“Did you go looking for him?”
“I canvassed the nursery and then got in my pickup.” He jammed his hands in his jeans pockets. “I even drove past the sheep farm where we found him before and called out his name. No sign of the dog or that sheep farmer. I decided it was best not to pay the creep another visit.”
“Good idea, unless you have Wayne with you.” I imagined another altercation and felt a shiver up my spine. “Perhaps Heath will come back on his own.”
“I hope so.”
“I know nothing about dogs, but maybe he needs to be tied up next time.”
“If there is a next time.”
Beatrice bustled after us from the café. “Please tell me you found Heath.”
“Not yet,” Stephen said.
“It’s all my fault.” A look of distress creased Beatrice’s face. “I feel terrible for letting him loose.”
“You had no way of knowing,” Stephen said. “He never used to run off.”
The black cat encircled her legs, but Beatrice paid the feline no heed. “I might lose my job. Then what will I do?”
Stephen moved toward the main house. “Glenn and Rose won’t blame you.”
“But, you see, I sold my home.” She patted her chest. “Where would I live if I lose this job?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Reaching the back porch, Stephen supported her elbow as she ascended the steps. “For all we know, Heath will show up at any moment.” His sentence came out more like a question than a statement.
Were the tales of dogs getting the taste of blood and turning feral true? I imagined Heath killing sheep—ripping out their throats. My body stiffened as my fear of dogs invaded me again, making me weak at the knees.
Stephen checked his wristwatch. “Eva, shouldn’t you get to work?”
“Oh, dear.” I spun on my heel and hastened back to the café, all the time thinking Beatrice wasn’t the only woman who might lose her job. The moment I saw her, I should have returned to work.
Over the course of fifteen minutes, the café had filled with customers. I was stunned to see lovely and radiant Olivia standing behind the counter filling orders.
“No worries,” she told me. “Everything’s under control.”
“Mostly tea and kaffi orders,” Sadie said. “But I’m glad Liv stopped by.”
Minutes later, all customers had seated themselves, leaving the three of us at the counter.
Sadie grabbed a damp rag and commenced cleaning the vacant tables, and then she refilled coffee mugs.
“Evie, I came by hoping you and I could share a word.” Olivia and I stood side by side, her arm against mine.
She lowered her voice to a whisper in my ear. “I’m leaving tomorrow night and wanted to say goodbye.”
My head whipped around to catch her expression. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
A smile fanned across her face.
“But you can’t leave,” I said.
“You want me to stay and end up like you? Losing the only man I’ll ever love?”
My brain scavenged for ways to change her mind. “But who will do the baking?”
She chortled. “Come to my house today after work. I’ll give you a lesson if you promise not to breathe a word about me and you-know-who.”
“I don’t even know who you-know-who is for sure.” Maybe Olivia would come to her senses in the next twenty-four hours.
“I have a great idea.” A grin widened her mouth. “My schweschder can do the baking. She helps me every day. Yah, we’ll ask Emma. She’s been begging our folks to let her work in the farmer’s market, but they won’t let her.”
“No one can bake as well as you do.” My arm slipped across her slim shoulders. “And I’d miss you too much.”
“Shush. Keep your voice down.” She turned toward me, her eyes sparkling as if she’d never enjoyed herself more. “In case Emma bags out on you, I’ll give you my recipes. Ya don’t need to be a brain surgeon to make whoopie pies. If that were true, I’d be in trouble.”
“But I—”
“Evie, I’ve heard Beatrice can cook as well as any woman in the county. For an Italian, that is.”
I recalled Beatrice’s scrumptious spaghetti and meatballs and pie to rival even Mamm’s. “She’s a marvelous cook.”
“But asking her for help would be a humbling experience you’d rather not face?”
“Yah. A childish reaction, I know.”
“I hear she’s had a difficult life.” Olivia’s pert features turned melancholy, the corners of her mouth drooping. “Her parents arranged a marriage for her to a man she didn’t love.” She winced. “Ach, and they say he gambled and had ties to the Mafia and left her penniless. They say he was murdered. But you know how gossip is.”
“Sounds doubtful. Mamm’s never mentioned a thing, and they grew up near each other.”
“Well, think about it. Why would Beatrice need a job at her age? She’s in her late sixties, don’t ya think?”
“I wouldn’t dare ask her.”
“She sold her house last year. Where did the money go?” Olivia’s eyes widened. “I’ve heard to pay off back taxes and her husband’s debts. They say he was quite a handsome fellow who’d sing opera while doing chores and mowing the lawn. And a ladies’ man.”
I stared back at her in disbelief.
Olivia bumped her hip against mine. “But you know how gossip is.”
“Do I ever. I’ve been a victim of the faceless viper.” I lowered my volume. “I remember last year when one of the ministers admonished the congregation to refrain from gossiping. He glanced up and stared directly at me.”
She shook her head. “Evie, he was admonishing the whole congregation. We’re all guilty of it. The entire world doesn’t orbit around you.” Olivia’s blunt words stung, but she was right. Hadn’t we just been speculating about Beatrice?
She leaned closer. “Tongues will be wagging about me soon enough.”
NINETEEN
Before turning in that night, I knocked on the big house’s kitchen door and asked Beatrice to teach me how to make minestrone soup for the next day.
“I’d be delighted. In fact, I’ll come help and bring homemade pasta.”
“You
