She drained her lemonade and reviewed the order form she was filling out from a local winery. Prices were high, and although there was a column for unforeseen costs written into the budget, she knew she had to expect hidden expenses.
She wasn’t expecting a woman with dark hair and a dozen bangles on her wrist to slip uninvited into her booth. Tall and slender, the woman hunkered down slightly in her seat directly opposite Ruby as if trying to make herself as small as possible. Her dress was black and sleeveless, her violet eyes expertly made up, her fingernails as polished as the rest of her. “If you don’t move an inch,” she said, “dinner is on me.”
Ruby had to fight the temptation to look over her shoulder. “That,” she said, “is the second-best offer I’ve had today. Ex-boyfriend?”
“God, no. I’m a wedding planner and that group in the back is here for the rehearsal dinner. I’m finished for the day, but a few minutes ago I was going over a last-minute detail with the bride. Her brother squeezed my, ah, shall we say, derriere? Luckily, his fiancée wasn’t looking. This time. My client has been dreaming of her perfect wedding day her whole life, so I think I’ll wait until after the cake is cut tomorrow to make a scene. But enough about me. What was your best offer of the day?”
Ruby slanted the woman a secretive smile and said nothing. After a moment the brunette smiled, too.
“I’m Chelsea Reynolds.”
“Ruby O’Toole.”
“I know. You bought Lacey Bell’s tavern. Three nights ago she and Noah Sullivan eloped before flying off into the wild blue yonder. You drive a sky-blue Chevy and yesterday you were seen talking to the other two Sullivan brothers in the lobby here.”
Being careful not to lean forward as she reeled from sheer surprise, and thereby give Chelsea’s position away, Ruby said, “What did I have for breakfast?”
Two perfectly shaped eyebrows rose like crescent moons as Chelsea said, “If you give me a minute, I could find out.”
Ruby found herself laughing out loud.
With an answering smile, Chelsea said, “I heard Marsh and Reed brought the baby to lunch with them yesterday. Everybody’s talking about it. First, Noah elopes, and now, either Marsh or Reed is a father? Women all over Orchard Hill are crying in their beer, which will be good for your business. And if Marsh or Reed wind up planning a wedding, it’ll be good for my business. By the way, thanks for allowing me a little cooling-off time-out at your table.”
“You’re welcome,” Ruby said.
“Why did you?” Chelsea asked.
Watching a bead of condensation trail down the side of her glass, Ruby said, “A few months ago I ducked behind the produce stand at Meijer when my ex-boyfriend came into the store.”
“Did he see you?” Chelsea asked.
“I’m afraid so,” Ruby said. “Evidently being among the last to know he was a lying two-timing flea-ridden hound dog wasn’t humiliating enough.”
Chelsea stopped brushing invisible lint from the front of her dress and sneered. “If he shows up in Orchard Hill, let me know. I have extremely sharp kneecaps, or, if need be, a fantabulous pair of pointy-toed Jimmy Choo knockoffs.”
Ruby would have to keep that in mind, although she wasn’t worried Peter would show his face in Orchard Hill. He was just conceited enough to believe she would come crawling back to him. She really had thought she loved him. Now she dreaded seeing him at the class reunion, and hoped he didn’t embarrass her further.
“Jimmy Choo knockoffs?” she said. “Be still my heart.”
“I know,” Chelsea agreed. “It’s all about being in the right place at the right time.”
The stuffed mushrooms and mozzarella sticks arrived piping hot and smelling like heaven, and while Chelsea and Ruby compared dating horror stories, another place setting was brought out, another order for dinner placed, and cheating men and fitting retaliations discussed and diabolically plotted. For the next hour and a half, Ruby left her iPad off, silenced her cell phone and simply enjoyed Chelsea Reynolds’s wry humor and quick wit.
“Tell me about the new Bell’s,” Chelsea said as she dipped her breadstick in marinara sauce.
And Ruby launched into her favorite topic these days: her vision for her tavern. “Think upscale pub meets back-alley brewery. There will be cards in the back, billiards tournaments the first Friday of every month, fun, noise and laughter. And, of course, dancing on weekends.”
Spearing a wedge of tomato in her salad, Chelsea said, “There’s nothing like hot and loud to work up a thirst and keep the drink orders coming.”
“There is that,” Ruby agreed. “It’s so much more than a business venture to me. I want Bell’s to be a place people come to have fun, a place where someone goes to celebrate finally turning twenty-one or where coworkers meet at the end of a long week. I’d like it to be a stop for soon-to-be brides having one last hurrah with the girls before marrying the man of their dreams. Who knows? Couples might even meet for the first time there, and maybe fall in love. I hope people have a good time at my new place regardless of why they stop in, and when they need it, a chance to sulk or brood.”
Sometime after their entrée dishes were cleared away and their desserts ordered, Chelsea reached into her bag and brought out a sketch pad. Animated and invigorated by the opportunity to talk about her tavern, Ruby was only vaguely aware of the jangle of bracelets as Chelsea made wide sweeps across the paper with her pencil.
They talked about the renovations she was making and the one-of-a-kind drinks she planned to offer. Chelsea loved Kerfuffle and Dynamite and Starstruck. She suggested Cheater Beater, which was similar to Ruby’s brother’s suggestion, Ball Buster, both of which Ruby thought she’d pass on. But Chelsea was easy to talk to, and just as easy to listen to.
Finally, there was a lull in the conversation, and they both pushed their half-eaten desserts away. Chelsea tore the top sheet of paper from her sketch pad and with a flourish held it out to Ruby.
Taking it, Ruby could only stare in wonder at the whimsical sketch. “You’re an artist?”
“I’m not trained professionally, but I can’t help myself sometimes. This is your personal little welcome to Orchard Hill.”
The waitress arrived with the check and foam boxes for leftovers, and soon Ruby and Chelsea wended their way through the crowd now filling the restaurant’s lobby. Outside, Chelsea unlocked a shiny black Audi, and Ruby veered into the first alleyway she came to. She had her oversize bag on one shoulder, an amazing sketch advertising Bell’s grand reopening tucked away neatly inside. She also had an invitation to dinner tomorrow night circling the back of her mind, and a new friend. Not one of those had been on her to-do list, which proved once again that sometimes the best things in life simply happened.
She strode east, then north and east again through the alleys that crisscrossed the business district of Orchard Hill. Smiling at dog walkers, kids on bikes and couples out for an evening stroll, she didn’t give the route she took more than a passing thought. She didn’t need to. Her sense of direction was once again in perfect working order. Obviously yesterday had been a fluke.
Feeling hopeful about the future and happy about today, she rounded the final corner and instantly saw a girl coming toward her.
They both veered slightly, effortlessly averting an awkward collision, Ruby’s red hair swishing around her shoulders and the girl’s waist-length hair swishing around hers. Ruby smiled, but the girl only gave her a curt nod in return. Without so much as slowing down, she continued on her way.
Ruby stared after her, her heart thudding. The sight of a teenage girl with long hair and a T-shirt emblazoned with the words Beethoven Rocks was no cause for alarm, and yet Ruby was seriously considering following her. It had nothing to do with the girl’s hair or her clothing or even her dancer’s gait, and everything to do with the pink-and-green bedroll tucked bene
ath her arm.
She didn’t look back. Ruby watched to make sure. After the girl had disappeared around the first corner she came to, Ruby ran to the tavern’s back door, unlocked it and threw it wide open.
She knew what she would find, but she turned on lights and hurried to the pool table, anyway. The sleeping bag was gone, just as she’d expected.
Ruby thought about everything Reed had told her about his situation and its possible connection to the girl Lacey and Noah had seen climbing from the window outside Ruby’s back door. She could only imagine how shocking it must have been to discover a baby on their doorstep, and to realize that one of them was little Joey’s father. Reed had most likely barely scratched the surface when he’d mentioned what they were doing to care for Joey and the steps they were taking to locate the baby’s mother.
He’d been right about one thing. The girl certainly wasn’t a figment of anyone’s imagination. Ruby had seen her with her own two eyes. She appeared to be in her late teens and she was definitely still in Orchard Hill. Apparently she was still letting herself in and out of the tavern without the use of a key, too.
Was her presence here in Orchard Hill connected to little Joey Sullivan’s, as Reed suspected? How could it be, and if so, what possible connection could there be between a girl letting herself in and out of Ruby’s bar and one little baby boy?
It was a puzzle, and yet, Ruby felt strongly that Reed was right. It seemed unlikely that these puzzling coincidences weren’t somehow related in some profound way. How remained a mystery, and yet, reaching into her shoulder bag for her car keys, she knew what she had to do.
Chapter Five
“You two are killin’ me here. You know that, right?” the P.I. asked as he rummaged through a coffee-stained file folder.
Reed and Marsh both shrugged. Sam Lafferty had arrived at their door fifteen minutes ago in faded jeans and an impossibly wrinkled shirt. His red-rimmed eyes and gruff attitude hadn’t fooled either of them. Sam may have been short on sleep and long on dead ends, but he had the stealth of a leopard on the scent of an antelope.
Wherever Joey’s mother was, whoever Joey’s mother was, he would find her. That knowledge—no, that faith—made it a little easier to sleep at night for both Sullivan brothers.
“I have another photo here I want you to look at,” Sam said. “Where the hell did it go? I saw it a minute ago. I’m sure of it.”
Reed felt the man’s sense of urgency. Times ten.
They’d begun this evening’s meeting seated around the iron-and-glass patio table outside. It hadn’t taken Joey long to drink his bottle and it hadn’t taken Reed long to grow restless. Putting the baby to his shoulder for a burp, he’d risen to his feet. Now all three men stood in a semicircle in the dappled shade near the back door.
It was that time of the day when sounds seemed to carry for miles. Insects buzzed and a television perpetually tuned to the weather droned faintly through the open window. An airplane rumbled above the clouds and every once in a while another car could be heard pulling away from the stop sign on the corner. Much, much closer, Joey made mewling sounds against Reed’s shoulder.
Reed had a keen business sense, always had, and yet he could set his clock by the length and angle of the shadows in the orchard. All four of the Sullivan siblings could. On this, the first official day of summer, sunset was still another two and a half hours away. Even then, darkness would creep slowly from one horizon to the other, gathering in doorways and around corners before saturating the very air between the earth and the sky.
Not long ago Reed had had that kind of patience. Now he wanted action. He wanted answers. And he wanted both right now.
“Here it is,” Sam said, handing over the print he’d been looking for. “Take a look at this one, Reed.”
Sam had been searching for Joey’s mother for ten days now. To Reed, it felt like much longer. The P.I. had conducted dozens of internet searches and personal searches, had sat through tedious hours of surveillance and had followed leads to North Carolina, Tennessee and Texas. He’d been kicked, punched and threatened, but insisted it was all in a day’s work. He’d spoken with the owners of the little shops and coffeehouses Marsh and Julia had visited on the Outer Banks last year, and he’d also made a pass through every little restaurant within a five-mile radius of the Dallas airport where Reed had met a waitress named Cookie a few weeks later.
Sam had called in favors and had forwarded to Reed and Marsh pictures of women who might potentially be Joey’s mother doing everything from shopping to running a red light. “Does the stacked little blonde in that photo look at all familiar?” he asked.
Keeping one hand on Joey’s back, Reed studied the image carefully. The woman in the photograph had shoulder-length blond hair and plenty of it. Texas hair, Cookie had called it.
“It was taken at a crosswalk on a busy street in downtown Dallas yesterday,” Sam explained. “Until seven months ago, she worked at a restaurant near the airport.”
Reed continued to study the image. In the photo, her head was turned slightly away from the camera, showcasing her profile. Could this be her?
He’d racked his brain trying to remember every detail about their brief encounter last year. “The woman I knew was blonde and nice-looking. She had a great body, but I don’t remember her being quite this chesty.”
“Have you ever seen a woman who’s been breast-feeding? If you haven’t, you need to,” Sam insisted. “Trust me, if Cookie had a baby, she’d likely be even more stacked. Does it look like her, otherwise?”
Even in heels, the woman in the photo was shorter than the people she was with, just like the flustered waitress who’d accidentally spilled chili in Reed’s lap last year. This woman’s height was right, her hair was right, the clothes were right, the city was right. “I suppose it could be her,” he said.
“Shoot me some odds,” Sam grumbled.
“It’s possible. I don’t know beyond that,” Reed said. “What else do you know about the woman in this photo?”
“She’s twenty-nine, works as a sales clerk at a department store and recently began a new job moonlighting at a restaurant that just opened up downtown. Her name is Bobby Jean Pritchard, but according to my source, her friends call her Corky. Occasionally she goes by Cookie. God knows, Texans like their nicknames. Why don’t you tell Uncle Sam here what pet name she had for you.”
The sound Reed made through his clenched teeth was as uncouth as he would allow himself to be with the baby in his arms. Sam chuckled. Marsh’s curiosity must have finally gotten the better of him, for he took the photo when Reed was finished and looked, too.
Reed had told Sam all the pertinent information he could recall from his encounter with Cookie last year. She’d waited on him at a little café near the airport. When the bowl of chili he’d ordered slid off her tray and landed upside down on his table, thick red globs dropping onto his lap, her eyes had widened in genuine horror. She’d apologized over and over and started dabbing up chili with paper napkins. He’d stopped her before she’d done any real damage.
She said her name was Cookie, that she was single and had been born and raised in Dallas. She’d had what sounded like a genuine Texas accent and wore a ring on her little finger, more than one bracelet, big hoop earrings and clothes that were tight in all the right places.
Attractive and a little pushy, she was the one who’d suggested they go someplace more private when her shift was over. Reed certainly hadn’t objected. They’d taken his rental car to her place. It seemed to him that her apartment building had been only a mile or two from the restaurant. This was one instance when an eidetic memory would have come in handy, for the apartment complex had looked like hundreds of other apartment complexes. She’d had the usual furniture, a small television, a few framed photographs, potted plants on a low table and shoes scattered about.
Joey wiggled at Reed’s shoulder the way he always did when he needed to burp but couldn’t. Patting his little back as if it was second nature, Reed couldn’t help thinking that the encounter that produced this amazing little kid should have been more memorable. But berating himself wasn’t doing any good. It wouldn’t be the first time a child had been born as a result of a one-night stand and it probably wouldn’t be the last. That didn’t ease his sore conscience, however.
He and Cookie had both been adults, and they’d both known what they were doing. Neither of them had done a lot of talking after they’d reached her place. Now he wished he would have at least thought to ask her real name. It was a shame he hadn’t saved the heart-shaped note she’d tucked into his pants pocket hours later, for on it she’d written her phone number in bright pink ink.
Joey finally burped, and it was unbelievably loud for someone so small. Even Sam, who insisted he didn’t know one end of a baby from the other, couldn’t help smiling.
“What else can you tell us?” Reed asked the P.I.
“Before I left Dallas,” Sam said, closing the file folder on the table, “I had a guy I know run the note you found the night you discovered the baby. He lifted five partial sets of fingerprints. Four came from men with big hands.” He held up his bear paw. “Mine, and since all three of you Sullivan brothers handled the note, it stands to reason your prints would be on it, too. The fifth set was smaller, definitely female.”
“And?” Reed and Marsh prodded in unison.
“Her prints aren’t on file with the police. It appears our girl doesn’t have a record, which is good for her but another dead end for us. I had another friend analyze the handwriting, the ink and the paper.”
Reed and Marsh were so intent upon what Sam was telling them that they paid little attention to the light blue car slowly coming up their driveway. Maybe they’d get lucky and this new information would be the breakthrough they’d been waiting for. Hopefully it would lead them to the woman who’d left Joey on their doorstep seemingly out of the blue less than two weeks ago.
A Bride by Summer Page 6