by Patti Larsen
There were times I’d had it up to here with Marie Patterson and the matriarch of the founding family’s interference with the people I cared about. The image of a bloated, grinning spider pulling threads of a web she’d woven over the town I’d come to love despite hating it as a child made my blood boil. But what was I going to do about it?
I was scowling, could feel it tugging at my mouth, forming a line between my brows. Well, I could do something. I could write more scathing columns myself, right? If Pamela wasn’t willing to do it…
And then it hit me, like a ton of bricks it struck me so hard I gasped, gaining Mom’s attention and her own frown of concern before I shook my head and caught myself instead grinning this time.
Clever, that Pamela Shard. Because that was likely her point, wasn’t it? She wasn’t able to write the stories she wanted. And knew the softer she became, the harsher I’d be. Okay, so I could have been wrong, but I really doubted it. Like I needed another job, with Petunia’s and the annex and Fleming Investigations… then again, spring was quiet, right? And Dad wasn’t super busy just then. So I had time to dig in a bit and see what kind of mischief I could create.
One thing was certain, I’d have my answer soon enough. Because if Pamela refused to publish what I wrote, she really had gone soft and the Pattersons had gotten to her. But if she shared what I gave her…?
Well. We’d just see what it took to make Marie Patterson sit up and take notice.
***
Chapter Three
I joined Mom as she looked up from smiling at something Vivian had said, my insides crawling just a little at the sight. Okay, so I didn’t have the same animosity toward the Queen of Wheat I used to—I was mostly over the bullying she’d done to Daisy that ended in me breaking her nose when we were kids, wasn’t I?—but there was a part of me that still mistrusted and disliked her. But was it on principle or based in fact? She’d proven herself loyal to the status quo as far as I was concerned and while that wasn’t exactly a bad thing, considering my own support of Olivia, which could be construed as the same type of attachment, I knew understanding why I still didn’t name Vivian among my peeps would require a long, hard look inside. A journey I wasn’t sure I was ready to take.
Clinging to the past, who, me?
“Fee.” Mom never seemed to care that my reticence lingered, pulling me by the hand into their circle and the conversation with her own breathless excitement making me nervous. “Vivian asked me to assist with the catering for the fashion show this week. Isn’t that amazing?”
I’d vowed to stay out of other people’s business—at least the actual running of registered companies if not their activities I might find suspicious or intriguing—since last fall and the whole Black Mountain fiasco. I was done helping others, but it seemed Mom wasn’t of the same mind as me. She continued to try to drag me into assisting her in her catering efforts and while I hated to say no, I’d been doing so all winter.
But something about the tight, expectant look in Vivian’s icy blue eyes triggered my generosity, if only because I thought I knew what she was thinking. That Fiona Fleming would never step up to help her. The twinge of annoyance that she might even suggest she knew my mind set off a chain of thought process that ended with me smiling at Mom in a stiff and rather formal way as I opened my big mouth and spoke.
“Happy to assist,” I said while my mother squealed and hugged me. “Anything I can do.”
Dear god, what was wrong with me? Had I really just volunteered to help Vivian French without her having to say a freaking word? That long, hard look inside? Yeah, I’d be dealing with that immediately because there was no way I was spending another second or another ounce of energy caring what Vivian thought.
“Thank you, Fee.” At least she sounded gracious, even if her expression never changed while Mom’s beaming smile made up for the deficit. “I realize you’re busy.”
Wow, that was actually thoughtful. Huh. “No problem,” I said. “Spring’s a bit quieter, so I have time.” Way to go, Fleming, being all professional and polite.
Vivian nodded, stiff and formal, but I was sure she seemed to relax just a bit as she spoke again, this time to Mom directly, warmth returning to her voice. “I appreciate your assistance, Lucy,” she said, not even trying to keep her voice down. “The quality of catering I require is, unfortunately, above the present staff at the White Valley Lodge.” I caught Alicia’s flinch but the young manager of the local hotel didn’t march her butt over and tell Vivian off. Quite to the contrary. Alicia instead seemed embarrassed and hustled out of earshot.
I tried not to gape at Vivian for her obvious slur against my friend, but didn’t get to say anything in Alicia’s defense as Mom responded.
“I’m sure that’s not the case.” Leave it to Lucy Fleming and her retired principal attitude to strike exactly the right chord of chastisement mixed with reassurance. Vivian just shrugged her narrow shoulders inside her designer workout tank.
“With Chef Chaney’s departure, you were the obvious choice.” I hadn’t realized Carol had quit. Interesting, but people moved on all the time. I’d had zero interaction with her outside of the occasional run-in at Sammy’s Coffee since the stormy weekend Mason Patterson died from a slice of chocolate cake. I’d always liked her, even if I didn’t know her well, and hoped she’d moved on to greener pastures. I did glance Alicia’s way, wondering at the story behind the loss of the chef, though, and if the young manager was in some kind of trouble. I’d done my best to be there for her and Jared, sent all of my guests to Zip It!, his co-owned zipline park. I realized then the distance between us hadn’t been sudden or due to the wedding’s relocation, but had been going on for some time and a soft wave of sadness hit me harder than I was expecting.
I could only imagine it had to do with me and that only made things worse. Blinking away the sting of impending tears before they could gather, I instead chose to focus on Mom while asking myself a hard question—was writing my column and prodding the Patterson family really worth losing my friends over? Or was that the source of their distance after all?
“This is an amazing opportunity,” Vivian was saying, long, pale hair sliding over her bare arm as she tossed her head. “I can’t wait to see the designs coming this season. Having a chance to preview them in a personal venue is unheard of.”
I had zero experience with the fashion world outside of Fashion Week in New York. I’d lived there long enough I knew to avoid certain streets at certain times of the day. And the city was filled with wanna be models working as baristas and servers and cashiers, so it wasn’t like I didn’t know a few in my time living in the Big Apple. For some reason, Vivian seemed much more in the know and I wondered suddenly how she’d managed to pull off this event in the first place. She owned a string of bakeries, not a clothing store line.
“I’m so excited,” Mom gushed at her. “I’ve never been to a real fashion show before.”
Vivian’s smile seemed genuine enough. Was that a hint of sadness behind her expression, though? “I think you’ll enjoy it, Lucy.” She glanced at her watch. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go pick up Grace at the airport.” Vivian turned to me, stiff all over again. Seemed like I wasn’t the only one with buried issues to deal with. “I’ve emailed you the list of guests I’m sending you,” she said. “Daisy confirmed but I wanted to be sure you received it personally.” There had been a few instances of reservations going missing and parties being scheduled incorrectly on my bestie’s watch the last six months, but I still resented Vivian’s implication.
“Everything’s ready,” I said, knowing I sounded as stilted and formal as she did. “The annex is at your disposal.” Sheesh, Fee, were we in an old literary novel or something?
“Grace Fiore is a very special guest, Fee,” Vivian said, like I didn’t treat all of my guests like they were valuable to me. “I want assurances she’ll have a pleasant and positive stay in Reading. That is, if we ever hope to have something like this
held here again.”
She actually sounded like she cared what this woman thought. Wait, wasn’t that the name of the designer Vivian always wore? Yes, I was sure of it, had heard her mention her before. Were they friends or was Vivian sucking up to an idol?
Didn’t matter to me, not a bit. Right?
“I’ll do my best,” I said. “She’s not the first celebrity I’ve housed, Vivian.”
I had to bring that up, didn’t I? Vivian’s face tightened further as my mind flinched from the memory of Willow Pink and Skip Anderson, the former, while famous and lovely, widowed from the latter when he died in my lap. Whoops. Not exactly reassuring.
Mom leaped in with a hand on Vivian’s arm. “I can’t wait to meet her,” she said, with just the right amount of reverence, apparently, because the pale blonde smiled instead of snapping my head off. “So wonderful of her to come to Reading like this. You must be dear friends.”
Vivian’s faint nod answered the personal question, but her words were crisp. “Olivia has made it financially appealing,” she said. “The six designers we’re expecting will give us an amazing show, I’m sure.” Pretty easy to tell from her snotty tone which of the six she expected to shine the brightest. And now I was anticipating the guest from hell in Grace Fiore. Awesome.
As long as the cameras and drama steered clear of Petunia’s, I could bury myself in work and keep out of the whole deal until it was all over. Oh, wait. I’d just volunteered to help, hadn’t I?
Sigh.
“I assume I can count on your discretion.” Vivian closed the distance between us, voice dropping at last. “Grace prefers to stay outside the main venue for privacy. I’d rather not have anyone poking around, bothering her. You’ve hired security?”
Well, Dad. “It’s taken care of,” I said. “Trust me.”
She didn’t comment on that, but the arch of her narrow eyebrow told me volumes. And I almost shot back with a snarky tell-all where she could shove her attitude. Mom to the rescue once more.
“You don’t have to worry about a thing, Vivian,” she said, so reassuring the blonde nodded again. “With most of the guests being attached to the show, we have very few outside customers to interfere.”
“It’s not customers I’m worried about.” Was that genuine concern? Did I need to actually take her attitude seriously? “Grace’s ex-husband owns a modeling agency and decided to join us at the last minute. They don’t exactly have a positive relationship.” Ack. Lovely. “He’s staying at the lodge, but I’d prefer she didn’t have to interact with him. At all.” Vivian’s cheeks pinked, though she seemed angry, not embarrassed. “I’m positive he’s just coming to cause trouble. Grace deserves peace and quiet while she’s not working.”
“Fair enough,” I said. “Consider it done.” I’d had my own ex issues in the past and whether the woman was a nightmare guest or a dream, her time at the annex would be my priority.
Vivian seemed reassured, even relented enough to smile at me, before turning to go. Mom left us at the exact moment, giggling with Daisy, while impulse drove me to follow the Queen of Wheat. I caught her elbow, just the barest touch, and she stopped, looking shocked at my audacity, I suppose, while I cleared my throat and spoke in a low voice.
“I’d like to talk to you,” I said. “I have questions.” Hadn’t I just asked myself if my poking around the Pattersons was costing me friendships?
Vivian’s expression flattened. “I have to go, Fee.”
“You know what I want to talk about.” Of course she did. She’d all but acknowledged her connection the night of the debate when Geoffrey Jenkins backed out of the pending election against Olivia. We’d all been sure she was out, that he was going to be our new mayor, that Crew would be fired and Robert would be sheriff. Instead, after a disaster that undermined him and a resurgence of support for Olivia, a single phone call at the podium put an end to his attempted coup.
A phone call I was positive came from Vivian French.
She shrugged off my touch like I was an annoying fly that she would like to swat. “I’ll be along with Grace in a little while,” she said. “Make sure her room is ready.” And, with that, she swept out of the gym like she really was the queen.
***
Chapter Four
“Thank you so much, everyone.” Jill wrapped up the class with a hearty hug for Matt who grinned sheepish delight at the embrace while we all cheered his good humor. “You all did amazingly well, and I’m proud of your efforts to learn how to defend yourselves. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to take this guy home,” she winked at him while giggles broke out, “and tend to his bruises.”
Matt seemed suddenly happy he’d said yes to being a punching bag.
I lingered in the gym, helping Jill return the floor mats to the stacks against the walls, hearing the excited, happy chatter of the gathered women dissipate as they left in small groups. I grinned at the deputy while she hefted the final mat onto the pile.
“That was awesome,” I said. “We really need to do this regularly.”
Jill winced and laughed. “I don’t think Matt will go for it.”
I laughed with her. “No, I didn’t mean self-defense classes. But something.” I loved the feeling of community I’d sensed in the room. “Some kind of monthly offering that brings us all out and gets us excited like this. Great job, Jill.”
She flushed, but beamed, obviously delighted. “Great idea,” she said, turning toward where Matt waited for her by the door, rubbing at his ribs like he’d be suffering later, her tender mercies applied or not. “Thanks, Fee. I had fun.” She seemed hesitant suddenly, like she wanted to say more, her face scrunching a bit and I waited her out while she chose between speaking and letting it go. “No matter what happens,” she finally blurted, “you’re my friend. You’ve always been my friend.” And, with that, leaving me mystified and with growing concern, she hurried off to join her boyfriend. The pair left a moment later, Matt waving while I fumbled my own wave back and wondered what was going on.
I’d be calling her later, make no mistake. And she’d be telling me. Yup.
For now, I had the gym to close up, though how I’d been saddled with that responsibility was lost in the hazy initial agreement I’d made to help organize this day in the first place. Daisy was gone, Mom, too, as I exited the gym and headed for home, handing the keys off to Hemmy Stokes, the school custodian who grumbled his unhappy usual mutter incomprehensible to the naked ear and watched me with his beady eyes as I hurried out.
It was a bit of a walk, but I’d run here this morning on purpose, planned to jog the way back as a chance to get my exercise in. I preferred my lake-side runs with Crew, of course, and our now regular workouts with kettlebells—my favorite since using them saved me from death already—but a solitary trot home wasn’t a bad thing.
Except, of course, as I stepped out into the sunlight, blinking into the bright March sky and wishing I’d brought my sunglasses while still mulling over Jill’s cryptic and troublesome statement, my gaze settled on a familiar sheriff’s truck and the handsome man in the driver’s seat. Crew waved, grinning, and all thoughts of hoofing it back to Petunia’s on my own two feet vanished (along with thoughts of my friend, if I was to be totally and embarrassingly honest) at the prospect of spending time with the man I loved.
Swoon. He really was delicious with his dark hair growing out from the short cut he’d been keeping lately, the length of it sweeping over his collar in that enticing way that begged me to run my fingers through it. His gorgeous blue eyes were hidden behind aviators, the mirrored reflection catching my grin as I leaned into the open window of his cab and kissed him with lingering promise.
Crew kissed me happily back before nuzzling the tip of his nose against my cheek, lips on my ear. “So, think you can kick my ass now, Fleming?”
I laughed, shivering at the soft touch of breath on my skin. “Subdue, at the very least,” I said.
He snorted softly, sexy smile tugging at his f
ull lips, the shadow of scruff giving his broad jaw that kind of dark edge that reminded me how delightful it felt to have him kiss me. “I’m all for testing that out.”
Growl. And meow.
“Need a ride?” He fired up the engine as I circled the front and climbed into the passenger’s seat, buckling in after another quick, stolen kiss that only made things worse. Face aching slightly from smiling so much, feeling my heart speed up at the focus I gave his big hand on the steering wheel and the way his broad shoulders tugged at the seams of his shirt, I don’t think I could have been any more wrapped up in loving someone as I was Crew Turner.
Just yum.
“Free for dinner tonight?” He drove with expert confidence, one hand on the wheel, the other reaching over to take mine. I loved the warmth of his skin, the faint roughness of callouses on his palm and the softness of the inside of his wrist where his pulse sped up against my fingertips as I settled both hands around his big one.
“Absolutely.” We’d been spending a lot of time together since November, an endless string of nights on the sofa in my apartment or at his house, dinners he prepared for me with his capable hands, while not necessarily five star dining still exactly what I wanted because they were made with love. It felt like we’d gone from sort of dating and wanting to be together to a full-out couple and I couldn’t have been happier with how things were going between us. The fact he seemed so eager to pursue our relationship, actively including me in his life, just added to the delightful evolution of us together.
