Flashes popped into the reflective surface, and other diners grumbled at the disturbance.
Click. Lydia got the shot of the reporters from over Maddie’s shoulder. The other patrons in the restaurant were in it too, scowling.
Maddie swallowed her bite, and after a few moments of fidgety silence, spoke without raising her eyes to Lydia’s. “Dad said you travel a lot. And that you’re really busy.” Wide eyes looked up to Lydia, and she wrung her hands in her lap.
Lydia shrugged, exhaustion blanketing her. “I do. It’s part of the job.”
“Do you like it?”
“Most of the time. But it can be tiring.”
“So then… you must not like being at home all that much.”
Lydia sighed. “Truth?” Maddie nodded. “I don’t really have a lot to come home to. So, travel is a nice distraction.”
Maddie finished the last chicken finger and took a long sip of her water. “It’s hard to believe you don’t have a boyfriend. You’re so pretty.”
“I did have one. But he wasn’t very nice. And when I really needed him to be there for me, he wasn’t very supportive.”
Maddie nodded her head as if she totally understood the magnitude of the situation. “This boy in school always used to pick on me. He’d sneak into my lunchbox and steal my pudding snacks. He called me names. I finally told on him and he got in big trouble.”
Wow. That is… so not the same thing. Then again, in a ten-year-old’s world, it may just be as close as she can get to relating.
“Dad said he was being mean because he wanted me to notice him and that he liked me.”
“Maybe he liked you. Maybe he didn’t. Bottom line is that’s never an excuse.” Lydia leaned close to Maddie, pointing a finger for emphasis. “Boys don’t get to treat you like shit just because they want your attention.”
Maddie’s mouth dropped, her jaw so wide it was practically unhinged from her face. Lydia leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. Okay, so perhaps cursing in a ten-year-old’s face wasn’t the best way to handle that—but the sentiment was true. And something Maddie should learn sooner rather than later. Before that little punk in her class stole all her pudding snacks, leaving her dessert-less for the rest of her life.
Maddie’s eyes traveled over Lydia’s shoulders, and from behind her, a throat cleared. Shit. Lydia turned around to find a woman, perhaps in her late fifties, standing behind her, hands clasped in front of her at her hips.
“Hello, Maddie.”
“Hi, Grandma.”
‡
Chapter Twenty
Lydia pinched the bridge of her nose, massaging the inside corners of her eyes.
“And darn straight, Maddie,” Grandma said. “Boys don’t get to use lame excuses to be mean to you.” Her mouth tipped into a smile, creating several charming little wrinkles at the corners.
“Oh, Mrs. Tripp… I am so sorry. I was just really worked up…”
Mrs. Tripp clicked her tongue and swatted at the air with a relaxed hand. “Oh, honey. Don’t you worry about it. It’s a good lesson to learn.” She leaned in and whispered just to Lydia. “And you should hear me after a couple drinks. I talk like I’m a good ol’ boy in the Navy.”
Her contagious laugh spread like smoke engulfing Lydia and Maddie. Hopping up, Lydia gestured to her chair. “Would you like to sit?”
“Oh no, no. I just saw you both through the window and thought I’d introduce myself. I’m Martha—Marty for short.” She had a no nonsense streak to her that Lydia loved. Her mostly blond hair fell in a sleek bob just above her shoulders, with one section that was silvery gray near her temple. The resemblance to Callie was striking.
Lydia extended a hand. “I’m Lydia, here doing a story about Maddie’s charity auction.”
Marty smiled, her whole face lighting up with the grin. “Oh, sweetie. I know just who you are.” She grinned over her shoulder at Elsa.
“Well, then… uh, I suppose I’ll see you tonight? At the dinner?”
“You sure will.” Marty leaned over, and Maddie stretched to meet her embrace. Lydia grabbed her camera, snapping a few shots.
After Marty left, Maddie leaned over the table and crooked her finger in a come-here way at Lydia. She leaned in, angling her ear toward Maddie. “Last night, Grandma bought me shoes for tomorrow. And guess what?”
“What?” Lydia echoed her whisper.
“They’re heels,” Maddie’s round cheeks bulged into a huge smile, those Tripp family dimples flanking each side.
The image of Cam’s scowling face flashed into Lydia’s head, and she laughed out loud. There was something fun in watching him squirm.
“Well then,” Lydia said, “we’ll have to get you a pedicure before tonight. Finish up your muffin. I saw a salon down the road.”
*
Thirty minutes later, Lydia and Maddie sat in matching leather massage seats with their feet dipped in warm, bubbly water. Lydia stared at the two women painting her toes, trying to figure out which was bigger—their hair or their breasts. An issue of Tiger Beat lay open in Maddie’s lap while she reviewed the latest teen heartthrobs.
“Do you know who that is?” Her finger rested on a picture of Noah Blue attending a red carpet event.
“Of course I know who he is. I wouldn’t be much of a journalist if I hadn’t discovered that your uncle was a celebrity.”
“All the girls in my class talk about how cute he is. It’s so weird.”
“I bet,” Lydia said, though her mind was miles away. She leaned in closer, studying Noah Blue’s picture. Of all the Tripps she had met so far, his eyes were different. Well, they were still the same, but more piercing. Cold. Like he was looking at the world from behind a block of ice.
“Who do you think is cuter? Uncle Noah or Dad?”
Eesh. Talk about a rock and a hard place. “Hm, well—I’ve never been one for the fake celebrity look. I like real people. Like you. And your aunt and grandma…”
“He’s a real person, too.” She sat up straighter in her seat, adjusting in closer to Lydia.
“Well, yes, of course—but it’s different.” An ear-to-ear grin stretched along her face. Lydia mirrored her smile with an added eye roll. “This is a trap,” Lydia teased.
Maddie grinned and threw her head back against the chair. The woman painting her nails grunted as the nail polish smeared outside of Maddie’s toenail. “Oops.”
“Oh, it’s okay, Maddie.” The woman with the big blonde hair painted the air with the nail polish brush. “Nothing a little polish remover can’t fix.”
Maddie looked back over at Lydia, careful to not twitch her feet with the movement. “You never answered me… who’s cuter?”
Lydia sighed, settling back against her chair, the leather crunching beneath her weight. “Noah’s too young for me.” Lydia hoped the non-answer would suffice. She, of course, should have known better than to think that would appease a ten-year-old on a mission.
“So?”
The hands kneading her feet trembled, a smothered laugh escaping from the beautician. Lydia pressed two fingers to a temple. “Out of default, yes, I choose your father.”
“What’s default mean?”
“It means…” Lydia paused, thinking, “that there were no other options.” Lydia had no doubt that there would soon be gossip circulating around town that she chose Cam over Noah. As if the three were on some sort of awful dating reality show.
“Oh,” Maddie said, and they slipped into a companionable silence.
Lydia closed her eyes, a contented smile on her lips. She had no idea that she could find the presence of a kid so relaxing. Who would have thought a ten-year-old would be able to embrace silence and sit in peace?
“It’s really quiet in here,” Maddie whispered after a few minutes, almost as though reading Lydia’s earlier thoughts.
“Mm,” Lydia answered. “Isn’t it nice? Pedicures are one of the few luxuries women can allow themselves at an afforda
ble price. Maybe we should have our nails done too.” She spread her fingers and extended her hand to examine them.
Maddie watched with fascination and mimicked Lydia, studying her nails too. “I agree,” she said in a mock-aristocratic tone.
Lydia found herself chuckling. Troy had dirty fingernails, a snotty nose and smelly hair. Little girls were totally better than little boys, she thought, dunking her toes in the soapy water.
‡
Chapter Twenty-One
After dropping Maddie off at home with Callie, Lydia headed back into town for the afternoon. Her camera was strapped around her chest, her phone’s digital recorder set in her purse, and a triple shot latte in her hand. This story was going to get done. Journalism was her job—she had no choice but to write an article—it just didn’t need to be Mara’s story.
She took a wide shot of the town square, which was surrounded by the typical staples. Library, post office, elementary school, a few cafés, the beauty parlor, and a strip of cute shops—mostly for tourists, with stores for books, candy, and clothing. There was even an upscale pizzeria. She slipped in through the glass double doors of the pizzeria and found a man in a white apron and black button-down shirt behind the bar, drying some glassware.
“We don’t open until four.” His gruff voice scraped the air like sandpaper, as though he’d had one too many whiskeys in his life despite the fact that he looked to only be in his mid-thirties.
“My name’s Lydia. I’m in town to do a story about the—”
“Oh, right, the reporter.” Something in the way he said reporter made Lydia think he wasn’t all too fond of her line of work either. “You’re the one following Maddie Tripp around.”
“News travels fast.”
“Yeah, well… let’s just say I had the inside scoop on you from a source.” His accent was hardened with a New England twang. He set down the glass he’d been drying and gestured to a stool. “Have a seat. Can I get you something?”
Lydia shook her head. “Do you mind if I record the interview and take some pictures?”
He shrugged. “Not sure why you’d need to, but why not?”
Lydia placed her digital recorder on the bar and had her camera ready to go, strapped around her neck like some sort of lame tourist. She hated the look, but it truly was the safest way to carry such expensive equipment. Her initial questions were the typical, mundane ones every reporter starts with. Who are you? Nick the bartender. How long have you lived in town? All my life. Do you have any children? No. Are you going to the auction? No.
Lydia was beginning to think the interview was going to be a bust. “Do you know Cam and Maddie Tripp well?”
“Not particularly.” He rubbed a hand across his half-grown in beard. The slightest bit of greying hair dusted there and around his temples. “Cam usually comes in on Thursdays and has a drink.”
Lydia reached over, pausing the recorder. “Just the one drink?”
Nick wiped his hands along the outer part of his legs. “Oh, well, you know. Most people don’t have just one drink. Especially not on the only night they send the kid to the grandma’s house. Two or three, maybe. He has a slice, watches the game, then goes home. He used to come with Hannah on Thursdays, too. She loved our artichoke and feta pizza.”
Lydia cleared her throat and adjusted her weight on the bar stool. If Mara asked to hear and see all of her notes for the story, she had to do her best to avoid and delete anything incriminating. “Let’s move on.” She hit record again. “So, if you’ve been in town all your life, did you go to school with Cam?”
“Yeah, but I was a year older than them. We didn’t run in the same crowd.”
“Who’s them?”
“Him. I meant to say I was a year older than him.” Nick narrowed his eyes and stared at her through thick lashes. Lydia just nodded, not sure of how else to respond. After another moment’s pause, he asked, “Isn’t this story supposed to be about the auction? Why you asking about Cam?”
Lydia held his gaze, leaning to pause the tape again. “It’s about Maddie’s involvement in the auction. Just getting a sense of the community in this town.”
“Oh yeah?” His eyebrows shot up, and he laughed in a way you might after biting into a lemon. “You wanna know about Maple Grove’s community? You’d save some time if you just asked your editor to fill you in.”
Lydia straightened in her seat, the statement sending a jolt of electricity through her. “Mara? You know Mara?”
“Mara? I don’t know any Mara. But I know a girl by the name of Tamara Walters who left this place in search of a big fancy city to make waves in. Most people here have no idea what became of her. The only reason I do is because I was stupid enough to follow her up there once—surprised her on her birthday.” His lip curled at a memory he would sooner forget.
Lydia sat there, mouth open. “Mara—Tamara—she’s from here? She said she went to boarding school in London.”
His mouth tipped into a sad smile. “Can’t say I’m surprised. She always thought she was better than the rest of us.”
“Why’s that? And why the hell would she lie about where she comes from?”
He gripped the pint glass with the ferocity of an underage frat boy. “I’m not in the business of telling other people’s secrets.”
“If that’s true, then why bring her up at all?”
“The Tripps are good people. And if I know Tammy half as well as I think I do, then my guess is that you’re not here on some good intentioned story about our dinky town’s charity auction.”
“I promise, I’m doing everything I can to make sure this article turns out positive. I didn’t mean to pry. I’m just trying to make sense of all of this. Mara is from Maple Grove.” Which meant she probably knew Cam.
His gaze lifted, eyes clouded with emotions and memories long forgotten. “When you see her, tell her Nick says hi.”
‡
Chapter Twenty-Two
Lydia circled her way around the town square, stopping to talk to Gladys, her pedicurist, Lex the baker, and popping in to say a quick hello to Yvonne before finally landing back at Cam’s guest cottage.
Lydia sat in her room, going over her notes. There was definitely an explanation here. She just couldn’t put her finger on it yet.
Groaning, she opened her laptop, focusing on finishing the celebrity wedding story from the week before rather than the auction. After a few hours of writing, her phone buzzed in her lap. The face read Mara. She snapped the laptop shut, a sigh heaving in her chest.
“This is Lydia,” she answered.
“What the fuck is this I hear about the DC Herald breaking a story about a transvestite supporting this fucking charity auction? What is she even doing there for this thing?”
“I tried to tell you that the other night, but—”
“But what? Frank will have our balls in a vice over this.”
“Yes, but—”
“Did you even hear me when I said I wanted you to blow the lid off of small town America?” Lydia could hear the sneer over the phone.
“Yes—”
“And when I told you—”
“Okay.” It was Lydia’s turn to cut Mara off. “I get it. But this small town is supporting Mistress Vine being at its function. Not banning her. And from what I’ve seen, no one in town is protesting her presence.”
“Well, of course—”
“And furthermore, Mara, Maddie Tripp is going to introduce me to Mistress Vine, and I’m hoping to get a bigger story—an in-depth profile. If I piss her off now, we’ll never get the bigger story later. Something Frank would blame both of us for.”
A pause hung in the air like a swinging noose. “Fine,” Mara said, her words clipped. “How’s the bad father story going?”
“Oh, it’s… coming.”
“I could do without the attitude. You got my proofs and captions?”
“I did.” Lydia tapped her nails against the top of her keyboard. “Tell me again why our r
eaders are going to care about a negligent father?”
“They will if I will. Make me like the story and I guarantee readers will too.”
“And how did you find this story again? Other than the artist residency and the ski lodge, it’s nearly too small to even bother putting on a map.”
Mara was quiet on the other line. “Just write the article, Lydia. Don’t ask questions.” The line disconnected and Lydia smirked.
“I’m a journalist. I always as questions.”
*
Two hours later, Lydia was stepping out of the shower and slipping into a black cocktail dress with a sweetheart neckline that dipped just enough to show some cleavage, but would still be appropriate for a children’s event. She curled her hair in long, soft waves and brushed her bangs at an angle, sweeping them across her forehead.
A few minutes later, her eyes were rimmed with smoky black liner, and she dabbed on a touch of sheer gloss. And after slipping on her red peep-toe heels, she went to the mirror for one last look. The folder of notes and photos sat on the dresser, and she opened it, looking at Cam’s angry expression in the first. In some, he simply looked bored. Complacent. In others, overly tired. And if the photos alone weren’t enough to make her cringe, the captions were absolutely deplorable.
She tossed the folder back down and grabbing her little red clutch and her camera, slipped out the door, ready for the Founder’s Dinner. But she had one last stop to make.
‡
Chapter Twenty-Three
“I cannot believe you bought her heels, Mom.” Cam had Maddie by the hand, dragging her behind him.
“Oh, lighten up, honey. It’s the grandmother’s job to buy kids gifts the parents forbid.” Marty barely batted an eye at his disapproval.
Maddie, on the other hand, looked worried. Eyes wide, her gaze darted back and forth between her dad and grandma.
“Besides,” Marty said, “they’re not really heels—there’s barely a wedge there.”
“And the red nail polish? I suppose that was your idea, too?”
Capturing You (Maple Grove Romance Book 1) Page 16
