Saving Grace (Madison Falls)

by Lesley Ann McDaniel

  “You know,” he laced his fingers together under his chin. “You have the advantage. I’ve told you about me, but all I know about you is that you have an ear for casting, an eye for art, and a heart for animals.”

  Her lilting spirit hit a sour note. She lifted her water glass and took a shaky sip. “There’s not much else to tell.”

  “Oh, I don’t believe that.” He lowered his hands and leaned in. “Everybody has a story.”

  She breathed in deeply, pretending not to notice her turn to pick up her cue. As a silence began to settle, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “So, what’s up between you and Sam?”

  “That guy.” Devon chuckled with a roll of his sparkling eyes. “He’s the one who’s got a problem with me.”

  Figures. “The problem being?”

  He lifted a shoulder with an indifferent tip of his head. “Jealousy, maybe. Some guys just can’t handle it when things don’t go their way.”

  “Oh really?” She rested her chin on her palm. “What things?”

  The waiter returned with the wine. He uncorked it and poured a bit into a glass, which Devon swirled and swilled like a pro.

  “Perfect.” He nodded.

  The waiter filled both glasses before stepping away. Grace fingered the stem of hers.

  “Let’s make a deal.” Devon lifted his goblet. “Let’s agree to leave the past in its place.”

  That sounded good to her, but surely he had nothing to hide. She lifted her glass to mirror his.

  He tapped it and flashed a debonair smile. “To the present.”

  “To the here and now.” She smiled back and took a sip. It was refreshing, both the wine and the company.

  He swallowed with a look of contentment. “Mmmm. Perfecto. I feel like I’m sitting in a café in Palermo.”

  Her spirit lifted. “Oh, I love that city.”

  He raised his eyebrows and lowered his glass. “A fellow world traveler. I had a feeling. My favorite thing about Palermo is the Palazzo dei Normanni.”

  She leaned her forearms on the table. “Yes. Yes, it’s beautiful there.”

  “I’m a bit of an architecture buff and the Norman-Byzantine style is a favorite.”

  “No wonder you love Italy then.” Her heart felt light, like a balloon about to float right out of her chest. She’d been transported out of Madison Falls and was home, in a fashionable bistro, talking with a colleague about things that mattered. “The architecture, the arts.”

  “Ah, the arts.” His voice lilted. “Surely you went to the theatre there? I saw an amazing production at the Teatro Luigi Orione. Oh, but my definitive experience was at the Teatro Mass—”

  “—Massimo?” A fluttering in her chest propelled her forward.

  “Yes. So, you’re a fan of opera?”

  She pushed the curve of her back against her chair. How much did she dare disclose? “I haven’t been entirely forthcoming.”

  His eyebrow cocked. “No?”

  She shook her head.

  With a knowing smile, he lifted his glass and studied the swirling liquid, as if the truth might be revealed therein. “I suspected as much. Let me guess…does it have something to do with music?”

  She cautioned a nod.

  His amused gaze flicked to her. “Aha I was right. You are a singer.”

  A confessional nod. How could she refute what his expert ear had so skillfully discerned?

  “Opera?”

  Relief and beguilement overcame her reticence. “Yes.”

  “Professional aspirations?”

  She let her smile answer for her.

  “I thought so. The pet store was just a day job.”

  Again she nodded. Might as well cling to as much of her ruse as she could.

  “I’d offer to take you to the opera some time,” he said as he whirled his goblet. “But that would involve a trip to Seattle.”

  Her stomach squeezed. She gave up a feeble smile. “Home sweet home.” She swirled the liquid in her glass.

  “Ah, yes. You’re from there.” Confusion creased his brow. “Now I’m really mystified.”

  Carefulness colored her words. “Why is that?”

  “Seattle has a reputable music scene. What brings you here?”

  Her pulse quickened. “The power of garlic.”

  He chuckled. “I didn’t mean here, and you know it. What brings you to Madison Falls, and do not say a Greyhound.”

  She lowered her chin in careful contemplation of her response. She wanted to open up to him. How much did she dare say? “Something happened to me, and I had to get away.”

  He nodded slowly. “Care to elaborate?”

  She studied the wall behind him, words sitting idle on her tongue.

  Rotating his wine, her smiled playfully. “I mean, did you break your umbrella, or get a bad latte—”

  “I found a dead body.”

  His glass froze in midair. Silence fell across the table like an act curtain.

  She felt compelled to continue. “Her name was Julie. I didn’t know her. I just happened to show up at her place at the wrong time.”

  He set down his glass and reached for her hand. “Oh, Grace.”

  She enjoyed the warmth of his touch, the softness of his manicured fingers. Her voice calmed. “It was pretty awful. I was a suspect, since I’d found her. They grilled me for so long I don’t even know what I said after a while. I was in shock, and they wore me down.”

  “They arrested you?”

  “No, they let me go.”

  “So…” He gave her hand a squeeze before pulling his away.

  “So they never found the killer.” She toyed with a silver salt cellar, pleased with the rightness of her disclosure. “It’s just bizarre to know that whoever did it is still out there.”

  He blew out a breath. “Wow.”

  Trembling with an unanticipated sense of relief, she forced a derisive smile. “So, top that, Director Man.”

  A small trench formed in his brow. “What do you mean?”

  “Well…” Anxious to take the attention off herself, she playfully drew her finger along the rim of her wine glass. “Last night you told me you came here to get a break from the pressure. Care to elaborate?”

  He paused. “Do you believe in fate?” He looked at her and arched an eyebrow.

  “Fate? I don’t know.” Was fate the driving force that had forced her from the life she’d worked so hard for? Maybe there was something to that.

  He continued. “I’m convinced that fate is what brought me here. I’m in town on a business deal that’s about to come to fruition.”

  “Business, eh?” She cupped her elbows on the table’s edge. “So you’re not just here to lend your artistic talents.”

  “No, the directing projects just happened to fall into my lap. It was something much bigger that brought me out west.”

  “I’m intrigued.”

  With stylish stealth, the waiter placed a platter of cheesy scallops in shells at the center of their table. Inhaling their rich scent, Grace reeled her hands back in.

  Devon spooned some of the appetizer onto her plate. “I don’t want to say too much yet.” His tone was tinged with anticipation. “But the best part is I’ll be able to go back to New York with no worries. I’ll be free to do whatever I want.”

  She swathed her lap with crisp linen. “Sounds like a great deal.”

  “‘Great’ doesn’t begin to describe it.” He served himself. “I don’t mean to say that money is everything, but it’s certainly a good percentage of the haul.

  She took a satisfying bite of the delicious dish, savoring the complex flavors of the rich cream sauce for a long moment before swallowing. “So when does this deal close?”

  Bemused aggravation danced across his face. “Soon, I hope. Small town people really move at their own pace. In New York, we could have sealed the deal weeks ago, but out here it’s different. I have to respect that. In the meantime, I’m taking advantage of some op
portunities.”

  She arched an innocent eyebrow. “At the theatre?”

  He lifted his wine glass and smiled slyly. “Some of them.”

  She returned his smile, pleased that he knew an opportunity when he saw one. She liked that in a man.

  She brought another bite of satiny scallop to her mouth. It looked like coming to Madison Falls had been a tasty plan after all.

  Chapter 16

  “I’m so glad we’re doing this.”

  Grace angled a sideways glance at Lucy. By ‘this’ did she mean walking downtown to get paint samples, or decorating Grace’s house against her will?

  No matter. Grace had resigned herself to this little project because fighting it wasn’t worth the risk. She couldn’t afford to raise any red flags. Besides, now that she wasn’t so worried about money, she could justify giving the bungalow a makeover. It would be so much easier to rent out furnished.

  “Oh, before I forget,” Lucy interrupted Grace’s meditative thoughts. “Our church is having a concert in the park in a couple of weeks. I’d love it if you could come. It’s a potluck, so there’ll be plenty of food.”

  “A concert?” Suddenly Grace’s mood faltered. The thought of sitting in the audience while a bunch of amateurs played their idea of music was more than she could stand. Besides, who knew where she’d be in a couple of weeks.

  “It’s just our little quartet.” Lucy lowered her eyes. “We need an excuse to perform apart from the full band at service. It’s silly, I know, but we have fun and the people seem to enjoy it. Of course, they’re always giddy from too many cupcakes by the time we play, but that’s the result of a little calculated planning on our part.”

  “You’re in a quartet?” Grace perked up, excited by the opportunity to discuss her favorite subject, but fearful of saying more than she should. “What instrument?”

  “Piano.” Lucy’s voice warmed. “I’ve played it forever. It’s my little escape.”

  Escape. Funny that the word could carry such a different meaning for different people.

  “This will be fun.” Lucy gestured toward the shopping bag that Grace swung by her side as they walked. “I’m so glad you brought along that throw pillow.”

  “I can’t believe someone was selling it.” Grace dipped into the sack that had held her new wardrobe just a few days before and now contained one of her rummage sale finds. “It has all the colors of the living room in it. I think I’d like to tie the rooms together with a unifying color.”

  “Listen to you, Miss I’m-not-really-a-decorator.” Lucy backhanded Grace’s arm with a playful tap. “This is going to be easier than I thought.”

  Grace gave a small smile of ascent. Things were looking up.

  “Oh, I put out some feelers yesterday.” Lucy’s tone was as cheerful as her coral T-shirt that nicely set off her ponytailed tresses. “I’m sure we’ll have a healthy turn-out for the paint party on Saturday.” She pulled open a shop door, stepping aside as if she expected Grace to walk through it.

  Grace’s face dropped. “Why are we going in here?”

  “Well, where else would we go to look at paint?”

  Grace tipped her head back as if the sign reading Roberts and Son might have changed to something more inviting. No such luck. Swallowing a feeble protest, she took a few careful steps into the hardware store, her eyes darting around like a secret agent on a mission.

  “Is something wrong?” Lucy’s eyes narrowed with concern.

  “No. It’s just that—”

  “Well, hello ladies.” Mr. Roberts’ warm voice was like cocoa on a cold day.

  Grace turned to him as he stepped from behind the front counter. A lump instantly materialized in her throat.

  “I hope you didn’t mind waiting for that crowbar the other day, Miss Addison.”

  She rasped out a weak response. “No, it was fine, thank you.”

  “Hello Mr. Roberts.” Lucy beamed. “Will we be seeing you at the town council meeting on Thursday?”

  “Haven’t missed a one in thirty-five years.” He spoke with an air of humble satisfaction, then clasped his hands together as if to signal his shift to business mode. “What can I help you ladies with today?”

  Lucy spoke with a soft enthusiasm. “My friend Grace here is painting her house. You know, the old Miller place?”

  Grace winced. When she went back home, would the house then be referred to as ‘the old Addison place’?

  Mr. Roberts nodded sagely. “You’re in luck. Sam just got back from his delivery.” He leaned toward Grace in an aside. “He’s my paint specialist. I’ll go get him.”

  “No…” Grace reached out to stop him, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  “It’s okay, Grace.” Lucy patted her arm. “Sam really knows paint. In fact, he already said he’d be happy to come on Saturday.”

  She did a slow burn. “You asked him?” Did everybody really know everybody else around here? What was the population of this town, seven?

  With an offhand shrug, Lucy turned her attention to a display of vintage doorknobs. “Well, word got ’round church.”

  Church? Grace frowned. She was supposed to buy that this flirtatious beer swigging louse with obvious anger management issues was a churchgoer? She believed it of Lucy—she just seemed the type—but Sam?

  “Lucy, I really don’t think that—”

  “Morning, ladies.”

  Grace whirled around, finding herself face to face with the paint specialist. The ‘plum’ under his eye had ripened slightly, its effect somewhat less alarming. His hair was tousled but at least this morning he had bothered to shave. He put his hands on his hips, throwing emphasis on his broad shoulders.

  He tossed his head in the direction of Mr. Roberts, as the older man returned to the counter. “My dad tells me you decided to paint. Great idea.”

  His dad? But his dad was Mr…

  A light went on in Grace’s head that could have illuminated Manhattan. Mr. R and Son, ‘just like it says on the sign’. She wanted to kick herself. That sweet Mr. Roberts was the heartless businessman whom she had charged with selling out the town.

  Pulling in her breath, she grasped the bag handles with both hands.

  “She has a color scheme.” Lucy sounded so chipper, as if she was auditioning for one of those decorating shows. The next Paige Davis. “Show him the pillow, Grace.”

  Grace held a beat before pulling the pillow from its nest. Sam took it, examining the embroidery. He chuckled.

  She lifted a hand to reclaim the pillow. “I don’t see what’s so funny.”

  He shifted slightly, oblivious to her grasp. “I could swear I’ve clobbered Jill with this a hundred times. Her mom’s redecorating?”

  Lucy clucked. “She finally let Jill talk her into it. It’ll do her good. She took such great care of her things that they’re practically like new, in spite of Jill’s hooligan friends.” Lucy took the pillow and gave him a playful swat. “Grace made out like a bandit at the sale.”

  He looked at Grace with a disquieting ease. “A bandit, I know. I was an accessory to the crime.”

  A burn settled in Grace’s throat. She felt like such a fool. Why had he let her prattle on like that the other day about his dad?

  Sam spoke to Lucy, but remained focused on Grace “She took all that old stuff from the theatre off my hands.”

  Lucy’s eyebrows lifted. “No kidding.” She snapped toward Grace. “You could use it for decorating accents. Maybe frame some of the programs. It could be a motif.”

  Just what she needed—a motif. “Maybe…”

  “It would be great. Shabby Chic is definitely in.”

  Grace shrugged, looking at Sam with a mixture of resentment and regret. “I just couldn’t stand to see all that rich history of the theatre get split up. Once I started shopping…”

  “Don’t think I don’t appreciate it.” Sam’s eyes softened. Why did they seem to get more appetizing with each passing day? He looked at his dad, then lowere
d his head toward Lucy. “You know how much I need the cash right now. Every little bit helps.”

  Fear flecked Lucy’s eyes as she lightly touched Sam’s arm, then visibly calculated a change in tone. “So…paint.”

  “Right.” He held his hand out in an ‘after you’ gesture, and Lucy strode down one of the overcrowded aisles toward the back of the store. As Grace moved to follow, Sam leaned forward and spoke in a confidential tone. “Decided to stick around after all, huh?”

  She seethed, firing him a fierce look. She’d have to be careful not to let herself be manipulated by him. She knew his type.

  Chapter 17

  “Careful gentlemen, that’s a valuable piece of equipment.” Grace held her breath as two farmhand/ushers hoisted Salvatore onto the concession stand counter like a bale of hay.

  “You want us to bring in those other boxes too, Miss Addison?” The one named Hank removed his trucker’s cap and swiped a hand across his brow.

  “If you wouldn’t mind.” Grace admired her acquisition. “I’ll give you two the first samples for your efforts.”

  Hank exchanged a perplexed look with his buddy Carl before the pair headed back outside.

  Buffing the fingerprints off the sides of the machine, she heaved a satisfied sigh. “Salvatore, you look right at home.”

  “Who are you talking to?” Nancy peeked into the concession stand, trepidation lining her sprightly face.

  “You’re just in time.” Grace arched her arm à la Carol Merrill. “Meet Salvatore.”

  The diminutive woman eased into the tiny room “Okay….” What is it?”

  Grace puffed mock impatience. “He’s our ticket to concession stand success. When people around here find out what coffee’s supposed to taste like, they’ll be lining up around the block.”

  “Around the block?” Nancy perked up. “Can we charge fifteen bucks a cup and let them drink it in an audience seat?”

  Grace laughed. “I don’t think we’ll have to be that sneaky. Once we lure them in with our new coffee house ambiance, we’ll promote the show like crazy. We can even advertise some sort of deal…like a free ‘tall’ with each ticket.”