Wayworn Lovers

by Gun Brooke

  “I was walking Timo along past her place last week. Speaking of Timo, I’m still trying to find a decent dog walker.” The dark-haired woman shrugged. “Like that’s going to happen in this town. Anyway, I saw her standing there, just outside the door, tearing up a note. I swear she was trembling.”

  “Really,” replied the other woman, a brunette in her thirties. “Well, can you blame her? She hasn’t left that place by herself in ages. Losing Frances must be a blow. Should we offer to grocery-shop for her?”

  The first woman raised her head as if warding off such an idea. “I wouldn’t stick my head into her garden, let alone her house. She doesn’t know how to accept true human kindness. Remember how she tore poor old Mrs. Craig to pieces for suggesting she needed a gardener and perhaps some of those happy pills?” Shrugging, the woman snickered, a thoroughly unpleasant sound. “I mean, the nerve. She may be pseudo-famous, but that doesn’t give her the right.”

  “Excuse me?” Tierney interrupted the two women before they ripped the woman they were talking about to pieces. “Did you say you need a dog walker?”

  “Yes?” Looking suspiciously at Tierney, the dark-haired woman placed a hand on her hip. “And who might you be? I’ve never seen you around East Quay.”

  “My name is Tierney Edwards, and I just arrived in town.” She put on her best winning smile that usually did the trick. The women before her appeared to relax marginally. Good. Time to reel them in with a well-thought-out lie. “I’m checking out colleges and have to do it on my own, since my parents can’t afford to take time off from work to drive me.” Donning a pensive look that she had rehearsed in the bathroom mirror many times, she allowed her voice to mimic her expression. “I just didn’t realize how expensive even backpacking is. Got to earn some cash whenever I can. I’m very reliable.” Tierney knew she looked several years younger than her twenty-seven. Adding how innocent she could appear if need be, she usually could fool people. Her old social worker at the CPS had often stated that Tierney could manipulate anyone to give her the key to their safe after knowing her only fifteen minutes.

  “I’m Leanne Walters,” the dark-haired woman said, looking quite taken in by Tierney’s story. “You poor girl. Kudos for still trying for an education. If I can help with that by letting you walk Timo, that would be a win-win situation, wouldn’t it?”

  “It sure would!” Tierney didn’t have to fake the relief streaming through her. She had a foot in the door now. “If you know of anyone else needing help around the house or other chores, could you please let me know?”

  Leanne exchanged furtive glances with her friend. “What do you say, Daphne? This could be a way to help Ms. Bonnaire without her knowing we’re behind it.” If she hadn’t looked entirely gleeful, and if Tierney hadn’t listened in on the tacky conversation from before, she would have assumed the two women were really looking out for a friend.

  “You know of someone?” Tierney blinked, making sure she appeared unassuming.

  “Yes. We do, actually. A woman living on the outskirts of East Quay, in the countryside. She just lost her housekeeper/gardener and might be looking for a replacement.” Daphne nodded, as if to emphasize how important this information was.

  “Surely I’d need references to land that type of job?” Tierney thought the two women might be naive to think they could spring her on someone who appeared unlikely to accept a new employee.

  “I know!” Leanne clapped her hands, making Tierney suck her lower lip in between her teeth and bite down in order not to let loose the loud guffaw that was threatening to spoil everything. “Why don’t you just say that Frances recommends you? Before Ms. Bonnaire has time to check your credentials with Frances, who’s on her way to Europe as far as I know, you will have made yourself indispensable.”

  Tierney wondered if Ms. Bonnaire had any serious problems, since these women were jumping through hoops to get her a new housekeeper. Hoisting her backpack, Tierney tried to rid herself of the fatigue she’d struggled with the last few weeks. Hardly eating anything would do that to you.

  “Ms. Bonnaire is very withdrawn and rarely ventures out of her house, let alone her property. She has an amazing park-like garden.” Leanne, the more soft-spoken of the two women, pulled out a small notepad and a pen from her purse. “Now, here’s my phone number and address, and, oh, let me write down Giselle Bonnaire’s. If you can walk Timo for an hour Mondays and Thursdays? My daughter takes him the other days during the week.”

  “Sure. I charge fifteen dollars an hour, no matter what service I provide. As for dogs, I don’t have any formal training, but they are my favorite people.” Tierney blasted off another broad, toothy smile. “Especially big dogs. What kind of dog is Timo, by the way?”

  “An American cocker spaniel,” Leanne said, and her features softened. “He’s quite headstrong but walks well on a leash.”

  Thank God. “Sounds great. Today’s Tuesday. I’ll call you Wednesday evening to set up a time for the first walk.”

  “I hope you realize I will have my husband run your name for any potential priors. He’s the chief of police in East Quay.” Leanne looked apologetic. “I just can’t take any risks with my baby.”

  Tierney knew there was nothing to find—at least not in this state. Her only run-ins with the police had taken place in Chicago more than ten years ago and were in sealed juvenile records. “Absolutely.” She nodded eagerly. “I totally understand.”

  “If you prove trustworthy with Leanne’s dog, I might need you to babysit my two-year-old in a few weeks.” Daphne didn’t offer Tierney a business card but merely looked at her as if she might turn into a tentacle-swinging alien at any given time. Odd that neither of them thought twice about giving her this Bonnaire woman’s name and address. Was she really that good at putting on her best face, or were these small-town women that gullible? Or, worse, did they enjoy making trouble for Giselle Bonnaire—and if that was the case, why?

  Either way, Tierney couldn’t afford to let the opportunity of a steady income pass her by, and she was harmless, even if Daphne and Leanne couldn’t possibly know that fact.

  “Thanks.” Tierney always carried handwritten notes with her cellphone number in the breast pocket of her army-surplus jacket, and now she handed one to each woman. “Just call me if you need something done.”

  “Thank you, dear.” Leanne tucked the note into her purse. “Talk to you Wednesday, then.”

  Tierney nodded and fastened the buckle of her backpack. A quick map search on her phone showed the location of Giselle Bonnaire’s home and gave the walking distance as one hour and ten minutes. At one time that would have seemed very far, but these days it was nothing. Placing the earbuds to her phone in her ears, Tierney pulled up her favorite playlist. She’d illegally downloaded the music off the internet at a library in Detroit, and now she referred to this playlist as her marching music. With the upbeat songs in her ear, she could appreciate walking for more than an hour.

  As she strode along the picturesque streets of East Quay, the beat of the music urging her forward, she was already imagining scenarios that might unfold at Bonnaire’s house. She had to pick her best approach, and if successful, she might have weeks of a real salary, perhaps even somewhere to stay. Giving herself pep talks was another of her habits.

  But though Tierney was a major fan of the art of visualization, she wasn’t prepared for someone like Giselle Bonnaire.

  Chapter Two

  Giselle closed the lid over the keys of her Steinberg grand piano. She loved the instrument her father had given her when she graduated from Juilliard. Nowadays she could barely remember when she had lived in an apartment with three other students. Granted, the apartment had been located close to the school, so she didn’t have to suffer the crowd in the subway, but living there and being out on her own had given her a certain freedom.

  She stood and walked into her bright white-and-yellow kitchen. Her former housekeeper, Frances, had claimed it was one of the most nauseating
ly cheery kitchens she’d ever seen. Giselle missed Frances and her matter-of-fact humor. The utterly maternal way Frances acted toward her had somehow worked for Giselle in a manner she never would have expected. Frances was extremely loyal and equally protective of her. Now on her way to stay with her recently widowed sister in London, Frances might be gone a long time. Perhaps she would even decide to stay in Europe.

  Pushing such depressing thoughts away, Giselle ran the water, filled the electric kettle, and started it. She was a coffee person, but the caffeine might trigger an anxiety attack that she normally could avoid. She indulged in one small cup in the morning, usually, but any more than that later in the day set her up for failure.

  Something curled around her legs, and she looked down at the duo sitting there. Her dog, a black retriever mix named Charley, and her red-and-white cat, Mister, looked up at her with equally pleading eyes.

  “You’re joking. You two work in pairs now?”

  Charley gave a sound that sounded almost like a purr, while Mister managed to produce what could only be described as a growl.

  “Seriously?” Giselle opened a container where a divider kept the dog and cat snacks separate. With both of her furry friends sitting at attention, she gave them a piece each, which disappeared in half a second. “Good Lord. You’re voracious creatures. Eating me out of house and home.” The last sentence reminded her that it was time to buy new pet food.

  Normally Frances would take care of that task while grocery shopping, but now Giselle had to figure out how to do it. Perhaps she could call the pet store and find out if they delivered? Eventually she would need groceries as well, and she was pretty sure the local whole-food store didn’t do that.

  Groaning, she poured herself a tall glass of strawberry iced tea. She truly hated to be so dependent on her housekeeper, but she couldn’t figure out how to fix her dilemma. The mere idea of getting into the car and driving to the center of East Quay, or worse, the mall just south of town, made her nauseous. When she needed a break from her work, she sometimes took the car and drove into the countryside, stopping at favorite places but never leaving the vehicle. Sometimes other cars would be parked at the beautiful sites, and then she would return home, angry at herself and dismayed at the disappointment coursing through her. Why couldn’t she function like everybody else?

  Sighing, she picked up her cup of Earl Grey, walked out onto the front steps, and sat down. She blew on the hot beverage she was cupping and then carefully sipped it. Her garden was looking nice, and she loved spending time reading in her hammock when she wasn’t working in her music study. She felt safe venturing only as far as her white picket fence, afraid another attack would hit.

  Once, Frances had persuaded her to ride along with her to an outdoor coffee place. It was uncrowded and provided plenty of space between tables. The outing went quite well to begin with, until a busload of senior citizens flooded the shop and loud chatter filled the entire place. Frances had taken one look at Giselle, no doubt spotting the complete panic written across her face, and dragged her off to the car like a rag doll.

  After that, Giselle had flat-out refused to go anywhere where people might gather, whether it was one person or a hundred. Nothing Frances could say would make her risk having the panic that felt like death claim her. No matter what anyone said, Giselle was sure it was entirely possible to die from such fear.

  Something moved to the left, behind her fence. A person was walking along the gravel road leading from the main road to her property. As the figure neared, Giselle saw it was a young woman dressed in khaki pants and what looked like an army-surplus jacket, carrying a large backpack and a messenger bag. She stopped at Giselle’s gate, pulled off the backpack, and placed it on the ground. Spotting Giselle, she waved and smiled broadly.

  “Good afternoon, ma’am. My name is Tierney Edwards. I’m looking for Giselle Bonnaire,” she called out.

  Giselle gripped her mug harder. “Why?”

  “I’m here to inquire about a job.” The woman, Tierney, didn’t attempt to open the gate, which helped Giselle relax, if only marginally.

  “Nobody is hiring here. I’m sorry.” Giselle stood on shaky legs but remained on the steps, curious about Tierney. “Who sent you?”

  Tierney looked hesitant. “I heard from an acquaintance of yours in East Quay that your housekeeper had to leave.” Tierney then told Giselle a story about visiting colleges and needing to earn some extra cash. “Are you Ms. Bonnaire?” Tierney placed her hands on the gate but kept her distance.

  “I am. And as I said, I don’t need to hire anyone.”

  “That lawn and those flowerbeds beg to differ. I’m good with my hands. Gardens and pets are my specialty, but I can take care of a house too, if need be.”

  As if on cue, Mister and Charley came from the back of the house, no doubt after hearing a strange voice. Charley rushed over to the gate and rose on her hind legs to greet the newcomer with a wagging tail.

  “Traitor,” Giselle muttered. Mister stayed by Giselle’s side, looking regal where he sat, regarding the fool of a dog with whom he only deigned to cooperate when something was in it for him. Like treats.

  “Hi, girl. What’s your name?” Tierney scratched Charley’s head and under her chin. “Oh, here’s a tag. Ah. Charley. That your name, pretty girl? Charley?”

  Charley now wagged her tail as if it was attached by a hinge to her body and gave a muted woof as if to confirm her name.

  “Such a pretty girl.” Tierney massaged Charley’s ears with both hands. “Good girl.”

  “Charley, come here.” Annoyed, Giselle called her dog over, which under the best circumstances worked fifty percent of the time. This wasn’t one of the better attempts. Charley turned her head over her shoulder and glanced at her, grinned with her tongue lolling out between her teeth, and then returned her attention to her new friend.

  “No.” Tierney took a step back. “Return to your mom. Go back.”

  Charley’s tail dropped so fast, Giselle felt the corners of her mouth threaten to turn up. Charley tried her charm by barking and wagging her tail again, but Tierney pointed at Giselle and said, “Go back to your mom” as she took another step back. Charley sat down and looked between the two women, clearly confused now. “Call her again,” Tierney said.

  Giselle wanted most of all to go back into the house and leave her dog to socialize in her absence, but as that seemed beyond childish, she raised her voice. “Charley. Come here!” She added more of the same stern tone that Tierney had used, and to her amazement, Charley slowly turned around and walked back to her as if she expected to be scolded.

  “Now tell her to sit and then praise her. Maybe give her a treat if you have one. Or a toy.” Tierney remained a few steps from the gate.

  Now Giselle was reluctantly interested. “Charley. Sit.” She snapped her fingers as she spoke the last word, which usually worked. Charley sat down with a thud, wagging her tail again.

  “Good girl.” Having spotted Charley’s favorite ball within reach, Giselle took it and gave it to the easily forgiving dog. “That’s a good girl.”

  Charley bounced around with her ball near the flowerbeds, while Giselle got on her feet and slowly approached the gate. “You do know your way around dogs.” She stopped two yards away from it. “A Jack-of-all-trades?”

  “Pretty much.” Tierney remained where she was. “You sure you don’t need some help with that rascal as well as the garden? I charge fifteen dollars an hour. If you offer room and board, then I charge half.”

  Giselle gaped. She hadn’t offered this woman anything! “Who referred you to me?”

  “Actually, two rather chatty women in town set me up. One of them hired me to walk a dog, and the other one mentioned something about babysitting a kid once her friend’s chief-of-police husband checks my nonexistent priors.” Tierney looked unwaveringly into Giselle’s eyes. “They told me you’d lost your housekeeper and said you’d give me a job if I said Frances sent me. I’d neve
r dream of telling such a blatant lie.”

  “Dear God.” Giselle had to put her mug down or she might shatter it. She was furious at the women Tierney was talking about. They were clearly up to their old tricks, sticking their noses where they didn’t belong. “I’m sorry you walked all the way here for nothing.”

  Of course, Charley had to return for a repeat performance. She sat down between them, looking happily from Giselle to Tierney and back again. She barked and then tossed herself onto her back and waved all four paws in the air.

  “Retrievers. They’re such clowns, it’s unbelievable.” Tierney laughed.

  It was such contagious laughter, a sound like nothing Giselle had ever heard before…and something she wished she could have replicated at the piano. She smiled reluctantly.

  “They sure are. I’m pretty sure I got the silliest one in the litter, as she was the only one left out of nine puppies.” Giselle shook her head.

  “Can’t you give me a try? Please? It’s not like you have to let me stay in the house. I have a tent. I can camp in your backyard or in the woods over there.” Tierney pointed toward the small forest behind Giselle’s house. “I’m sure you could use me to do something.”

  Giselle meant to turn Tierney down once and for all. She opened her mouth and intended to begin her next sentence with “Sorry,” but instead she heard herself say, “Can you make a decent plain omelet?”

  Tierney shot her a blinding smile. “Sure. I saw the movie with Meryl Streep about that chef. I’m not through Julia Child’s entire cookbook, but when I get a chance, I try a new recipe. The French omelets were the first one I tried.”

  Nothing Tierney had just said made sense, but she looked so cute when she talked about Meryl Streep and some cookbook, and she might at least stick around to help Giselle stock up on enough food for her to be all right for a while. If Leanne Walters’s police husband was going to check her record out, that would be an adequate safety measure.