Bree laughed lightly. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard that. Her dark hair, dark eyes, and curvy figure didn’t match the Hollywood stereotype. “We’re not all blonde and blue-eyed surfer types.”
The color rose in the older woman’s cheeks. “No, of course not.”
Bree wondered if Martha had ever been out of the county, let alone traveled to the other side of the country. Her knowledge of anything beyond her homogeneous little town probably came only from what she had seen on television.
“But you’re very astute, Ms. McGillicuddy,” Bree continued. “California is my home now, but I’m originally from New York.”
Martha nodded, appeased. “I thought so! I have an eye for that sort of thing, you know. And please, call me Martha.”
She paused and sipped her tea. Bree did the same, waiting patiently for the question she knew was imminent.
“So, Gabriella—may I call you Gabriella? Or do you prefer Gabby?”
“Bree, please.”
“Bree. How lovely. What brings you to our humble town?”
And there it is. “I’m here to do a piece on Sanctuary.”
Had she not been watching so closely, she might have missed the sudden tensing of Martha’s neck and shoulders.
“A piece, you say?”
“Yes. I write for the Sentinel Voice. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?” When Martha shook her head, Bree explained, “We publish stories we believe are in the national interest, and we have millions of digital subscribers all over the world, but our core subscribers are honest, hardworking citizens, like yourself.”
“Oh.” Martha chewed on that for a moment. “If I may ask, why are you investigating Sanctuary?”
Bree’s instincts flared. She noted the interesting choice of words and smiled benignly. “We heard about the work they’re doing with veterans and wanted to learn more.”
“I see.” Martha’s gaze dropped to her glass.
Bree could practically see the wheels turning, the questions burning on Martha’s lips, questions that Martha could not yet ask. They’d only just met, and Bree was an outsider. Sympathies had to be determined and some measure of trust established before she could share whatever it was swirling around in that head of hers.
Bree allowed the silence to continue until it bordered on awkward, and then she gave Martha a slight nudge. Leaning forward, she asked softly, “Are you familiar with Sanctuary, Martha?”
“What? Oh, yes, of course. Everyone in Sumneyville knows about them.”
“What do you think of them and what they’re doing?”
Martha sniffed and sat up taller. “Well, it’s not really for me to say.”
Bree highly doubted that. In fact, there was probably very little that Martha couldn’t speak on for hours on end, complete with judgmental commentary. But there were rules of engagement that had to be upheld.
“That’s too bad. I was hoping to glean some valuable local insight.”
“I mind my own business.”
“Of course you do,” Bree soothed. “It’s just that, well, I’ve found there’s always more to a story than meets the eye, and it’s important to paint the whole picture, don’t you think?”
Bree didn’t give her a chance to answer. It was more of a rhetorical question anyway, intended to give the older woman something to think about.
She rose and thanked Martha for the tea. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to lie down for an hour or two. It’s been a long trip.”
With Penny in tow, Martha showed her to her room and told her she had the entire second floor to herself. That suited Bree just fine. Without bothering to undress, Bree stretched her tired body out on the comfy four-poster bed, set the alarm on her phone, and closed her eyes. She was out within seconds.
After two hours that felt more like two minutes, Bree forced herself to get up and move around. Adjusting to a new time zone would be easier if she didn’t sleep the entire day away. A hot shower and a change of clothes helped immensely, and soon, Bree was feeling back to herself again.
Her phone dinged, signaling a new message from a private number. Intrigued, Bree opened it to find it was from Sanctuary, a response to her request for an interview.
Sanctuary: RE: Request for interview. Does tomorrow at noon work for you?
Bree: Perfect. See you then.
Feeling brightened, Bree decided to take advantage of the beautiful weather and familiarize herself with the area. She still wasn’t sure how she was going to fill an entire week.
She found Martha on the front porch, watering the colorful assortment of petunias in hanging baskets, and told her she was off to do some sightseeing.
Bree couldn’t help the smile on her face as she climbed into the sporty red convertible she’d borrowed for the week. The female mechanic had known exactly what would lift her spirits. The Mustang was a little on the showy side perhaps but a huge improvement from the economy-sized rental and so much more fun to drive.
She snapped a selfie, sent it to Toni with a message—Maybe it won’t be so bad after all—and set out to explore.
Sumneyville itself wasn’t big. Located at the base of the mountains, the town proper barely covered two miles. Lots of individually owned businesses lined both sides of the main street, many of which were housed in decorative brick buildings a century old or more. No malls or superstores or major chains to be found; no structure stretched over three stories—with the exception of the hospital on the edge of town.
As she cruised around, she made a mental note of places to visit to gather information from while in town—the library, the salon, maybe the farmers market.
By six o’clock, her growling stomach prompted her to pull into the only restaurant she’d seen—a place called Franco’s. The red-white-and-green striped sign called to her Italian heritage and her longing for authentic cuisine.
“Table for one?” asked the smiling hostess.
“Yes, please.”
Bree breathed in the familiar scents of garlic and spices as the hostess led her to a cozy table near a window.
“Can I get you something to drink?” the woman said, handing Bree a menu. “Our local vineyards are quite good. I can bring you some
