“Me, neither,” Miranda admitted, falling into step beside him. “Tucker’s actually a really good guy, but that sort of gets hidden when he’s in cop mode.”
Adam looked at her curiously. “Does everyone in this town know each other?”
“I don’t know everyone,” Miranda admitted. “My grandmother, though, has lived here all her life, and sooner or later everyone stops by the orchard for her apples or pies. So I guess everyone knows Sophie.”
Miranda liked walking quickly, but whenever she walked with a man, she inevitably found herself slowing her natural pace. Jake had complained about her “speed-walking,” and even Greg would ask if she could please slow down a little. Adam was taller, with long legs and a loose, easy stride. He seemed to travel at the same brisk pace that came naturally to her.
Miranda didn’t talk much as they walked, letting Adam take in the sights. The village was decorated for the holidays, with displays in all the store windows and wreaths and bows on the gaslight street lamps. Even the parking meters were covered with red and white tape to look like candy canes. The coastal village, with its well-preserved Victorian-era architecture, was picturesque any time of year, but it looked particularly charming during the holidays, and Miranda hoped the scenery would help cheer Adam.
“Does any of this look familiar to you?” she asked. “Maybe you came to town to meet somebody?”
He paused at the corner and looked around. “It all looks like a beautiful Christmas card, one I may have seen before. But I don’t feel as if I’ve ever been here.”
They were standing right near the Golden Moon jewelry store. “Do you mind if we stop in here a minute? I need to talk to the owner,” Miranda said. “She saw some of my jewelry at a crafts fair and offered to sell it in her store. So I guess I’m about to find out whether or not she did.”
Adam nodded. “No problem.” Miranda entered the store and he followed.
Krista Mullan stood at a counter in the back arranging some items for display. She smiled as Miranda walked in. Krista was in her mid-thirties, a few years older than Miranda, but the two women had hit it off from their first meeting. Miranda admired Krista’s sense of style, from the way she dressed to the colors and displays in the shop. The Golden Moon sold a different type of jewelry from the other shops in town—arty, handcrafted items, hipper and more daring styles that one might find in Boston or even New York.
“Look who’s here…I just called you this morning. Did you get the message?”
“My grandmother told me. I was on my way to town so I thought I would just stop in.”
“I sold everything you gave me at the fair. I have a check for you. But I also wanted to order more—for the Christmas rush.”
“Oh…that’s great. Thanks.” Miranda was both thrilled and a little daunted by the news. Krista and her husband, Michael, also owned jewelry shops in Newburyport and Provincetown, which meant the order could be a big one. And Christmas was less than three weeks away! “Uh…What exactly did you have in mind? I mean…How much and how fast do you need it?”
Krista laughed at her. “Take a calming breath, Miranda. We can figure this out.”
Adam touched her arm and she suddenly remembered he was there. “I’m going to walk around a little outside. Meet you in a few minutes, okay?”
Miranda glanced at him. “Sure. I won’t be long.”
Krista watched Adam go. “Who’s your friend?”
“Oh, sorry I didn’t introduce you. That’s Adam.…He’s staying with us for a while.”
“Cute.” Krista nodded with approval then seemed all business again. “Here’s what I’d like, in a week if you can do it. I can take less, of course.…” She pulled out a pad where she had written down some numbers and item descriptions.
Miranda stared at the list, mentally calculating what it would take to complete it. The earrings were no problem, but she wasn’t sure about some of the necklaces and bracelets. “I’m really glad you want so many pieces,” she told Krista, “but I’m not sure I have all the necessary materials. I’m running low on silver wire and seed pearls, as well as some of the gemstones. Let me take this home and I’ll check my supplies. Can I call you tomorrow?”
“That would be fine. Oh, and here’s the payment for what I sold,” Krista added, handing her an envelope.
Miranda smiled, realizing she had just made her first big sale. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Thanks again.”
“Thank you, Miranda. I’m excited to be selling your work.”
“I am, too. I mean, excited that you’re selling it,” she said honestly.
Miranda stepped outside, feeling light-headed with happiness. She glanced around for Adam. She saw him about halfway down the block, gazing into the window of a clothing store. She walked toward him, thinking they probably ought to go in and find him some new clothes.
Adam looked away from the window and smiled at her. “You look happy. Did it go well in there?”
“I’ll say. She sold everything I gave her at the crafts fair last month and asked if I can make up a big order…and I got a check,” she added with a grin. “My first real sale.”
His smile widened. He looked truly pleased for her, forgetting his own problems entirely. “Congratulations. You must be very proud.”
“Amazed is more the word for it.”
“You’re too modest, Miranda. I’m sure the jewelry is beautiful. Can I see some of it when we get back?”
She shrugged. “Of course you can. You might be seeing a lot of it if I agree to fill this order.” She took out the yellow sheet with Krista’s notes and looked it over again. “I’m not sure if I can do this, especially by her deadline. She needs it really quickly for Christmas shoppers.”
“That is a tough deadline,” he said. “But you should think it over carefully. It sounds like a good opportunity. I mean, if you want to build a business from your hobby.”
That was the question, wasn’t it? Adam, who didn’t know her at all, had hit the nail on the head. Did she want to make a real commitment to jewelry-making? With clients and orders and deadlines, and letterhead and business cards…and maybe even a Web site down the road? It felt overwhelming to think about all that right now. But it appeared that she could make a go of it, with some focus and effort.
Or did she want to return to acting? And maybe even leave Cape Light?
“You’re right. I need to think about it carefully…but not right now.” She sighed and stuffed the note into her pocket. “See anything you like in the window here?”
“It’s nice stuff, but I’m fine. I don’t need anything new.”
“Of course you do. You can’t walk around in my grandfather’s old clothes. You look like…a time traveler from nineteen sixty-two.”
He struggled to keep a straight face, but couldn’t quite help smiling. “Well, when you put it that way. But you have to promise you’ll let me pay you back. Every penny, okay?”
“Yes, you’ll pay me back, every cent. Now let’s get in there. We still have to go see Sara.”
Inside the store, Adam went straight to the sale rack. “How about these?” he said, holding up a pair of dark green pants.
“Um, I think there’s a reason they’re on sale.” Miranda pointed to a small stain on the knee. “Let’s try that rack,” she said, steering him over to the regular-priced clothing. While Adam looked at the jeans, she picked out two shirts, a black wool sweater, and a dark blue fleece pullover she thought might suit him. Adam refused the extra items at first, but she finally persuaded him.
It felt a little odd shopping with him. It seemed so…personal, creating a strange sense of intimacy. A false sense, she reminded herself. By this time tomorrow, Adam might be gone.
They set off for the newspaper office, walking to the end of Main Street, then turning onto a street that faced the harbor. “This must be the place,” Adam said as they reached the building with Cape Light Messenger painted in gold letters on the wide plateglass window.
“Are you all right about this?” Miranda asked, hesitating before opening the door.
“I suppose I have to be,” Adam said. “But I feel a little like a tabloid freak: ‘Lost Man, Can’t Recall His Identity.’”
“Sara won’t write it that way,” Miranda promised him. “She’s a first-rate reporter. I know her story will help you.”
He nodded, looking tense, and held the door open for her.
The newspaper office was a large room, filled with desks, computers, and filing cabinets enclosed in a series of cubicles. Artists’ drawing tables covered with marked-up layouts lined the back wall. Miranda saw Lindsay Forbes, the editor in chief, sitting at her large desk. Sara stood at her shoulder, gazing at a computer screen, while Lindsay talked on the phone.
Sara looked up and waved, then quickly walked up to meet them. She greeted Miranda with a friendly hug and extended her hand to Adam. “Hi, I’m Sara Franklin. Thank you so much for coming by.”
Adam seemed to relax at her words. “Thanks for helping me out. I’ll tell you whatever I can. But I really don’t remember much.”
Sara smiled. “That’s sort of the point of the story, though, isn’t it?”
Without waiting for his answer, she led them back to her desk behind a partition in the middle of the room.
Miranda had always liked Sara. She was good with people, just like her mother, Emily Warwick, who was Cape Light’s mayor. Although Miranda and Sara were friends, they didn’t get to see each other much, mostly because Sara worked long hours and was often out on assignments. She had surprised her family about a year ago, eloping with her longtime boyfriend, Luke McAllister. They now lived with her grandmother Lillian Warwick in Lillian’s huge house on Providence Street. Sara, Miranda knew, never felt comfortable inviting her friends there—Lillian, even at her best, was difficult—so when they had the rare chance to get together, it was usually for coffee or lunch in town.
After reviewing the basic facts of Adam’s appearance in the orchard, Sara asked him some direct questions then took his photo with a digital camera. When she showed them the photo on her computer screen, Adam looked relieved. “Well, at least it’s not as bad as the police mug shot.”
“No, it’s a much better likeness,” Miranda said, thinking he really was incredibly handsome.
“I’m going to work on this right away,” Sara promised. “I might be able to make some late editions and tonight’s TV news. We’ll put it out on the wire, too, and it will go out nationally. A lot of outlets will pick up a story on amnesia,” she assured him. “We’ll give a contact number at the police station, and they’ll check out the calls to see if they’re legitimate.”
Miranda couldn’t help a flash of apprehension. With Adam’s photo on the news and in papers all over the country, someone was bound to come forward to claim him.
“Have you ever heard of this happening to anyone?” Adam asked.
Sara thought for a moment. “As a matter of fact, there was a story in the news last year, about a man who went out to walk his dog and out of nowhere, lost his memory. It was some sort of stress disorder; I can’t recall the medical term. Anyway, he wandered around for about a month and walked miles from his neighborhood. He lived on handouts and what he could find in trash cans. People who saw him thought he was homeless. The police and his family were looking for him the entire time. Just by chance, someone he knew recognized him one day and brought him home.”
Adam looked a little dismayed. “A month is a long time to be lost,” he said. But I guess I’m a lot more fortunate than that poor guy. After a month with the Potters, I’ll be too spoiled to go back to my real life.”
Miranda laughed, secretly touched by his compliment. Sara glanced at her then, and something in her expression made Miranda blush. She was suddenly sure that Sara knew: somehow Sara had sensed that spark she felt with Adam.
“Thanks for stopping by. I’ll call you, Miranda,” Sara said with another meaningful look. “Maybe we can get together for lunch or something next week?”
“Absolutely. Call me and we’ll figure out a time to meet.”
When they finally left the newspaper office, it was almost two o’clock. Even though they had eaten a late breakfast, Miranda was hungry. “Want to grab some lunch before we head back?” she asked Adam. “The Clam Box diner down the street is okay.”
“Maybe another time. I think we ought to get back to the orchard so I can help you do some more painting. I’m still feeling guilty about this new wardrobe.”
It wasn’t much, she wanted to remind him. She could well afford it today, with her surprise payment from the Golden Moon. But she could tell that working and doing something productive would make him feel better.
“I think we got a lot accomplished,” she said. “The word will be out soon, and someone you know will see the news article, or some police station will put things together.”
“I hope so. I guess we’ve done all we can do for now. Except wait.”
That was all she would be doing, she knew. She had known him less than twenty-four hours, and already she dreaded the moment when Adam would find out who he was and leave Cape Light. He had shown up like an unexpected gift, and suddenly her life had gotten brighter, more exciting. Even though he had been kidding around, just the idea of him staying a month at the orchard had made her deeply happy.
Get a grip, Miranda, she told herself. He’s got a life of his own, and you happen to have a boyfriend. Okay, she resolved, she could be friendly to him, and even kind, but any other feelings would be inappropriate and pointless. More than pointless—totally ridiculous.
They headed back to the orchard, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally Adam turned to her. “Something Sara Franklin said made me wonder. What if my memory loss wasn’t caused by the concussion? What if I lost it before that?”
“What do you mean?”
“When Sara was talking about that other case of amnesia, she said it was caused by psychological stress. It made me wonder if that happened to me, too. What if I was actually running away from something and the place I belong is a place I don’t want to return to?”
“I suppose that’s possible, too.”
Miranda had never believed Tucker’s suspicious scenarios about Adam’s background. This was a bit different, though. The idea that Adam was running from something or someone was unsettling, and she didn’t quite know what to think about it.
CHAPTER THREE
“I DON’T USUALLY LIKE CURRY, BUT THIS IS YUMMY. The spice is just right.” Betty Bowman nodded and chewed, her eyes half-closed and her expression dreamy.
Molly dipped her fingertip in the sauce on her plate and tasted it again. “It’s not too hot? You know how people around here feel about spices.”
“You’ve been educating their palates, Molly. It’s a public service to add these exotic dishes to your menu.” Betty reached for a second curried shrimp kabob. “I’m going to have another.”
“Save room for the spinach puffs. They should be done in a minute.”
“I’m going to charge by the hour for these taste-testing sessions. One lunch break here and I need about five extra sessions with my personal trainer.”
Molly knew Betty wasn’t serious. She loved coming in to taste and review new dishes for the shop’s menu. Molly had come to rely on Betty’s critiques, which could usually predict which dishes would be popular and which would be duds.
The phone rang and Molly answered it. Another call, asking if she could do a party this month. Molly had to politely refuse. Willoughby Fine Foods and Catering was booked solid for December straight through New Year’s Day.
“I can’t believe you’re turning down business.” Betty rolled her eyes. “You ought to hire more help. You could probably be doing twice as many parties this season if you had more help here.”
Normally Molly welcomed Betty’s advice. Betty had always been her mentor as well as her friend; she had been the first person to encourage Molly to start a bu
siness of her own. Betty was also the most successful businesswoman in town, the owner of Bowman Real Estate, and Molly had always admired that, hoping she could someday come close to Betty’s success.
But this morning, the casual comment rubbed her the wrong way.
“It’s not just waitstaff at the parties. I can always find people to do that. It’s all the prep work and setup. There’s no one but me to oversee and manage everything. I can’t be ten places at once.”
A timer buzzed. Molly stepped over to the oven and took out a tray of spinach and cheese puffs, slipped them onto a dish, and set it down on the table.
Betty touched her hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to criticize. Most people in your position are complaining because they don’t get enough calls. My office is just dead right now. We won’t have any signs of life until the end of January. If then. The real estate market is completely flat up here.”
“It will come back,” Molly promised her. “It always does.”
“In my lifetime, I hope.” Betty laughed and leaned back in her chair. “Don’t spread it around, Molly, but I almost don’t care. I’ve sold every house in town, some of them twice. I’ve seen every basement, attic, furnace and crawl space in town. I’ve been at it a long time, pal.”
“And you’re great at it. The best,” Molly reminded her.
“Yes, but…I’m getting bored.” Betty shrugged. “The problem is, I don’t know what else I can do. I’m still way too young to retire, thank heavens. But it’s hard to make a change at my age. It’s hard to start over in something new. And what would I do anyway? Real estate is my life. Unfortunately,” she added, making a face.
“How are the puffs?” Molly asked.
“Very good. Seem creamier…don’t tell me. You added a touch of cream cheese?”
Molly nodded. Betty couldn’t cook her way out of a take-out container, but she had infallible taste buds.
“Aren’t you having any?” Betty looked over at Molly’s dish.
“Curry disagrees with me lately. I’m not really hungry.”
A Christmas Visitor Page 6