The Orchard at the Edge of Town Page 27

  Home, the world seemed to whisper.

  Home, her heart seemed to respond.

  She met Simon’s eyes, and he smiled.

  “Have you figured it out yet?” he asked.

  She nodded, her heart too full, her throat too tight to speak.

  “I thought so,” he murmured. “Because you don’t look scared anymore. You look like . . .” He cocked his head to the side, studying her intently.

  “Like what?” she asked, her voice raspy and raw, because she’d thought she was running away from something, but really, she’d been running to it.

  “Like you blew kisses to the wind and brought your true love home,” he said.

  “You know what?” she responded, taking his hand and holding it tightly. “I think that’s exactly what I did.”

  Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of

  Shirlee McCoy’s

  SWEET HAVEN,

  coming in March 2016!

  The dress wouldn’t zip.

  Seeing as how the wedding was ten days away, that was going to be a problem. Adeline Lamont expelled all the air from her lungs and tried again. The zipper inched up her side, every slow, excruciating millimeter reminding her that she had a bigger problem than a butt-ugly, too-small, tangerine-colored bridesmaid’s dress.

  “Addie!” May Reynolds called from the other side of the bathroom door. “How’s it going in there?”

  “Peachy,” Adeline hissed, the zipper finally finding its way home. She glanced in the mirror above the sink. Orange. Lots of it. Skin too. Shoulders. Arms. Chest. All of it pasty and white from too many days in Chocolate Haven’s kitchen.

  “Addie!” May knocked frantically. Probably with both her wrinkled fists. “Please tell me it fits! I don’t have time to alter it. I barely had time to make it!”

  “I wish you hadn’t,” Addie responded.

  “What’s that, dear?” May yelled, her voice edged with panic. The poor woman would have heart failure if Addie didn’t hurry herself up.

  She glanced in the mirror one last time. Still hideous.

  There was nothing she could do about that, so she yanked open the bathroom door and stepped into the narrow hall that led from the front of the shop to the kitchen.

  It smelled like chocolate. Vanilla. Maybe a hint of the blood, sweat, and tears she’d been pouring into the place since Granddad had broken his hip and femur. She gagged, but managed to keep down the sixteen pounds of fudge she’d consumed while taste-testing batch after batch of Lamont family fudge.

  God! If she ever ate another piece of fudge again, it would be way, way too soon!

  May stood a few feet away, hands clasped together, her blue-white hair just a little wild. “Dear God in heaven,” she breathed, her gaze dropping to Addie’s chest. “You have breasts!”

  Addie would have laughed if the dress hadn’t squeezed all the air from her lungs.

  “Most women do,” she managed to say, her head swimming from lack of oxygen or, maybe, too much sugar and too little real food. When was the last time she’d eaten a meal? Two days ago? Three?

  “Not Alice,” May huffed. “Your grandmother was reed-slim. She wore clothes beautifully. Didn’t matter what, she looked good in it.”

  “I am not my grandmother,” Addie pointed out. And even she wouldn’t look good in this dress, she nearly added.

  “You’re standing in for her at my wedding, dear,” May responded, tugging at the bodice of the dress, trying desperately to get it to cover a little more flesh.

  Wasn’t going to happen, but Adeline let her try. Just like she’d let her insist that Addie be maid of honor at her wedding since Alice had passed away five years before the big day.

  Sure Adeline would be the only under-thirty member of the wedding party, but she loved May. She’d loved Alice.

  For them, she’d stand at the front of Benevolence Baptist Church wearing a skin-tight tangerine dress. She just hoped to God Randal Custard didn’t decide to do a human interest story on the event. Sure it was cool that May had found true love at seventy-six years old. Sure it was wonderful that she was finally getting married after so many decades of longing for marital bliss.

  What would not be cool or wonderful would be a picture of Addie plastered across the front page of Benevolence Times, her fudge-stuffed body encased in tangerine satin! Since she’d turned down Randal’s dinner invitations seven times in the past month, it might just happen.

  “May,” she said, the thought of Randal and his camera and that picture souring her mood more than the last mediocre-tasting batch of family fudge had. “It’s not going to cover any more than it does.”

  “But, I measured you,” May responded, her voice wobbling. “And, I never measure wrong.”

  “I may have gained a pound or two since I took over the shop for Granddad.” Or ten, but who was counting? “I’ll lose it before the wedding.”

  “Promise?” May asked, gnawing on her lower lip as if that might solve the problem.

  “Of course,” Adeline assured her.

  What else could she do?

  “All right. I guess we’ll just make it work,” May said, probably channeling someone she’d seen on some sewing or fashion show. She’d been a home economics teacher at Benevolence High for nearly thirty years, had owned a fabric shop right next to Chocolate Haven up until a month ago. For as long as Adeline could remember, May had been obsessed with fashion.

  Too bad that obsession had never translated into a good sense of style.

  Unique was more the word for it.

  Or atrocious, horrible, dated.

  Adeline could think of a dozen other words, but it was late, she was tired, and the kitchen needed a thorough scrubbing before she left for the day.

  “Of course we’ll make it work,” she responded, cupping May’s elbow and urging her toward the front of the shop. “The wedding is going to be beautiful. Every last detail of it.”

  “How could it not be?” May raised her chin a half inch. “I’ve planned every last detail. Every flower, every bow, every song.”

  Every word that Jim and I shall speak during our vows. Every strain of music that shall play during the reception. Adeline added, mentally repeating the spiel she’d heard dozens and dozens of times.

  Scrooge, her better-self whispered.

  She was. She could admit that.

  But . . . doggone it! She was an accountant. Not a chocolatier. Not a shopkeeper. Not a master creator of the coveted Lamont fudge. After nearly three weeks of trying and failing to be those things, she was getting grumpy.

  The tangerine dress wasn’t helping things.

  Poor May wasn’t either.

  “I know you have,” she soothed as she bypassed the glass display cases that had been in the shop since the doors opened in 1911.

  “I can’t have anything go wrong,” May moaned, pressing a pretty pink handkerchief to the corner of her eye. “Not one thing.” She reached out, tugged at the tangerine ruffle.

  The dress still didn’t budge.

  “I’ll jog every night from now until the wedding,” Adeline assured her, reaching past her to open the shop door.

  “You may need to run,” May murmured. “Or sprint. That might work.”

  “Sure. Sprint. Sounds good.” Adeline wasn’t even sure she could manage a jog. She’d try, though. Because there was no way on God’s green earth she was standing in front of five hundred of May and Jim’s closest friends looking like an overstuffed orange sausage!

  “Okay. Good.” May offered a wane smile. “Now, I really have to get going. Doris Linder is creating a special updo for me and the wedding party. I’m going to have her do a trial style on me tonight.”

  “Doris?” Addie hoped she’d heard wrong. Doris had been doing hair in Benevolence, Washington, for longer than Addie had been alive. Maybe longer than May had been alive.

  “Who else would I have chosen?” She patted her hair. “She does a wonderful beehive.”

  �
��Your hair is too short for a beehive.”

  “Have you never heard of extensions?” May stepped outside, cold February wind ruffling her short locks.

  “I have.”

  “The other ladies and I will have them. Your hair is plenty long enough.”

  Thank God for that, Addie wanted to say.

  She kept her scrooge-mouth shut.

  May hiked her purse a little higher onto her shoulder and picked her way across the sidewalk that separated the shop from the street. She’d parked at the curb, her gold Cadillac gleaming beneath the streetlight.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow,” she called as she climbed into the car. “To see how the weight loss is going.”

  “You do that,” Addie said as she let the door swing closed, locked it and flicked off the light.

  There.

  Now maybe she’d be left alone. To get out of the dress. To clean the kitchen. To close out the register so that she could finally go home.

  Poor Tiny.

  He was probably miserable penned up in Nehemiah Shoemaker’s back room. It had been sweet of her neighbor to offer to take care of the puppy while Addie helped her grandfather, but Nehemiah was nearly ninety and Tiny was too big for him to handle. The two of them spent most of their time in Nehemiah’s family room, watching reruns of Hogan’s Heroes and I Love Lucy. Nehemiah seemed to enjoy Tiny’s company, but the poor puppy needed some time to play outside. If she’d known that Granddad was going to break his hip and femur . . .

  But she hadn’t, so she’d adopted a puppy because she’d been just a little lonely in her 1920s bungalow.

  “It will be okay,” she told herself. “Just make a list. Go through it one item at a time until you finish.”

  Get out of the dress.

  Clean the kitchen.

  Close out the register.

  Retrieve Tiny.

  Go for a jog.

  She listed each item as she walked back into the hall, tugging halfheartedly at the zipper.

  Then tugging a little more forcefully.

  And a little more.

  It didn’t budge. She scowled, sucking in her gut and yanking the zipper with all her might.

  Snap!

  Something gave. She yanked the dress around so the zipper was in the front, eyeing the damage. The top part of the zipper held fast, but the middle section had opened to reveal an inch of pasty white skin.

  Dear God in heaven, she’d busted the thing!

  And now, she was stuck. An overstuffed sausage in synthetic orange casing. She’d have to cut herself out and replace the zipper.

  She grabbed her faded blue jeans and soft gray T-shirt from the bathroom and walked into the kitchen. Several batches of discarded fudge sat on the counter. The last and final batch lay in the sink, the scissors she’d used to try and hack it from the pan discarded with it.

  She didn’t dare get within a foot of the mess. If she got chocolate on the dress, May would never forgive her.

  She bypassed the sink and walked out the back door. The stairs to Granddad’s apartment were there, pressed up against the side of the brick building. An empty parking lot lay in front of her, separating the row of brownstones from a public green. Addie and her sisters had spent hours playing there when they were kids.

  That had been before everything else.

  Before Dad died.

  Before Willow had gone quiet and secretive.

  Before Brenna had decided Benevolence was the worst place in the world to grow up.

  Before their family that had once been close and loving and wonderful had turned into four people going four separate ways.

  She jogged up the stairs, metal clanging under her feet. She fished the spare key out from under the potted plant on the landing, had barely touched the knob when the door creaked open.

  Surprised, she peered into the apartment, eyeing the shadowy furniture, the oversized TV they’d bought Granddad for Christmas. That would probably be the first thing a thief would go for. Not that there were many thieves in Benevolence.

  She stepped into the silent apartment. Nothing had been moved. Not that she could see. She flicked on the light. Dust coated the floor and layered the coffee table. From her position, she could see into the galley kitchen and down the narrow hall that led to two bedrooms and tiny office.

  “There’s no one here,” she said aloud.

  A door slammed, the sound so jarring, she jumped back, knocked into the doorjamb, her heart in her throat.

  Someone was in the apartment.

  She screamed—probably loud enough to wake the dead—and took off running.

  Sinclair Jefferson had seen a lot of things in his thirty-four years of living, but he’d never seen anything quite like the woman who was barreling toward him. Body encased in a skin-tight orange thing that could have been a dress or a costume, she sprinted down exterior metal steps as if all the demons of hell were chasing her.

  If she saw him, she didn’t let on.

  As a matter of fact, if she kept coming at the pace she was, she’d crash into him. He stepped to the side, pulling his real estate agent Janelle Lamont with him.

  “Watch it,” he said.

  “How can I not? It’s like a train wreck. I can’t look away,” she murmured, her attention focused on the orange-encased lunatic who skidded to a stop in front of them.

  “Mom!” the lunatic yelled. “There’s someone in Granddad’s apartment.”

  Mom?

  This had to be one of the Lamont sisters, then. Not Willow. He’d gone to school with her. She’d been as polished as a brand-new penny, every bit of her perfect. Hair. Makeup. Clothes.

  This Lamont wasn’t polished or perfect.

  As a matter of fact, it looked like she’d split the zipper of the ugly outfit she was wearing. He caught a glimpse of taut pale skin as she crossed her arms over her stomach and hid the gap in the fabric.

  “What are you talking about, Adeline?” Janelle sighed.

  Adeline.

  The middle sister.

  He had a few vague memories of a quirky-looking kid with wild red hair, but none of them quite matched the woman in front of him. Wide almond-shaped eyes, a curvy compact body, long braid of hair falling over her shoulder, she was almost pretty and almost not. Interesting was probably the word he was looking for.

  “What I’m talking about,” Adeline responded, enunciating every word, “is someone being in Granddad’s apartment. I walked into the living room and heard a door slam.”

  “A vacuum effect from you opening the front door. There’s no one in there.” Janelle’s gaze slid to Sinclair and she offered an apologetic smile. “This is a very safe town, Sinclair. Just like it was when you were a child.”

  “I’m sure it is,” he responded, because, as far as he could tell, nothing much had changed in Benevolence since he’d left sixteen years ago. The streets were still clean, the houses and properties neat and tidy. Except for his brother’s property. The one they’d both inherited from their grandfather. It was still a mess—old cars and trucks rotting on acres of riverfront property, weathered farmhouse filled to the brim with decades of junk.

  Sinclair had come to town to take care of that. To turn the place into a home that his sister-in-law would be proud of. Gavin was supposed to be helping. Maybe if he could stop whining about missing his wife long enough, he’d be able to.

  “It’s why so many people prefer Benevolence to the big city,” Janelle said with a beatific smile. “Come on. Let’s see if Byron’s place will work for you. If not, I’ve got another in mind. On the opposite side of town as your brother’s place, but it’s quiet. Just like you want.”

  She started up the exterior staircase, and he followed, metal clanking under his feet. He wasn’t all that concerned about the interior of the apartment. As long as it was cleaner than the last one they’d seen, quieter than the third and didn’t smell like wet dog and cigarette smoke like the first, he’d take it. He had too much work to do to waste time
looking for an apartment. Unfortunately, the closest hotel was thirty miles away. He could have continued staying with his brother Gavin, but Gavin had spent the last five days whining and moaning about the fact that his pregnant wife had walked out of their single-wide trailer and gone to live with her family.

  Seeing as how the single-wide trailer was stuffed to the gills with stuff, Sinclair couldn’t blame Lauren for walking out. He’d have done the same. He was doing the same. No way did he plan to spend another night in that hellhole. He’d sleep in his truck first.

  “Here we are,” Janelle called cheerfully as she stepped over what looked like jeans and a T-shirt and walked into the apartment. “Built in 1887 for railroad magnate Lincoln Bernard. His family lived here for nearly twenty years before they built that beautiful home on River Bluff. Grandview Manor?”

  He nodded because he knew the place and because he thought that Janelle expected a response.

  “My senior prom was there,” he offered, stepping over the clothes and walking into the apartment behind her.

  “My daughter Willow’s, too. You graduated together,” she reminded him. As if he could have forgotten. There’d been thirty-five kids in his graduating class. He’d known every one of them by name. They’d known him too.

  That was the way things had been in Benevolence. Unless he missed his guess, it was the way things still were.

  “I really don’t think we should be in here,” Adeline interrupted from the doorway.

  “Of course we should,” Janelle responded, flicking on a light in a small galley kitchen and motioning to the dinette set that sat in an alcove created by a window dormer. “What do you think, Sinclair? Perfect for a bachelor, yes?”

  “Sure.” He moved past the kitchen, peered down a dark hall. There was a window at the far end, moonlight filtering in through the glass and speckling the floor with gold.

  “I’m telling you, someone is in here.” Adeline pressed in beside him, the jeans and T-shirt Sinclair had stepped over clutched to her chest. “He’s probably waiting in one of the rooms, hoping for a chance to attack.”

  “You’ve been watching too many horror movies, Adeline,” Janelle said with a forced smile.