by Marta Perry
Sarah nodded. “I understand.” She hesitated a second. “Does this mean that you are going to stay?”
Allison struggled with the answer to that question. Was she going to stay? There was so much involved—her career, her apartment in Philadelphia, her friends there, the future she envisioned for herself. How could she just walk away from all of it?
“I’m not saying I’ll stay for the whole year,” she said. “Brenda and Blackburn may still get what they want. But as long as I don’t know if they were involved in my grandmother’s death, I can’t just walk away and let them have the place.” Maybe she’d inherited a bit of her grandmother’s stubborn will.
Sarah’s gaze widened. “But you can’t suspect either of them of having something to do with Evelyn’s death.”
“Can’t I?” Allison’s hands clenched into fists. “You’re forgetting—I don’t really know anyone in Laurel Ridge. I can’t begin to guess what my grandmother found out. But I’m not going anywhere until I know the truth.”
* * *
NICK FIGURED THE roar of the saw as he cut cabinet shelves ought to be loud enough to drown out his thoughts. Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to be working. No matter what he did, his mind kept drifting back to the moment last night when he’d kissed Allison.
What had he been thinking? She was the last person on earth he had any business being attracted to. A woman like that, so like Sheila, would be trouble even if it weren’t for the complication of her ownership of the building.
The trouble was that he hadn’t been thinking at all—or at least not with his brain. She’d been so close, the dim light playing on her features, turning her into someone soft and mysterious and desirable—
Well, in the cool light of day he knew better. It was a mistake to get anywhere close to Allison Standish.
It shouldn’t be too difficult to stay clear of her. After all, she probably regretted what had happened just as much as he did.
Now that his mother had discharged her duty to welcome Allison to Laurel Ridge, he could probably steer her away from any further invitations. Allison would make her decisions, clear up her business in Laurel Ridge and go back to that other life of hers.
Feeling satisfied, he switched off the saw, ran a cloth down the length of the shelf to remove the clinging sawdust and set it aside. Pulling off his safety glasses, he shook them free of dust and glanced across the shop.
And saw Allison, standing there talking to his father.
Nothing about his reaction to the sight of her gave him any hope that he was going to be able to ignore her. Dad gestured, waving him over.
He went, running a hand through his hair to get rid of the coating of sawdust. What difference did it make how he looked? He asked himself the question irritably, frowning at his father.
“Morning, Allison.” He gave her the briefest of nods. “Listen, Dad, I want to finish up those cabinet doors—”
“Never mind that.” Dad was smiling at Allison as if she were an old friend. First his son, now his father, acting as if Allison was the best thing they’d seen in a long while. “Allison’s decided to renovate the apartment on the second floor. She wants our advice on who to hire.” Dad’s eyes twinkled. “Naturally I told her we were the best people for the job.”
Allison’s glance at him wasn’t nearly as warm as the one she turned on his father. “I thought perhaps it wasn’t the kind of job you do,” she said.
Giving him an out, maybe? Or herself?
“We can do it, okay.” He certainly wasn’t going to say they couldn’t, just to get out of working with her. “We can set up the work with electricians and plumbers. But it depends on what all you want done.”
“The kitchen and bath will have to be completely redone,” she said, with what he thought was a little shudder. “And a decent-size closet put in the bedroom. Other than that, it’ll be a matter of painting and possibly refinishing floors.”
“I hope this means you’re planning to stay.” Dad’s face warmed. “We’d be pleased to hear that.”
“You’d probably be in a minority.” Allison’s gaze flickered to him for a brief second. “I’m not sure of anything yet, but I can’t get away as soon as I’d thought, since...well, since the situation is so complicated.” She looked as if that wasn’t the way that sentence was supposed to end, and Nick’s curiosity was piqued. He’d expected her to grab the money and run. What had changed?
“Renovation can be an expensive job.” Dad’s tone was doubtful. “If you’re not going to live there, you might not want to sink that much into it.”
“According to my grandmother’s attorney, she left a substantial fund available to renovate the apartment. So it may as well be done. Even if I don’t stay, it will increase the value of the building.”
“That’s so.” His father was still gazing at her with a speculating look, but he didn’t ask any more about it. “Why don’t you make up a detailed list of what you want done, and then Nick can go over the place with you.”
“Me?” He couldn’t help the way that sounded. The last thing he needed was to be pushed into any tête-à-têtes with Allison.
“Of course you.” Dad raised an eyebrow. “That’s our deal, remember? You take over the business end.”
“Yes, but—”
Before he could marshal any arguments, his father had turned away and grabbed his windbreaker off the hook. “I ordered hoagies for our lunch, so I better get over there and pick them up. Back in a few minutes.”
He was gone, well beyond the reach of argument.
Not that it would have done any good, Nick knew. They had made a deal. He just hadn’t anticipated it turning out this way.
Nick turned to Allison, fishing for a topic of conversation that avoided things like kissing in the moonlight. “The circuit breaker box is fixed, I take it?”
“Your friend took care of everything. Thanks for calling him.” She hesitated, not meeting his eyes. “I asked him if someone could have caused the problem.”
“I figured you would.” He propped his hip against the side of a workbench and watched her face. Plenty of light in here, but she still looked just as appealing, with that creamy skin and the curving lips that begged to be kissed.
Allison frowned. “He said it was possible, but there was no way to be sure. So I guess I won’t pursue it. I suppose that makes you happy.”
“Not happy, no. If T.J. is causing trouble, I want to see him stopped. That boy is a little too smug for my tastes. But I’d hate to see you stir up a hornet’s nest with Thomas Blackburn. I don’t know what he feels for his grandson, but the Blackburn name is everything to him.”
“I certainly won’t do anything without proof.” Her gaze seemed to lose focus for an instant, as if she were thinking of something else.
“Something wrong?”
“What?” She jerked her attention back to him. “No, not at all.” Her face relaxed in a smile. “Well, not more than usual, anyway.”
For a moment she hesitated, and he thought she was on the verge of saying something more.
But then she turned away. “I’ll make up that list, and then we can go over the apartment.”
“Right.” Something was wrong, he could feel it. But if she didn’t want to tell him, he couldn’t force it. Besides, he didn’t want to get involved, remember?
Allison took a step toward the door and then paused, reaching out to touch the child-size combination desk and bookcase that stood waiting for the finishing touches.
“This is lovely. Is it for Jamie?”
He nodded, no more immune than anyone else to feeling pleasure at hearing his work praised. “His birthday is coming up, and he thinks he needs some ‘big boy’ furniture in his room.” He stroked the curving edge of a shelf. “Lots of boy furniture available, decorated with every c
artoon character and superhero you could imagine, but none of it very well made. I wanted something of quality for my son.”
“Even though he’ll outgrow it?”
He couldn’t see anything but honest curiosity in her face as she looked at him, the desk between them. “Quality’s important in a piece of furniture, no matter who it’s for.” It was important in other things, too, but he didn’t think he wanted to discuss that with her. Talking to Allison seemed to end with him revealing more than he’d intended.
But judging by the way she looked at him, she’d already guessed what he meant.
* * *
ALLISON WENT BACK to Blackburn House after a visit to the police station that afternoon, wondering what good, if any, she’d done. Mac had been polite, professional and had promised to talk to Sarah. And all the while she’d had the feeling he thought she was making a fuss over nothing.
She’d had a nice walk, in any event. Her exercise routine had suffered since she’d been here, and there was really no excuse. Laurel Ridge might not have a fitness club, but she could always take a morning run.
There was the little fact that she didn’t have running clothes or shoes with her, among other things. Since her stay had been extended indefinitely, she really needed to return to Philadelphia, pack properly and deal with things there.
Allison mounted the steps to the porch. Someone, maybe the custodian but more likely Sarah, had planted pansies in the massive urns on either side of the steps. Their cheerful faces seemed to turn toward Allison as she went up.
She reached to the door handle and paused, because Sarah stood on the other side of the door, taping a poster advertising something called Spring Fest. Sarah smiled, stuck down the last bit of tape and pushed the door open.
“Sorry. The posters were just delivered, and I wanted to get them up right away.” Sarah held several more posters over her arm, and the door to the quilt shop already bore one. “Spring Fest is next Saturday, so these should go up right away.”
“What’s Spring Fest?” Should she warn Sarah that Mac didn’t seem to be taking seriously their concerns about Evelyn’s death?
“Ach, it’s a big celebration.” Sarah’s blue eyes sparkled. “They close down Main Street to traffic, and all the clubs and organizations have booths. There are craft stands and food stands. You can get your weight guessed or shoot baskets for a prize or—”
“I don’t think I want my weight guessed.” Allison found it impossible to resist Sarah’s enthusiasm. “I take it Spring Fest is a big deal in Laurel Ridge.”
“Sounds silly to you, I guess,” Sarah said, her good nature not impaired. “You’re used to the city, where things are happening all the time. Here, folks get to feeling trapped at the end of a long winter. They love cutting loose a bit at Spring Fest.”
“Do we... Does Blackburn House, that is, have a part in all the festivities?” She asked the question with some trepidation, wondering what she might be getting into. “Not a dunking booth or a pie-eating contest or anything, is it?”
Sarah actually giggled at the thought. “No, we save those for the Harvest Fest. We sponsor the Jumble Sale to benefit the Volunteer Fire Department.” Her face sobered all at once. “At least, we always have. Your grandmother thought it important, but if you don’t want to...”
“I wouldn’t change a thing,” Allison assured her. At least not about a Jumble Sale, whatever that might be. Probably like the yard sales that blossomed in the suburbs on warm Saturdays.
“Good.” Relief showed on Sarah’s face. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint the fire volunteers.”
“I guess we’d better stay on their good side,” Allison said. She hesitated, but Sarah should be prepared for a visit from the police. “I talked to Mac Whiting about...” She hesitated. A public hall was probably not the best place for this conversation. “Well, you know. He’ll want to ask you some questions.”
Sarah nodded, her eyes seeming to darken at the thought.
“He was polite, but I don’t think he took it very seriously. Still, I’m not going to let it drop.”
Sarah eyed her face, as if measuring her determination. “But if he says there’s nothing in it, what can you do?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I’ll have to do something.”
Her voice had risen a bit in emphasis, and she realized too late that Nick was coming down the stairs.
“Do something about what?” he asked.
Sarah looked instantly guilty, and Allison spoke quickly.
“About those doors into the attic. I don’t like the idea that anyone can get up there.”
“You need dead bolts,” Nick said. “I’ll put them up for you.”
His automatic assumption that he would take charge annoyed her. “That’s not necessary. I can get someone—”
“You don’t need to,” he said with exaggerated patience. “That’s the kind of thing neighbors do. Right, Sarah?”
Sarah, looking alarmed at being drawn in, nodded. With a murmured excuse, she vanished into the quilt shop.
“Anyway, you’re hiring us to do the work on the apartment, aren’t you? We’ll throw that in. I was just looking for you about that, in fact.” He held up a clipboard. “If you have time to show me what you want done in the apartment, we’ll get an estimate ready.”
Allison took a breath and counted to ten. “Yes. Right. We can do that now.” She spun and started up the stairs, waving at Ralph, who had come to the door of the bookshop and was undoubtedly listening. “I hope he heard enough,” she muttered under her breath.
“Don’t mind Ralph,” Nick said, keeping pace with her on the stairs. “I never do. If it makes him feel important to know what we’re working on, that’s fine with me.”
They’d nearly reached the top of the stairs. Allison glanced down, but the curve of the stairwell cut off her view of the bookshop. “Well, he’s also heard all about Sarah’s plans for the Jumble Sale,” she said. Ralph couldn’t have heard what she’d said about seeing the police, could he?
Nick chuckled low in his throat. “Poor Ralph. He has to pretend to support it, but he hates the Jumble Sale.”
“Hates it? Why?” She made the mistake of looking into Nick’s face. With laughter lines radiating from his eyes and that amused quirk to his lips, he was just a bit too attractive. She focused on getting out her keys, hoping he hadn’t noticed.
“Ralph hates the Jumble Sale because so many people bring in books. Basically all the readers in town pass them around through the sale. They could just give them to each other, but this way the fire company benefits. Anyway, Ralph figures it cuts into his sales, because nobody will be looking for something new to read for a few weeks.”
“I can understand that, I suppose.” She found the right key and inserted it in the lock. “Independent booksellers don’t have an easy time of it with all the online stores, as well as the chains, competing for their business. I’m surprised he’s as successful as he is.”
“People are used to Ralph.” Nick seemed to check out the fit of the door as he opened it. “He knows everyone’s tastes, so he can order in books he knows will sell. And he’s always willing to deliver for those who can’t get out. People here appreciate that, so they support him even when they might buy cheaper elsewhere.” They stepped into the living room of the apartment, and Nick sent a quick look around the room, probably assessing what he had to deal with. “It’s not in bad shape, considering.”
“Wait until you’ve seen the kitchen.”
But Allison had to agree with him on the apartment in general terms. The high-ceilinged rooms were well proportioned, and the tall windows let in plenty of light. The woodwork throughout was the same fine quality as in the rest of the building, and the living room boasted a small fireplace with an elegantly carved mantel. She might seldom decor
ate anything in this Victorian style, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate it.
Evelyn apparently hadn’t chosen to rent the apartment in some time, but it had received the same thoughtful attention as the rest of Blackburn House.
“Any changes to be made in this room?” Nick held a pen poised over the clipboard.
“Just painting. I’d love to see it papered in a period style, but most renters prefer neutral paint.”
Nick shrugged. “There’s a team of Amish painters who could do either for you, and Nelson’s Hardware has a wallpaper and paint selection. Why don’t you suit yourself?”
“Because this is business, not personal.” She could understand his view, after having seen the comfortable old farmhouse filled with the objects his family had loved over the years, but she didn’t intend to settle down for life at Blackburn House. “Isn’t there a chain home improvement store anywhere in the area? I could probably get a better deal there.”
Nick held the pen in abeyance, frowning. “You could drive to Lancaster, but you’d be better off buying local.”
“Why? If I can get a better deal—”
“Ever hear of goodwill?” He interrupted her, exasperation in his tone. “Look, this is a small town, and Blackburn House is an institution here. People will be offended if you take your business elsewhere.”
Allison had to bite her tongue to keep from snapping back at him. The trouble was that he made a certain amount of sense. Her position here was precarious at best. There was little point in making enemies if she could make friends, and Mr. Litwhiler would release the funds no matter where she bought.
“Okay.” She managed a smile. “I see your point. Do you make a habit of being right?”
Nick grinned. “When I can. Now, what about this kitchen?”
He listened to her complaints about the outdated kitchen, making notes and not venturing an opinion. Allison stopped in the middle of a lecture on the proper distance between the appliances.
“Are you humoring me, by any chance?” she asked.
“My dad gave me a valuable piece of advice when he took me into the business. Never argue with a woman about a kitchen.” His eyes laughed at her. “I plan to pass that on to my son, as well.”
