Now and Then and Always

by Melissa Tagg

  “Take her on a walk over the Archway Bridge.”

  His attention darted to the woman with jet-black hair behind the counter. The owner, according to Jenessa. Megan, according to her nametag. She hardly looked twenty-five. Awfully young to be a business owner. “Say what?”

  “Mara looked upset. Walking across the Archway Bridge always makes me feel better. It’s the big white one.”

  “You know Mara?”

  She flicked her hair over her shoulder with a roll of her eyes. “This is Maple Valley. I’ve got the caffeine. So I hear things. All the things.”

  All the gossip, she meant. “Well, thanks for the suggestion.”

  “If you’re smart, you’ll take it.” She gave him a wave of her hand, shooing him out the door.

  He found Mara on the walking path, gaze on the river, arms hugged to her waist. The breeze lifted strands of her hair. He handed her the coffee. “You all right?”

  She shook her head.

  Down the path he saw the bridge the barista had mentioned. An arching iron structure. Picturesque even without the glow of moonlight. He pointed. “Want to walk?”

  Not until they reached the bridge did she finally speak up. “Marshall, about this morning—”

  “I’m sorry about that, Mara. I really am. I just threw those questions at you—”

  “No, I’m sorry. The way I brought up . . .”

  Did she think he’d get upset all over again if she said Laney’s name? They stopped halfway across the bridge. The sound of the wind brushing over the river, water lapping at its bank, the twinkling lights of the riverfront businesses . . . that barista was right to suggest this. It was peaceful, calming.

  Mara leaned against the railing, one arm dangling over, the other hand lifting her cup for a drink. He traced her profile with his gaze. He wished . . .

  He wished what?

  I wish I could stay.

  Here in this little town with its quirky events and friendly people. Here where his life brimmed with new possibilities.

  Here with Mara.

  But what about Beth and Alex and the kids? What about his job—Captain Wagner and his coworkers? As much as he liked his new friends here, he did have people he cared about in Wisconsin, even if he’d done a lousy job of showing it in recent years.

  He closed his eyes. Inhaled the scent of Mara’s coffee, heard the distant motor of a car, the swish of tall grass along the riverbank. Longed for a regretful moment for the kind of faith he used to have. The old Marshall would’ve prayed about his competing desires. Would’ve asked God for guidance.

  “Somewhere deep down there’s still a piece of you that wants to believe.” Beth had said that. Maybe it was the truth.

  When he opened his eyes, Mara was watching him. “Why’d you leave just now, Mara?”

  She looked away. “I’m just . . . I’m so annoyed with myself. Sam and Luke were talking about people looking for the painting, people who could be dangerous, and all I could think was, if I’d just done something . . . if I’d asked Lenora what she was looking for or gone to the police station when she didn’t come back . . .”

  “Didn’t we already talk about this that night in the attic?”

  “It’s not just Lenora. I should’ve called Garrett’s parents. I should’ve filed a report.”

  He could kick himself. “Mara, I never meant to make you feel—”

  “And my dad. I called him one time as a teenager. One time. I heard one of his songs today, and it’s a song he wrote for me. And I know it’s crazy to think, but what if . . . what if he was trying to reach out through his music and I never paid attention? For almost twenty years, I’ve lived with the thought that he gave up on his family. But didn’t I give up on him too?”

  Marshall turned to face Mara, planted his hands on her shoulders. “He left you. You’re not the one who should feel guilty.”

  She set her coffee cup on the railing. “It’s not guilt. It’s disappointment. I’m disappointed in myself for being so . . . so passive. I don’t want to be someone who gives up too soon or runs away too fast or misses out because I’m too passive to do something.”

  “Would a passive person stand up in front of a city council and make a presentation to secure a grant? Or pour herself into fixing up a B&B that everyone else assumed was a lost cause? And you’re not just saving the Everwood, Mara. Every day that I’ve spent here—with you—I’ve felt a little more whole. You are doing something. And it matters. You matter.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. He slid his hands from her shoulders to her back and pulled her close. He held her for a long, quiet moment. Felt her heart beat against his. Heard his soul whisper once more. Stay.

  Could it be that simple?

  You’ve only known her two weeks. You have a life back in Wisconsin. There are a hundred things she doesn’t know about you. And probably just as many you don’t know about her.

  Well, maybe that’s where he should start. Take a step back—emotionally, physically, and otherwise—and give it some time.

  “Hey, Mara?”

  From the cocoon of his arms, she looked up at him. Her eyes no longer glistened. “Hmm?”

  “I was wondering . . .” He swallowed. “Do you think . . . is there any chance . . .” Man, it’d been a long time since he’d done this. “Could we go on a date? After the open house is over and things settle down. I feel like maybe we’ve gotten ahead of ourselves in some ways and . . .” Her breathtaking smile messed with his train of thought.

  “By ‘some ways’ you mean those couple little kisses, right?”

  He was thankful for the dark that masked his flush. “Not gonna lie, Mara. If you count those as ‘little’ kisses, I’m pretty eager to see what you consider a not-so-little kiss.”

  “And here you said we shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves.”

  “That’s not exactly what I said, and for the record, if memory serves, you’re the one who started the kissing thing.” If they kept talking about kissing, he was going to have to forget about taking a step back. “By the way, you haven’t answered me.”

  “Yes, Marshall, I would love to go on a date with you.” She eased away from him, retrieved her coffee cup, and started across the bridge. “In the meantime, I’m going to learn every little thing I can about Argo Spinelli and his crime ring. Because if this all ties back to the painting and the painting ties back to him then it’s not a dead end. Surely we can learn more about him. That prof said he had a daughter, right? We should find out if he has living relatives, known partners—”

  Marshall halted, his mental cogs spinning, a thought—a hunch—coming in to focus. It was there, right at the edge of his brain . . . “Oh.”

  “Marsh?”

  “The photo. Those film reels we found in the attic. We need to get back to the Everwood.”

  “Marshall, slow down. It’s not worth getting your very first speeding ticket.” Mara gripped the seatbelt over her shoulder. Less because of concern over Marshall’s driving and more because her own jitters.

  If Marshall’s hunch was correct, would it finally give them a solid lead?

  “When did I tell you I’ve never had a speeding ticket?”

  “Your second morning at the Everwood. I was eating Lucky Charms. You were trying to convince me I wasn’t crazy to let you stay.”

  “Good memory.”

  Yeah, well, he was a memorable guy.

  The headlights of Lucas’s truck behind them shone in the rearview mirror.

  “I still don’t understand how you put it all together.” Mara’s leg bounced on the floor. She had ordered decaf tonight, right?

  Marshall turned onto the gravel lane that led to the house. “You mentioned Spinelli’s daughter, and I suddenly remembered that professor saying his daughter was an actress. And then I remembered those film reels in the attic. I think they had initials on them. J.S.”

  And back at the bridge Marshall had pulled out his phone and Googled until he’d discovered the
name of Argo Spinelli’s daughter. Jeane. Like the Jeane in the photo Mara had found. Jeane Spinelli. J.S.

  “I’m tracking with you, but what’s the daughter of a mob boss doing at a B&B in Iowa?”

  Marshall lifted one eyebrow. “Running it? Think about it. Lenora’s parents—who we already know went by at least two different names—had a painting that belonged to Spinelli. Maybe they were art thieves or maybe—”

  “Maybe Arnold and Jeane are Lenora’s parents.” Which made Lenora the granddaughter of a high-profile career criminal.

  “I want to look at those film reels to see if I’m remembering the initials right. It’s just a hunch at this point.”

  Marshall pulled up in front of the house. The first coat of fresh white paint stood out against the night’s shadows. But wait . . .

  “We should keep digging online and see if we can find a photo of Jeane Spinelli too. And—”

  “Marsh.” His name came out in a sharp gasp as her attention snagged on the Everwood’s open front door.

  And the figure running toward the grove.

  Marshall saw the racing form only a moment after Mara. He thrust the vehicle into park. “Tell Lucas.”

  He was out the door in seconds, his scrambling gaze locking on the intruder, but it was far too dark to make out any details.

  Soon he heard Lucas sprinting behind him. Grass, leaves, twigs snapped and crunched as they ran. He entered the grove, dodging trees . . . but whoever they chased had too much of a head start. He cleared the grove and reached a parked car. The intruder sped away before Marshall could get so much as a glimpse of the license plate.

  Marshall slowed, lungs heaving. He bent over his knees, breathing hard, looking up when Lucas reached him.

  “Get a look at him?”

  He shook his head.

  “A burglar? Or . . .” Lucas looked into the distance where the car had disappeared. “What are the odds we’re not the only ones looking for Lenora?”

  Frankly, Marshall would rather entertain that thought than the other one that’d immediately entered his brain. Garrett.

  16

  Lenora

  It was February eighth—the day I almost told Mara.

  The credits of an old movie rolled to the upbeat tune of a brassy orchestra number. Mara’s eyes drifted closed where she curled in her nest of blanket and pillows on the couch.

  Guests were few and far between, especially since Christmastime. Could Mara see how much it worried me? I’d deleted two messages from the answering machine—warnings from the bank—already.

  I watched her fight sleep, and I knew she deserved some warning about what was to come. I’d rehearsed the words all day.

  I’m leaving in the morning, Mara. There’s someone I need to see. A . . . a family member. That is, if the information from the private investigator I’d hired was correct.

  Information I’d paid for dearly with money that should’ve paid the mortgage.

  I’d let it consume me, this need for answers. But every answer only led to more questions. Why would my parents have had a stolen painting? Is that why we ran? Were we . . . criminals? And where was the painting now?

  I’d used the computer at the public library to find the investigator because the Everwood’s Wi-Fi had gone down again. I’d compensated him in cash because he insisted.

  I wondered if I was chasing one dead end after another.

  But on February sixth, he called me with a name and an address. And I’d held off the whim as long as I could.

  I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone, Mara. Take care of the Everwood for me, though, please. When I come back, we’ll figure out the rest—the money, the mortgage, the lack of reservations. I promise.

  But instead of telling her, I’d let her sleep.

  And in the morning, I was simply too keyed up and anxious to explain. Or perhaps worried that once I told her about my search, I’d have to admit the rest—that my need to solve a mystery had endangered the Everwood.

  And if I tarried too long, she might tell me not to go. She’d noticed my fatigue of late. Just a day or two before, she’d witnessed a dizzy moment as I’d stood from the loveseat too quickly.

  So all I did was extract a promise and take my leave and tell myself everything would be okay.

  It wasn’t the house I expected.

  Although, I’m not sure what I did expect. An imposing mansion with grand pillars? Or perhaps a glitzy downtown apartment. Something that hinted at wealthy, if criminal, roots.

  But this was nothing of the sort. It was a quaint little cottage in the country. Yellow with white shutters and flowers lining the walkway to the front door. Just to be sure, I looked at the address on my scrap of paper again. I had to squint to read the words, my eyesight bothering me as it had off and on for a day or two—or maybe a week, come to think of it.

  But I made out the words and, yes, I was in the right place. At the right house. Davis Saddler.

  My limbs felt numb but surely I’d simply been in the car too long.

  I’d imagined this meeting so very many ways. Smiles of joy. Frowns of contempt. Most likely, my common sense told me, it would be something in between. I’d thought once or twice that perhaps this Davis Saddler would be dangerous.

  But I’d come too far to turn back.

  All of this I thought as I walked that flower-lined path. Until the door opened.

  And then I thought nothing at all.

  I’m so sure I’ve heard this voice before. He speaks in low murmurs. There are other voices too, but his is the one I latch on to in my confusion.

  It’s not George’s. Oh, no. If it were George’s, there would be dancing and laughing and no more of this wretched darkness. Though I can’t hear George, there are moments when I can feel him beckoning. There are moments I long to answer his call.

  But what of Mara? What of the Everwood?

  The voice speaks again, louder this time. Does he know Mara, I wonder? Does Mara know I’m here?

  And where—Lord, help me—is here?

  17

  Mara should’ve been more nervous. She had thousands of dollars riding on tonight. More importantly, the future of the Everwood.

  Yet as she descended the open staircase, Mayor Milt and the rest of the city council trailing after her, a strange sort of confidence bubbled inside of her. Maybe it was the fact that they’d oohed and ahhed every step of the way through this tour so far. Maybe it was the pretty, navy blue sundress swishing over her knees and her cute yellow flats.

  Or it was the comfort of knowing her friends were scattered about the place helping with the open house. Sam and Lucas were manning the parking lot. Jenessa was welcoming guests in the lobby. Marshall was taking care of final details out in the back yard—the surprise centerpiece of tonight’s open house.

  Whatever it was accounting for her unexpected assurance, nearly everything about tonight felt right.

  Everything but Lenora’s continued absence.

  They still hadn’t made progress on finding any remaining relatives of the Spinelli family. Nor had they figured out who it was who’d intruded in the Everwood last week.

  But nothing had been missing and there hadn’t been any repeat incidents.

  “I have to admit, Miss Bristol, I had my doubts about this whole venture, but I’m impressed with the work you’ve done. And in so little time too.”

  It was Sarita Rodriguez who spoke as they reached the first floor. The youngest city councilperson and from what Mara could tell, the most in tune with matters of business. The others had asked plenty of questions about the renovation and her plans for the future, but Sarita’s inquiries were much more detailed. Though most of the changes they’d made were cosmetic, were structural renovations needed as well? What factors had determined the Everwood’s room rates? Were they competitive with other B&Bs? Would she be hiring additional staff?

  Mara gave Sarita a grateful smile. “I didn’t do it on my own, that’s for sure.”

&nb
sp; Not even close. In this past week, the Everwood had been a buzzing hive of activity. Anytime they weren’t at their jobs, Jenessa and Sam and Lucas had been here. Marshall had pulled thirteen- or fourteen-hour days every day this week.

  Even people from town had stopped out now and then to offer their help. Mara had met more of the Walker family, and though Drew Renwycke had finished the new porch last weekend, he’d come by with his brother one morning to help Marshall replace shutters and install flowerboxes underneath the front windows.

  It was almost as if now that they remembered the Everwood was here, the people of Maple Valley were drawn to this place—to this tucked-away, once-forgotten house that’d slowly come alive again.

  And never in her life had Mara felt more a part of something. More like she belonged. Like someone had carved out a space here in this town, in this house, with these people, just for her.

  Maybe . . . maybe Someone had. At least, that’s what Lenora believed. To Lenora, God wasn’t just a distant creator, interested only in the people who impressed Him most. She believed God guided her steps and gave her life meaning and purpose.

  What if Lenora was right and God had led Mara here? What if He’d never been waiting for her to impress Him, but just to . . . notice Him? Active and at work in her life?

  Mara led the council members through the dining room where a lacy cloth and place settings covered the nicks in the long table and a new light fixture hung overhead. She pointed out the framed historical photographs Marshall had given her that decorated the walls.

  Hopefully Marshall was ready out in the back yard because it was time for the final stop on her tour. The council members followed her through the kitchen, out the back door and . . .

  Mara gasped as she stepped onto the small patio. She’d known what Marshall was planning out here, but she’d been so busy inside that she’d hardly glanced out the windows. The sight of it took her breath away.