm was due to another collapsed barn roof. The state’s farmers were used to harsh winters, but this year soared to a new level. Repeated snowfalls had caused over a hundred buckled roofs on barns, greenhouses, and sheds statewide. Today’s interview brought tears to her eyes as she spoke with a farmer whose barn roof caved in from the weight of the snow, killing a baby calf. This year, she’d welcome spring with open arms and a martini.

  The busboy filled her water glass. She traced the loop of her silver hoop earring with her finger and held on to the last tidbits of her reconciliation with Duncan last night. Her heart softened as she remembered how eager he’d been when he came inside to tell her his idea, showing how much this whole thing meant to him.

  Another customer shimmying into the booth behind her jarred her back to the diner. She glanced at her watch. By now he’d reached Bronxville, to speak with his father. Frank Jamieson had every reason to keep his family away from Northbridge, even toss Sophie clues to scare Duncan into reconsidering any move to Northbridge.

  The waitress, a matronly woman wearing a gray uniform a little snug along the bust line, arrived with Sophie’s egg-white and veggie omelet. “Want a coffee refill, hon?”

  “No thanks.”

  She closed her notebook and ate with half an eye out the window. The sunny day promised to be snow-free, a relief since the sides of the roads and edges of parking lots were filled to capacity with mountains of white.

  Two men left together and headed to the parked cars outside Sophie’s window. They stopped at a white Range Rover and faced each other. Sophie lowered her fork, and did a double take at the man with carrot-orange hair tucked under his wool hat. Only one person she knew had such a distinct hair color: Joe Dougherty. When he turned sideways, her suspicions were confirmed.

  The other person had his back to her and talked as the Northbridge Zoning Board member peered nervously around the lot. Joe’s position on the board was an unpaid, elected service to his community. He’d been out of work for the past year and recently got a new job in medical sales. Maybe this was a sales call.

  She studied his cohort, a classy dresser. At an angle, with his scarf bundled around his neck, dark fedora, and black dress coat buttoned to his chin, only his eyes and nose were visible. The stranger removed keys, aimed at a Range Rover and the taillights flickered.

  The car had New York plates. Sophie squinted at the dealer insignia. “Land Rover Manhattan.” Joe still seemed stiff and uncomfortable. Not a good quality for a salesman.

  She slowly nibbled at her omelet and watched. After a minute, they shook hands and Joe went to his car. The other man got inside the SUV and shut his door. He seemed familiar, although she couldn’t place why. Through his rear window, she caught movements as he removed his hat and scarf. The car backed up and the driver’s side window faced her view. She caught the driver’s profile.

  A gentle shock raced through her. Yes, she not only knew him, but these two men together just might be the missing piece of a puzzle she’d been trying to solve. She dialed Duncan’s number and hoped to catch him before he spoke to his father. She got his voice mail. “It’s Sophie. Call me as soon as you can.”

  * * * *

  Entering Bronxville, NY, Duncan zipped through the Pondfield Road underpass and admired the Spanish style of the nearby train station, unusual architecture for the area. As he passed a bright yellow awning of a local florist, he made a mental note to stop there on his way out to get Sophie flowers.

  A minute later, he turned onto the street of his childhood home. Nervous pings ricocheted in his gut. Dad was never easy to talk to, but today Duncan would demand honesty, for once in their lives.

  He pulled into the driveway of the white-brushed brick house, a few minutes early for their lunch. Trent had driven his own car from Hartford and hadn’t arrived yet. Towering leafless maples and beech trees surrounded their lot. The place he grew up suddenly seemed naked, exposed to him in a way he’d never noticed before.

  At the front door, he pulled out his cell and saw Sophie had left a message. He’d call her later. With a quick knock on the door, Duncan walked inside. “Dad?” He entered the foyer.

  “In here.” Frank Jamieson’s tired voice came from the kitchen.

  Duncan threw his coat over the usual chair, pushed up the sleeves on his sweater, and went in. His father sat at a cherry, rectangular table, looking lost amidst the high-end, stainless steel cooking equipment and made-to-order cabinetry. He glanced from the Wall Street Journal and then closed the paper.

  “Hi, Duncan.” He hoisted himself from the seat, giving a slight grunt, and headed toward the counter. “Mom ordered us these sandwiches from the deli I like.”

  “Good.” Duncan went to the refrigerator. “Want a beer or soda?”

  “Beer sounds good.”

  He grabbed two and handed one to his dad then sat at the opposite end of the rectangular table. “Trent must be running a little late.”

  Frank put the sandwiches on the table’s center. “I’m starving. He won’t care if we start.” They twisted the caps off their drinks and started lunch in silence.

  “So, you said on the phone you’d removed your bid on that farmland.” Frank avoided eye contact with Duncan as he opened the paper wrapper on his sandwich “Any chance you’ll come to your senses and move back here too?”

  “Not a chance in hell.”

  The old man looked up, his hard stare the same as always, but now full-blown bags hung beneath his lids. He pursed his lips and didn’t respond.

  Duncan wrapped his hand aro
und the cold bottle. “In fact, I’m hoping you can explain to me why my purchases there matter so much to you.”

  “My son’s well-being matters to me.”

  Duncan snorted. “Even Trent’s?”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  Duncan’s heart thumped against his ribcage. “Care to talk about what happened with Marion Harris? Or I believe you knew her as Marion Price.”

  The color drained from his dad’s face. “What are you talking about?”

  “I know all about you two and the results of your affair.”

  Frank shut his lids and his posture sagged. He slowly opened his eyes, now glistening from tears.

  “Why’d you have to go back there?” Frank put down the beer bottle with a bang.

  “So it’s true?” Duncan couldn’t believe he’d given in so easily to his bluff, didn’t even try to fight when caught in the lie of his life.

  “I’m getting too old to play games anymore. Why do you think I didn’t want you to move there?”

  “Jesus Christ, Dad. How could you do that to Mom? Or to Marion?”

  Frank dropped his chin to his chest and didn’t answer.

  “Why’d you take us there those summers?”

  “Your mother insisted.” His weary voice struggled and he looked up.

  “You should’ve sold the house after what you did to Marion.”

  “Your mother wouldn’t let me,” he grumbled. “She reminded me how the place belonged to my granddad. How we’d spent some lovely summers there.” He dropped a shame-filled gaze to the tabletop. “I proposed to her there.” He covered his mouth with his hand, highlighting his agony-filled eyes. His hand slid down and clunked on the table. “She has no idea Trent’s mine.”

  “Why the affair? Did you and Mom have problems?”

  “Not at first. The fertility problem left us stressed.” He studied his hands. “Things were so relaxed with Marion.” He paused, as if reliving some memories, then met Duncan’s stare. “The pregnancy gave me a reality dose. I offered her money for an abortion, but she refused.”

  Duncan recoiled, not even bothering to hide his disgust.

  His father glared. “Don’t judge me. You weren’t a model husband either. Besides, I never dreamed her child would end up in my household.” He frowned and shifted his focus to the tabletop. “Your mother would have left me if I’d told her the truth. Damned if I did the right thing by coming clean. Damned every day having to be near a child I’d had by another woman. I took the second. But Trent served as a reminder every single day of my infidelity.”

  “Is that what I am?” Trent stood in the doorway. He held his head high, but his cheeks flamed red. “I’m just your damned mistake!”

  Frank Jamieson’s mouth fell open and he blinked as if he’d seen a ghost. “Trent, I didn’t mean for you to hear that.”

  “Too late.” Trent turned to leave.

  “Wait!” Frank blew out a defeated last breath. “I’ve wanted things between us to be different. Why’d you make it so hard? The drinking, the drugs.”

  Trent’s lips tightened as if he held back a thought, then he turned away and left the room.

  Duncan shook his head. “What’s wrong with you? Are you behind the recent bribery rumors in Northbridge too?”

  The lines of his forehead creased. “What bribery rumors?”

  “Rumors going around Northbridge that someone’s trying to influence the zoning board’s vote.” He snorted a laugh. “Jesus, Dad. Don’t act like my asking is completely out of line. Someone dug up the story about the gunshot at Buzz’s house and left a note about you bribing officials. I figured you were trying to scare me off buying the land.”

  Tomato red inched up his father’s face. “Duncan. I swear to you, it’s not me. I’ve not busied myself in your affairs since last time.” His gaze dropped to the floor. “Your mother threatened to leave me if I did.”

  The news his mother even cared about his happiness surprised Duncan.

  Frank toyed with his beer bottle but didn’t drink any. “How’d you find out what happened at the Harris’ house?”

  “Northbridge is small. Things don’t ever go away.” He didn’t want to tell him about Sophie’s involvement. Their relationship would involve extended family. Dad liked to hold a grudge.

  A tear spilled along Frank’s cheek. “Son, deserting Marion fills me with shame. Cheating on your mother fills me with shame. She doesn’t know. If you tell her, our lives will be ruined.”

  Despite what he’d done, Duncan teetered on the edge of sadness for his father, yet his remorse for Trent went deeper. He stood. “The way you treated Trent should fill you with shame too. You two should talk this out. I’m going to find him.”

  Frank Jamieson’s face contorted, more terrified than Duncan had ever witnessed, then he bowed his head into his hands, for once, a defeated man.

  * * * *

  Sophie carried the bouquet of wildflowers Duncan had just handed her into the kitchen while he tossed his coat on the coatrack. Placing them on the counter, she stretched up to get a vase. Duncan slipped his hands around her waist and she turned into his embrace. He brushed his warm lips to hers while the heady aroma of soap and sandalwood wooed her like a scented aphrodisiac.

  She nestled her nose near his neck, closed her lids, and inhaled a deep breath. “Yankee Candle should sell your scent.” She sensed his smile.

  “Oh? What would they call it?”

  “Hmm? Good question.” She tipped her head back and caught his grin, happy to see him so relaxed after talking with his dad. “They could call your candle something like ‘Seduct her.’ A play on seductor.”

  “I think I should help the winery naming the wines, especially after hearing that one.”

  “Quit while you’re ahead.” She smoothed her palm against the grain of his cheek. “Mmm. I love a little stubble.”

  “Since you’re seducing me, I guess the kids aren’t around?”

  “Nope. They’re with friends. I’m glad we’re alone. Before we get too sidetracked, you won’t believe what I saw today.”

  “Sidetracked, huh.” He leered, gave her bottom a gentle pat, and released her. “How about we open this and talk?” Duncan picked up a bag and pulled out a bottle of Cristal champagne. “To celebrate your new land purchase.”

  Sophie questioned if the price point on the popular drink spoke to the quality but kept the thought hidden. “Wonderful. Thanks.”

  He worked at removing the foil-wrapped top. “Is this news why we played phone tag all day?”

  “Yup. Too good to leave in a message.” She took two champagne flutes from the upper cabinet. “I had breakfast at a diner outside of Bloomfield after covering a story. I spotted Joe Dougherty from our zoning board with your assistant, Carl Hansen.”

  “Are you sure the man was Carl. Have you two even met?”

  “I’m positive. He ushered me to your office the day I interviewed you.”

  Duncan pursed his lips, unbuttoned the sleeves of his soft flannel shirt, and folded them up his forearm, looking more rural Connecticut than ever. “There’s no reason why the two of them would need to speak. Especially today.” He paused. “Maybe they’ve become friends. Carl did have to work with people in Northbridge about the plans.”

  “Guess anything is possible. But on my first interview with you, when I signed the front desk register, I saw Joe had been at RGI a couple days before me.”

  “Who’d he visit?”

  “I tried to snoop but your receptionist politely removed the book.”

  He snickered. “Good ol’ Sally. Nobody gets anything by her. Can you find the approximate date of your appointment?”

  “I think so.” Sophie went to her bag and removed her work calendar.

  “I’ll call our Chief of Security, Earl.” Duncan reached into his shirt pocket and took out his phone. “He can check the registers for me right now.”


  She found the date and Duncan explained to Earl what they needed. While they waited, he slipped an arm around her waist, drew her close, and nestled his nose in her hair. “Thank you for telling me.”

  She enjoyed his closeness. “There’s more.”

  He let his hand slip. “Oh?”

  “A few other things don’t add up. Joe always—and I mean always—votes with Buzz. On the zoning decision delay in December, he didn’t. Remember?”

  “I do.”

  “On top of that, my friend Veronica works at the library. She confirmed the printout with the story about a gunshot at Buzz’s came off microfiche requested by Jane Dougherty, Joe’s wife. Maybe they were trying to scare Buzz into dropping support for the project. Why, though, I can’t figure out.”

  “My dad claims he had nothing to do with those notes. But Carl? I can’t imagine he’d ever—” Duncan held up a finger. “Yes, Earl.” He listened, thanked him, then hung up. “Joe visited Carl.”

  Duncan traced the speckled pattern of the granite countertop with his index finger. “How would Carl know anything about…?” He hit a few buttons on the phone. “Time to talk to my brother.”

  Chapter 31

  “Can I offer you a cup of coffee?” Jane Dougherty reached out and took Duncan’s and Adli’s coats.

  The two men glanced at each other then Duncan said, “No thank you. I’m sorry we didn’t call first.”

  While his wife hung the coats in a small closet near the front door, Joe stood in the foyer and watched in silence. He blinked and slowly rubbed the back of his neck, more uncomfortable than Duncan had ever seen him.

  “Well, then, why don’t you join us in the kitchen,” Joe finally said then turned and walked down a short hallway.

  As they followed, Duncan marveled at how luck had stepped over to his side when Sophie spotted Carl at the diner yesterday. His call to Trent had filled in the missing pieces. Trent readily admitted how, back when he first came to RGI, he’d gone to a bar with Carl and shared the story of what happened at Buzz’s house decades earlier. Tequila shots could be quite revealing.