“Mus tek cyeara de root fa heal de tree.” (You need to take care of the root in order to heal the tree.) ~ Gullah Proverb
CHAPTER ONE
IF her life were a novel, Sarah Barnwell figured this particular chapter must have been written by Stephen King.
The dilapidated gray cottage with the rusting tin roof looked like Hell’s gatehouse. In the watery moonlight, she couldn’t be sure if the path leading up to the sagging porch was comprised of oyster-shells or crushed bones.
She’d lost her mind, coming back home. Really, that was all there was to it.
“It, uh, it’s been empty since Aunt Mildred died last year,” chimed a small voice from beside her. “I kept meaning to get someone over here to clean it up, but… Maybe with some paint…”
The voice trailed off again, and Sarah closed her eyes. Maybe she’d lost her mind, agreeing to return to Sweetwater, South Carolina to go into business with her childhood best friend. But Allie had lost… well, almost everything.
She looked down into Allison Hawbaker’s familiar face. Framed by wisps of inky hair, it glowed ghostly pale beneath the flickering streetlight. Along with the faint bruising of exhaustion, there was a smear of mascara beneath her friend’s Crayola-bright blue eyes. In Sarah’s experience, Allie had never appeared less than storybook perfect – vaguely like Snow White, with a houseful of brothers instead of dwarves.
Now she resembled a china doll that had been played with carelessly and set back on the shelf.
There’d been a time in Sarah’s life when her world had been a very dark place, save for two little lights of hope: her books and her against-the-odds friendship with the wealthiest girl in Sweetwater.
It was her love of both that had brought her back to the town she’d sworn to never set foot in again.
“I’m sorry.” Allie swiped hastily at the tear that spilled quivering onto her cheek. “The place looks awful. And the last bookstore in town didn’t make it a year. I don’t know what I was thinking, asking you to come home, take this on. It’s crazy.”
Maybe. There were a lot of changes in the industry that were making the survival of brick and mortar stores – even cheerful ones – precarious.
But plenty of people still liked the feel of an actual book in their hands, and there were ways to draw customers in with clever marketing. Sarah ought to know, as she’d managed an indie retailer up until a couple weeks before she’d left Charleston.
“This place has a ton of potential,” she told her friend now, because of course she’d done her homework before agreeing to come back. Thanks to some rezoning, galleries and boutiques were springing up on what had once been a street filled with decaying southern grandeur and low-end rentals. What she’d always thought of as Mayberry gone to seed.
“The new university branch is nearby,” she said. The comfortable seating areas, student discounts and free WIFI she planned would encourage them to meet here. “We’re close enough to the beaches to get tourists passing through. Then there’s the new office building at the end of the block, and a pharmacy across the street. Good foot traffic.” Which was a relief, considering their parking lot was going to be the size of a postage stamp. “Factor in the coffee and Josie working her magic with the baked goods…”
She wrapped her arm around Allie’s thin shoulders. “It’ll work, Al.”
As they ascended the worn stairs, Sarah reminded herself that despite the rather unwelcoming exterior, the inspection had determined that the foundation was sound, the plumbing and electric up to code. And the restroom was already handicapped accessible due to Mildred’s confinement to a wheelchair in her last year of life. If she was going to be sinking her limited savings into this venture, at least it didn’t have to be on what she thought of as the nuts and bolts.
The door groaned when Allie turned her key. And so did Sarah when her friend flipped on the light.
“Sweet baby Jesus.” Papered onto every wall and even stenciled on the heart pine floor, the bead board ceiling, was a sea of vines and petals and blooming things as far as the eye could see. If the outside looked like death, this was life on steroids.
“Aunt Mildred had a thing for gardening,” Allie said weakly.
“It looks like Laura Ashley threw up.”
“You should have seen it before the Habitat for Humanity guys came and took out all the chintz furniture.”
“I’ll just thank God for small favors.” Sarah began poking around. Beneath the flora and the dust, the cottage’s floor plan was workable: basically one big empty room, giving way to two bedrooms, the bath, and kitchen. A covered porch ran across the entire back. With their mild climate, they could offer al fresco seating much of the year.
“We can use this smaller bedroom for office space.” She had a big old desk on the moving truck that would just fit beneath the double window. “I can get Noah to help build some shelves, here for storage, out front for display.” Sarah’s brother was a charter boat captain by trade, but he took on handyman work whenever tourist business was slow. “And if we pay for the materials, we can probably bribe him with a lifetime supply of free coffee, get the labor at little to no cost.”
Flipping off the light behind them, Sarah followed Allie toward the kitchen.
They were going to have to upgrade the hell out of it, since Josie was planning to do all of the baking on site. Which meant commercial appliances, a convection oven. A refrigerator at least twice the size of the Kenmore relic currently shivering and drooling on the black and white tile like a sick dog.
The air here smelled musty and dank, so Sarah raised the window over the old farmhouse sink, trying not to notice the spider webs hanging in the corners.
But the surrounding marble countertops were surprisingly roomy, and the kitchen itself was large, with an eat-in feature that could be converted to more workspace.
She used the imagination that had gotten her through an awkward adolescence, looking past the surface flaws to the good, solid bones. “A lot of this stuff is just cosmetic grunt work. Painting, stripping paper, refinishing the floors. We can handle that ourselves.”
Allie made a noise of disbelief. “Easy for you to say.”
“Come on, Al. Anyone who can co-chair a Historical Society luncheon with Carolann Frye without stabbing her with a swizzle stick can surely learn to wield a paintbrush.”
Allie’s bow lips quivered into a smile as she considered their former prom queen. “There is that.”
Sarah peered through the gathering dark. The garden, what she could see of it, was so overgrown that it could have come straight out of Robinson Crusoe. But if they could get it cleaned out, cleaned up, it would make a spectacular addition to that al fresco seating.
Through the tangled mass of stalks and blooms, the deeper shadow of a small building loomed. “You said the garden shed has plumbing and electricity?”
“A sink, a small refrigerator. Some cabinetry. Aunt Mildred used it primarily for doing her potting and whatnot. There’s even a small bathroom, such as it is. But it’s not much.”
She wouldn’t need much, given the amount of time she’d be spending at the store to get it up and running. And converting the shed into a living space wouldn’t eat into her capital the way rent would. Even in Sweetwater, a roof over your head didn’t come cheap.
“I would love for you to stay with me,” Allie said. “But…”
But it just wasn’t possible. Considering that Allie’s father was sliding headlong into Alzheimer’s, and she and her brothers – well, two of the three – were circling the wagons, sharing caretaking to keep him in their family’s historic home as long as they could.
Her oldest brother practically needed a caretaker himself.
&n
bsp; Sarah forced a smile into her voice. “Well, the rent’s right, not to mention I’ll have the best commute in town.”
“I don’t know.” Allie sounded dubious, and Sarah wondered why she seemed so hesitant. They’d discussed this from the beginning.
“Come on, my little doubting Thomas. Let’s take a look at what I’ve got to work with.”
Headlights flashed through the open window. Thumping bass emanating from a truck with monster wheels made the glass vibrate against the frame. The music shut off and a door slammed, after which a very annoyed dog began to bark.
Curious, Sarah watched several lights blink on next door. She recalled the bone white, two-story antebellum from childhood. Big and deserted, with its many darkened windows staring back like empty eyes, it had been the house kids dared each other to break into Halloween night.
It was no longer deserted, but Sarah decided she still wouldn’t want to go over there for a cup of sugar.
She glanced over her shoulder to find Allie chewing her lip, a sure sign of trouble. “Something I should know, Al?”
“The renters next door are a little… volatile.”
“Volatile how?”
Discordant voices rose into the night. Something crashed, the sound sharp and jolting, and another barking dog joined the first. When a door banged again, the argument spilled outside.
“Well… Will said they’ve been giving the department problems.”
Ah, yes. Allie’s older brother. The black sheep, blue collar job-holding Hawbaker, and the current Chief of Police. The shouting and barking both cranked up. “What kind of problems?”
“Disturbing the peace, mostly. He hoped they’d be evicted by now, but so far Pettigrew doesn’t seem to care.”
“Pettigrew.” The name tasted bitter on her tongue. Sarah figured she should have guessed. If Sweetwater was a circle of hell, then Carlton T. Pettigrew was its resident devil. The old bastard owned half the town, and more than a few of the souls in it.
He had, in fact, owned the house Sarah lived in as a child. Lived, anyway, until her mother got sick and her father missed a couple payments. Then he’d had no problem with kicking them out.
Allie laid a hand on Sarah’s arm. “I don’t know how to say this, so I’m just going to make it quick. It’s Austin, Sarah. Austin and Jonas.”
Sarah’s stomach dropped like a stone. “There are Linvilles living next door?”
Allie winced. “I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner, but they didn’t move in until after you’d already given notice at your job.”
Sarah pinched the bridge of her nose as the two male voices began trading obscenities. The brothers had always fought like rabid skunks tied up in a sack. That they still chose to live together suggested they were either gluttons for punishment or just plain stupid. Sarah was betting on the latter. They’d been big, mean bullies all of their lives.
She could still hear Austin calling her Peppermint Fatty before pushing her face into the Sweetwater Elementary School playground dirt.
Years later, he’d pushed her into that same dirt for other reasons.
Sarah quickly suppressed that particular memory. Ancient history, she told herself, even as her stomach churned. Surely, they’d all grown up by now.
A loud crack broke the still evening air.
Her eyes widened on Allie’s and then she glanced toward the window. “That sounded like a gunshot.”
When another shot rang out, they both screamed and dropped to the floor. “Are they crazy? Insane?” There were people on this street. Sarah’s gaze darted around. “Is there even a working phone in here?”
“I have my cell.” Allie fumbled it out of the pocket of her linen slacks. She dialed with a shaking finger, just as another round of verbal fireworks lit off next door. One of the voices was filled with pain, but at least both of the idiot Linville brothers seemed to be breathing.
But as Allie gave the emergency dispatcher her name, and a brief rundown of the situation, Sarah considered that that might not be such a plus.
“You know, Al,” Sarah mused in what she felt was an admirably even voice. “On second thought, I may want to reconsider those living arrangements.”
Allie offered her a weak smile. “I’m sorry, Sarah. I know this isn’t quite the welcome home you were expecting.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She thought the cordite in the air smelled a lot like brimstone. “Seems about right to me.”
CHAPTER TWO
A crash sounded in the other room, followed by a string of Allie’s muttered curses.
“Child done knocked that stepladder over again.” Josie Simmons’ broad back shimmied as she rolled out dough on the marble counter, the morning light picking out threads of gray in her curly dark hair. “Clumsy as two oxen with boxes on their heads.”
“Don’t look at me.” Sarah continued to brush pale blue paint over the trim. “You’re the one that raised her.”
She didn’t turn, because she suspected Josie was giving her The Look.
Josie’d been the Hawbaker’s housekeeper for as long as anyone cared to remember, a role that had spilled over to include child-rearing more often than not, which – given her friendship with Allie – meant that she’d practically raised Sarah as well. Josie baked like an angel, ran the house like a ship and did not suffer fools.
“Raised four children not to sass. Their friends, can’t do nothin’ about their poor manners.”
Sarah prudently hid her smile. Josie would never admit it, but she enjoyed their verbal skirmishes. And more, the fact that the work – and its frustrations – was bringing some fire into Allie again.
If Sarah allowed herself to be honest, she had to admit it was giving herself a spark or two. At one time, she hadn’t been able to get away from this town fast enough. But now that she was back, she found herself not so much comforted by the familiar rhythm as excited to be adding a new and different beat. And speaking of new beats…
“He’s back.”
“Who’s back? Austin?”
Sarah turned to see a worried Allie frowning in the doorway. Paint dotted her hair like confetti, her formerly neat T-shirt damp from sweat.
“Not Austin.” He was still cooling his heels in the county jail for shooting his brother in the foot. Both he and Jonas had finally been evicted, and Jonas – much to Sarah’s relief – seemed to have skipped town.
But the man outside the window looked like he’d been cut from the same strip of big, burly, troublemaking cloth.
“Sarah’s spyin’ on the new fella next door.” Josie shot a look of disapproval from under her brows as she sprinkled sugar crystals on the cookies.
“Someone’s moving in?” Allie snagged a bottle of water from the new refrigerator before joining Sarah at the window. The vivid blue balls of Mildred’s hydrangeas – which were blooming spectacularly under her care, if Sarah did say so herself – bobbed outside the glass.
“I’ve only caught glimpses,” Sarah told her. “But I think there’re two men. One looks like Sasquatch. I couldn’t see the other one because he was behind a mattress at the time.”
“Maybe they’re the movers. Like Two Guys and a Truck.”
Sarah snorted. “More like Two Ex-Cons and a Stolen U-Haul.”
Muttering something about city living turning Sarah mean, Josie pushed a used mixing bowl toward the sink. “If you’re gonna stand there gawking, least you could do is make yourself useful.”
Sarah ran the bowl under the shiny new faucet, then shifted her attention back to the window. A golden-haired man came out of the truck, descending the ramp like a god venturing forth from Mount Olympus. Instead of a lightning bolt, he carried a pole lamp.
“Holy shit.”
“Move over.” The stepstool Allie grabbed bumped against Sarah’s legs, and she shifted out of the way. Eyes popping wide, Allie leaned forward to get a better look.
“Paint’s wet,” Sarah said mildly, just as Allie swore and pulled her hand away.
“What are y’all looking at?”
Sarah turned to see Josie smacking the hand of Allie’s older brother Will, who was lifting two cherry oatmeal cookies from the cooling rack.
Will danced out of Josie’s reach before ambling over, those distinctive Hawbaker blue eyes sleepy. He peered over Sarah’s head, one of the few men she knew who was able to do so. His eyebrows shot up, but his voice when he spoke was grim. “I guess Pettigrew found another renter.”
“Looks like,” Sarah agreed, returning her attention to the window just in time to see Zeus casually whip off his shirt.
Will grabbed Allie’s water bottle as she dropped it. “Christ.” He rolled his eyes, then turned indignantly toward Josie, who’d scooted around the marble-topped island to jab him with her rolling pin. “What? All I said was –”
“I heard what you said, Willis Morrison Hawbaker. Tie yuh mout’.”
“Why are you telling me to hush?” Will frowned. “I just got here.”
“Spying on unsuspectin’ folk like some kind of peepers.” Josie started pounding hazelnuts for a cake. “It ain’t decent.”
“Oh, like you didn’t have your nose pressed to the window every time one of us pulled up in the driveway with a date.”
“That’s different.” Josie sniffed. “It was my job to look after you.”
“Yeah, well, now it’s my job to look after the citizens of this town. I’m the acting Chief of Police,” he reminded her, not sounding all that happy about it. “Their problems are my problems.”
“Where’s the other guy?” Allie asked.
“There’s another one?” Will shook his head, obviously picturing large groups of hormonally crazed women making Boundary Street impassable to vehicular traffic.
“Don’t worry.” Sarah waved his disquiet aside with a sweep of her hand. “The other one struggles to walk upright. High testosterone, low brow. Perhaps Zeus out there keeps him as a guard dog. Like Cerberus.”
“You know.” Will snagged a handful of crushed nuts. “I think Josie might have a point.”
“Hmmph,” Josie said to Will’s back, just as Allie interjected. “There he is. He’s…”
Mr. Write (Sweetwater) Page 1
