The Key Trilogy

by Nora Roberts

  “Hold it.” Baffled rage spewed into her throat like a geyser. “Just hold it one minute. What’s she doing, making daily reports on me?”

  Joan flipped the file shut. “You think too much of yourself.”

  “Oh, I see. Not just on me. She’s your personal mole, burrowing around the place digging up infractions.”

  Oh, yes, Dana thought, when enough was enough you definitely finished it. “Maybe the budget here has had its ups and downs, but this was always a friendly place, familial. Now it’s just a drag run by the gestapo commandant and her personal weasel. So I’ll do us both a favor. I quit. I’ve got a week’s sick leave and a week’s vacation coming. We’ll just consider that my two weeks’ notice.”

  “Very well. You can have your resignation on my desk by the end of your shift.”

  “Screw that. This is my resignation.” She took a deep breath. “I’m smarter than you are, and I’m younger, stronger, and better-looking. The regular patrons know and like me—most of them don’t know you, and the ones who’ve gotten to know you don’t like you. Those are some of the reasons you’ve been on my ass since you took over. I’m out of here, Joan, but I’m walking out of my own accord. I lay odds that you’ll be on your way out before much longer, too—only you’ll be booted out by the board.”

  “If you expect any sort of reference or referral—”

  Dana stopped at the door. “Joan, Joan, do you want to end our relationship with me telling you what you can do with your reference?”

  Her anger carried her straight down to the employee lounge, where she gathered her jacket and a handful of personal belongings. She didn’t stop to speak to any of her coworkers. If she didn’t get out, and get out fast, she feared she would either burst into hysterical sobs or punch her fist through the wall.

  Either option would give Joan too much power.

  So she walked out without a backward glance. And kept walking. She refused to let herself think that this was the last time she would make this trip from work to home. It wasn’t the end of her life; it was just a corner turned.

  When she felt the angry tears stinging her eyes, she dug out her sunglasses. She wasn’t about to humiliate herself by crying on the damn sidewalk.

  But her breath was hitching by the time she reached her apartment door. She fumbled out her keys, stumbled inside, then simply sank down on the floor.

  “Oh, God, oh, God, what have I done?”

  She’d cut her ties. She had no job. And it would be weeks before she could reasonably open the bookstore. And why did she think she could run a bookstore? Knowing and loving books didn’t make her a merchant. She’d never worked in retail in her life, and suddenly she was going to run a retail business?

  She’d thought she was prepared for the step. Now, faced with stark reality, Dana realized she wasn’t even close to prepared.

  Panicked, she leaped up, all but fell onto the phone. “Zoe? Zoe . . . I just—I’ve got to . . . Christ. Can you meet me at the place, the house?”

  “Okay. Dana, what’s wrong? What’s the matter?”

  “I just—I quit my job. I think I’m having an anxiety attack. I need . . . Can you get the keys? Can you get Malory and meet me there?”

  “All right, honey. Take a deep breath. Come on, suck one in. Breathe easy. That’s it. Twenty minutes. We’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  “Thanks. Okay, thanks. Zoe—”

  “You just keep breathing. Want me to swing by and get you?”

  “No.” She rubbed the temper tears away. “No, I’ll meet you.”

  “Twenty minutes,” Zoe repeated and rang off.

  SHE was calmer, at least on the surface, when she pulled into the double drive in front of the pretty frame house she’d bought with her friends. In a matter of weeks, they’d be signing papers at settlement. Then they would begin, well, whatever it was that they were going to begin.

  It was Zoe and Malory who had the big ideas as far as ambience, color schemes, paints, and posies. They’d already had their heads together over paint chips for the color of the porch, the entrance hall. And she knew Zoe had been scouring flea markets and yard sales for the trash that she miraculously turned into treasure.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t have ideas herself. She did.

  She could envision in general how her section of the main floor would look when it had been transformed into a little bookstore/café. Comfortable and cozy. Maybe some good sink-into-me chairs, a few tables.

  But she couldn’t see the details. What should the chairs look like? What kind of tables should she use?

  And there were dozens of other things she hadn’t considered when she’d jumped into that dream of having her own bookstore. Just as, she was forced to admit, there were things she hadn’t considered when she’d, basically, told Joan to stuff it.

  Impulse, pride, and temper, she thought with a sigh. A dangerous combination. Now she was going to have to live with the results of surrendering to it.

  She stepped out of the car. Her stomach was still jumpy, so she rubbed a hand over it as she studied the house.

  It was a good place. It was important to remember that. She’d liked it the minute she’d stepped inside the door with Zoe. Even the downright terrifying experience they’d had inside it—courtesy of their nemesis, Kane—barely a week before, when Malory had found her key, didn’t spoil the feel of the place.

  She’d never owned a house, or any other property. She should concentrate on the very adult sensation of owning a third of an actual building, and the land it stood on. She wasn’t afraid of the responsibility—it was good to know that. She wasn’t afraid of work, mental or physical.

  But she was, she realized, very afraid of failing.

  She walked to the porch, sat on the step, and indulged in a good wallow.

  She was too mired in it to do more than sit there when Malory pulled up with Zoe in the passenger seat. Malory angled her head as she climbed out.

  “Crappy day, huh?”

  “Don’t come much crappier. Thanks for coming. Really.”

  “We did better than that.” She gestured toward Zoe, and the white bakery box Zoe carried.

  Overcome, Dana sniffed. “Is it chocolate?”

  “We’re girls, aren’t we?” Sitting beside her, Zoe gave her a hard, one-armed hug, then opened the box. “Chocolate éclairs. A big fat one for each of us.”

  This time, it was sentimental tears threatening to fall. “You guys are the best.”

  “Take a few bites, wait for the kick, then tell us about it.” Malory sat on the other side, handed out napkins.

  Dana soothed herself with chocolate, pastry, and cream, and the story tumbled out between bites.

  “She wanted me to quit.” Scowling, she flicked her tongue at the corner of her mouth and licked off a bit of Bavarian cream. “It was some visceral animosity going on between us the minute we laid eyes on each other. Like, I dunno, maybe we were mortal enemies in a past life. Or, Jesus, married or something. It’s not just that she ran the library like it was boot camp—that’s bad enough—but she had it in for me, personally. And so did her little yappy dog, Sandi.”

  “I know it’s tough, Dana. Boy, do I.” Malory rubbed a sympathetic hand over Dana’s shoulder. “But you were planning to resign in a few weeks anyway.”

  “I know, I know. But I wanted to sort of ease out. Cop the little going-away party with the staff, so it all ended on a high note. And the fact is, even with the pay cut, the salary did come in handy. More than. I could’ve used the extra paychecks before I walked.”

  “Telling her to cram it should be worth the paychecks. She’s a bitch and we hate her,” Zoe said loyally. “And when Indulgence is up and running, and the bookstore’s the talk of the Valley, she’ll stew in her own envious juices.”

  Considering, Dana pursed her lips. “That’s a good one. I just panicked, I guess. I’ve always worked in a library. High school library, college library, then this one. And it suddenly hit me
that that’s done, and I’m going to be the owner of a retail business.”

  She rubbed her damp hands on her knees. “I don’t even know how to work a cash register.”

  “I’ll teach you,” Zoe promised. “We’re in this together.”

  “I don’t want to mess it up. I don’t want to mess up the key deal either. It’s just that all this hit me at once.”

  Malory offered Dana the last third of her éclair. “Have a little more sugar. Then we’ll go in and start making some serious plans.”

  “I’ve got two hours before I have to be home,” Zoe told her. “When we picked up the keys, I asked the real estate agent. She said we could start on some of the basic cosmetic work if we want to risk the time and money. We could paint the porch, say, unless we’re worried the deal won’t go through.”

  Dana polished off the éclair. “Okay. Okay,” she said with more enthusiasm. “Let’s go in and look at paint chips.”

  AFTER some debate, they settled on a deep ocean blue. The color, they agreed, would make the house stand out among its neighbors and would add a touch of class.

  Since they were in the mode, they headed back to the kitchen to talk about decor and space.

  “Nothing too country,” Zoe decided as she tapped her fingers on her hips. “We want it comfortable and homey, but, well, indulgent, right? So it shouldn’t be sleek or anything, but it shouldn’t be homespun either.”

  “Your upscale country kitchen.” Nodding, Malory turned in a circle, trying to envision it. “Maybe that minty green for the walls. Nice, friendly color. A creamy white for the cabinets. Dana, you’ll be using this space the most.”

  “That’s okay, keep going.” She waved them on. “You guys are better at this than I am.”

  “Well, what if we had the counters done in rose? Not pink, but stronger, then we punch things up with art. That would flow in from the gallery section. Then we’d set up some of the sidelines Zoe’s talked about having up in the salon. The aromatherapy products, candles. And we do something like Dana’s got in the kitchen in her apartment.”

  “We fill it with junk food?”

  Malory glanced at Dana and laughed. “No. Books. We do like a baker’s rack or kitchen étagère over there, and we put out books and some of the craft pieces from my gallery, some of the products from the salon. Fancy hand creams and soaps. It unifies this communal space.”

  “That’s good.” Dana let out a breath. “It’s starting to feel good again.”

  “It’s going to be great.” Zoe slid an arm around Dana’s waist. “You could have those tins and stuff of fancy teas and coffees on the counter.”

  “Maybe we could put in a table,” Dana considered. “One of those little round ones, with a couple of chairs. Okay. Let’s write down the paints we’ve got so far, see if we can decide on any others. I’ll head out to HomeMakers and pick it all up.”

  “I think paint’s going on sale next week,” Zoe put in.

  “Oh, yeah?” Dana’s dimples flashed. “Well, I happen to have an in at HomeMakers. I’ll call Brad and get us a discount today.”

  IT helped to have a focus, a goal. Even if it was only several gallons of paint.

  If, Dana thought, the library and her life there were now her past, weren’t Indulgence and the building of it her present? As far as the future went, how the hell was she supposed to know? But she intended to think about it and try to find a connection to the location of the key.

  It hadn’t been difficult to wheedle a thirty percent discount out of Brad. As Dana wandered the wide aisles of the cavernous HomeMakers, she considered what else she might be able to pick up while she had her old friend’s go-ahead.

  Paintbrushes, of course, and rollers. Or maybe they should try out one of those paint sprayers. She studied one, crouching down to ponder the workings of it.

  How hard could it be? And it would certainly be faster and less labor-intensive than slopping it on the old-fashioned way.

  “Unless you’re thinking about becoming a house painter, that one’s a little much for you.”

  Jordan Hawke, she thought as a muscle in her jaw twitched. And she’d thought the day couldn’t get any crappier. “So, Brad took pity on you and gave you a job?” she said without looking up. “Are you going to get to wear one of the blue denim shirts with the little house on the breast pocket?”

  “I was in his office when you called kissing up to him for a price break. He asked me to come down and give you a hand because he got caught by a phone call before he could come himself.”

  Her hackles rose. “I don’t need help to buy paint.”

  “You do if you’re seriously considering buying that sprayer.”

  “I was just looking.” Her mouth moved into a pout as she poked a finger at the machine. “Besides, what do you know about it?”

  “Enough to know if I say too much more about it, you’ll buy it just to spite me.”

  “That’s tempting, but I’ll resist,” she shot back.

  He reached down, cupped a hand under her elbow to lift her to her feet. “Seems like you’ve had enough to deal with for one day. Heard you quit your job.”

  There was sympathy in his eyes. Not the smug and sticky kind, but a quiet understanding that soothed. “What, does Sandi report to you too?”

  “Sorry, that name’s not on my list.” He gave her arm a careless little rub, an old gesture that both of them remembered as soon as he did it. And both of them took a half-step back. “Word travels, Stretch. You know how it is in the Valley.”

  “Yeah, I know how it is. I’m surprised you remember.”

  “I remember a lot of things. One of them is how much you loved working there.”

  “I don’t want you to be nice to me.” She turned away to stare hard at the paint sprayer. “It’s screwing up my mood.”

  Because he knew she would work through it better if she was angry or occupied, he nodded. “Okay. Why don’t I help you take advantage of your friend-of-the-owner discount? It’s always fun to scalp Brad. Then you can verbally abuse me. That always cheers you up.”

  “Yeah, it does.” She frowned a little, bumped the sprayer with the toe of her shoe. “This thing doesn’t look so tough.”

  “Let me show you some of your other options.”

  “Why aren’t you back at Flynn’s hacking out a stale plot with cardboard characters?”

  “There, see, you’re feeling better already.”

  “Have to admit.”

  “What we have here is an automatic paint roller system,” he began, steering her toward the machine Brad had recommended to him. “It’s small, user-friendly, and efficient.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because when Brad told me to show you this one he used those specific adjectives. Personally, I’ve only painted a room the old-fashioned way, and that’s been . . .” He trailed off. “A long time ago.”

  She remembered. He’d painted his mother’s bedroom when she was in the hospital the first time. Dana had helped him, cutting around the trim, keeping his spirits up. They’d painted the walls a soft, warm blue so that the room would be fresh and peaceful.

  And less than three months later she was dead.

  “She loved it,” Dana said gently. “She loved that you did that for her.”

  “Yeah.” As the memory was painful on too many levels, he flipped the topic back. “Well, Brad’s got a list here of handy products and tools to make your home improvement project more enjoyable.”

  “Okay, let’s clean him out.”

  She had to admit that it added to the fun and interest of the expedition to have him along. And it was easy, a little too easy, to remember why they’d once been friends, once been lovers.

  They had a way of slipping into a rhythm, of understanding short-speak and expressions that came from a lifetime of knowing each other every bit as much as from the two years of physical intimacy they’d shared.

  “This is the color?” Jordan rubbed his chin as he studie
d her list. “Island? What kind of color is Island?”

  “Greeny blue. Sort of.” She handed over the paint chip. “See? What’s wrong with it?”

  “I didn’t say anything was wrong with it. It’s just not something that makes me think bookstore.”

  “It’s not just a bookstore, it’s . . . Damn it.” She held the sample up, she held it down. She crossed her eyes and still couldn’t envision it on the walls of her space. “Malory picked it out. I was going to go with this off-white, and she and Zoe jumped all over me.”

  “White always works.”

  She hissed out a breath. “See, they said I was thinking like a man. Men won’t pick color. They’re scared of color.”

  “We are not.”

  “What color’s your living room in New York?”

  He shot her a bland look. “That’s entirely beside the point.”

  “I don’t think so. I don’t know why, but I don’t think so. I’m going with this sort of greeny blue. It’s just paint. It’s not a lifetime commitment. And she said I should think Bryce Canyon and Spaghetti for accents.”

  “Brown and yellow? Honey, that’s got to be ugly.”

  “No, the canyon deal’s sort of deep rose. A kind of pinky, browny red—”

  “Pinky, browny red,” he repeated, grinning. “Very descriptive.”

  “Shut up. And the other’s sort of cream.” She fanned out the samples Zoe and Malory had marked. “Hell, I don’t know. I think I’m a little scared of color myself.”

  “You’re sure as hell not a man.”

  “Thank God for that. Mal’s going with this deal called Honeycomb. Zoe’s is called Begonia, which I don’t get because begonias are pink or white, and this is more like purple.”

  She pressed her fingers just over her right eye. “I think all this color’s making my head hurt. Anyway, Zoe’s already figured the square footage and the gallons per. Where’s my list?”

  He handed it back to her. “Brad was wondering why Zoe didn’t come with you.”