by Amberlee Day
She smoothed out the bedspread and took a quick look around when they left. The place didn’t look too bad. Everything just as it should be. In fact, everything exactly as it had been when she’d last worked at the inn, back in college. That was ten years ago, at least. She frowned on her way back out. Why weren’t Mom and Dad updating things? The place really needed it, and it wasn’t like them to let things go.
Back down the porch steps, she hurried to meet her guest, waving with enough friendly enthusiasm to drive a New Yorker crazy. “Mr. Prescott! Freddie! Your rooms are ready!”
***
Freddie stood in one spot and wrapped the leash around his hand while the decently attractive but annoying “manager” rattled off the cottage amenities, none of which looked like they’d been updated in the past twenty years. And he still wasn’t convinced that this woman—who dressed like she was ready to curl up with a good book rather than run an inn—was really the manager.
“You’ve got your extra blankets in the trunk here, this turns on the gas fireplace, and those are blackout curtains, in case the lights from the courtyard bother you.”
“Super. And is there a Bible in the side table and built-in hair dryer on the vanity?”
She gave him a withering look, which made him smirk. Bugging this one was a bright spot, even if the rest of this trip was falling apart. “No, there’s not a built-in hair dryer, but we have them in the lodge if you’d like to check one out. And yes—” She patted the side table, smiling innocently at him. “—there is a Bible, if you should need one.”
He waved his hand. “No, I’m good.”
“If that’s all ...”
“Where do I park?”
“You can leave your car out on the street—Harvest Ranch is known for its crime-free record—or there’s parking in the back.” She strode toward the kitchenette—and he did notice that while her olive-green sweater hung loosely on her, the fitted black leggings beneath showed a promising figure. She caught him staring when she glanced back, and though her eyebrow shot up in a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me way, she only said, “This way.”
“Right.” He wasn’t here to meet someone, anyway. This trip was work—if and when Brenda showed up and he could start working.
She stopped at a tall window behind the small table. It wasn’t a large space, so he had to stand right next to her to see out, close enough that he caught her scent. There were gentle notes of flowers and citrus. He wondered if she sprayed it in her hair, which she had pulled back in a smooth ponytail.
“See there? If you drive around the property clockwise from the lodge, you can take that spot. The numbers are on the back of the cottage, as well.” She turned to face him, and they were closer than he expected. From the way her pupils dilated, she was taken off guard too, though her eyes quickly narrowed. “Is that clear enough, or would you like to get closer to the parking space to see it?”
Wow, pretty, smelled good, and snarky. Irresistible. Not the time, Freddie. Still, he couldn’t resist smirking at her. “Nope, I got it.”
She blinked. “Good. Here’s your keys for both rooms.”
“Thank you,” he said, taking both keys. He dangled them in the air. “Real keys, huh? No key cards?”
“Not at the Cornucopia, no.” She pivoted and beelined, very businesslike, to the door. “But if you lose your key, we do have extras at the desk.”
“For a fee?”
“For a fee.” She turned at the doorstep, a very nice smile over that perky-snarky tone. “If you or Brenda Lee need anything, someone will be at the front desk at all times.”
“Good to know.” She stepped out to the porch, but he stopped her. “One more thing?”
He could almost hear the sigh as she turned around, smile plastered on her face. “Yes, Freddie?”
“Your name?”
She blinked again, the smile slipping. “My name is Kate. Kate ...” Was she going to tell him her last name? “Kate the manager.”
She nodded and left. He looked once more at the room around him, tapping the rim of the dated lampshade. At his feet, Pumpkin made a questioning noise. “What do you think, Pumpkin? Are we going to survive this place Brenda insisted we stay at?”
Pumpkin warbled a moan.
“Yeah, me neither.”
His phone buzzed. A text from the star herself. Lester not at the Bellagio. Keep you posted.
Freddie rubbed his hands over his eyes. “Okay, Pumpkin, let’s go get the car. Maybe if we unpack Brenda’s things, it will bring good luck and get her here before her first scheduled appearance.”
Pumpkin barked encouragement, and he patted her head. At this point, he needed all he could get.
Chapter 3
After a few hours digging around Mom and Dad’s office and organizing the front desk, Kate flopped down onto one of the lobby’s big comfy chairs, exhaling a gusty breath. Two more weeks of this was more than she’d expected when she’d agreed to come. Since when did her parents leave stacks of papers to be filed, and have a to-do list that dated back nearly a year? Something was up.
“Long day?”
Kate turned at the unexpected voice. Virgil, the night clerk, was just on his way in from the courtyard entrance. With his grey crew cut hair, short-sleeve button-up, and argyle sweater vest, he looked exactly as he had for the last twenty years, which was as long as Kate had known him. Maybe his shoulders drooped a little more and his jowls weighed a little heavier, but other than that, he was a familiar-enough sight to trigger pleasant déjà vu. “Virgil! Good to see you. And yes, it has been a long day.”
Virgil nodded and shuffled back behind the desk without looking up. Kate peeled off the chair with as much energy as she could muster to join him. With plodding exactness, he unpacked his shoulder bag: laptop, water bottle, bag of trail mix, lip balm. Yep, same old Virgil—or almost.
“Is that dried fruit in your mix, Virgil?”
He looked at the container as if seeing it for the first time before giving Kate a suspicious look. “Mixed tropical fruit. I added that nearly two years ago.”
“Ah, well, that explains it. I haven’t worked here at the Cornucopia for at least ten.”
He nodded again, apparently satisfied with that answer, and climbed up onto the tall desk chair.
Kate looked at the big wall clock shaped like an apple. “Huh. It’s only six-thirty. I have on the schedule that you start your shift at nine.”
Virgil adjusted his seat. “I like to come in early. I’ve got a deadline coming up for my new novel, and it’s quieter here than at home.”
Kate grimaced, looking around the empty lobby. She’d only had one guest come in this past hour, and that was just to pick up an extra towel. “I suppose it is. I noticed we only have a few of the cabins rented tonight, and the harvest festival starts day after tomorrow. Normally, at this point we’d be booked solid. Any idea why?”
Virgil looked up at her for a long moment, but he just shook his head and opened his laptop.
Apparently not. “If you’re here, then, can I ...?”
“You can go.”
“Great. Thanks, Virgil.”
Phew! A break sounded nice. But what should she do? A grumble from her stomach reminded her that for lunch she’d just nibbled on stale crackers she’d found in an office drawer. Time to raid Mom and Dad’s kitchen, see what they’d left for her.
She rounded the desk to head to the residency via the office when the back door opened. She’d had so few people come in all afternoon that even with Virgil on duty now, curiosity made her whirl around to see who it was.
Freddie Prescott and Pumpkin the labradoodle came in through the courtyard doors, and Kate’s nose crinkled. That guy wasn’t to be trusted; she could feel it. He was hiding something. But at least he looked good. He’d shed his overcoat and wore dress khakis and a brown-and-red plaid button-down with the sleeves rolled up. The colors set off his tan and the sun-kissed brown hair.
Sun-kissed, heehee. He was cute
enough to kiss, or he would be if he weren’t a stuck-up New Yorker and a guest. Not that anything about men was very appealing at the moment, not after the Steven breakup.
Not that Steven had been much of a catch, but he’d been something. Her heart stung, missing the something more than Steven himself. She never had liked the way he combed his hair straight back, nor that he constantly used the word “irregardless.” Plus there was that thing about not liking children, but whatever. She still found herself single, again.
Freddie Prescott’s eyes met hers for the briefest second before he addressed Virgil. “Hi, I’m looking for a good place in town to eat. Any recommend—oh.” Virgil had placed one of the hotel’s printed lists on the countertop without looking up. “Thank you. And do you know if any are—” Virgil flipped the paper over and tapped the middle. “—dog accessible? Thank you.”
Good old Virgil. Kate left them to it, picked up her duffel bag where she’d stashed it in the office that morning, and headed into the residence.
Her first thought going into her childhood home—basically an attached cabin off the side of the main lodge—was that someone must be moving. Boxes stacked behind the couch were marked “pictures,” “knickknacks,” “Mom’s china,” “Kate.” No, obviously not moving, since Mom and Dad would never leave the Cornucopia, but it was a bit late in the year for spring cleaning.
The place did look fantastic other than the boxes. What was normally a comfortably messy, homey place had transformed to something out of a country cottage magazine. Staged, almost.
“Huh.” She hauled the bag back to her old bedroom, and by the sparse shelves she could guess what was in that box marked with her name in the living room: her old posters, her band participation certificates, and her Funko figurine collection. Well, that was nice of Mom and Dad to get them ready for her to take, if she had somewhere to take them to at this point.
The refrigerator contained some lettuce that had seen better days, a container with something that was probably soup but didn’t smell very good, and more condiments than any two people needed—the only sign that they’d lived here at the Cornucopia for thirty years. Nope, nothing tempting her in the fridge. She slipped her debit card into her pocket and headed for the residence exit. Time to get some groceries.
The sun was just dipping near the horizon, and Kate remembered with a rush of feeling why she loved this town so much. Golden light touched the old buildings, most of them stone and many in the town’s signature Swiss style. Since the Cornucopia butted up against the edge of town, as soon as she’d left the building, she walked past some of her most familiar childhood haunts. The Swiss Bliss Salon. The bookshop. Wicked Dough Pizza, where she’d gone on her first date. Choco-Latte and the wonderful old dollar store, the two places she’d spent her wages as soon as she was old enough to push a broom and weed the courtyard. And oh, the Sticky and Sweet Honey Shop! Would Josie be there? She’d have to stop in and see, maybe buy some honey to spruce up the inn’s breakfast offerings. But not tonight. Tonight, she needed food.
As she approached Harold’s Market, the Blue Shadow Café across the street caught her attention. Freddie Prescott and his furry friend sat at a patio seating next to one of the outdoor heaters. The lederhosen-clad waitress didn’t look happy with him when she walked away scribbling on her notepad. He was probably complaining that the facilities weren’t posh enough. When he looked up and nodded at Kate, she frowned at being caught staring and busied herself with the grocery shopping.
If Mr. Prescott thought the Cornucopia and the café were outdated, wait until he saw Harold’s Harvest Market. Part farmer’s market and part ma-and-pa grocer, the place creaked and peeled like some organic, living thing. Before going inside, Kate chose fresh produce from wicker baskets lined up along the sidewalk, locally grown apples, squash, and string beans. Inside, coffee beans and bread aromas wafted through the air, and wooden floorboards that had supported generations of Harvest Ranch families groaned beneath her feet.
Why was it she’d wanted to move to a big city? Walking through the small spice section and inhaling the cinnamon and cloves stacked on fragrant cedar shelving, Kate couldn’t remember a single reason.
Putting a box of bow-tie pasta in her basket, she turned to see a familiar face. A little goofy and a lot cocky. McGee.
“Hey, pumpkin face,” he said, grinning broadly at her.
Kate grimaced. “Don’t call me that.”
“But it’s your nickname.”
“Nope. That’s not my nickname.” Kate scooted around him, noting he still had the muscular build beneath his blue T-shirt that he’d had in high school. He’d always had that going for him. She browsed the jar sauces next. “How’ve you been, McGee? Still writing for the paper?”
“Writing, sure. That’s not all, though. Maybe you haven’t heard. I’m morning editor over at the Harvest Times.”
“Good for you, McGee.” She picked up a jar of locally produced marinara and read the label. Tomatoes, tomato paste, garlic, oregano, onion. Nice simple ingredients, but did she want marinara?
“Got my promotion after that big story I broke,” McGee continued. “Maybe you heard of it. Kids were blamed for bringing a cow up to the second floor of the middle school, called it an eighth-grade parting prank. Turned out it was Lance Newsome the seventh-grade history teacher, getting revenge on Tucker Bianchi, the eighth-grade history teacher, for stealing away the national history week faculty advisor position. Lance was very upset.”
“Wow. How did they get the cow back downstairs?”
“Elevator. Cows don’t go down stairs. And revenge tactics are frowned upon by the national history week people. Lance got barred for life. I made the discovery when I recognized his harmonica at the crime scene, which he is accused of using to lead the cow into the building.”
Kate waited to hear if there was more, but there wasn’t. “Well done on the exposé, McGee. You’ll be ready for the big city soon.”
He shrugged but looked pleased. “Maybe. I mean, morning editor isn’t much, just manning the stories until Clive shows up around eleven, but it’s a good title.”
“Sounds like it.” She put the marinara sauce back. Pesto sounded better. Did they carry it? She pressed on down the aisle.
“I’m really just one big story away from making the move,” he said, chalking up another déjà vu. He’d said that same thing the last few times she’d seen him.
“Then I hope you get it,” she told him, smiling.
“It’ll be soon. I have a lead.”
“Cool.” Aha! The pesto, right between the cheeses and hummus. Who knew Harold’s carried pesto and hummus? The times they were a-changing.
“Say, pumpkin face—I mean, Kate. How about while you’re in town we go dancing at the Big Barn some Friday night, for old time’s sake?”
Kate cringed inwardly—or at least she hoped it didn’t show. No point hurting McGee’s feelings. “I take it by ‘old time’s sake’ you mean because we went to junior prom together?” Which she would have referred to as the most boring night of her life if it wasn’t for him getting a breadstick stuck in his nose at dinner. That was a sight.
“Sure. That and ... you know.”
“I ‘know’?”
He tapped his nose, like it was some secret signal between them. She’d known McGee most of her life, but she was pretty sure they didn’t share any secret signals. He repeated, “You know.”
Kate tilted her head. “Do I, McGee?”
He smiled knowingly. She felt like the time a caterpillar got down the back of her shirt. “You know, Kate. Photography club? In high school. You were president, and I was—”
“Vice president, right. True, those were definitely old times.” Which was where he’d heard her bemoaning not having a date for prom, she recalled, and how he’d jumped in and asked.
“What do you say? Catch a little line dancing, maybe?”
She dropped a bar of dairy-free dark chocolate in the basket on her w
ay to the checkout and considered a pint of Harvest Ranch chocolate-chocolate-fudge-ribbon lactose-free ice cream. She was still mourning the loss of her job, after all. And Steven, though really that disappointed her less than the job loss. That considered, maybe he never really was “the one,” however ready she’d thought she was to settle down. “I’ll have to think about it, McGee. I’m going to be pretty busy running the Cornucopia these next few weeks.”
“That shouldn’t be hard,” McGee said, reaching into Harold’s jar of penny candy and tossing one into his mouth while he fished a quarter from his pocket.
“Why’s that?”
“I’d heard they were keeping business slow while they got ready to sell. At least that’s what Reva told me down at the café. Or maybe it was Loren, I forget. You probably don’t know them. They’re helping out at the Blue Shadow during the festival.”
“Wait.” She put a hand up. No way she’d heard that right. “Back up, McGee. ‘Sell’?”
“Somebody said your mom and dad are just winding things down while they decide whether to sell to someone who’ll keep the place intact or go ahead and turn things over to that property group that’s taking over some of the ... Hey, Kate, are you alright?”
Kate felt the blood drain from her face like the life force was flowing right out of her. Her parents were thinking of selling the Cornucopia? Impossible. They wouldn’t just get rid of it without telling her first. They would have at least said something.
The basket was suddenly too heavy to carry, and she handed it to McGee, who just slipped it in his arm like an old lady’s purse. “Sorry, Kate. I thought you knew.”
“They probably just forgot to tell me, getting busy for their trip and everything.”
“Yeah, that’s probably it.”
“Or maybe Reva had it wrong. Or Loren? Whoever.”
“I doubt it. Whoever it was had talked to your dad about it, I think at the library fundraiser.”
“Oh.” She couldn’t believe it, but tears still pricked at the backs of her eyes. “If it’s true, that really kind of does explain some things.”