CHAPTER 9

Grace

Grace eyed the misty gray morning with a sour glare. She hated Mondays. It always seemed that the first day of the week waited with sharpened claws, eager to shred one’s hopes and dreams. The piles of mindless data entry work stacked on Grace’s desk waiting for her to arrive supported this theory, and she scowled as she put her car into reverse.

She’d just begun easing her foot off the brake when the passenger door flew open and Sarah Dove stuck her head in. “Hi!” the librarian chirped as Grace slammed on her brakes.

Grace’s irk factor flew up a few points. Under the best of circumstances, even with a good night’s rest, she wasn’t a morning person. She needed time, quiet, and at least two cups of coffee before she could face the day with anything close to a smile. And so far, she’d had none of those things.

Last night, a few hours after going to bed, she’d been awakened by the sound of Mama G calling, “Theo!” over and over. Still half asleep, Grace had grabbed her robe and padded downstairs, where she found the front door ajar. Mama G stood outside on the porch in her nightgown, a bowl of milk in her hands.

Alarmed, Grace had followed. “What are you doing?”

“I’m looking for Theo. He hasn’t come for his milk.”

Still bleary-eyed and slightly irritated at being awoken, Grace had said in a sharper tone than she’d meant to use, “That’s ridiculous. Theo’s been dead for years. Now, come inside.”

The words and tone had an instant effect, none of it good.

“Dead?” Mama G’s voice had quavered with hurt.

Grace, instantly contrite but too tired to think, had nodded. “For years now. Let’s go inside. You’re just confused, and it’s damp—”

“No.” Mama G’s expression had turned mulish and she’d backed away. “I just saw Theo yesterday; he’s not dead. He’s fine and he’s hungry. I know he is.” Before Grace could answer, Mama G turned and hurried down the steps, unsteady in the dark, the milk sloshing from the bowl and dribbling down her nightgown.

For a shocked and horrified moment, Grace had thought Mama G might fall, but at the last minute, she’d regained her balance. She’d stopped at the foot of the porch stairs to glare up at Grace. “I have to give Theo his milk. I’ve been waiting for hours, but he hasn’t come home.” Mama G looked across the front yard to the road. “Maybe I should put the milk by the road. He used to sleep in the mailbox. Made Mr. Horner so mad.”

It had taken a solid twenty minutes of reasoning and then pleading, but finally Grace had managed to get Mama G inside with a promise to leave the milk on the porch for the missing “Theo.” Still, the incident had left Grace shaken. If she hadn’t woken up when she had, Mama G might have wandered off, and Grace had no illusions what might happen then. Just thinking about it made her sick to her stomach.

After she’d gotten Mama G back to bed, Grace had tossed and turned, unable to sleep, every creak of the old house making her bolt upright. It had been well after four in the morning when Grace had finally fallen asleep.

This morning, as soon as the alarm went off, Grace had forced herself to get up. While trying to stay awake in the shower, she decided to tell Linda what had happened and see if she had any suggestions for keeping Mama G from wandering out of the house after everyone was asleep. Tin cans tied to doorknobs? A bell of some sort? A house alarm?

To her relief, Linda had a number of helpful suggestions, the easiest and quickest of which was to put a lock high up on the door, out of Mama G’s reach. Grace had called the Callahan brothers, the handymen Mrs. Phelps had recommended before she’d left, and explained the situation. To Grace’s relief, one of them had promised to stop by this afternoon and install the lock.

Now, a mere hour later, feeling exhausted and as if she’d been run over by a semi, she faced the humid morning with a headache that had made her eyes want to cross.

So when Sarah beamed at Grace from the passenger door, looking fresh and well rested, and smiling widely as if morning was something to be celebrated and not merely survived, all Grace wanted to do was spew morning venom.

Fortunately, before Grace could open her mouth, Sarah shouldered the door aside and thrust a tumbler of coffee under Grace’s nose.

The rich scent of hazelnut curled with the steam from the opening in the cup’s cover, and Grace’s soul sighed in relief. She put the car in park, then took the tumbler between both hands and held it as reverently as though it were a holy chalice.

“I’m glad I caught you.” Sarah, burdened with a heavy book tote, a paper bag, and her own cup of coffee, slid into the passenger seat and closed the door. “I thought we might ride together.” She dropped her tote on the floor beside her feet, slipped her cup into the nearest holder, and placed the paper bag onto the console between them.

The smell of vanilla and cinnamon filled the car, mingling with that of the coffee. “What’s that?” Grace couldn’t keep the hope from her voice.

Sarah opened the bag, and Grace’s mouth watered at the fresh-baked smell.

“It’s coffee cake,” Sarah said. “It’s my mom’s recipe, although my sister Ella changed it a bit, and now it’s even better.”

She sipped the coffee. Rich, slightly bitter, with just the right amount of cream, it poured over her tongue and warmed her from head to toe. She took another sip, stunned into submission.

Grace looked at the bag and then at her cup. She could give in to her lesser impulses and refuse to drive Sarah and her delicious snacks to work and deprive them both of a pleasant drive and some much-needed coffee, or she could indulge them both and accept the gifts and the company.

While thinking through her options, she absently took another drink of the coffee. “God, that’s good.”

“Enough cream? I had to guess, but I thought since I take cream that you might, too.”

It was too early to follow such a questionable line of reasoning, so Grace just said, “It’s perfect. I’m not even exaggerating. Perfect.”

Sarah grinned, her expression far too bright for this time of the day. “Coffee is the elixir of life.”

Grace was too busy savoring the hot perfection in her cup to answer.

Sarah reached into the paper bag and pulled out some napkins. They were party size and had HAPPY BIRTHDAY written on them in garish pink. She placed one on Grace’s knee. “I hope you don’t mind driving today. It dawned on me last night that we should carpool. We live almost next door, and we work right across the street from each other. We can save time and gas.”

Grace didn’t want to carpool, especially not with a freakishly happy morning person, which Sarah obviously was. But the coffee that had warmed her fingers had somehow also managed to unfreeze her soul just enough that she managed to murmur a polite “It would be environmentally sound.” She took another sip and decided that a ten-minute drive with Sarah (if it was even that long) wouldn’t be so bad. Just for today, she told herself. But no more.

Sarah pulled two pieces of coffee cake wrapped in parchment paper from the bag and handed one to Grace.

It smelled like warm brown sugar, spicy cinnamon, and sweet vanilla. Grace unwrapped her piece of cake, broke off a corner, and popped it in her mouth.

She almost moaned. Oh God, the cake is as good as the coffee. “My gosh, I can’t even,” Grace said. Maybe we could ride together two days a week. “It’s delicious.”

“Thanks. I can bring you the recipe if you’d like.”

“I could never get this result. Baking isn’t my thing.”

“It’s an easy recipe. If I can bake this and not mess it up, anyone can.”

Grace tried not to gobble the cake down, but it was that good, plus it was just one slice. And a small slice at that. Almost a sliver, she told herself as she finished it.

Sarah licked an errant crumb from her lip. “When my sister Ella lived at home, we had a booth at the farmers’ market every Saturday. People would come from as far away as Asheville for her coffee cake.”

“I can see why.” Grace wiped her fingers on a napkin and dropped it and the empty parchment back into the bag, wishing Sarah had thought to bring a few extra pieces.

“I’m glad we’re riding together today.” Sarah finished her cake and wiped her hands on a napkin. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about the social club.”

Great. That was the last thing Grace wanted to talk about. Coffee cake was one thing, chatting was another, and Grace realized that the quicker she reached the town hall parking lot, the quicker this conversation would be over.

She reluctantly replaced her coffee cup in the holder, put the car in reverse, and backed out of the driveway.

Sarah didn’t waste any time. “Zoe and I were talking this morning and we hope you’re not upset about what happened with the club.”

Upset? Grace was ecstatic. “Why would I be upset?”

“I didn’t think it was what you wanted.”

But it was. She’d wanted to get rid of it, and she had. “I’m perfectly fine with the outcome.” It had been a little over a week since Grace had handed the reins of the club to Zoe (actually, it had been more like “tossed and ran,” but still ), so Grace wasn’t sure what Sarah wanted to hear her say.

Not that it mattered. What was done was done, and she was just glad she could now focus on getting the office organized. “The club couldn’t be in better hands.”

“That’s what I think, too.” Sarah beamed and dropped her napkin into the empty bag. “Whew, I was worried you’d be upset and here you are, perfectly fine!”

“I’ve been too busy to think about it. All municipalities have to migrate their tax records to the new state system by the end of the month, and Mrs. Phelps didn’t bother to even start getting things set up, so I’m swamped.”

“Maybe she just got behind?”

“Oh no. There’s a Post-it on the folder that says, ‘For the New Person—NOT ME.’ ”

Sarah winced. “That was cold.”

“She apparently had tendencies.”

“More than you know. And wow, did Mrs. Phelps hate computers.”

“There are times I don’t like them, either, but technology helps.”

Sarah sipped her coffee. “Mrs. Giano was right. You take to challenges like a duck to water.”

Surprised, Grace looked at Sarah. The woman’s eyes were the palest gray green, almost silver in color, and it seemed as if they could see right through her. “When did you talk to Mama G?”

“I’ve been dropping by on my short days.” Sarah pursed her lips. “I think it was Thursday that she told me you liked challenges. We were talking about the town, and the social club. I don’t know if she understood it all, because she seemed distracted. She kept calling me Hannah.” The pale green eyes locked on Grace. “That was your sister, wasn’t it?”

The lulling effect of the coffee and cake faded as Grace’s habitual morning ire returned in full force. “Yes.” She snapped the word so that it had the sound of a drawer being slammed shut.

Sarah was quiet a moment. “Hannah is a pretty name.”

Grace’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I don’t want to talk about my sister.” There. That should end it.

“Okay.” Sarah sipped her coffee.

For a moment there was glorious silence, and Grace was just starting to relax when Sarah said, “It’s funny how having a sister can define you.”

Good God. “I said I didn’t want to talk about it.”

Sarah grimaced. “Sorry. But . . . I know it must have been hard. If you ever do want to talk about it, I’m here.”

Grace frowned. “There’s nothing to say.”

Sarah nodded in sympathy.

Irked, Grace added, “Besides, Hannah didn’t define me. Nor did I define her. Your relationship with your sisters is obviously quite different from ours.”

“Maybe. I sort of think our family defines us whether we know it or not. I mean, look at me. I’m the youngest, so I got hand-me-downs of hand-me-downs. The only thing new I ever got to buy for myself was underwear.” With a faint smile, she smoothed the soft, multicolored maxi-dress over her knee. “Which is why I love fashion so much now.”

Grace wouldn’t have called what Sarah wore “fashion,” but she grudgingly had to admit that cool pastels worked with the woman’s pale skin and ash-blond hair. Still, Grace could relate to the agony of having to wear used clothing. As a foster child, she and Hannah had worn more than their fair share.

But still, Hannah’d had no impact on Grace’s current fashion sense. If anything, Hannah’s wildness had sent Grace down her own, conservative, professional path. Hannah might have been happy wearing dirty jeans and torn T-shirts, but Grace had wanted something more substantial for herself, which was why she’d migrated toward conservative suits, the opposite of Hannah—

The thought froze in Grace’s mind. Oh God. Sarah’s right. Hannah did define me. Grace wondered what other ways her sister had influenced her life, and she was suddenly hit with the painful realization that whatever influence Hannah might have had, it was no more. She was gone, never to return. Sadness and loneliness swamped Grace with devastating suddenness, and she had to bite her lip to keep the tears from her eyes.

This was why she didn’t want to talk about Hannah. Sarah’s sisters were all still alive and well, so she couldn’t understand how grief could sneak up on you, or what it felt like to go from being the oldest sister to not even being a sister at all. It was as if a hole had been cut into every childhood memory Grace possessed.

Sarah, evidently unaware of the effects of her words, sipped her coffee. “By the way, did Linda give you the book?”

Grateful to be talking about something other than Hannah, Grace said, “What book? I don’t— Oh. Little Women. She did.” As far as Grace knew, it was still in the breadbox. “That was very thoughtful of you, and while I appreciate that you took the time to send it, I don’t have time to read it. I would have returned it already, but I keep forgetting to bring it with me.”

Sarah waved her hand. “Keep it as long as you want.”

Grace fake-smiled. “That’s okay. I read it as a child, and I’m not really interested in it now.”

“Hmm. Maybe it’s interested in you.”

Grace’s smile faded. How on earth was she supposed to respond to that? She remembered Linda’s awed expression when she’d talked about Sarah Dove and her books. This whole town is weird, and I’m not going to be a part of it. So she said shortly, “I’ll bring the book back to the library tomorrow.”

“Sure.” Sarah’s clear gaze never wavered.

Oddly self-aware under such a direct look, Grace turned the car onto Main Street. The morning sun slanted over the red brick buildings and brightened the faded awnings.

“I love mornings,” Sarah said with satisfaction. “Thank you for the ride. It was much more fun than driving by myself.”

“No problem.” Only it had been. Why had Sarah brought up Hannah? And when will it stop hurting? But it was more than that. Hannah’s death didn’t just hurt; it was beginning to make Grace angry. Hannah’d had so much to live for—her daughter, Mama G, and Grace had all loved her and would have done anything for her. With each day that passed, Grace was beginning to wonder if her sister had ever loved any of them back.

Grace pulled into the town hall lot and parked.

Sarah made no move to collect her things. “See you here this afternoon at five?”

“Why— Oh. Right. You’ll need a ride home. Doesn’t the library close early on Mondays?”

“We close at four, so five will be fine. I need to reshelve the day’s returns, and afterward, I’m going to run down to the Moonlight Café and order a take-home dinner for Trav.”

“Trav. You and he are—”

“Noooooo.” Sarah grinned. “Lord, but I’d love to see his face if he heard you say that. We’ve known each other since we were kids. I just keep an eye on him now that his father is gone.”

“Daisy is taken with him. I hope he’s someone safe for her to know.”

“He’s safe. He’s a really, really good person. Kids are drawn to him and he hates it, which makes them like him even more. I think it’s because he’s so brutally honest. Kids like that, you know.” She smiled at Grace. “Daisy seems like a great kid. You’re doing a wonderful job raising her.”

“Mama G has raised her so far. My sister wasn’t a good parent. To be honest, she wasn’t that good of a sister, either.” It felt oddly relieving to say that out loud. “Hannah left Daisy with Mama G years ago, so when Hannah died, not much changed for Daisy. But Mama G’s illness . . . that’s changing a lot of things, and it’s been hard on Daisy.”

“It sounds hard for all of you.”

“It is. I wish I knew how to make things easier for Daisy, but . . .” Grace shook her head. “Why don’t kids come with directions, like dishwashers and blenders? Life would be so much easier.”

Sarah laughed. “You’re not the only one who’s wanted that. Which is why there are a thousand books on child raising.”

“And I’ve read them all. Seriously, when I realized I’d be raising Daisy, I ordered every book on child rearing I could find. I can quote statistics and psychological theories out the wazoo, but none of that helps when you’re trying to get them to eat their brussels sprouts. To be honest, I feel like I’m guessing as I go.”

“Our parents probably felt the same. What makes it more complicated is that every child reacts to things differently. My poor mom had to figure it out seven times.”

Grace sent Sarah a curious glance. “For not having any kids yourself, you seem to understand them pretty well.”

“Not really. But the library hosts a children’s story hour, so I see most of the kids in this town every week, and you wouldn’t believe how varied their tastes are. Some of them like adventure books, some like fantasy, some only read manga—it’s crazy how many different books I have to keep on the shelves. Every kid is different.”

“Yeah, well, if you think their taste in books is varied, you should ask them what vegetables they like.”

Sarah grinned. “I’m afraid to. But hey, Daisy doesn’t look any the worse for wear, so you must be doing something right.”

“Thanks. I hope so.” In Grace’s old job, if she made a mistake, she could potentially lose millions of dollars for their investors. She’d thought that was a lot of pressure until she’d accepted the responsibility of raising a kid. Now if Grace made a mistake, she worried that she could mess up her niece’s life forever. It almost didn’t bear thinking about. Grace undid her seat belt and opened her door. “Thank you for the coffee and cake.”

“You’re welcome. Thank you for the ride.” Sarah began collecting her stuff.

Grace climbed out of the car, pausing to reclaim her satchel and purse.

Sarah hoisted the heavy tote over her shoulder. “Ugh. I’ve got to stop taking so many books home with me.”

“I should be taking home some work, too, but I’ve been trying not to.”

“Oh, these books aren’t work.” Sarah patted her bag as she made her way to the sidewalk. “They just like to visit.”

Well. That was special. And borderline crazy. “They’re your friends, the books.”

“You could say that. But they’re not friends like us.”

“We just met; I’m not sure that counts as ‘friends.’ ”

“Oh, we’re going to be friends, you and I. Good ones. The kind who go to each other’s funerals.”

Grace had to laugh. “There’s no way we could go to each other’s funerals. That’s physically impossible.”

Sarah grinned. “You don’t believe in ghosts, I take it.”

“No, I don’t. Mama G does, though. At least ghost cats. She’s been seeing our old cat who died years ago.”

“Ohhh. I think I just got a shiver.”

“Yeah, well, it’s just her imagining things, that’s all.” Grace locked the car and joined Sarah on the sidewalk. “You don’t really believe in ghosts, do you?”

“I believe in possibilities. And that’s one of them.”

Possibilities. Grace thought about this and realized she hadn’t believed in those for a long, long time. “Have you ever seen a ghost?”

“No,” Sarah admitted regretfully. “Which is too bad. They say the library is chock-full of them, but I’ve never seen one.”

“If I ever saw one, I’d run away.”

“That would make a short horror film.” Sarah’s pale eyes shimmered with humor, and she framed her hands as if setting a film shot. “First frame: you, walking down the street.”

“In heels. Horror films always show at least one person running in heels. If they’re Louboutins, I’d be willing to make that sacrifice.”

“In heels it is. Second frame: a ghost pops up.”

Grace pretended to scream, although she didn’t let any sound escape.

“Exactly, but louder. Final frame: you, running away.”

“ ‘The End.’ ” Grace started walking toward town hall, Sarah falling in beside her. “There’d be production issues, though. If I were running from a ghost, there’s no way a cameraman could keep up.”

Sarah laughed. “Did you ever notice that ghosts in movies are always angry? Either someone built a house on their grave, or their final wishes weren’t honored, or their mother made them wear weird clothing as a child— Lord, in movies ghosts are angry about all sorts of things. But it’s that anger that makes them scary. When people are angry, they’re scary, too.”

Grace couldn’t argue with that. “Maybe that’s why I’m a little cautious of our neighbor. He always looks mad.”

“Trav is a grump, but he’s really a marshmallow-inside sort of guy.”

“Why does he scowl all the time? I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile.”

Sarah’s expression sobered. “Afghanistan changed him. He was injured pretty badly and his platoon lost quite a few men. I don’t know anything more than that, because he won’t talk about it.”

Grace hadn’t made any real effort to speak to Trav. In her zeal to protect Daisy, Grace had done nothing but glare at him. I judged him on his hair and tattoos and I shouldn’t have. “I saw the scars on his neck.”

“The ones on his shoulder and back are worse.” Sarah sighed. “He doesn’t sleep well, you know. Every morning when I get up, his lights are already on, no matter how early it is. I keep an eye on him when I can, which isn’t often.” Sarah slipped Grace a side-glance. “Did you leave a lot of friends behind when you moved here?”

Grace stopped at the crosswalk that led to the library. “I worked ten- to twelve-hour days, so I didn’t have time for friends.” And I don’t have time now.

She looked down the street where the summer sun warmed the pavement, little curls of mist rising into the morning air. Pockets of mist still lingered in corners and hovered over the damp grass in the park, making the morning-bright street soft and pretty, like a painting.

It really was peaceful here in this small town. But enough was enough. Soon it would be time to return to the real world, where she could start making her mark and planning a grand future for Daisy and, while she could, Mama G. Grace offered Sarah a polite smile and stuck her hand out for a shake. “Thank you again for the coffee and cake. They were amazing.” They’d also made the day somewhat brighter. At least a little.

Sarah’s smile faded at the sight of Grace’s hand poised for a businesslike handshake, but after a slight hesitation, she accepted it. “It was my pleasure.” She flashed a smile and adjusted her tote on her shoulder. “And look! I have enough cake left for the social club meeting this afternoon.”

“They will enjoy that,” Grace said absently as she fished the keys to her office from her purse. “Well, it’s been fun. See you later this afternoon for the drive home. At five, right?”

“I’ll see you before then— Oh! Someone is waiting at the library.”

Grace followed Sarah’s gaze to the library steps. “Looks like you have an early customer.”

“That’s Lisa Renfro. She called yesterday and asked me to set aside the new Mary Alice Monroe book for her. But I need to give her a book about craft beer too.”

Grace eyed the thin, rather prim woman standing impatiently in front of the library. She wore a dull blue dress and flats, and her face was twisted as if in a perpetual frown. “She makes craft beer?”

“Oh no. Lisa’s a teetotaler. I know because she goes to my church and tells everyone that she never drinks.”

“Then why does she need a book on craft beer?”

Sarah grinned. “I have no idea. Yet. But I’ve got to let her in. See you this afternoon.” She took off across the street, calling out to Lisa as she went.

Grace shook her head. She didn’t understand Sarah Dove at all. Not even a little. When they drove home that afternoon, Grace would make it clear that, while it had been nice to share their ride, she couldn’t continue to carpool. Getting Mama G and Daisy ready in the morning before Linda came was enough of a challenge without the added pressure of knowing someone was waiting on her.

I’ll miss the coffee cake, though. Grace continued up the sidewalk to town hall, noticing that the flowers in the planter were now a lovely deep purple. That was her favorite color so far. I need to remember to ask Lenny what type of flowers those are. Grace reached down to unlock the door, but to her surprise, it was already open.

That was odd. She was always the first one to arrive in the morning. Mayor Moore rarely sailed in until after ten.

Curious, she walked into her office. The door had no sooner swung closed behind her than Mayor Moore appeared in his doorway. He was a mess, his hair standing on end as if he’d raked his hands through it a million times. His jacket was gone, and his tie hung undone and forgotten around his neck. Both his shirt and his suit pants were sadly wrinkled.

She frowned. “Did you sleep here?”

“What? I— No. I mean, I did, but only this morning. I was awake the rest of the time.”

“I never see you this early.” She put her satchel beside her desk, opened the bottom drawer, and dropped her purse in it. “Is something wrong?”

His smile, which had seemed forced, now looked both forced and frozen. “We need to talk.” He gestured toward his office door. “Come in and have a seat.”

“What’s happened?”

His frozen smile grew more strained. He managed a fake laugh to match it. “You’re direct, I’ll give you that.”

“Which you must be used to. I only met Mrs. Phelps once, but she didn’t strike me as the sort of woman to beat around the bush.”

His smile sagged, and he muttered something under his breath that sounded like “Beat around the ear, is more like,” before he said in a mournful tone, “Please come in. This is important. I know you’ve got a lot of work to do—”

“So you’ve noticed.”

“You say it a lot, so of course I’ve noticed.” He didn’t seem to realize he’d just lit her fires yet again. “Look, we’ve an emergency. A bad one.”

And of course, he would want her to fix it, whatever it was. She reluctantly followed him into his office and sat in the chair across from his desk. “What’s the emergency?”

His chair creaked as he dropped into it. “Something has happened. Something I’ve—” He raked a hand through his hair, leaving yet more of it standing on end. “I don’t even know how it started or who suggested— I guess it doesn’t matter. But I—I mean we—have to stop it, and fast.”

“Stop what?”

He put his elbows on his desk and steepled his hands, eyeing her the way one might look at a caged tiger. “I’ve been the mayor for twenty-three years now. I’ve been through five elections and won them all.”

“Congratulations.” She noted his steepled hands and supposed he’d seen that gesture in a movie, for it rang as hollow as a spoon banged against an empty bowl.

“I ran good campaigns. Put up signs, made visits, spoke to the churches, the Kiwanis, the Shriners—to just about anyone who would have me. You never stop running for office, you know. It’s a twenty-four-seven deal.” Some of his stress disappeared behind a soothing cloud of self-congratulations. “Even now, I go to the churches for their events, hand out candy at the festivals, and I always, always kiss every baby I see, although”—his smile slipped a little—“that’s not as easy as it sounds.”

Probably not. She waited, but he didn’t speak, seemingly lost in a mental list of all the babies he’d kissed and the issues that had arisen. “Mayor? You said there was an emergency. So far, I’m not hearing anything bad.”

“Oh!” He blinked. “Sorry. I was just thinking. But you’re right. The emergency. And it is one, so . . .” He wet his lips as if they were dry. “I’ve run all of those campaigns—all of them successful. Next year, I’m up for reelection.” He looked at her meaningfully. “You can see where this is headed.”

No, she couldn’t. “I’m going to need a little more information.”

“Of course. Of course.” He nodded as if he’d wisely known she would ask. “I don’t know how, but I never saw this coming, and I usually have my ear to the ground, looking for just this sort of thing.” He took a deep, troubled breath. “Over the past week, I’ve heard rumors. Vague at first, but then I saw for myself that . . . Ms. Wheeler, we have a situation. A dire situation.”

God, grant me patience! Can he talk in more circles? “What are we talking about here? Plagues? Locusts? Or have we moved straight into deaths of firstborns?”

“This is no joking matter!” he snapped, his perpetual smile seeming permanently lost. “Ms. Wheeler, we have a dire situation, one that only you can solve.”

“Me? How?”

“The social club.”

What? Suddenly, the cake and coffee from this morning took on a sinister meaning. “What about the social club?” She left so much frost hanging from each syllable that she was sure he could have chipped ice from them.

He winced and visibly shored himself up before saying quickly, as if by speaking fast, he might not upset her, “You have to reclaim the chairmanship of the social club.”

“No.”

“Yes. I don’t know what happened at that meeting, but—”

“You know exactly what happened at that meeting. I told you about it the same day, and you laughed and said, ‘Well done.’ ”

He flushed and waved a hand. “You said something, but I didn’t really understand what had happened. That you’d given the chairmanship to Zoe Bell.”

“Yes, you did. I very plainly said—”

“Then I didn’t listen!” He took a shaky breath and pressed his fingertips to his temples as if afraid his head might explode. “Look, Ms. Wheeler. I need you to go to the social club meeting and take back the chairmanship.”

“I can’t. Zoe Bell is the chairman and that’s that.”

“I know who is the chairman. That is the problem.” He raked his hand back through his hair, looking as if he were contemplating ripping out what remained of it by the roots. “Of all the people to give the chairmanship to, she is the worst.”

What was going on? Grace felt as if she and the mayor were having two different conversations, hers in English and his in Dothraki. “Zoe is the vice president of the local bank, so she has excellent contacts and must have good business sense. She seems very approachable and competent. She’s the perfect choice to—”

“I don’t want to hear another damn word about how perfect Zoe Bell is! You will go to the meeting this afternoon and take back the chairmanship!”

“I will not.”

“You will, too!” He leaned forward, his face bright red, the veins on his forehead standing out. “You will chair the committee. You will plan the Apple Festival, and better yet, you’ll pretend you enjoy it and smile so much people will think you, and everyone in this office, are huffing starter fluid!”

“And if I don’t?” she asked stiffly.

His face reddened even more. “If you don’t, I’ll have to let you go.” His voice squeaked on the last word.

She was so, so tempted to get up and leave. To just walk away from this job she didn’t want and wished she didn’t have. But life hadn’t given her a lot of choices lately, and quitting wasn’t an option.

“Ms. Wheeler, please. I don’t want to fire you. I really don’t. You’ve been an exceptional employee. Why, I’ve never seen the records in such good shape and you’ve only been here a few weeks! But . . . look, I am an elected official first and foremost.”

“So?”

“So—” He glanced at the open door, climbed to his feet, and closed the door. When he came back, he dropped into his chair like a bag of wet sand, his shoulders slumped. “If you don’t take back the chairmanship, I could lose my job.”

“How?”

“Someone will run against me in the next election. That has never happened.”

“Wait. No one has ever run against you? Not once?”

“No,” he admitted. “Well, there was talk one year that Mr. Philbin, who owned the Seed and Feed store down on SR 20, might run, but fortunately, he died before he could get enough petition signatures.”

“Fortunately?”

The mayor flushed. “You know what I mean. But now there’s talk that someone else is considering a run.”

Who could possibly be running for mayor that had anything to do with the— Oh no. “Zoe Bell.”

He nodded miserably.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“She’s going to do it.” He edged forward in his seat. “Last week, I was at the bank standing in line to make my mortgage payment and I heard her telling one of the clerks that she’d hired a company to do some market research on a special project.”

“And?”

“When she saw me, she shut up and then hurried away as if upset I’d overheard her.”

“She could have been talking about anything.”

“The next day, I saw her in the post office asking Mark Robinson how much it would cost to do a mailing. A mass mailing of all registered voters.”

“Oh.”

He nodded. “See? I saw her again in the drugstore two days after that, and she was buying clipboards and pens.”

“So?”

“She’ll need to do a petition in order to get on the ballot,” he said impatiently. “And she acted very odd when she saw me. I was still hoping that maybe I was wrong, that it was just a set of coincidences. But then, this weekend, my worst suspicions were confirmed. There is no doubt about it now.”

“What happened?”

“I saw her in Kat Carter’s yard. Kat lives across the street from me. They had two signs stuck in the yard, and they were comparing them and talking about them. The second they saw me, they grabbed them up and tried to put them in the trunk of Zoe’s car, but Kat dropped one and I got a clear look at it. It said, ‘Zoe Bell for Mayor: A Fresh Start.’ ” He shook his head as if trying to shake the vision from his eyes. “We can’t have that. The Bells are a Dove Pond institution. If anyone in the Bell family ran for mayor, even their cat, they’d win.”

“That’s an exaggeration.”

“No, it’s not. Half this town owes them money, so they’re well-funded enough to buy any election they want to. And you made things worse when you let Zoe take charge of the social club. She’ll claim that’s experience.”

“Organizing a festival and running a town—that’s not quite the same thing.”

“Voters don’t know that. It’s the perfect platform on which to kick me out of office. I have no doubt she’ll throw the best Apple Festival we’ve ever had and then walk around it, handing out flyers and kissing babies and acting as if the entire thing was her own private election party.” He cursed under his breath. “We have to get that chairmanship back.” He turned an accusing glare toward Grace. “You have to get it back.”

“How?”

“You’re going to march into the social club meeting this afternoon and reclaim the damn thing. Tell them you didn’t know what you were saying because you were sick, or hallucinating from hunger, or you’d just hit your head on a filing cabinet, or— Damn it, I don’t care what you say, just get the chairmanship back!”

“I can’t.”

“You must. This is war, Ms. Wheeler. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to let a Bell, even a pretty one, steal my job.”

“I hardly think running against you for public office in a fair election is ‘stealing.’ ”

He clasped his hands together, his anger disappearing as pure desperation appeared to set in. “Ms. Wheeler, please, please, please. Do it for me and I’ll—I’ll give you some extra days off or—or order you a brand-new desk. Maybe, if I move some things around in the budget and we don’t do Christmas decorations this year, I could give you a little raise and—”

“Whoa! No, sir. That’s out-and-out bribery and it’s illegal. Besides, I’m not going to be the cause of the town not having Christmas. That’s just wrong.”

His shoulders slumped, his watery blue eyes sadder than those of any puppy she’d ever seen. “What am I going to do?”

“Why don’t you run for office for real this time? You know, find some issues that would appeal to the voters?”

He looked at her as if she’d suggested he cut off his own head and hang it on one of his fishing hooks.

“Not your thing?” she said drily.

“It wouldn’t help. It’s like I said, the Bells have a lock on this town. There aren’t enough issues in the world to overcome that huge advantage.”

She nodded as if she agreed, although she didn’t. But to be honest, he already looked beaten. Despite herself, she felt sorry for him. As weak as he was, he was a nice person. A little selfish at times, but she’d bet he’d never said “boo” to a fly.

He needed a festival, then fine, she’d do it. But she wasn’t about to commit to accepting more work without getting something back. She thought about it for a long moment, then finally she said, “Friday afternoons off.”

Hope bloomed on his florid face. “That’s possible, I suppose.”

“And until we’re caught up, you’ll do four hours of data entry a day.”

He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Every day.”

“Now, wait a minute—”

“I’ll take back the festival committee, and you’ll catch up on the data entry each and every morning.”

“Then what will you do in the mornings?”

“My job. I have tax records to record, licenses to file, voter records to keep up to date—” She shot him an impatient look. “You know my job description.”

He was silent a moment. “I have to do all the data entry?”

“Every last keystroke.”

He sank back into his seat. “I can’t do that! I’m the mayor, not the town clerk. Data entry is your job.”

“And running an election is yours.”

“I can’t do the data entry. I’d have to be here every morning and—” He shook his head, looking like a toddler who’d been denied a lollipop. “No.”

“Fine.” She stood. “If you don’t need anything else, I’ll be getting to work. I’d offer to help with your campaign signs, but I’ll be too busy doing data entry.”

She made it all the way to the door and had her hand on the knob when he called out, “Wait!”

She turned around and crossed her arms.

“Fine, fine,” he said, looking as petulant as Daisy. “I’ll do the stupid data entry.”

“And my half day off on Friday?”

“Two hours, but just for this month.”

“Three hours every Friday until Daisy starts school.”

“Look, you’re already getting—”

“Say yes or I walk.”

He grumbled under his breath, looking furious, but after a moment, he gave a curt nod. “Fine, fine. Whatever you want. Just don’t leave Zoe in charge of the festival.”

“Done. I’m not entirely sure how I’m going to convince her to give it up—she really wanted the job. Her hand shot up the second I asked for volunteers.”

“I’m sure she about jumped out of her seat. Zoe Bell might be pretty as the day is long, but she’s hard as nails under that painted surface. She’s her father’s daughter, that one.”

Ah, but Grace was Mama G’s daughter, which was even better. “I’ll figure it out. Do you know what time the meeting starts?”

“Three.”

“Good. That’ll give me almost seven hours to prepare, won’t it?”

“There you go!” Mayor Moore thumped his desk with his fist as if stamping his approval. “You go and show them that Zoe Bell is not the only one in this town who is tough as nails. I believe in you, Grace Wheeler. This is war, and I know you won’t let me down.”

Grace thought of a thousand things she could say in response, none of them polite enough to air. “I’ll bring the data entry folders to you now.”

His smile faltered. “Can’t we start tomorrow? I was planning on fishing.”

“If you start now, you can leave at lunch and fish all afternoon.” Ignoring his pout, she returned to her desk and gathered the huge stack of folders and carried them back to his office. It took her the better part of an hour to get him started, as he knew nothing of the new computer system, but he eventually figured it out and, with much grumbling, began the tedious work.

She returned to her desk, admiring how empty it looked without the stacks of folders weighing it down. What should she do first? If she’d had the folder from the festival, she’d have started going through it and developing a thorough to-do list, but she’d given the folder to Zoe at the last meeting. Grace supposed that the least she could do was a quick run-through of the festival funding. Fortunately, the current town budget would have that information.

Where had she seen the annual budget? Ah, yes. It had been filed under STUFF. She shook her head at Mrs. Phelps’s lack of organization and reached into her satchel for the keys to the filing cabinet. As she did so, she found something bulky and heavy resting on the keys.

Frowning, she pulled it out, and was surprised to find the book Little Women, the same one she’d left in the breadbox over a week ago. How in the heck did this end up in my satchel? I didn’t— Ah. Mama G. Just yesterday Grace had found Mama G’s hairbrush stuck in a fireplace vent. She still wasn’t sure what was happening with that.

Grace found her keys and dropped the book back in her satchel, then tucked it beside her desk. She wasn’t surprised Mama G had latched onto this particular book. She was living more and more in the past, and Little Women was a reminder of their home in Whitlow.

Grace rose and unlocked the file cabinets. She found the budget and carried it back to her desk. As she sat down, it struck her that the mayor’s information about Zoe Bell’s run for office seemed rather . . . convenient. A niggling suspicion made her wonder if something was off about the entire situation. But what?

She replayed the conversation in her mind, remembering the short meeting where Zoe had jumped at the chance to be the chair. It all fit, but still . . . Her gaze absently dropped to her satchel, the book’s mustard binding in bright contrast against the dark leather.

When Grace and Hannah had first arrived at Mama G’s house, every night before bed, Mama G had read Little Women to them. Hannah, who’d never been a reader, would fall asleep after the first few pages, but Grace had been absorbed by the antics of the lively March family. The sisters were close and loving, the mother kind and caring. Even when they fought, as they sometimes did, they only came to love one another more. How Grace had wanted a family like that. Even now she could repeat long segments, especially the plays that Jo and her sisters loved to perform for their mother and—

The plays.

Grace stared at the book, her mind locked on a fascinating idea. The idea firmed up and crystallized, so clear she could almost see it.

She reached into the satchel and pulled out the book, leaving it on her lap as she stared at it. They couldn’t have, she told herself. There is no way.

But they had. She was as sure of it as if she’d witnessed it herself. “Holy machinations, Batman,” she whispered to herself. “What a pack of small-town connivers.”

She didn’t know whether she was more irritated or amused, but after a moment, she dropped the book back into her satchel.

Well, well, well. This was going to be an interesting meeting.

Shaking her head, she flipped open the budget file and grabbed a notepad so she could write down the festival information. She’d just finished listing the line items that had to do with the festival when, as a matter of habit, she absently scanned the rest of the page, adding up the sums.

She hadn’t gone far when she frowned.

That couldn’t be right.

She pushed her notepad to the side and pulled out her calculator. For the next hour and a half, she added up numbers, over and over, turning through the pages and occasionally getting up to pull other files from the cabinet and compare their numbers to those in the budget.

Finally, her desk covered with a raft of opened files and papers, she leaned back in her chair and let out her breath in a long whoosh. Surely this was wrong. It had to be.

There was only one person who would know. She stacked the papers together, slid them back into their folders, and carried them into the mayor’s office.

Ten minutes later, she returned to her desk, holding the folders close and walking slowly as if she were wading through molasses.

It was true. All of it.

She sank into her chair, put the files on her desk, and stared at them, her mind racing a hundred ways to Tuesday.

Mayor Moore was right about one thing: it was war. But it wasn’t the war he’d thought it would be. Worse, Grace was pretty sure it was one that she, and everyone in Dove Pond, would lose.