“Good to know.” I glower over at Pixie who’s currently seated on the edge of the sofa watching the two of us as if we were her nightly entertainment.
“So who do you think left the note? I’m thinking it’s someone you know well. Like your ex, maybe?”
“Johnny?” I spin around and inadvertently end my spontaneous rubdown from the good detective. “But I turned him in. Isn’t he behind bars by now?”
Shep shakes his head. “He made bail. But don’t get too worked up over it. The envelope it came in was mint green—and the handwriting? That belongs to a woman.”
“Let me see it again.”
Shep pulls out his phone, and I frown. “It’s written in block letters. Any block head could have done that.”
“Maybe. But look at the A. It’s a bit flowery. And the envelope, only a woman would choose that color. My guess is it’s from a female. Your mother, maybe?”
“Unlikely. My mother is far too busy herding young men into her bedroom. She might not notice I’m missing until the gifts she gives me for Christmas remain unopened.”
“Have you got a sister?”
“My mouth falls open. Aw? You think it’s Stephanie? I mean, we’re not close, but we’re not strangers. And, of course, my brother and I were close once, about ten years ago. But regardless of the bleak family picture I just painted, we always got together for Sunday dinner.” I sag at the thought. “I miss Sunday dinner.”
Shep leans in with those blue eyes pinned to mine. “If it’s any consolation, I’ll let you cook for me on Sundays.”
“So it’s a standing date.”
“Call it what you want.” He rises to his feet, and so do I. “Great dinner. Thank you for that.”
“Thanks for the massage. I’ll have a hearty meal ready this Sunday for you. Have I mentioned that I barter for body rubs?” I’ll leave which parts to his imagination.
“It’s a deal I can live with.” He’s halfway out the door before he pauses and examines me one last time. “I’ll do my best to retrace where that letter came from. There wasn’t a return address, but I’ve got my ways.” He takes a full breath while his gaze drills into mine. “Don’t run, Bowie.”
I nod, afraid to utter anything about my old life with that door wide open.
“Night.” He nods my way before taking off.
Shep doesn’t want me to run.
Everything in me says I should.
But everything in me knows I won’t.
Is Shep Wexler the reason I’ve nailed my feet to Starry Falls?
Is he worth the risk of serving hard time?
I’m afraid the answer to both is a strong maybe.
Chapter 7
“We can’t only serve lasagna,” Regina howls at me in the middle of the Manor Café. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail and her lips are a bright cherry red—a shade I’ve never quite been able to pull off—and don’t for a minute think I’m not envious.
“We don’t only serve lasagna. It just turns out it’s a really big hit,” I say as I make my way behind the register. It’s the middle of the afternoon and Regina has spent the last few hours testing my authority every which way. I’d like to think her controlling nature is simply a castoff of the fact she used to be the manager, but I’d be sorely wrong. “Look, I know you were the manager up until a few months ago and—”
“Up until several weeks ago.” Her lips harden as if to enunciate the point. “I’ve been here since the beginning. I thought up the menu.”
“And”—I move out of striking range—“I’m reworking a few things.”
Tilly trots over with a large box marked autumn along the side of it.
“Opal wants the café wearing its fall duds before sundown. Her words, not mine.” She opens the box and pulls out a string of festive fall leaves and quickly begins to line the lip of the counter with them. “Mud has this place peppered with nails, so dressing it up for fall won’t take but a few minutes.” She looks my way. “So who are we off to investigate today?” She leans in hard, her chunky highlights spilling over her shoulders, brittle as hay.
I glance to the entry in the event a certain thriller writer turned detective happens to wander in.
“Sophia Hathaway,” I whisper.
“Sophia?” a deep voice strums from my left and I jump three feet, nearly landing in that box laden with a bushel of faux fall leaves and plastic pumpkins.
Jackson steps into our midst, dapper per usual, with a full suit, his dark wavy hair slicked back, his features particularly sharp and comely. And striding up behind him is his mother.
Opal has on a delightful rust-colored lace dress, matching lipstick, copious amounts of black kohl around her eyes, and enough silver jewelry bedazzling her neck and arms to outfit every soul in Starry Falls with an ounce or two.
“My apologies.” He gives a slight bow. “I wasn’t trying to pry, I just thought I heard Sophia’s name. Are you headed to the fall wine festival out in Sterling Lake?”
Opal gasps as her mouth falls open. “You don’t say.” She extends that last word out unnaturally. “Well, why not? Certainly you girls could use a day by the lake sipping fine wine and watching the fashion show.” She flicks a wrist our way. “And what a treat it will be to have you there. Nothing bonds women better than wine.”
“And men.” Jackson winks my way and both Tilly and Regina sigh.
“Well then”—I slide the box of fall decorations toward Regina—“I guess I’m headed to the fall wine festival out in Sterling Lake.”
Regina gives the box a yank. “Come on, Tilly. We can have this place plastered with fake leaves in ten minutes.” She scowls my way. “Don’t even think of taking off without us.”
No sooner do Jackson and Opal take off than I help decorate Manor Café until it looks as if a fall
