by Jeff Shelby
He grinned. “How well can you hold your liquor?”
“Well enough.”
“A shame,” he murmured.
“Excuse me?”
“It might be nice to see you loosen up a little, that’s all.”
“So I’m wound tight? Is that what you’re saying?”
Gunnar sipped his wine. “I have a feeling there are a couple of different incarnations of Rainy Day. Let’s just say I’d like to get to know them all…”
My cheeks burned and I dipped my head, trying to hide the blush I knew was visible. I focused on my remaining wine, gulping the rest of it down.
“How about now?” Gunnar asked, smiling.
“Now what?”
He nodded at the glass. “It’s empty. You feel like talking now, and telling me what’s got you all hot and bothered?”
It was an interesting choice of words. Was he referring to the reason I was drinking wine, or was he referencing my obvious reaction to his words from just a few minutes earlier?
I took a deep breath and decided I needed to focus on Greta and not the uncomfortable feelings he evoked in me. I filled him in on what happened.
“That’s terrible,” Gunnar said when I was done, shaking his head. He clearly had not been expecting the news. “So she just passed in her sleep?”
I nodded. “That’s the way it looked to me. She was sitting in a chair in the living room with her quilting in her lap. I honestly thought she’d just fallen asleep.”
“I didn’t know her well,” Gunnar said. He studied the hat sitting in his own lap. “But she seemed like a nice woman. Great quilter, from what I’d heard.” He sighed. “I’m glad she passed peacefully.”
I made a face. “Well, the sheriff isn’t so sure that’s the case.”
Gunnar wrinkled his brow. “No?”
I shook my head. “Nope. You know him. Pretty sure he saw me in there and instantly decided foul play was somehow involved.”
Gunnar gave me an incredulous look. “He thinks you killed her?”
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far.” The wine had worked its magic. I felt warm, and deliciously relaxed, as if I’d just stepped out of a warm bath. “But he asked me some questions that sort of hinted at the fact that he wasn’t ready to chalk it up to natural causes.”
He chuckled. “Sounds about right.”
“Of course, he forgets that I’d never met the woman before,” I continued, waving my hand in the air. The hand holding the wineglass bounced a little, too and I was glad that it was empty. “I’m there and a woman is dead and that’s all he sees.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Gunnar said. “He’s ridiculous.”
“I know. I am well aware of this fact.”
“Who in the world would want a little old woman dead?” Gunnar asked, but I knew it was a rhetorical question.
Because the answer was: no one. I might not have known Greta, but that very fact made me even more certain I was right. If she had been some sort of town pariah or someone with several enemies, I was sure that would have made it through the Latney gossip mill. And even me, someone who was a newcomer to town, would have overhead that information. Certainly, the sheriff would have known.
Well, that might be a bit of a stretch, considering the sheriff had never proved to know anything I’d thought he might.
“No one,” I told him, answering his question. “No one would want her dead.”
The minute I said it, Gunnar’s expression clouded.
“What?” I asked.
He stared at the fireplace, thinking.
“What?” I repeated.
He blinked. “Oh, it’s nothing. At least I don’t think it’s anything.”
“Tell me.”
He stared down at his hat. “I just remembered something.”
I resisted the urge to shake him. “What? What did you remember?”
“Lila Bartholomew is back in town.”
I stared at him. “Who is Lila Bartholomew?”
He looked up, and his eyes locked on mine. “Someone who might have wanted Greta dead.”
SEVEN
“Tell me everything.”
“I don’t know everything,” Gunnar said.
I’d set my wineglass back on the coffee table and turned to face him, folding my legs Indian-style. “Fine. Tell me why you think this Lila woman would want Greta dead.”
“That’s a bit of a stretch,” he began.
“How? You’re the one who said it.”
He made a face. “Okay, but I was exaggerating. I just meant that Lila is back in Latney and she and Greta didn’t exactly have the greatest relationship. I don’t actually think she killed her or anything.”
I was hungry for information. “Why didn’t they have a good relationship?”
“They’re both quilters.”
I frowned. He said this as if it were some end-all statement. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know all the details,” he said. “But there’s this big quilt show every year. It’s usually held during Dorothy Days, down at the pavilion by the lake. There are all of these quilts on display and someone is crowned the Queen of Quilts each year.”
“Okay.” I knew about Dorothy Days, and had even signed up to help out at the planning commission’s meeting later in the week, but I was still struggling to put the pieces together.
“So every year since…well, since forever, Lila Bartholomew won the crown. Until Greta came along.”
“So Greta wasn’t from here?” I asked. “She was a transplant, too?”
Gunnar shook his head. “No. She’s lived here for ages. My understanding is that she started quilting later in life. But she took to it and was good at it, and she ended up winning the quilt competition a couple of years ago.”
I thought about this. So she’d stepped on the toes of Lila by winning the crown away from her.
“And you said she’s back in town? Lila?”
“Yeah, she came back a few weeks ago. She was in Florida, I think.” He glanced at the ceiling, looking as though he was trying to recall the information. “Sophia would know the details.”
I was sure she would. But still, even with the information Gunnar had just given me, I didn’t know that Lila would harbor a grudge over losing a quilt competition. And certainly not a big enough grudge to kill someone.
I said this out loud.
“I agree,” Gunnar said. “I wasn’t actually saying I thought Lila did something. You said yourself that you found Greta in her chair. I’m sure it was a heart attack or something. But you said you couldn’t see Greta as having any enemies and I remembered Lila and what had happened with the two of them.”
I nodded. What he was saying made sense, but we both knew it was a huge stretch to think that this Lila woman would have shown back up in Latney to kill her quilting rival.
“Well, all I know is that poor Greta is dead and I was the one who found her,” I said. “So if you’re wondering why I was drinking in the middle of the day, that was the reason why.”
“Actually,” Gunnar said, sipping his wine, “there’s something else I’ve been wondering about.”
I waited.
“I seem to remember a dinner you invited me to. A dinner we never got to enjoy.”
I picked up my own glass and belatedly realized it was empty.
“Were you planning on rescheduling or is it off the table?”
I glanced at him. He was smiling at me, his dimples carving half moons in his cheeks, and his hazel eyes were warm and inviting. My throat was suddenly dry and I wished the glass I was holding were still full. Because I would have drained every last drop.
His smile deepened. “Or maybe you were just saving it for a rainy day?”
I giggled at his play on words. I couldn’t help it. “Yes,” I managed to say, still chuckling. “That’s exactly it.”
He grinned back. “I have it on good authority that it’s supposed to rain over night tonight...”
Butterflies knocked around in my stomach. There was no question I was attracted to Gunnar Forsythe. None. He made me feel like a teenager again: the way he looked at me, his loaded words…everything.
When I’d gone to his house with that loaf of bread and had invited him to dinner, I’d been resolved to act on my feelings and see what, if anything, was there between us.
But a few months had passed, and I was back to square one. Hesitant and nervous, giddy and slightly love struck.
And, also, a little distraught over my afternoon discovery at Greta Hedley’s house.
Now probably wasn’t the right time to explore my feelings for my handsome neighbor. Unfortunately, the wine I’d just gulped down was not helping me to think rationally. Nor was Gunnar, who placed his hand on my knee. His fingers were warm and I sucked in a breath. If I was Superman, he was definitely my kryptonite.
The doorbell sounded, breaking the spell. I startled and Gunnar drew back.
“I…I should get that,” I mumbled, getting to my feet. I’d never been more thankful for a diversion.
This time when I opened the door, Declan was there.
He smiled tiredly. “Hi. How are you? How are you holding up?”
I resisted the urge to glance back at Gunnar. How was I? I’d gone from near hysteria after leaving a dead woman’s house to arriving at my own, drinking two glasses of wine and flirting with my next-door neighbor.
Maybe I was bipolar.
“Um, I’m fine,” I stammered. I kept the door partially open, positioning myself in the open space in the doorframe. “How are you? How are…things?”
Declan rubbed his temple. “Everything is fine. Greta is on her way to the morgue and I’ve notified her next of kin.”
This was the Declan I knew. Calm and in control. Always thinking of everyone else. Always taking the wheel with steady, confident hands.
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I just wanted to swing by before I head back to the church. I’ll need to start planning the service, but I didn’t want to go in without checking on you first.”
My heart somersaulted. He was so good, so kind, so caring.
“I’m fine,” I told him. “Thank you for checking in on me.”
I felt Gunnar’s presence before I heard him.
“Hello, Declan,” he said from above me. My head only came up to his chin so he could easily see over me.
Declan’s eyes traveled from mine to Gunnar’s. A frown appeared, but he quickly wiped it away. “Oh, hello, Gunnar.”
“He stopped by and I told him the news,” I said quickly. I didn’t know why I felt the need to explain myself, but I did. “He…he’s stayed with me.”
“We’ve needed a couple of glasses of this to get through the afternoon.”
I watched as Gunnar lifted the glass of wine.
“I see,” Declan said. He cleared his throat and offered a smile to both of us. “Well, I’m glad to see that you aren’t alone, Rainy.”
I felt horrible. I could tell he was hurt seeing Gunnar in my living room, but I didn’t know what to say. Why was I feeling guilty when I hadn’t done anything wrong?
“Would you like to join us?” I asked impulsively.
Declan looked horrified. “Oh, no. I…I have things to do. And you do, too.” His cheeks colored. “ I mean, I assume you have things to do. Both of you. And, I mean, maybe you’ll do them together or maybe you’ll do them alone. But—”
Gunnar put him out of his mercy. “The more the merrier, as far as I’m concerned.”
Declan’s face turned the color of a tomato. “Well, I…” He cleared his throat. “I really do need to get going.” He nodded his head at me. “I’ll see you soon, Rainy. Good evening, Gunnar.”
He turned on his heel and hurried out to his car, and I watched him go.
“I’ve never seen a man so easily flustered,” Gunnar commented.
I couldn’t argue. I just nodded and closed the door.
Gunnar was still standing next to me, close enough to touch.
“So,” he said, bringing his wine glass to his lips, “where were we?”
I swallowed.
The butterflies took flight again. I knew exactly where we were.
Right where I wasn’t sure I wanted to be.
EIGHT
Gunnar let me off the hook.
Because a minute after Declan left, Gunnar’s pager—the one he wore when he was on-call for the fire department—beeped.
We both jumped in surprise.
“Perfect timing,” Gunnar muttered as he glanced down at the pager.
Before I could respond, he set his glass down, settled his hat back on top of his head and bid me goodbye.
“Looks like the rest of this conversation will have to wait,” he said, apologetically. “For a rainy day,” he added.
I nodded, hoping the relief I was feeling wasn’t written all over my face.
After he left, I grabbed our wineglasses and took them into the kitchen. I set them in the sink and thought about eating something, but I wasn’t hungry. My mind was filled with thoughts, about Greta and Gunnar and Declan.
And Lila.
I rinsed out the glasses, reminding myself that there had been no sign of foul play at Greta’s house. I knew it was just a coincidence that she was back in town.
And even though the sheriff had hinted that there would be an investigation, that nothing had been determined about Greta’s cause of death, I knew this was just his way of doing his job. I’d had ample evidence that he wasn’t very good at his profession, so there was no reason why he’d handle this particular situation any different.
I grabbed a granola bar and munched on it as I made my way back to the living room. My mind was filled with thoughts of Greta but also of Gunnar, too. I settled back on to the couch, stretching out this time, propping my feet on the armrest and positioning one of the throw pillows behind my neck.
I knew I was going to have to do something about my feelings for Gunnar. I’d managed to keep them at bay all summer long, mostly because we’d seen so little of each other, but one glass of wine was all it had taken for him to unravel me.
I closed my eyes. I wanted to find peace but all I could think about was Gunnar’s hand on my knee. And all I could imagine were his lips on mine, his arms wrapped around me.
I shook my head. I needed to stop. Try meditating again or something; anything to get my mind off of imagining how the rest of the night could have gone with Gunnar.
I stood up and turned on the portable speaker above the fireplace. I shuffled through my song lists on my phone and found my relaxation play list. I would focus on the music, and do my best to push out thoughts of Gunnar and Greta and everything else vying for my attention.
The knock on the front door was soft, almost tentative. At first, I thought I might be imagining it. Maybe it was part of the song playing.
Then my phone rang, cutting off the song that was playing. I picked it up.
“Rainy?” It was Declan.
“Hi,” I said, sitting up and rubbing my eyes. The sun was shining through the windows at just the right angle, doing its best to momentarily blind me. “Is…is everything okay?”
“Yes. I hate to bother you, but, well, my car ran out of gas just a block up the road. I was hoping you might have some extra in the barn?”
I sat up straighter. “You’re here?” I asked blankly. I hadn’t fallen asleep, but the music and the leftover effects of the wine had left me a little disoriented.
“I don’t mean to disturb you,” he said quickly. “I know you have company. And…well, it sounds like you might have been sleeping. I can just let myself into the barn or shed or wherever you keep it. If you have any, I mean. And I’ll fill it up and bring it right back. But I don’t have to come back right away, especially if you still have company. I could—”
He was still babbling when I opened the front door. He whipped around to face me, his phone pressed to his ear, his cheeks on fire.
“It’s fine,” I said. “Of course you can take the gas can.”
He pulled the phone away from his ear and shoved it back into his pocket. “I’ll be quick,” he said, already backing away from the front door. “Just point me in the right direction and I’ll get out of your hair.”
“Declan, I’m alone.”
His footsteps halted.
“Gunnar left a while ago. Got a call from the fire department.”
He turned so he was facing me again. “Oh,” he said. I didn’t think it was possible, but his complexion turned an even darker shade of red.
I stepped out on to the porch. “I’ll show you where it is.”
Day was slowly making its descent into evening, but the sky was still light and the birds were still chirping. A haze of clouds sat on the horizon, and they were just beginning to tinge pink from the sinking sun.
He followed along next to me as we walked down the driveway toward the barn. Pavement gave way to gravel and our feet kicked up a cloud of dust as we rounded the curve.
“I can’t believe I ran out of gas,” Declan said as we walked. “I thought I could make it back into town, but I guess my car had other plans.”
I wondered where he had been. “Where were you coming from?”
“I wanted to stop by Carol’s.” When I looked at him questioningly, he added, “Carol Luft. She’s one of Greta’s closest friends. I…I’d called her with the news earlier but she was pretty upset so I wanted to go by and see her in person. Offer whatever support I could.”
I smiled. “That was nice of you.”
He shrugged. “The death of someone you love can be a time of trial. I always want to do whatever I can to help.”
I knew he did.
I pulled open the barn door. The smell of hay was strong, mixed with hints of earth and pine, and of gas and grease from the equipment stored inside. Gunnar had gifted me with a few things: a weed whacker and a chain saw, both of which I was too terrified to try using on my own. My ride-on mower was parked inside, on one of the concrete pads Len Konrath must have had poured. The rest of the barn floor was dirt, packed so firm that it was almost like asphalt.
