Lock, Stock, and Over a Barrel

by Melody Carlson

  Daphne slid her new office chair under the desk, running her hands over the soft bone-colored leather. Elegant but useful. And the new rug, a graphic design of pale gray and aqua and off-white seemed the perfect touch. Feeling pleased with her progress, Daphne decided to treat herself to dinner at Midge’s Diner.

  It was one of those perfect June evenings as she walked to town. She felt strong and happy and life felt good. Tomorrow she would turn on her aunt’s computer and officially begin writing the advice column. At least, that was what she was telling herself. The little girl inside questioned this. Who was Daphne to give romantic advice to anyone? However, she was consoled to consider Aunt Dee—what had made her such an expert?

  “How many?” Kellie politely asked Daphne.

  “Just me.” She smiled.

  Kellie looked around the crowded diner. “Do you mind eating at the counter?”

  “I suppose that’s okay.” Daphne really didn’t want to eat at the counter, but it would be selfish to tie up a booth. However, if Kellie offered a booth, she would gladly accept.

  “Take any spot you want at the counter,” Kellie said pleasantly.

  Daphne took a stool at the end and, trying not to feel conspicuous, scanned the menu. Now she wished she’d stayed home. And she still had some leftovers from Saturday too. Tempted to say she changed her mind, she closed the menu and started to stand.

  “Hey, Daphne,” Ricardo said in a friendly tone as he emerged from the kitchen.

  She smiled. “Hey, Ricardo. What’s cooking?”

  He came over and leaned against the counter in front of her. “I just finished throwing some smoked salmon chowder soup together.”

  “Ooh, that sounds good.”

  He glanced at the empty seat beside her. “Eating alone tonight?”

  She nodded.

  He grinned. “Well, I admire a woman who can eat alone.”

  She let out a sheepish smile. “You want the truth?”

  His dark brows arched. “Sure.”

  “I was about to leave because I felt conspicuous eating alone at the counter. Is that pathetic or what?”

  He laughed, then pointed to a vacant booth. “Would you be more comfortable over there?”

  “I hate wasting a whole booth on just one—”

  He grabbed up her menu and glass of water. “Come on, Daphne.”

  Kellie watched as Ricardo escorted Daphne to the booth, and the expression on her face showed she wasn’t pleased. Still, this was Ricardo’s restaurant—couldn’t he sit customers wherever he liked?

  “How’s that?” He set down the water and handed her the menu again.

  “Much better. Although I still feel guilty for tying up this space when you’re busy like this.”

  He slid in across from her. “Would you feel better if I joined you?”

  Her cheeks warmed. “Oh, you don’t have to do that, Ricardo, just to make me feel better.”

  He chuckled. “I’m doing it because it makes me feel better. I’m hungry and you’re good company. Do you mind?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Great. I’m going to have a bowl of my smoked salmon chowder and a green salad. How about you?”

  “That sounds great. I mean, I’ll have the same. And iced tea too, please.”

  He went over to tell Kellie, then quickly returned with their beverages. “I haven’t seen much of you lately.” He sat back down.

  So she explained about New York and then cleaning out the house and the Grab and Go and even about setting up her new office space today. “So I guess I’m celebrating tonight.”

  “My mom told me about all your relatives coming over to your house on Saturday.”

  “Oh, dear.” Daphne grimaced. “I hope she wasn’t too disturbed by all the arguing.”

  “She said it got a little loud.” He grinned.

  “Loud? At one point I thought I would have to call the police.”

  “Family feuds can get out of hand.”

  “But it all turned out just fine,” she said.

  “So is it true, then?”

  “Is what true?”

  “That Dee was actually your grandmother?”

  She blinked. “How did you hear that?”

  “It’s a small town, Daphne. And your cousin Marlene is good friends with my mom. She told her. And Mom told me.” He smiled. “I thought that was pretty cool news. And it explains why Dee was so generous to you in her will.”

  She nodded. “I’m actually relieved that the cat’s out of the bag. I honestly don’t see why Aunt Dee was so concerned. Well, except that life was different back in her day. I suppose people could be cruel. And like you said, it’s a small town. But I was glad it was my dad who exposed her secret. Not me.”

  Before long their soup and salads came. “Ricardo, this soup is fabulous.”

  “Thank you. It’s one of my favorite recipes.”

  “Really, it is so good. If you served this in New York’s finest restaurants, the food critics would rave about it.”

  As they ate and visited, Daphne couldn’t help but wonder. She knew this wasn’t a date, but was it possible that Ricardo really did have some romantic interest in her? But too soon the meal was done and she knew Ricardo was needed in the kitchen.

  “Thank you for dining with me,” he told her as he stood. “And don’t even think of trying to pay because this was on me.”

  “But—”

  “No arguing.” He held up his hands.

  She stood too. “Okay. But now you have to promise to come see my new-and-improved house. I want to have a little housewarming this week. Will you come?”

  “You bet.” He nodded.

  “I haven’t actually picked the night yet. What’s your best night?”

  His brow creased. “Well, weekends keep me busy here. Thursday is my night off.”

  “Thursday it is.” She nodded. “Let’s say seven.”

  “I’ll be there.” His dark eyes gleamed and she felt an unexpected warm rush. He was still as handsome as in high school. No, he was even more handsome now.

  She told him thanks and good-bye and went home to make a list of the others she would invite, and since it was rather last minute, she decided that before it was too late in the evening, she would just call them. Her plan was to invite friends and neighbors and then everyone, including Willie’s paint crew, who had helped with the house. By the time she finished, she had spoken to or left messages for more than twenty people.

  The next morning she decided to walk to town and visit The Apple Basket. She remembered seeing a sign there about catering and she hoped Truman might be able to help her. In less than an hour, a simple menu for a small buffet of appetizers and drinks was all worked out.

  “And if you like, I have a gal named Katy who works here,” Truman told her. “She’s a great server for dinners and parties. She wears a neat white shirt and black trousers and acts very professional. I can see if she’s available.”

  “Perfect. And I’d love for you to come as a guest, if you’d like. There might be some people there you know . . . or would like to meet.”

  He eagerly agreed and after the final details were settled, Daphne went back home, determined to go to work.

  It took a while for her to correctly enter the passwords and figure out the storage system for Aunt Dee’s computer, but before long, she was opening up e-mails containing letters from what she assumed were real people, although some of the letters were so ridiculous, she felt they must’ve been phony. But she soon discovered that her aunt had created files for all sorts of letters. They went from A to Z, including everything from Addicted to Love to Zealously Jealous and everything in between.

  Reading over the old columns, Daphne was surprised at how familiar the
y felt. Partly because she’d read the column for years. But it was almost as if she could hear her aunt speaking those comforting words of wisdom. And some of the letters Daphne had crafted in her head fit right in. It felt as if her writing voice was similar to Aunt Dee’s—and that gave her hope.

  Giving herself the freedom to make mistakes and knowing she could throw her first attempts away, she jumped in and began to write responses. But she soon learned two things: (1) Her answers had a tendency to sound too cheeky, and (2) she seemed to lack the genuine connection that had come so naturally to her aunt. Perhaps this was not as easy as she’d assumed.

  “How did you do it?” Daphne finally said. Leaning back in the chair, she closed her eyes and attempted to clear her mind, wishing Aunt Dee would send her some kind of message. But nothing came.

  Soon she was pacing, going around and around in the office, flailing her arms as she walked in small circles, just like her mind seemed to be circling . . . getting nowhere. Suddenly she wished she hadn’t given Aunt Dee’s study this makeover. What if something had been lost in the transformation? Something that Daphne would never get back? Daphne changed the direction of her circling, going counterclockwise in an attempt to unwind her mind.

  And then she stopped. It was time to start going through her aunt’s mysterious-looking cabinets and drawers. Some of them were locked—and those were the ones that interested her the most. She’d already discovered a handsome engraved silver cigarette case that looked like it was from the forties. In it were a number of small keys. It didn’t take long to figure out where the keys fit.

  As she unlocked one of the cabinet doors, she found it was filled with multiple copies of all the Penelope Poindexter books. She pulled one out, studying the glossy depiction of a beautiful buxom blonde struggling against a swarthy pirate with handsome, rugged looks. So typical. So cliché. Had Aunt Dee truly penned this sort of tripe?

  Taking the book to her chair, she sat down and began to read Gabriella’s Bounty. She prepared herself to laugh at her aunt’s bodice-ripping romp, but instead she found herself quickly tugged into the story. And although she felt simultaneously amused and embarrassed to be entertained by the simple plotline of this fluffy romance book, she continued to read.

  Daphne wanted to understand how it was possible that she was starting to care about the young Gabriella Barteau. Pulled in by the beautiful yet naive Gabriella, orphaned as a child and raised by nuns, Daphne felt sorry for her when she was kidnapped by an evil man who believed Gabriella to be an heiress he could exchange for ransom. Then stepped in the dashing Jean Luc Bouchard, captain of a ship full of renegades that everyone assumed were pirates. And on the story went.

  Daphne could hardly believe it was nearly two o’clock when she finally closed the book and shook her head. Aunt Dee could really write. To Daphne’s relief, the book had not been smutty. Not a bit like she’d expected. In fact, despite being filled with romantic tension, it was fairly chaste and moral. And it had been enjoyable—for an escape read. And who didn’t need an escape from time to time?

  Daphne sat there studying the suggestive cover and trying to wrap her head around this. Aunt Dee seemed to understand something about life and love—something that Daphne had missed. And something about this fluffy little book had great appeal to Penelope’s readers. And yet Daphne couldn’t quite put her finger on it. What was it exactly that had made Penelope Poindexter’s books so popular?

  And then it hit her—just like that. She stood in triumph, nodding in eager realization as a lightbulb seemed to go on inside of her brain. “Of course, that must be it,” she proclaimed as she paced around the small space.

  Yes, it was all starting make sense. Penelope Poindexter a.k.a. Aunt Dee had compelled her readers to care about the characters. While reading this book, Daphne had felt as if she were actually in Gabriella’s delicate black velvet slippers as the unfortunate girl was being held captive by the evil Claude Lasser. Daphne had felt the longing in Gabriella’s heart as well as the constriction of her corset after she was rescued by the dashing pirate Jean Luc.

  Now Daphne returned to the computer and opened the file of letters asking the wise Daphne Delacorte for advice. She clicked on to the top one, and after reading the plea for help, Daphne felt instantly pulled into this young woman’s world. To her delighted surprise, she truly cared about Frustrated in Florida. And without really thinking or second-guessing herself, she opened a Word doc and began to type an answer. Her fingers flew over the keyboard, similar to when she wrote wedding announcements, and by the time she finished, although her response wasn’t perfect, she felt it was pretty good.

  Standing up and stretching, she felt slightly light-headed. Or maybe she was just heady from having written her first Dear Daphne response. Or more likely, she simply needed nourishment. She hurried to the kitchen and fixed herself a plate of finger food, then rushed back to her office, eager to review her work. As she munched on her lunch, she slowly reread the letter from Frustrated in Florida as well as her Dear Daphne response.

  Dear Daphne,

  I’m twenty-nine and moved back in with my mother about a year ago, right after my father died. First I have to say that I love Mom dearly and I mostly respect her. But she is putting some serious brakes on my love life. Every time I go out, she complains about what I’m wearing. And I dress pretty conservatively. She also complains if I stay out too late, although I’ve never been late for work the next day. She also complains about the guys I go out with. I’ve learned not to bring them home. Nothing and no one seems good enough for her or her little girl. She’s driving me totally nuts. But at the same time, I know she wants me around. She keeps telling me she’s worried that I’ll move away and she’ll be all alone. What should I do?

  Frustrated in Florida

  Dear Frustrated,

  First of all, let me express my sympathy for the loss of your father. I’m sure that must be hard on both you and your mother. You sound like a kind and caring daughter, and I’m sure your mother loves you dearly and is grateful to have had your emotional support during this difficult phase in her life. However, I suspect that the time is coming when, for both your sake and your mother’s, you will need to consider moving out and living on your own again. Although your mother seems worried to lose you, she also seems to be pushing you away by complaining so much. If you continue to live under her roof, I suspect her complaints will drive a wedge between you and her. Whether your mother can see it or not, she needs some space to grieve and heal and restart her life again. So do you. Then you can maintain a healthy and happy relationship with her from a safe distance.

  Daphne

  Feeling it was a good day’s work but still a little unsure of herself, she e-mailed it to Jake, admitting it was her first attempt and asking him to give her his honest opinion. She really hoped he would like it, and she felt confident he would be honest.

  She was just shutting down the computer when the doorbell rang. Thinking it might be Mick since he liked to pop in unexpectedly, she hurried to the door and swung it widely open. But when she saw the man standing there, smiling hopefully at her, she felt as if the floor beneath her had vanished . . . as if she were suddenly tumbling.

  Chapter 19

  What are you doing here?” she quietly asked in a flat, lifeless tone. It must’ve been close to eighty degrees on the porch, and yet she felt a chill in the air.

  “Daphne!” Ryan Holloway’s blue eyes sparkled. “It’s so great to see you. You look fantastic. Prettier than ever.”

  “Why are you here?” She folded her arms across her chest and glared at her ex-boyfriend, the man who had broken her heart. And even though it had been nearly ten years since she’d last spoken to him, it suddenly seemed like yesterday.

  “Is that how you greet an old friend?” The sparkle left his eyes. “I’m sorry to catch you by surprise like this, Daphne. I thought ab
out calling first, but I was worried you’d hang up on me.”

  “You got that right.” Despite the years, Ryan hadn’t changed much. He was still boyishly handsome. Except as she looked more closely, it seemed his sandy hair had grown thinner. Whereas his waistline had not. Dressed neatly in a tan jacket, beige shirt, and brown pants, he reminded her of a cardboard cutout. Flat looking. Or maybe it was just her.

  “So you aren’t going to ask me in?” He sighed. “I guess I should’ve known better.”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “You should’ve.”

  “You won’t, at least, hear me out before you send me packing?”

  “Hear you out about what?” she asked cautiously.

  He glanced over his shoulder as if he was worried the neighbors were watching. “You really won’t let me in?”

  She rolled her eyes, then opened the door wider. “Fine. Come in. If you must.”

  “Thank you for your warm hospitality,” he said teasingly as he followed her into the front room. “This is a pretty house.”

  She pointed to the couch. “Have a seat.”

  “Thank you.” He sat down and looked around. “This really is a pretty house. Both on the outside and the inside. Did it really belong to your spinster aunt?”

  She sat in the club chair and frowned as she tried to recall how much she had told him about her past . . . probably everything. “Yes. This was my aunt’s house.”

  “It just doesn’t look like a place where an old person would—”

  “I’ve made some changes,” she said sharply. “Is that why you’re here, Ryan? To discuss home decor ideas?”

  “No, of course not.” He gave a nervous smile. “Just making small talk and hoping to warm the temperature a little.”

  “Why don’t you get to the point?”

  He sat up and leaned forward. “The point is that I’m sorry, Daphne. I’m truly sorry. And I wish, for once and for all, you would let me explain myself.”