One Perfect Year

by Melinda Curtis

  “They won’t bother you if you don’t look at them,” Dane teased.

  “There’s three of them. Three’s a powerful number, with heads or without.” Joey joined them by the dais. “Tell her about the rodent problem.” He shivered emphatically enough to send his ponytail swaying. “I hate rats. But boy, do they love fancy dress boxes.”

  Shelby couldn’t stop a small shiver of her own. She must have been on her phone when they made that discovery.

  “You need to work on your delivery.” Dane’s smile hightened his strong, handsome features. Yet Shelby felt no uptick in her pulse. “The rats chewed through a wall from the abandoned building next door.”

  “The good news is the cats.” Joey took up the tale. “Didn’t see any, but smelled ’em downstairs and in back. Hopefully, they’ve kept the rodent population down.”

  Sniffing, Shelby peered around nervously. She didn’t see or smell anything ratlike or catlike.

  “You’ll need new plumbing, of course,” Dane said louder, giving his foreman a pointed look. “But we’re particularly concerned with the electrical. Your circuit board is from the fifties. Add to that a rat’s fondness for wires, and I’d highly recommend rewiring the entire building.”

  “Wouldn’t it have been easier to build from scratch?” she mused.

  Dane and Joey shared a laugh.

  “It might be different now, but it took months to get the first winery permits past the town council,” Dane explained. “The older residents don’t want to see the town change in character. To them, growth means big-box stores, fast food and crime.”

  The need for Christine’s game plan to woo the town council made more sense. If only Shelby wasn’t high on the town’s copper thief suspect list.

  “Can we move some of these mannequins into the back?” Joey rubbed his arms.

  Dane frowned. “Why? You’ll be moving them into a Dumpster when we demo.”

  “We could move the nameless mannequins to the back,” Shelby offered, almost certain that Mae wouldn’t mind. “But let’s move the mirrors and dais first.” Okay, that was a cowardly thing to do, but the dais affected her more than the mannequins did.

  “The things I do so you don’t freak out.” Dane set his clipboard on the floor.

  “It’s like being married, isn’t it?” Joey winked at Shelby.

  * * *

  MAE WANTED TO know what was going on at the shop. She’d heard a rumor from Rose, who’d heard it from that boy, Ryan, who worked at the winery, that a contractor was taking a look at her shop early this morning.

  Despite being a firm believer in beauty sleep, Mae had risen at the indecent hour of 6:00 a.m., put on her makeup, teased out her hair and called Shelby for a ride. She’d been too late. Shelby was already at the shop with the contractor and refused to come pick Mae up until after they left.

  No papers had been signed. It was still Mae’s shop. Having long ago given up her driver’s license, she grabbed her cane and headed out.

  The first block was easy. In the midst of the second block, her legs began to feel heavy. When she reached the town square, her breath came in ragged gasps. “Should have quit smoking a decade earlier,” she grumbled to herself.

  The sheriff noticed Mae sitting in a chair on the patio outside El Rosal. Hoping he wouldn’t stop, she waved and looked away, as if waiting for someone.

  He parked his blue truck with its gold star, and got out.

  Shoot and darn.

  It was times like these that Mae hated living in Harmony Valley. If she’d lived in a bigger town, she could wander about as she pleased.

  “Sheriff Nate.”

  “Mae.” His gaze scanned the town square as if anticipating criminal activity to occur. He must be good at waiting, she figured. Until the copper thefts, the only criminal activity in Harmony Valley had been Franklin Oscar’s evening walks in his speedo during the summer months. Mostly, Sheriff Nate corralled wandering elderly and wayward pets. Just last week she knew there’d been a 911 call because Bea’s milk goats had escaped and invaded Etta’s vegetable patch.

  The ability to wait was what made a good cop, or so one of Mae’s husbands had said. “Wait long enough and people will admit to anything.” He’d been a detective in Cloverdale. Took a bullet in 1992. Recovered. And divorced her.

  The sheriff swiveled back to study Mae. Waiting.

  She bit her lip. He’d have to ask what she was doing. And even then she wouldn’t tell him. Last she checked, it was a free country.

  The sheriff’s gaze was hypnotic. He raised one black brow.

  She broke. “No need to worry about me, sheriff. I’m going to my shop. Go help some poor old sod.” Mae might have succumbed to his finely honed interrogation technique, but she stopped short of admitting what was on the tip of her tongue: she had lung cancer and could go to the big bridal shop in the sky any day. Instead, she asked, “Where are you going?”

  He ignored her question and held out a hand. “I’ll drive you.” He didn’t look her in the eye.

  Was he not looking at Mae because she was old? Or because he knew she was sick?

  Men used to look at Mae appreciatively, fondly, flirtatiously. And she used to look back. The fun had gone out of looking.

  She considered refusing Nate, but when you were this close to the pearly gates, you didn’t have time for pride. And the walk this far had taxed her. She was tempted to go home and rest.

  “May as well roll over and die if I go home,” she mumbled, taking Nate’s hand. It was where she preferred to depart this world. No cold, colorless hospital. No tubes in her veins.

  Without a word, he helped her into the truck and buckled her belt.

  “You’d have a good time with my granddaughter, Annie,” she said, feeling cantankerous. “She talks a lot and has tattoos. All that talking wears on me because I can’t get a word in edgewise. But a man like you, who doesn’t say much, would appreciate a talker.”

  “Don’t be so hard on her,” he surprised her by saying. “At least she loves you enough to talk to you. Have you seen her recently?”

  “No.” Which only reminded her that she owed her daughters a phone call. She was still coming to terms with the doctor’s diagnosis. Ava and Andrea would want to know the bad news.

  Nate let the conversation drop. Minutes later they were parked outside Dream Day Bridal. Inside the shop—her shop—men in work boots carried the mirror panels to the storage room.

  Mae wanted to gnash the few teeth left in her mouth. She wanted to scream. She wanted to raise her fist and rail. Instead, she gripped her cane handle and glared at the sheriff.

  He frowned. “Be nice.”

  She didn’t want to be. She didn’t have to be. Husbands had loved her, come and gone. Her girls had grown, married and moved away. Dream Day Bridal was the one constant in Mae’s life.

  I don’t want it to end.

  Her life cut short. Her body frail, weak, lacking the curves she’d flaunted and flirted with. Her face. How it sagged and wrinkled and disappointed her. The dance between a man and a woman was what she’d enjoyed most. There’d be no more dancing. No more people watching, no more matchmaking, no more advice-giving.

  “Help me out of here,” she commanded, realizing that the sheriff had been waiting to see if she’d want to be driven home. “This is my shop and I’m not dead yet.” She struggled to open the heavy truck door. It was stuck or had some trick to opening it.

  It was still shut when Nate came around to her side. He opened the door, and lifted her down as if she weighed nothing, making her feel even more helpless. To make matters worse, he held her arm as they took the few remaining steps, as if he knew her legs were too unsteady to go it alone.

  “Stop!” she cried, entering the store like a queen about to order a beheading.

&nb
sp; A man with a graying ponytail had been about to grope one of the armless mannequins. His hands were grimy and would leave a mark on the pristine satin.

  “Everyone stop. Now.” Her voice cracked. “If anyone touches anything else, I will never sign. Never.”

  Shelby appeared on the stairs, holding the chair Mae had sat on the other day. “We were just clearing things out of the way.”

  Mae gestured for Shelby to put the chair down and she hobbled across the sales floor and sat in it. “You can stop. I knew something like this would happen. These are my things.” She hated how fragile she sounded. She needed to turn the conversation in a new direction. “I made dreams come true in this shop. Women walked in and with my help transformed themselves into a vision. Men took one look at that dress on that mannequin—” she pointed to Conchita “—and realized even they could be Prince Charming. All they had to do was stand at the top of the aisle and say, I do.”

  Everyone looked at Conchita. Everyone, but the sheriff.

  Sheriff Nate had positioned himself with his stiff back to Conchita and her traditional Spanish lace dress, as if he couldn’t bear to look upon a bride, even a plastic one.

  Mae would have smiled, if not for the vandalism and the disrespect of her merchandise, as well as the absolute exhaustion her outburst had cost her. She might have smiled, too, because she recognized that the sheriff had a secret. He had someone, after all. Someone he’d lost if that forlorn look on his face was any indication. Perhaps even someone he’d promised to meet at the altar.

  Her attention was drawn to Shelby next, hiding in that ugly green jacket. Who did she think she was kidding? She wore another black shirt today. This one a rumpled button-down. The young widow needed a kick in the patoot if she was ever to escape widowhood’s doldrums.

  Mae might not fall in love one more time, but there were secrets to unearth and people who needed her.

  Even if they didn’t want their secrets unearthed.

  Even if they didn’t know they needed her.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THERE WAS NOTHING like moving someone else’s stuff around for selfish reasons and being caught at it. Shelby apologized to Mae as Dane and Joey made their escape. She wasn’t doing a good job of keeping Mae happy.

  “I found her wandering the streets.” Sheriff Nate obviously disapproved. “She seemed distraught.”

  “I’m not a runaway.” Mae’s retort lacked snap. Shoulders bent in her purple polyester, belted, vintage eighties jumpsuit, she was clearly fatigued. “I protect what’s mine. And this... This was unauthorized mayhem.”

  Guilty as charged. “We were just—”

  “Ah!” Mae cut Shelby off with a chop of her hand. “Apologies mean nothing to me. It’s actions that count.”

  “I’ll be next door at the jail,” the sheriff said to Shelby. “Come get me when she’s ready to go home. And next time you want to visit your store, Mae, call me and I’ll drive you over.”

  After the sheriff left, Mae leaned forward in her chair. “What did we learn today about dealing with me?”

  “To ask before we move anything.” When would that contract be signed? Not soon enough.

  “It’ll always be my shop,” Mae insisted. “I’ll come in and look at these walls, look out these windows and relive the excitement of all those brides and prom queens.” She stared at the mannequin in the front window. “Can you keep Conchita in the corner? Wouldn’t people find her charming?”

  Uh-oh.

  Thick cobwebs connected the shoulders of the mannequin’s dress to the wall like gossamer girders. The right half of the dress, the part facing the window, was yellowed with age. Mae’s eyesight was probably so poor she didn’t take note of any of that.

  “People aren’t going to come in here,” Shelby said gently. “This space is for barrel storage. Tourists and visitors will go to the tasting room on the main winery grounds.”

  “Oh,” Mae’s response brimmed with disappointment. “We need to find a place for Conchita and her dress. For all my dresses.” Her voice had become as fragile as the rest of her. “There are thousands of dollars’ worth of inventory in the stock room.”

  That was some expensive rat chow.

  “Not that I care about the money. Each wonderful dress deserves a wonderful woman to wear it.” Mae batted her mascara-caked lashes coyly. “How about you? There’s a beautiful knee-length white sheath in storage that would be perfect for your next wedding.”

  “No.” She should have traded assignments with Ryan. How troublesome could three elderly town councilwomen be?

  “I won’t even charge you,” Mae continued her sales pitch. “It would be a gift, from one widow to another when you marry Gage.”

  “Whoa.” Shelby hadn’t even gotten to the first comes love part and Mae’d accelerated to the then comes marriage part.

  “You’re blinded by all that black. Don’t be such a cliché. You’re young. Wear something bright. It’s fall. Orange is in and it’s a passion color.” Mae sighed dreamily. “My favorite bridesmaid dresses were orange.” Mae’s gaze shifted to the display window. Her tone became a soft whisper. “Your bridesmaids wore teal, high-waisted halter dresses.”

  Shelby was impressed. “You have a great memory.”

  “A great dress leaves a lasting impression.” Mae shook herself. “I’d like to show you something.”

  Shelby glanced toward the back of the shop. “Something in the storage room?”

  “No. Never mind. You’re not ready.” Mae pointed at Shelby’s torso.

  She glanced at her black shirt. “Sorry, Mae. Black’s my color of choice at the moment.”

  A car drove by with a white poodle barking from a window, headed in the direction of the clinic and Gage. Shelby hoped he was having a better day than she was.

  “There aren’t enough quality, single men in this town,” Mae lamented, staring at Conchita’s wedding dress.

  “I’m not looking to date anyone.” And even if she was, the one person who interested her had a job that made her a nervous wreck. How could that be love?

  “Who said anything about you?” Mae sniffed. “You’re still defining yourself by your last husband. You wouldn’t know love if it struck you on the noggin.”

  There wasn’t a good volley for that lob.

  “And Sheriff Nate is mourning a lost love. Closed to happiness, the both of you.” Mae tsked. “Wasted youth, if you ask me. If you don’t change your mind, ten years from now you’ll be pining for kids, staring at your ever-widening hips, lying in bed alone at night wondering when life passed you by.”

  Bittersweet truth coiled around Shelby’s heart and sunk in its claws.

  She’s not right. She can’t be right.

  Mae winked. She knew when she was right. “When you find yourself with ten cats and the label of neighborhood eccentric instead of a second husband and two babies, you’ll know I’m speaking the truth.”

  The soulful face of the Saint Bernard came to mind.

  Still, Shelby refused to believe she was about to fall down Mae’s rabbit hole. Mae was just...just...exasperating. A hopeless romantic when Shelby had lost hope.

  “Tell the sheriff I’m ready to leave,” Mae commanded regally, ruining the effect with a bone-rattling cough.

  Shelby retrieved an unopened bottle of water from her bag and offered it to the old woman, but she waved Shelby off. “Go.”

  Shelby hesitated. “I’ll get Nate when you’ve recovered.”

  “I’m not recovering.” The fight seemed to drain out of Mae, and with it Shelby’s exasperation.

  * * *

  THERE WAS A line outside the vet’s office before Gage and Doc unlocked the front door. News of their reopening had spread quickly. Just as swiftly, Gage began matching names to faces.

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sp; Bea Larkin and one of her milk goats. Gage directed her around to the back.

  Mr. Mionetti with a small squealing guinea pig.

  Miss Shephard cradling a black-and-white Shih Tzu with rheumy eyes and matted hair.

  “Will we be seeing you, Dr. Wentworth?” Mr. Mionetti asked, carefully avoiding Gage, who was standing in the hallway almost next to him.

  “You will not,” Doc barked out. “There’s a new vet in town.”

  Mr. Mionetti hesitated, his thin frame wavered like a reed in the wind. Finally, he leaned forward to whisper. “But the copper—”

  “Dogs, all mighty, Gino! You think I’d turn my practice over to a thief?” Doc chastised as he leaned over the front counter. “I’ve never turned away an animal in need, but you tempt me. Oh, how you tempt me.” Eruption complete, Doc sat back down, and waved Mr. Mionetti toward a chair.

  The guinea pig owner retreated to a seat, looking as enthusiastic as a child about to receive a tetanus shot.

  Other cars pulled into the clinic’s small lot. Gage sighed. It was a good thing he’d been inquisitive at vet school, and had started his upper division courses with dual streams—both small and large animals. It was only after Nick’s death that he’d concentrated on large animals and found his niche with horses.

  Doc cleared his throat and said, “Who knew we’d be so swamped? This is a very lucrative practice.”

  Gage ignored the hint. “If everyone could please sign in.” He gestured to a clipboard on the counter. “We’ll get to you in the order you arrive, barring any emergencies.” Gage made his way to the paddock in the back, passing by the kennel and stopping to check on the Saint Bernard. “How’re you doing today, boy?”

  The dog rubbed his cheek against the kennel fence, begging for an ear scratch. He was a loving, well-adjusted dog. Whoever had lost him wouldn’t give up the search easily. And when the person did show up, Shelby would be crushed.

  Meanwhile, a weight had been lifted off his shoulders last night. He still found it hard to believe that Shelby didn’t blame him for Nick’s death. When she’d reminded him of Nick’s approach to life, she’d struck upon a truth he’d forgotten, a possibility he hadn’t been brave enough to consider: he couldn’t have prevented Nick’s death.