“You’ll be open for lunches, right?”
“Breakfasts and lunches, six days a week, Tuesday through Sunday, from 7 a.m. to 4 p.m.”
“Good. I love the Moonlight, but it’ll be nice to have some options. Thanks for the hot chocolate and the much-needed advice. You’ve given me a lot to think about. See you around.” With a wave, he headed down the walkway to his car. A moment later, the cruiser backed out of Ava’s driveway and disappeared.
She rubbed her arms at the chilly evening air, breathing in the fresh smell of rain as she glanced down the length of the porch at Trav and Grace’s house. She didn’t know which room was Sarah’s, but Ava would bet money her sister was already in bed, curled up with a book.
Sighing, Ava turned away and slowly went back inside her empty house.
CHAPTER 19 Kristen
Missy cupped her hands around her eyes and peered through the window of Josh’s van. “We’re on a real stakeout. I feel like we’re on an episode of NCIS.”
Josh frowned at her from where he was slouched low in the seat in front of hers. “Stop pressing your face against the window. They aren’t tinted. Everyone can see you.”
Missy dropped her hands and glared at him. “So? If I saw this rusty old van sitting on the side of the street, I’d think it was abandoned and never give it a second look.”
“Even if some girl had her whole face smashed against the glass?”
Missy gave a snide answer, and the argument was on.
Kristen ignored them both. Josh’s van was parked across the street from a tall, three-story, pale green house, the intricate scrollwork highlighted in cream, the target of their “stakeout.” And inside sat the man Kristen was pretty sure was her dad.
Missy, who announced she was no longer speaking to Josh, changed seats so she was beside Kristen. “The houses in this area are so pretty.”
Kristen’s house was only a block over, so she couldn’t help but agree. “Most of them were built in the 1800s.” A few had been built earlier, but she wasn’t sure which ones.
Josh eyed the house with a frown. “I don’t know if I’d call that house pretty. It sort of looks like a horror-movie house.”
Kristen eyed it, squinting a little as she imagined how it would look in a thunderstorm, with its square turrets and gargoyle rainspouts.
“It does sort of look like a horror-movie house, doesn’t it?” Missy said, losing a little of her enthusiasm.
Horror-movie style or not, Kristen thought it was beautiful. It was obvious, too, that Mr. Lind was a customer of Ava Dove’s Landscaping. Even though it was early March, there were signs of life in the flower beds, and the lawn—still damp from yesterday’s heavy rain—was such a vivid green that it seemed as if Kristen were looking at it through a filter.
Josh leaned forward so he could see down the long driveway. “His car’s still here, so he hasn’t left.”
Kristen cut a hard look at Josh. “We watched him pull in not five minutes ago. Why would you think he’d left?”
Josh flushed. “I don’t know. He’s got that huge house and that fancy car and he comes and goes at weird hours. The whole thing seems slippery to me.”
“I’m glad he finally came back to town,” Missy said in a grumpy tone. “Where do you think he was all that time?”
Kristen shrugged. “I asked Ava about him. She said his property management company oversees a bunch of apartments on the west side of Asheville. He probably stayed at one of those.”
“Yeah, well, we’ve been waiting forever.”
“I needed that time to practice,” Kristen said. After Sheriff McIntyre blew their cover, she’d announced to Missy and Josh that she’d be doing the next interview alone to save them from having to coordinate their stories. She’d expected them to argue, but they’d just looked relieved.
That was fine. This was something she should have been doing for herself, anyway. They didn’t know it, but she was done using their cover story. It was time for some boldness. Rip off the Band-Aid, and the faster the better. All too soon, Kristen would be on Mr. Lind’s doorstep asking, “Are you my dad?” just like Sophie did in Mamma Mia!, only this time there would be no banging soundtrack.
Josh sent her a worried look. “When are you going in?”
“He just got home. I figure I should give him a few minutes to breathe before I knock on his door.” And change his life forever.
“Good thinking. Did you bring a notebook so you can pretend to take notes?”
“No.”
“Here.” Missy grabbed her book bag, fished out her pink notebook, and handed it to Kristen.
“Thanks.” Kristen set it on the seat beside her. They waited a bit longer, Missy and Josh arguing over whether the house had a “turret” or a “torrent,” Missy settling the disagreement with a sharp spite-Google.
It was all Kristen could do not to scream. Her friends had been annoying her so much lately. When they weren’t arguing, they were breathlessly excited about what they were doing, as if they were in some sort of fun spy game.
This wasn’t fun, and it wasn’t a game.
I need to get this over with. She wiped her damp palms on her jeans. “It’s time.”
Missy bounced on her seat. “This is it! I’m so excited for you!”
“Maybe we should go with you.” Josh’s forehead had a deep crease.
“No, I’m good. I know what to say. But thanks.” Kristen took a deep breath and climbed out.
Missy leaned between the seats, her curly brown hair wildly out of control because of the humidity after last night’s rain. “While you’re in there, look around and see if there are any mementos that might point toward your mom, like pictures of the two of them together or some of her paintings, anything like that.”
“That’s a good idea,” Josh agreed eagerly. “And remember, if you need us, just stand in front of one of those windows. We’ll be watching. If we see you there, we’ll run up and knock on the door and distract him so you can get away.”
Kristen frowned. “How would you distract him?”
Josh reached under his seat and pulled out a box of Girl Scout cookies. “I brought these from home. Missy will pretend she’s selling Thin Mints.”
“I love those!” Missy grabbed the box from his hand. “Why is this so cold?”
“They’ve been in our freezer. It keeps them fresh.”
Kristen didn’t think much of their rescue plan, but the last thing she felt like doing was getting into an argument. She was out of arguments. She was almost out of caring. “Great plan. Save me some cookies.” Before they could reply, she left, slamming the door closed behind her.
She made her way across the street to Mr. Lind’s front lawn. She’d rehearsed what she was going to say so many times that she was pretty sure she wouldn’t falter. Be quick, she told herself. Don’t overthink.
She’d just stepped onto the sidewalk when someone behind her called, “Kristen?”
Mom? The voice, the intonation, the accent, were all the same. Too startled to think straight, her hopes soared, and she spun around.
Grandma Ellen stood just down the sidewalk. She wore a pale blue coat and cream-colored slacks, her pearls gleaming against her wrinkled neck. She looked as if she belonged in a New York boardroom instead of standing on a crooked sidewalk in a small town in the North Carolina mountains. With her, on a red leash, was tiny, wall-eyed, near toothless Chuffy, sporting a new red sweater that Kristen had never seen before.
She sounded so like Mom. Disappointment fell onto Kristen’s narrow shoulders. Sadness morphed into irritation that made her snap, “What are you doing here?”
A noise made Kristen glance back at Josh’s van. He and Missy were each pressed against a window, their mouths hanging open, their eyes wide. They looked so much like hungry fish waiting for their daily food flakes that Kristen surprised herself with a laugh.
Grandma Ellen joined in. She shook her head. “Your friends are something else.”
>
“They’re idiots,” Kristen said.
“From what I’ve seen, they’re the best friends a girl could have. They’re always there for you, aren’t they?”
Kristen didn’t know what to say to that. She agreed, but why would Grandma Ellen say something so positive? “Grandma, what are you doing here?”
“Me?” Grandma Ellen threaded the dog’s slack leash through her fingers. “I could pretend I accidentally happened by while taking your dog for a walk, but you wouldn’t believe that.”
“You had to have carried him here. He can’t walk a whole block.”
“I did, and I’m not out here walking the dog. I wanted to speak to you, and I wanted to do it before you saw Mr. Lind.”
Kristen’s heart sunk. “You’ve been talking to Sheriff McIntyre.”
“What? No.” Grandma Ellen’s frown sharpened. “Does he know about this?”
Oops. Kristen hid a grimace. “If you came here to tell me I can’t speak to Mr. Lind, then I—”
“No, no. I came to tell you something else. Good luck.”
Kristen blinked. “Good luck?”
“With Mr. Lind. Or, more importantly, with finding your father.”
How did she find out? “If the sheriff didn’t rat me out, then who told you I’ve been trying to find my dad?”
Grandma’s smile turned bittersweet. “It’s a long story. When you’re ready, I’ll tell you. But right now, it appears you’re on a mission.”
Kristen looked over her shoulder at the towering green house and then turned back to her grandmother. “Do you know why I want to find my dad?”
“You’ve had one goal since I got here, and that is to stay in Dove Pond. I think I can safely assume this search for your father is connected to that.”
Kristen hunched her shoulders. “Maybe.”
“In some ways, it’s a terrific plan. It covers all the issues: location, the need for adult supervision, the legal question of who has a right to decide your living situation. As plans go, I’m impressed.”
It was a good plan on paper, true, but in real life, it wasn’t working out at all the way Kristen had wanted it to. But stubbornness made her say, “I’m going to do it. I’m going to find my dad.”
“Yes, well, when you’re done here today, no matter the outcome, come home for dinner. I found your mom’s recipe for chicken and dumplings and I want to give it a try.”
The wind rustled, tugging at Kristen’s coat. She should be knocking on Mr. Lind’s door right now, but instead, she stayed where she was. “You’re not mad I’m trying to find my father?”
“Not mad, no.” Grandma pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I just wish we could find another way to resolve our differences. But”—she shrugged—“you’re free to do as you see fit. I’m— Chuffy! What in the world is on your sweater?” Grandma Ellen bent down to pull a half dozen burrs from the pompom that hung under the dog’s thin neck.
Over the past few weeks, the dogs had warmed even more to Grandma Ellen. Dogs are good judges of character, aren’t they? Maybe I’m wrong about her. A wave of uncertainty hit Kristen, and she looked back at Mr. Lind’s house. It really did look like the set of a horror movie.
It doesn’t matter. It has to be him. He’s our last suspect. She turned back to Grandma. “I should go.”
“Of course.” Grandma Ellen straightened back up, dusting her hands. “I’ll start dinner, and we’ll watch a movie or something. And I promise I won’t ask any questions about this.” She tilted her head toward Mr. Lind’s house, although her gaze never left Kristen’s face. “How’s that for a relaxing evening? Wonderful food, a movie, and no questions asked. Unless you want to talk, that is. In which case, I’m there for you.”
Kristen tried to remember the last time she’d relaxed—really relaxed—but couldn’t. She had to admit that Grandma Ellen’s understanding gaze had a calming effect, which was just what she needed. Her chest eased a little, and her breath, which had felt strangled all day, settled into a slower rhythm. “I love chicken and dumplings. But I’m not ready to talk about any of this. Not yet.”
“Sure.” Grandma Ellen scooped up the dog and tucked him under her arm. She turned to go, but stopped. “I believe your friends are about to send out a rescue party.”
Kristen glanced over and had to smile when she saw Josh and Missy now standing outside the rusty van, Missy clutching the box of Thin Mints with both hands as if afraid it might get away. “Yeah, I think I’m covered.” She waved at Missy and Josh and yelled across the street, “Everything’s fine! You can put the cookies away. She’s going home now.”
They gave her grandmother a suspicious stare and then reluctantly climbed back into the van.
Grandma Ellen’s smile widened. “I’m glad they’re looking out for you. See you at home.” She turned and walked along the sidewalk, cuddling the little dog as if it belonged to her.
Kristen watched her grandmother until she disappeared out of sight. What was that all about? Kristen had no idea, but this new thing her grandmother was doing—acting as if she was okay with Kristen’s decisions and not pressing her to explain herself—was far preferable to the suspicious, worried air her grandmother usually projected.
It doesn’t matter. I don’t have time to figure her out. Kristen turned and looked at Mr. Lind’s house where it loomed overhead. Straightening her shoulders, she started down the walkway toward the door.
CHAPTER 20 Sarah
Sarah picked up a book from the cart, glanced at its call number, and carried it to the correct shelf. “Here you are,” she told the book as she slipped it into place, making sure the spine was even and that the books weren’t too tightly crowded.
Thank you.
She patted the book. “You’re very welcome.”
It had been three long, lingering weeks since she’d moved out of her home and away from Ava, and it felt like forever. Sarah glanced at the clock over the door and stifled a sigh. In about an hour, she was going to meet Kat to look at another apartment that would soon be available.
According to Kat, this particular apartment was “a too-cute little charmer” over a liquor store, of all places. Kat had gushed about the place, but then, she’d gushed about the last four, too, none of which had been even close to acceptable.
Sarah wondered if Kat was showing her subpar apartments on purpose, hoping Sarah might change her mind about never returning home. It was possible, Sarah supposed, especially since Kat and Ava were friends.
Well, Sarah was about to throw a wrench into that particular scheme, if it even existed, because she’d already decided that if this apartment was close to acceptable, she’d take it. Although Grace and Trav had been great, Sarah missed having her own space, and she was sure they were beginning to feel the same way.
Sighing, she started to push the cart down the aisle when she saw the book she’d just replaced scoot forward, sliding so that its spine was ahead of those of its brethren. “Stop that!” She pushed it back into line so the spines were once again even. “That’s not going to help you get noticed.”
Which was a little bit of a lie. Sometimes, when Sarah wanted something to read but had no idea what, she’d walk the book stacks and trail her fingers over the spines until one caught her attention. A book that was out of place like that might, just might, have made her pause to look.
But surely she was the only person in the world who did such a thing. Still, in the interest of order, and to keep the other books from bumping forward and backward, jockeying for position and perhaps hurting themselves, she said, “If you do that again, I’ll put you in the reserve section.”
Every book in earshot gave a horrified gasp.
The book she’d just placed on the shelf slowly slid even farther back.
A book on the bottom of the cart said in a smug voice, You won’t put me in the reserve section.
She bent down and there, on top of the books that needed reshelved, was the book about ballroom dancing. Sarah fro
wned. “How did you get there? I reshelved you yesterday.”
The book smirked but didn’t answer.
Sarah picked it up and put it on top of the cart. “You’re going back.”
No. You need me.
“I already read you.”
You have to read me again and—
“I’m reading two other books right now, and they’re long ones. I have no desire to begin a thir—”
“Sarah?”
She stiffened. She knew that deep, golden-toned voice. She knew it because she’d dreamed about it every night for more years than she could count. Slowly, carefully, she turned around.
Blake stood at the end of the aisle, dressed in a pair of jeans, his jacket open to reveal a faded red Henley, looking like the hero from every Hallmark movie she’d ever seen.
He looked past her, frowning. “Were you talking to someone?”
“No.” She choked out the word, then had to step on her own foot to keep from blurting out a long, unnecessary explanation. The pain refocused her on Blake, although the words struggled for release, piling up like rocks waiting for an avalanche. She wanted to tell him about the conversations she’d just had with the books, the reason she kept the shelves straight and how it was a constant struggle, the way books never left her lonely, and a thousand more things. She wanted to share every inch of herself, every thought she had, and it was killing her to keep it all inside.
His gaze moved over her face. “Ah. You were just talking to the books.”
She nodded mutely, clutching the book cart with both hands for support.
“Sarah, don’t look so self-conscious.” He smiled, which made her heart pound like crazy. “I’ve seen you talking to books since first grade.”
The urge to explain herself, to share her thoughts, to blurt out every secret she’d ever had, grew yet more. She stepped on her foot a little harder, her eyes watering.
“I’m glad I caught you alone. I wanted to talk to you. And if you don’t mind, I don’t want you to say anything until I’ve said what I came to say and have explained myself.”
A Cup of Silver Linings Page 29