Provenance

by Carla Laureano

  “I know. And you’re right.” Kendall twisted around to catch a glimpse of the lake from her window. If she squinted, she could make out the tiny street with its five Carpenter Gothics through the shimmer of the setting sun on the water. “I just need to be strong. I haven’t even filed my claim with the court yet, so that’s the first step. And after that, I guess I need to consult a Realtor. But first, I want to inventory the houses.”

  “And how long do you think that will take?”

  Kendall hesitated. “That was the other thing I wanted to talk to you about. I think it’s probably going to be a week or two. Everything was wrapped up on my design projects before I went to Europe; I just have a few commissions from past clients to fill, and they know it will take me a while to find the right pieces. Can you handle things there without me for that long?”

  “Of course I can. Take as much time as you need. Get all those delicious antiques crated and shipped back to me posthaste, and you can deal with the real estate stuff when they’re empty. But sell the houses.”

  “Noted.” Kendall smiled, bolstered by her friend’s assertive tone. She knew what she had to do; she just had to be reminded what was at stake. “I have to go now. Fresh-baked scones downstairs.”

  “Do not be seduced by the baked goods,” Sophie intoned. “Also, I’m a little mad you can still eat gluten. Call me later.”

  “Done.” Kendall clicked off the line and squared her shoulders. Baked goods indeed awaited her downstairs. And no matter how charming or persistent the Brandts were, she would stay strong.

  Chapter Six

  GABE FOLLOWED HIS GRANDFATHER down the stairs and around the staircase landing to the kitchen, where the fragrance of butter and wheat and the floral scent of citrus water perfumed the moist air. This was Werner Brandt’s domain, and his past as a professional baker was evidenced by the no-nonsense approach he had taken with its decor: rather than the elaborate Victorian style his grandmother had favored, the kitchen was all functional tile, flat-paneled cabinets, and stainless steel. Back when the town had been thriving and the B and B was regularly booked, the cooking and baking for guests had kept him busy enough; now Opa baked for several of the town’s cafés and restaurants. He said he did it to keep busy in his retirement years, but Gabe suspected it also covered expenses that the guesthouse and his Social Security checks didn’t.

  Gabe reached for one of the dozen round scones perched on a cooling rack, and Opa fixed him with his signature glare. “Don’t touch them. They’re still hot and they’ll fall apart the minute you pick them up.”

  As soon as he looked away, Gabe snatched one off the rack. It immediately crumbled into pieces, and he shoved half of them into his mouth. His grandfather shook his head in mock disgust. “Didn’t I tell you?”

  “Totally worth it,” he mumbled around a mouthful of crumbs. “Orange and almond?”

  Opa relented slightly at his words, his expression softening. Gabe blinked to restore his sudden blurry vision. Opa might have done the official baking for the B and B, but it was Oma from whom Gabe had sat across the island, watching her fix dinner. Guessing the spices in her food had turned into a game that even his most sullen teenage self hadn’t been able to resist. Oma and this kitchen had been his touchstone when he needed it most. Even five years later, it was hard to believe she was gone.

  Apparently Opa was thinking the same thing, because he placed a glass of chocolate milk in front of Gabe and slid another scone in his direction.

  “I miss her,” Gabe said softly. “I can’t help feeling she would have taken one look at Kendall and known exactly what to say to convince her not to sell.”

  “She did know how to read people, your grandmother.” Opa dragged a stool around the side of the island and perched on the edge. “The first time she and I met, she took one look at me and said I was going to take her out to dinner.”

  “Oma? She always said she’d played hard to get.”

  Something close to a guffaw escaped Opa’s lips. “Your grandmother? Hard to keep, maybe. Hard to get, no. She knew what she wanted, and once she went after it, no one could stand in her way. I’m just lucky one of those things was me.” He sent Gabe a look. “I sense a bit of that in your Kendall. It ran in the family. Stubborn as an ox, Connie Green. Her daughter, too.”

  “Trust me, she’s not my Kendall. And she wants nothing to do with her Green history, stubborn or otherwise. They’re strangers to her.”

  “Then maybe that’s your task. Make them not strangers. Help her understand her connections to this town. Or at least that’s what Greta would say.” Opa looked at him significantly and reached for the damp rag to wipe down the countertop.

  Gabe sighed. That was easier said than done. If the stubborn Green blood ran through her veins, she wasn’t likely to change her mind once it was made up. He changed the subject. “Does she really look just like her mother?”

  “Spitting image. A little older, of course. Caroline was barely eighteen the last time we saw her. Your grandmother always wished . . .” He shook his head. “But wishing doesn’t bring anyone back, does it?”

  Gabe had the feeling they weren’t just talking about Caroline Green now. Opa’s gaze had gone distant, and Gabe hesitated to interrupt what he expected was a deep dive into memory. After forty years of marriage, he had a lot of material to choose from.

  Kendall chose that moment to poke her head into the kitchen. “Can I come in?”

  “Of course, of course.” Opa waved her to a seat. “Have a scone. I’ll get you a cup of coffee.”

  Kendall pulled up the stool next to Gabe and shot a look at his glass. “That doesn’t look like coffee.”

  “What can I say? I still like my chocolate milk. Just don’t tell the voters. Half of them asked me if I was shaving yet when I put myself up for the office of mayor.”

  Kendall chuckled. “To be fair, you do have a young face.”

  Just what every guy wanted to hear from an attractive woman. “Not that young, I hope. It’s been at least two years since anyone asked me if I wanted a kids’ menu.”

  He saw Kendall repressing a smile behind the mug of coffee his grandfather set in front of her and counted that as a point in his favor. “So what are your plans for the rest of the day?” Gabe asked. “We can go back to my office and fill out the forms for the court, but you won’t be able to file until tomorrow. I’m happy to drive you to the courthouse in Georgetown. It’s about thirty miles.”

  “You don’t have to do that. I’m sure you have things to do.”

  “Not really. All the planning for the fall festival is complete, and anything else my staff needs, they can reach me on my cell.” He leaned over and lowered his face. “I’ll tell you a secret. Mayor doesn’t really do that much. The city council has to make all the decisions. I just execute them.”

  “You execute the members of your city council?” Kendall cracked, her eyes sparkling.

  Gabe grinned. “Only if they make the wrong decisions. I tell you what. You finish your coffee—or better yet, take it in a to-go mug—and I’ll show you around town. But you might want to put on another layer or two. The temperature is going to drop quickly as soon as the sun goes down.”

  Opa obviously understood what he had in mind, because he smoothly produced a stainless steel travel mug from one of the cupboards. “That’s an excellent idea. Take her over to the Pine View Cantina for dinner when you’re done. Their dessert menu is excellent.”

  Gabe laughed, even though Kendall looked confused as to what was so funny. “Humble as always, I see.” He hopped off the stool and then circled the island to give his grandfather a quick hug. “I’ll have her home at a decent hour; don’t worry.”

  Opa ignored him and instead turned his attention to Kendall. “Here. Take another scone to go. I’ll give you a little paper bag for it.”

  Gabe smiled to himself as Opa transferred Kendall’s coffee to the mug, pressed a bag into her hand, and shooed them out of the kitchen. His grandf
ather was right: he had to make her feel a personal connection to the town. Operation Win Over Kendall Green had officially begun.

  Chapter Seven

  KENDALL TOOK HER COFFEE and her to-go bag up the stairs to her room, where she riffled through the small collection of clothing she’d brought with her. When she’d boarded with just a carry-on duffel, it wasn’t because of any specific decision to pack light. It was just that everything she owned was oriented to the sunny Southern California weather, not this winter wonderland with its rapidly falling temperatures. Still, she had packed a couple of sweaters, so she took a cable-knit pullover from the bag, slipped it on over her T-shirt, and then wrapped a long knit scarf around her neck. At the last minute, she pulled a beanie from the side pocket and let down her bun so it would fit on her head, taking a moment to arrange her waves over her shoulders. When she came downstairs a few minutes later, Gabe was waiting in the foyer. He took one look at her and started to laugh.

  “What?” she protested. “You said to dress warm.”

  “I said to dress warm, but I didn’t think you’d go Shackleton expedition on me.” He shook his head, the grin staying plastered to his face. “Left coaster.”

  Kendall arched an eyebrow. “I grew up in Colorado, thank you very much.”

  “But your blood has thinned from all those matcha lattes.” Gabe winked at her and offered his arm. “Come on, Miss California. Let me show you around a proper mountain town.”

  Kendall ignored his arm with a smirk of her own and opened the front door. “You know, for a mayor of a town, you’re not very kind.”

  “Oh, I’m very kind. I’m just not very nice. There’s a difference.”

  “Is there?”

  “Of course. I’m kind, so I’m going to tell you that you’ve still got the price tag sticking out the neck of your jacket.” He gave it a quick yank, snapping off the plastic tag, and then tucked it into her pocket. “If I were nice, I wouldn’t say anything so you wouldn’t be embarrassed.”

  Kendall reached for the neck of her jacket, feeling her cheeks warm. She’d hoped that she could pass this off as something already hanging in the closet, not a purchase that took four hours and $200 at REI before she left. The salesman had convinced her that you could do no less than 600 fill power down if you were going to Colorado, but before she’d gotten halfway down the street from the Brandt Bed-and-Breakfast—Triple B, she thought with a laugh to herself—she had to unzip the front.

  Gabe smirked again.

  “Okay, Mr. Mayor. You’re supposed to be giving me a tour. Let’s hear it.”

  “Let the record show that you asked for it.”

  She’d been joking, but he really did know everything about the town. As they walked down the quiet residential street, its asphalt potholed and covered with a fine brown layer—remnants of the magnesium chloride used as a deicer on the interstate—he told her more about Jasper Lake’s history: how this neighborhood with the Victorian homes had been built by mine and business owners who settled in Jasper Lake permanently; how the smaller clapboard homes on the other side had once been used as boardinghouses before they were converted to single-family homes in the 1920s. When they finally reached the boardwalk area again, Kendall asked, “And how about this?”

  “This is pure 1980s tourist bait,” he responded with a grin. “We’re only a couple of hours from Denver, so we get lots of day-trippers up here from April to September. Or at least we used to. By October, it’s starting to slow down because the risk of a freak snowstorm or highway closure starts getting too high. Denverites—”

  “Are barely better than left coasters when it comes to driving in snow,” Kendall finished.

  Gabe laughed. “Exactly. But I’m too kind to say that out loud.”

  She was well aware of the high country–flatlander animosity, especially considering so many of the latter types swarmed to the ski towns in their expensive SUVs like they owned the place. But she took no offense at the words. Despite having grown up in Denver, she felt no more connection to it than she did to Jasper Lake. She’d learned long ago that the way to be happy was to look to the future, not to the past. At least when it came to her own past. Ironically, she’d built a career on investigating other people’s pasts.

  They walked slowly down the wood-planked walkway, Gabe keeping a respectable space between them, his hands shoved in his pockets while she looked into shopwindows. Most of the shops were predictable tourist traps: candy and fudge factories, gift shops with alpaca sweaters and gold-dipped leaf jewelry and Christmas ornaments, even a T-shirt shop that was filled with variations on the ubiquitous Colorado flag. The town’s quaint, charming air would probably annoy her were she back home, because it would be so obviously put-on. But there was something appealingly earnest about this place, something so authentically small-town—from the hand-churned ice cream parlor painted in shades of pink and white, to the tiny closet of a real estate office with its current listings printed on plain white computer paper and taped to the inside of the window—that she couldn’t fault it. Suddenly, walking into that tiny Realtor’s space to list her houses felt downright callous.

  “What’s this?” Her steps slowed in front of a small lot wedged between a sandwich shop and the next block of businesses, fenced off with a low-slung sweep of chain link. A run-down concrete building, its windows covered with curling brown kraft paper, stood forlorn and abandoned before wide swaths of green Astroturf. “It’s a miniature golf course?”

  “It was a miniature golf course,” Gabe corrected. “And an arcade. Take a look.” He pulled aside a roll of chain link that had been left unanchored at the edge of the plot and held it back so Kendall could step through. He took her elbow as she picked her way through debris that littered what looked like it was once a “green,” half its metal obstacles missing, the plastic hole filled with decaying leaves. When they reached the building, Gabe wiped the window with his sleeve so he could peer through a gap in the paper covering.

  She’d expected to see open, empty space, but the arcade was packed with games—pinball machines, Skee-Ball, animatronic fortune-tellers, and strongman games. In the back, there was even a toddler-size carousel, the horses and its mirrored canopy covered in a layer of dust.

  “That’s just . . . sad,” she murmured. “Why did it close?”

  “Not enough tourists. Hardly any kids in town.” He cast her a look. “Only 5 percent of the population is under sixteen.”

  She did the math. “There’s only thirty-something kids in the whole town?”

  Gabe nodded. “And most of them are teens. They’ll move away for college and never come back.”

  “You don’t know that,” Kendall said. “It’s so beautiful here.”

  “Beautiful or not, there are no non-service jobs in town, and few people want a fifty-mile commute. Not to mention the lack of social opportunities.” He fixed his gaze on her significantly, then inclined his head back toward the street. She followed him across the minefield of abandoned Putt-Putt fairways and through the gap in the chain-link fence. Back on the boardwalk, after the temporary reprieve from the wind, she felt chilled and pulled her cap down over her ears. But she wasn’t cold just because of the wind. The picture Gabe painted was indeed stark. She could understand why they’d elected him in the hopes that he and his youthful enthusiasm could revitalize the town. But from what she could tell, it would take more than one man and his determination to fix Jasper Lake.

  Maybe the resort wasn’t such a terrible idea after all.

  “I know what you’re trying to do here,” she said finally. “And I’m not unsympathetic. This place has history. And charm. I think anyone could agree they’d rather see it restored to its former glory than turned into a Breckenridge clone. But . . . it doesn’t change the reality of my situation. Or yours. It’s just . . . wishful thinking.”

  Gabe nodded slowly. “Maybe I’m hoping that an alternate solution will present itself.”

  An alternate solution worth ove
r a million dollars? She doubted it. But she kept her mouth shut and nodded, instead peeking into more store windows as they passed. For such a small town, they had a lot of businesses. Or maybe they were all oriented around the boardwalk instead of scattered across blocks like most small towns.

  “Here we are,” she said, relieved to have a change of subject as they approached a corner restaurant with the rustic sign pronouncing it Pine View Cantina. Gabe opened the door for her before she could, ushering her into a cramped lobby marked by a barrel of peanuts next to a hostess stand with a hand-lettered sign.

  A middle-aged woman in a plaid shirt and a short black apron spotted them from near the bar area and bustled over. “Mayor Gabe! Nice to see you. Table for two?”

  “Thanks, Julie, yes.”

  “Right this way then.” Julie shot an appraising glance at Kendall and led them to a small booth in the back near the window. As soon as they seated themselves, she handed them menus in cloudy plastic sleeves and plunked a galvanized steel bucket of peanuts on the table. But rather than taking their drink orders, she lingered, looking between them. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around town before. New here?”

  “Just visiting,” Kendall said, at the same time Gabe said, “This is Kendall Green.”

  Julie’s eyes widened. “Kendall Green? Wow. I guess I should have known. You look just like your mother. Carrie and I went to school together, you know. She was a year ahead of me, cheerleader and everything. I always looked up to her so much until—” She broke off, embarrassed. “Anyway. It’s nice to have you back in town. Moving into the old Green place on Lakeshore?”

  “Haven’t decided,” Kendall said. It was easier than the real answer that lingered on her tongue: Not a chance, lady. “Can I get a Coke?”