“I think they would love it.” He drained his coffee mug and stuck it in the dishwasher. “I’ll bring up the subject sometime this week.”
Half an hour later, we were dressed and ready to hit the road. I had my list in hand and was looking forward to checking things off.
Meg and John’s new home in Dharma was only a few blocks away, down our hill, then one block over, and up the next hill.
It was barely five minutes before Derek was pulling to the curb and turning off the engine.
“Their view is spectacular,” I said, gazing at the grapevines and olive trees that dotted the rolling green hills in the distance. Much like my parents’ house, Meg and John’s place was the last house at the top of the road, with no other houses to block the view.
I knew from experience that at the bottom of the canyon below was the picturesque Dharma Creek where my brothers and sisters and I used to go swimming and fishing when we were young.
From up here you could see Triad Island in the middle of the Creek where all the kids went camping in the summer. I hadn’t thought about Triad Island in a long time and realized I would have to take Derek there one of these days. Not for camping, of course. Those days were over. But it would be fun to explore the small island and have a picnic lunch.
We walked down the long walkway that led to the front door. Colorful autumn flowers lined the way and flowerpots on the porch were bursting with vibrant roses, lavender, and tumbling vines. Pine trees and quaking aspens grew along the property line, and a healthy green lawn spread across the entire lot from the house to the edge of the street.
“Are you ready for this?” Derek asked, grabbing hold of my hand.
“Of course. Let’s go.”
The house was an adorable two-story classic Craftsman home with all the wonderful characteristics that went along with that style. There was a wide porch that wrapped around the entire house and looked big enough to accommodate plenty of seating areas, including a comfy swing covered in pillows near the front door.
The house was painted a soft sage green with pale yellow trim, and four square white columns set on a river rock base graced the front of the house. The heavy oak front door was painted red.
I stared at the red door and then checked the direction it was facing. South. Naturally.
“I’m seeing my mother’s influence here,” I said.
“How?”
“The red door. It’s a feng shui thing. I think I told you about it before. Your parents painted their south-facing front door red because the color red is associated with the element of fire, and fire governs the southerly direction. You want your front door to nourish your own personal energy and also strengthen the feng shui energy coming into your home. Anyone entering the house from this direction will bring good chi, or life energy, with them and provide a harmonious space within.”
“Sounds like your mother, indeed.” Derek gave me a slow, delighted smile. “And you’re far more like her than you think.”
I had to laugh. “That thought no longer freaks me out.”
“I’m happy to hear it,” Derek said. “But I happen to believe that the only reason this door is red is because my mother likes that color.”
“However it came to be, it looks wonderful.”
He stared at me for a long moment. “I love you.” Then he wrapped his arms around me and kissed me soundly.
“What was that for?”
“Do I need a reason?”
“No.” I smiled. “Just asking.”
“It’s for having such a beautiful spirit.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Now you’re making fun of me.”
He kissed my nose. “I’m madly in love with you.”
I leaned against him and simply breathed him in. I knew for a fact that Derek didn’t wear scented cologne or aftershave, but I could always catch a hint of something wonderful when I was this close to him. At this moment I had an image of a redwood forest turned all misty with springtime rain.
Clean and woodsy. And ridiculously appealing.
He rang the doorbell and we watched it swing open within a millisecond. It was almost as if his mother had been standing on the other side of the door, just waiting for us to ring the bell.
“You’re here!” Meg pulled us both inside and threw her arms around Derek and then me. “Welcome, welcome! Come in.”
“What a beautiful home,” I said. “I love your red door.”
Meg smiled. “Did you know, Brooklyn, that when your front door faces south, the color red helps usher in lots of good energy?”
I looked up at Derek and smiled innocently, then turned to Meg. “I’ve heard that. And it must be working because your home is filled with wonderful energy.”
“You’re such a sweet girl,” she said, squeezing my hand affectionately. “And your mother is a genius.”
“I think so, too.”
“Hello!” John said as he walked into the room. “Welcome to our Dharma home.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Derek said, and they gave each other manly hugs with plenty of back slaps. “It’s great to finally see the place.”
John gave me a hug as Meg began to point out her favorite parts of the room.
“Isn’t this floor wonderful?” Meg said. “This is the original wood. They kept it in such good condition.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“And look at this wainscoting,” she said, running her hand along the beautiful wood-paneled wall.
“Lovely,” Derek murmured.
“The original owners were contractors,” John explained. “They did a bang-up job with everything.”
“It’s charming,” I said, looking around. “The windows are so big, and I love this vaulted ceiling. It really opens up the room, doesn’t it?”
“Did you hear that, John? Brooklyn knows that this is a vaulted ceiling.”
“Clever girl,” he said, winking at me.
I beamed at him. “It’s because both of my brothers built their own homes and Jackson’s has a vaulted ceiling. Then Austin decided on a cathedral ceiling, so I learned the difference between the two.”
Meg gazed around at the different features of the room. “This reminds me very much of the traditional cottages in the area of England where we live. Mainly the countryside around Oxford and the Cotswolds.”
“Except that this house is much more modern,” John added. “Thank goodness. And not built for tiny people. In the old village homes, the ceilings are so low I’m forever walking hunched over.”
“True,” Derek said with a laugh as he turned in a slow circle to take in the room. “My brothers and I were constantly banging our foreheads on the doorframes.”
I laughed because I could just see Derek and his brothers clomping through a tiny village cottage.
We made our way out to the terrace and back lawn that overlooked the rolling hills of Dharma. As we stared at the stunning views, I turned to Derek’s parents. “I hate to bring up unhappy news, but I have to tell you what happened last night.”
“What?” Meg demanded, her cheerful expression shifting to real concern as she caught the look on my face. “What happened?”
“Rebecca and Jim were involved in an accident last night,” Derek said.
“Oh, good heavens, no!” Meg cried. She pressed her hand to her forehead and closed her eyes. “Oh dear. I had a feeling . . . well, never mind.” Her eyes flew open. “Tell me what happened.”
I explained the entire incident, including the extent of her injuries and everything the doctor said.
John’s eyes narrowed in on me. “But that sounds like someone deliberately tried to hit her with their car.”
“That’s exactly what happened,” I said irately. “If Dad hadn’t literally thrown her out of the way . . .” I had to catch my breath. “Well, she got some bumps and
bruises, but he saved her life, thank God, and she’ll be fine.”
“That’s a bit too close for comfort, I’d say.” Meg also had to take a few deep breaths in and out. “And for myself, I would blame that brute, Banyan.”
“That’s exactly who I blame,” I said through clenched teeth.
“Derek, are you going with Brooklyn and Becky to the meeting this afternoon?” John asked.
“Absolutely,” he said. “Rebecca won’t be going anywhere alone. We want two able-bodied adults with her at all times until that man, or whoever did this, is in jail.”
John gave a firm nod. “Good, son. That’s good. If you need my help, just call.” He frowned. “And I’ll give Jim a call in a few minutes.”
“Thank you, John,” I said, knowing my father would appreciate hearing from him.
With that subject closed, our conversation deliberately lightened, bouncing back and forth from the weather to all the newest restaurants in town, to other family matters, to the upcoming grape harvest.
* * *
• • •
After a tour of the entire house and yard, we sat down to a lovely spread of tea and scones with butter, three flavors of jam and marmalade, and a pot of Devonshire cream. There was also a plate of cookies with little chocolates scattered around, just in case we hadn’t yet received our daily intake of sugar. And to mix things up, Meg brought out a traditional Spanish tortilla, which had more in common with a quiche than it did with a Mexican tortilla. Jim explained that before buying their place in Dharma, the Stones had traditionally holidayed on the coast of Spain.
“Everything looks so beautiful,” I said as I scooped up jam and put it on my plate. We chatted about a dozen more topics, including my sister Savannah and their son Dalton and how happy they were. We talked about the brutal murder of Lawson Schmidt and my mother and Meg finding the body. And we even discussed the insulting words Meg had overheard yesterday from Ryan, concerning Shandi Patrick wanting to play the role of Jo and trashing the character of poor Meg in the Little Women musical.
It was clear that our Meg was much more traumatized over Ryan dissing the character Meg than she had been about coming face-to-face with a bloody dead body. But we all cared about different things, so who was I to judge?
Finally John changed the subject. “So what else are you kids doing today?”
I spoke up. “We’re stopping by the bookshop to talk to Clyde about the book I’m working on for him. And then we’re taking Mom to the meeting, as I mentioned earlier.”
“You’re such a good girl, Brooklyn,” Meg said, as she poured more tea for each of us. “I do hope the committee will resolve their money issues.”
“That will have to be addressed immediately today.”
John tapped his fingers against the table. “What do you think they’ll do?”
“Well, they could try to find another underwriter or some wealthy benefactor, of course.” I took a quick sip of tea to give myself a few seconds to think about it. “I presume the festival itself is insured, so hopefully they can replace the money that was stolen. But it won’t happen soon enough, and I don’t think there’s any way they can raise that much in individual donations again in such a short time, so they’ll have to come up with another plan in the meantime.”
And I suddenly had an idea. I glanced at Derek, who gave me a questioning look. But I didn’t want to say anything just now. This wasn’t the time to talk about money.
It was getting close to ten so we helped clear the dishes and straighten the dining room and left a short while later.
* * *
• • •
Derek found a parking spot on the Lane two blocks down from the Good Book. It was a gorgeous day for walking and we strolled hand in hand past the beautiful shops along the tree-lined Lane.
“I love this town,” I said.
“It really is picturesque,” Derek said. “The most beautiful part of the wine country.”
I leaned against him, absurdly pleased that he loved my hometown as much as I did.
When we reached Warped, my sister China’s yarn and weaving shop, I poked my head inside the door.
“Hey, you,” I said.
“Brooks!” China cried. “And Derek. What a nice surprise.” She came over and gave us both hugs. “Are you out shopping? What’s going on?”
“We’re on our way to the bookshop, but I wanted to stop and let you know that we plan to watch the musical rehearsal tonight. Will you be there?”
“You know I will. I’m there every night. We’re doing final run-throughs and dress rehearsals this week.”
“That’s exciting.”
She beamed. “It’s thrilling. Everyone looks so good and the singing is really amazing. I think you’ll be impressed.”
“I’m sure we will be,” I said. “So we’ll see you around seven?”
“Perfect.”
I finally got to the topic that had been on my mind all morning. “Hey, have you talked to Dad today?”
“No.” She frowned, instantly alarmed. “Why?”
“Give him a call.” I had to take a deep breath. “He and Mom were in a little accident last night. Mom’s kind of bruised and Dad’s taking care of her.”
She grabbed my arm. “Oh my God. What do you mean, bruised?”
“She’s got some bruises and scrapes from when Dad threw her on the sidewalk to get her out of the way of the driver who was deliberately aiming for her.” Okay, not such a “little” accident, I thought.
Derek gave her the thirty-second history of the Banyan debacle.
“That creep,” she said, seething with anger. “I’ll call Dad right now.”
“Can you call Savannah and London and tell them, too?”
“Sure. I’ll call them after I talk to Dad.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’m sorry to bring you the bad news, but Mom will be okay. I promise.”
“I believe you, but I still want to talk to them.”
“They’ll be happy you called.” We both gave her quick hugs. “We’ll see you tonight.”
“Can’t wait.”
We closed the shop door and Derek took my hand again as we continued walking to the Good Book. Apparently, Dad hadn’t spread the word about last night’s incident and I wondered if China was going to call everyone else or if I should do it.
On the way to Clyde’s, I began to take notice of which stores had security cameras and which way they were pointed. Most had them angled toward the front door of the shop, but a few of the larger shops had two or even three cameras mounted and some of those were pointed toward the street.
I knew Detective Willoughby was diligent, so I hoped he had already collected the videos from the owners. I figured most of the shops only held on to the recordings for forty-eight hours or so.
We walked into the Good Book and I was instantly assailed by my favorite scents of rich leather and musty vellum and the lovely sight of all those stacks and rows of books. It was amazing how quickly those sensations brought back memories, some wonderful, others bittersweet, of my life around books.
I had always been a reader. I remembered spending long hours curled up in one of Clyde’s comfy chairs, getting lost in a good story. From my earliest childhood days, I couldn’t get enough of books. Historical fiction and mysteries and romance and biographies. When I was twelve I went through a World War II phase and had to read every last story of D-Day and the Nazis’ rise to power and the bombings and the heroic resistance fighters in France.
Then I went through a phase where I was reading books about different occupations. I must’ve glommed onto a couple dozen books about nursing.
After those books, I switched to fictional stories about nurses. I read them all. From Sue Barton to Cherry Ames to evil Nurse Ratched in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. And then there were the real-lif
e stories of Florence Nightingale and Clara Barton.
It was a real miracle that I didn’t go into nursing. But given my phobia of blood, I wouldn’t have made it through the first day.
“Good morning, Clyde,” I called when I saw him working at the back counter. “It’s me, Brooklyn.”
“Oh hey, Brooklyn. Good to see you.” He frowned. “Wait a minute.” He shuffled toward us carrying a stiff broom, and came up to pat my shoulder. “I heard about your mom. It happened just down the block from here. How’s she doing?”
“She’s much better today, Clyde. Thanks for asking. It was pretty scary.”
“An eyewitness claims it was a deliberate attempt to hurt her, to run her down,” Derek added.
I could tell by the way Derek said those words that he was looking to elicit a more emotional response from Clyde. Not that he suspected that Clyde had been behind the wheel of the car, but the old man knew everyone in town, including Banyan. He was also on the festival committee, so maybe he knew some dark secret about one of the members. Or maybe he’d overheard something.
“What? No!” Clyde’s eyes clouded over. “Oh no. That kind of stuff shouldn’t happen here in Dharma.”
“No, it shouldn’t,” I murmured, and grimaced at the reality that in fact, it did happen here. “But Lawson Schmidt was brutally killed the other night, so unfortunately it looks like that stuff does happen here. Someone in the area is trying to hurt people.”
Clyde looked ready to cry. “I’m so sorry your mom was injured.”
“Thanks, Clyde. She’ll be okay. In fact, she’s determined to go to the festival meeting this afternoon.”
He made a face. “I guess if she can take it, I can, too.”
“What do you mean?”
“Some of those people drive me crazy.”
“I feel your pain,” I said with sincerity.
“Yeah, thanks.” He gave the broom a couple of sweeps. “It’s not so bad when I’m just working with my own people, ordering books and stuff for the authors coming to the festival. But when I’ve got to meet with the rest of the committee heads, it can get ugly.”
The Grim Reader Page 17
