by Avery Aames
I pressed my lips together to prevent croaks of disgust from flying out.
“You give them to me now,” she demanded.
Sadly, my lip-pressing didn’t work. “No way!” I said as I marched toward her. “I’ll do no such thing, and you’ll stop ordering Matthew and me around.”
Intent on pushing her out of the shop, I thrust an arm at her. But she was equally determined to stay. She flailed. Hard. Her bangles struck my skin and stung like a rattler’s tail, but I wouldn’t be deterred. I gripped her wrist and twisted her arm behind her. She yelped in pain.
Let’s hear it for the one self-defense move that I’d mastered.
“Sit,” I said.
Flummoxed, she fell backward, landing in a beanbag chair by the front window. The beanbag groaned beneath her weight and looked ready to swallow her whole. Sylvie scrambled to get back on her feet, but I knelt down and pinned her.
“Why did you come to town, Sylvie? The truth.”
“To see my girls. I missed them.”
“The truth,” I hissed, fed up with her lies.
“That is the—”
“Did you know Harker Fontanne?”
“What?” Her face went as ice-white as her hair. “Are you insinuating that I killed him?” she sputtered. “No, I most certainly did not know him.”
Freckles, who had left the safety of her position behind the register, drew near. She stroked her belly, as if to soothe the baby, and glowered at Sylvie with smoldering intensity.
“Freckles, I’m so sorry,” I said. “I’ll take my inquiry outside.”
“Not on your life. Conflict is good. It stimulates the adrenal glands. Babies like that.”
“Really?” I’d always heard babies liked calm environments.
“It’s a new theory,” Freckles said.
One she’d probably made up on the spot.
“Go on,” she said.
I refocused on Sylvie, who was wiping mascara from underneath her overly made-up eyes. “Why were you at the winery yesterday?”
“How do you know she was at the winery?” Freckles said.
“Because I was there, too.”
Freckles gaped at me. “What were you doing there?”
I didn’t answer. I kept my gaze on my ex-sister-in-law. “Sylvie, answer me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sylvie jutted her chin, but lying in the beanbag chair diminished the effect.
“Jordan followed you from town. He saw you go inside. You ran out when I was running up the cellar stairs.”
“What were you doing in the cellar?” Freckles asked, breathless with curiosity.
I gave a shake of my head, a tacit not now. She waved for me to continue.
“Sylvie, you’re not here because you want the girls back,” I said.
“I do so.”
“You don’t. Admit it. You’re a treasure hunter.”
Sylvie sniffed and tried to sit up straighter, but the beanbag didn’t provide the essential structure. She slumped and started to cry. Freckles scurried to the front counter, plucked a tissue from a box, and raced back to Sylvie with it. Sylvie blew her nose.
“Mum!” Clair burst through the velvet drapes. She threw herself into the beanbag and cuddled with her mother. “Amy, Mum’s here!” she cried.
Amy darted out. She skidded to a stop and stared at her mother like she wasn’t sure what to do next. Usually impulsive, she held her ground until Sylvie beckoned her with a finger.
“Please, baby, give Mumsie a hug. I could really use one.”
Amy hunkered into the beanbag with her mother and sister.
Clutching the twins like a fox ready to protect her young from any danger, Sylvie glanced at me through wet lashes. “It’s a long story.”
“I’m all ears.”
“Mum and Dad lost everything in the market two years ago.”
In which scheme did she entice them to invest? I wondered, wanting to pinch myself for such a nasty thought. She wasn’t the only person in the world who had made bad investments of late, except she made them with such regularity.
“They joined a group of investors that made iffy loans,” Sylvie continued. “People didn’t keep current with their payments. We had no recourse, no insurance. We’ve been scraping by ever since.”
“Your folks owned twelve acres of land,” I blurted. “And a castle.”
“They leveraged it.”
“What’s leveraged mean?” Clair asked.
Sylvie ignored her. “All of it’s gone. Repossessed.”
“Couldn’t they have parceled it off before losing everything?” I said.
“They tried, but to no avail.” Sylvie jammed the used tissue into a hole in her fist. “We’re broke, and I’m, well, destitute.”
Was that why she had been peeping into parked cars on Hope Street the other day? Had she been looking for an unlocked car with loose change? Oh, my.
“Needless to say, I like to have a little cash on hand at all times,” she added.
The tune “Baa Baa, Black Sheep” flitted through my mind. Sylvie didn’t like a little cash on hand; she liked three bags full.
“Back in December, I saw the notice on the Internet about the fund-raiser for turning the winery into a college,” Sylvie went on. “Now and then, I like to check what’s happening in Providence. Call me a glutton for punishment.”
I could call her a whole lot of other things, but not that.
“The fund-raiser got me to thinking about the treasure that was hidden in the winery.”
“Allegedly hidden,” I corrected.
“Right-o. Anyway, I got to thinking; maybe I should check it out for myself. I could see my babies, and if I could find the treasure, I’d be able to help out Mumsie and Dad.”
Amy and Clair beamed.
“It was the perfect storm,” Sylvie said, misusing the term.
I stifled a snort. She was the perfect storm.
“I used my last penny to get a flight to the States to see you two.” She kissed the girls repeatedly.
I thought I’d heave. Her affections, so lacking in the past, were a little over-the-top. Was she playing me? Playing them? Would she have stayed away from the twins if Matthew had paid her heaps of cash? Oh, if only.
I said, “The night of the event, you left your purse at the winery on purpose. That gave you a reason to come back.”
She blinked an admission. “After the murder, the mansion was locked up tight, but I was pretty sure no one had found the treasure, or the discovery would have been all over the news.”
“Which was what prompted you to go back yesterday.”
She nodded. “When I was shopping, I got to talking to Prudence Hart about the treasure. She encouraged me to go for it. She said I was smart enough to figure out where the treasure was.”
Prudence was craftier than I gave her credit for.
“How much did you spend while she stroked your ego?” I asked.
“I didn’t—” Sylvie sputtered. “Of course, Jordan saw me with packages, didn’t he? All those boxes were empty.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It was all in fun. Prudence and I hit it off, you might say.”
“You’re kidding!” Freckles giggled, but snipped her laughter short, her face blushing with embarrassment. “What I meant was, nobody hits it off with Prudence Hart, except, well, you know, b—” She slapped her hand over her mouth.
Sylvie shrugged. “Don’t worry, love. I’ve been called the B word before.” She turned her gaze back on me. “I wanted to hurt Matthew. I was mad at him and the world, but in the end, I decided to simply play a prank. I asked Prudence to play along with me. She gave me empty boxes, and I strutted out, hoping Matthew would see me and ...” She swallowed hard. Her eyes pooled with tears. Huge droplets. “I’m a terrible person.”
“No, you’re not,” Clair and Amy chimed.
“Yes, I am, sweethearts, but I’m going to change. I am.”
I caught sight of movement outside the store. Meredith was peering through the window. She looked from the girls to me, her gaze peppered with confusion. I waved her inside, but she shook her head—vehemently—and scurried away.
I tore after her.
CHAPTER 20
I pushed through the front door of the quilt shop and sprinted down the sidewalk yelling, “Meredith, stop!”
She turned left and fled into A Wheel Good Time.
I charged into the pottery shop after her and promptly came to a halt. A birthday party was under way. Girls around the age of seven were seated at the tables. Sparkly balloons strung on curled ribbons decorated the shop. Mothers and fathers stood beside a long party table, draped with a Disney Princess tablecloth. I saw Meredith weave toward the back and veer into the restroom, but I squelched the urge to sprint after her. I could wait her out. The bathroom window was teensy. She couldn’t slip out that way.
From my spot near the door, I could hear the parents, Tyanne Taylor among them, chatting about school and homework and the upcoming spring break.
Jacky, who owned the shop, wandered between tables. Though she was cheerily dressed in a blue-striped shirt, jeans, and paint-splattered smock, she appeared pale—sallow actually—and she seemed jumpy. In a span of a few seconds, she glanced out the window, up at the hand-glazed clock hanging over the kiln, and over at the parents beside the party table. When her gaze met mine, she smiled, but her smile was hesitant and not full of her usual zest.
In a flash, I remembered the conversation with Delilah about Jacky’s possible stalker. Was that why Jacky was edgy? Had she told Jordan?
“Okay, girls, it’s cake time.” Jacky clapped her hands and forced one of her light-up-the-room smiles. “Let’s turn in your pots. Make sure your names or initials are on the bottom, and then bring them to the counter.”
As the party guests assembled in a line with their handmade works of art, Tyanne made a beeline toward me. She had a kid-friendly Parmesan porcupine appetizer pinched between two fingers. I glanced at the restroom. The door was still closed.
“I’m through with Prudence Hart,” Tyanne said, waving the meatball in my face. “Do you know what she did?”
I could only imagine, since Prudence was fast becoming the town’s looniest character.
“She said my little Thomas was a screwup. In front of customers in her shop. How dare she! I’ll show her how cows eat cabbage.” She popped the porcupine appetizer into her mouth and chewed furiously.
I shook my head. What was Prudence thinking? Purchasing the women’s clothing boutique had not been a good move on her part. It was as if the previous owner’s nasty spirit had lingered in the building and was seeping into Prudence’s bones.
“Who will she attack next? My little girl, Tisha? Look at her. Isn’t she sweet? Tisha wouldn’t hurt a fly.” Tyanne gazed at her seven-year-old, a spitting image of Mommy in her pink yoga outfit, her bobbed blonde hair framing her face. She must have grown an inch since I’d last seen her. Tyanne shook her head. “No! I refuse to let Prudence Hart ruin this town. If I have to, I’m going to start a petition and put her out of business. Or start a rival boutique. That would do her in, don’t you think?” She clutched my arm and giggled like old times.
Secretly, I reveled that she was my friend again, as junior high school as that sounded.
Meredith shambled out of the bathroom with a wad of tissues in her hand. She noticed me and slumped onto the chair beside the pottery wheel at the back of the store.
I said, “Tyanne, we’ll talk later.” I hurried through the throng to Meredith and perched on a nearby stool. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” She spun the pottery wheel. “I thought, after this party, I’d talk to Jacky about helping raise awareness for the college.”
“Good try,” I said, not buying her half-baked lie. “Your face is a blotchy mess, and your blouse is still smudged and wet where you tried to wash out mascara.” I brushed her arm with my fingertips. “C’mon, why were you so upset outside Freckles’s place?”
“You know.”
“Actually I don’t.”
“When I saw them ... the twins ... cuddling their mother ... I ...” She licked her lips. “I feel so guilty, Charlotte, wanting them to love me more than they love her.”
“That’s only natural.”
“But she’s their mother.” Meredith gave the wheel an extra-hard spin. It made a wonking off-balance sound.
“She’s not a very good one,” I said. I told her about Sylvie’s admission.
Meredith shook her head. “Do you believe her?”
“About the money being gone? Yes. She looked pretty miserable. However, I’m not sure I believe that she can change. She might promise, but I’m afraid the twins will be sorely disappointed.”
Meredith ran a finger back and forth across her lower lip, a habit that had started way back in second grade when something was troubling her.
“Talk to me,” I said.
“Do you think he’ll get back together with Sylvie, you know, out of guilt? Because she needs him, and Matthew likes to be needed.”
I laughed out loud. “No, my dear friend, there is no way in hell he’ll reunite with Sylvie. He would give her half his future earnings before he would consider that. You are safe. Beyond safe. You are golden.”
A chorus of “Happy Birthday to You” resounded from the partygoers. One little girl sang louder than the rest, and I thought of Amy, usually full of gusto yet hesitant to embrace her mother. Had she picked up on something I hadn’t? Was Sylvie full of beans?
When the singing ceased, I said, “Meredith, the twins will always love their mother. That’s a given. It’s DNA. Even if she abandons them again, they will love her. But they adore you and will want you in their lives because you are smart and fun-loving and tender. They know they can count on you. And most important, they will love you because Matthew loves you.”
A single tear slipped down her cheek. She brushed it away with a knuckle.
I said, “Now, let’s retrieve them from Sylvie’s clutches and take them out for hot cocoa.”
Halfway to the door, I spied a man leaning against a lamppost kitty-corner from the shop, one ankle crossed over the other and a fedora pulled down over one eye. He clutched a newspaper in his hands and chewed a toothpick between his teeth. Everything about him screamed B-movie detective, and a tremor of fear shimmied up my spine. Was this the shady guy Delilah had seen in the blue sedan watching Jacky with such rapt attention? A tired-looking royal blue Chevy Impala was parked less than fifteen feet from him. Was he a stalker, or worse, Jacky’s abusive husband?
“See that man at the corner?” I whispered to Meredith, unable to mask the panic in my voice. She started to turn her head, and I hissed, “Don’t look.”
“Then how can I see him?”
“Okay, take a quick peek. The guy with the newspaper.”
She zipped her gaze to him and back to me. “What about him?”
“Does he appear familiar?”
“No. What’s got you spooked?”
It dawned on me that she hadn’t been at Girls’ Night Out at the pub when Delilah, Rebecca, and I had discussed the mysterious man following Jacky. For the first time, it also occurred to me that if he was new to town, he, too, could be a treasure hunter. But why was he spying on Jacky? Or was he?
“Stay here.”
“What are you going to do?”
I didn’t know, but I dashed toward the front of the shop. I hurtled out the door, my feet picking up speed, and sprinted across the street. A Toyota truck came out of nowhere. Okay, it had come from somewhere, but I hadn’t been watching. The truck screeched to a halt. I threw my hands out, like they could stop two tons of metal from trampling me. People on the sidewalk gasped.
The man in the fedora looked up. He tossed his newspaper on the ground and hotfooted it north on Cherry Orchard Road, toward the Congregat
ional Church. Not to the blue Impala.
Dead set on finding out who he was, I zigzagged around the Toyota and bounded after him. My heart battered my rib cage. My breathing was short and choppy.
The man in the fedora veered into the driveway beside the church.
I urged my legs to run faster and they did the best they could, but when I arrived at the driveway, I saw no sign of him. Not even a billowing of dust. I raced to the parking lot behind the church. Empty.
Where had the guy gone? Over the fence at the rear of the parking lot, or up the side of the church like Spider-Man? Either way, I’d lost him. I bent over my thighs, my lungs burning with overexertion.
Soon after, the predicted rain began, which of course put a perfect cap on a lousy afternoon.
While I headed back to the pottery shop, darting from awning to awning so I wouldn’t get drenched, I called Jordan. He didn’t answer, so I left a message telling him to check in on his sister and said that I was worried for her safety. I described the guy and the Impala, and with a nervous laugh, added that I could be wrong about the stalker. For all I knew, I might have just chased a total stranger who fled from what he perceived to be a crazy woman.
By the time I reached A Wheel Good Time, I had convinced myself that was indeed the case, and I made an executive decision not to tell Jacky about the incident. She was immersed in birthday party activities and seemed, for the moment, happy and unstressed. Why rock the proverbial boat?
Meredith caught me by the elbow and tugged me to the far side of the shop. “What was that about?”
“Come with me and the girls to the diner, and I’ll fill you in.”
Her face tightened with worry. “What if they don’t want me to join you?”
“They do. Believe me.” I prodded her toward the front door. “C’mon, move those legs of lead. I need to get the girls fed before the wine tasting tonight.” Thanks to keen foresight, I’d hired Philby Jebbs to sit the girls. With Bozz splitting his time between the shop and the theater, Philby was available for the evening and more than delighted to get the job.
After another trek through the rain, we found the twins in the back of Sew Inspired Quilt Shoppe, doing an acid versus alkali experiment with Frenchie. Clair twirled a strand of her blonde hair and watched with amazement. Amy looked at me, her face grim.
