Caroline returned to the shop and I dashed up the hill to the farmhouse, composing my face, willing myself to show Willow none of the tangled emotions Darwin’s words had evoked. I found her sitting cross-legged on the kitchen floor, dangling a toy mouse for Rocky to stalk. Sprinkles sprawled on a plush sheepskin-covered cat bed, watching.
Rocky pounced on the toy, but his little paws slipped on the linoleum floor and he tumbled. He righted himself and went right back at the toy.
“The mighty hunter.” I said.
“I love this little guy. I’m sorry I have to go.” With a sigh, Willow set down the toy, sprang to her feet, and gathered her things.
“Thank you so much for watching them, Willow.”
“I’ll cat sit any time.” Willow headed to the door but stopped with her hand on the knob. “Though Sprinkles is getting weird. She keeps meowing at the toilet. See you tomorrow!” She waved and dashed down the stairs.
My smile faded as I imagined Willow’s distress when she found out her dad had been questioned by the police. Poor kid.
The thought of Darwin in jail, what it would do to Willow and Pru, was too much to contemplate.
I dug into one of the boxes of my old stuff and found a plain white T-shirt and a pale green cotton cardigan. Blues and greens were good colors for me—they worked with my black hair and green eyes. This was lucky because I’d gone through an Irish phase when I was in high school and had a lot of green sweaters.
I dug up a pair of travel pants that were still presentable, barely, and brushed my hair.
In the mudroom, I found a litter box set up for Rocky. I corralled him in with it and closed the door. “Sorry little guy. It’s just until Caroline gets home.”
As I drove Town Road to the hospital, I considered Darwin and Angelica as suspects. I shook my head and set aside Darwin, mostly because it hurt too much to think of him in jail.
One detail kept tugging at my mind. The crumpled note I’d found in the kitchen, the one talking about the “usual place.” Angelica’d seen Mike flirting with Emily at the funeral. Emily had passed her business card to Mike—could she have also slipped him that note? The note had been crumpled, but it looked like it had been folded. I shook my head. The paper was eight and a half by eleven—so big I would’ve noticed Emily slip it to Mike. Still, she could’ve left it in the Love Nest some time while we were working in the shop, or when Angelica and Mike had come to the farmhouse.
Maybe finding that note had set Angelica off. Her deep red lipstick certainly hinted at passion. I didn’t follow tennis, but you had to be driven to compete at the professional level. She was a woman who’d take matters into her own hands and was certainly strong enough to wield that pitchfork.
The scenario made sense. Why didn’t I want to believe it?
When I asked to see Angelica at the hospital welcome desk, the receptionist and her coworker exchanged glances.
“I’m the one who found her,” I said, hoping that would carry some weight. “Riley Rhodes.”
She scanned a list. “I don’t see that name here. We’ve had a lot of people claiming to be the person who found her. Some newscasters tried it ten minutes ago. Sorry, no visitors.”
Drat. I got in my Mustang and revved its engine. How could I get in to see Angelica? Paulette materialized. She’d been a nurse. Maybe she had connections with her nurse friends that could get me in.
My stomach growled. I needed some vegetables to counteract all the ice cream I’d been eating. I pulled into the parking lot of a small vegetarian bistro near the hospital where I made myself eat a salad then I headed to the green and the Preserve Penniman meeting.
How unusual this little town was, how different from the cities I’d lived in. How many places had a town green? Some kids and a golden retriever chased a soccer ball on the lush grass as their parents watched from a bench near the memorial to Penniman’s war dead.
Across the green, chattering shoppers crowded through the door of The Penniless Reader. My heart glowed. How many happy hours I’d spent there. I longed to join them, chat with Dad, and pick up a used Vicky Bliss paperback for a dollar.
I found a parking space in the lot behind the Town Hall next to the modern wing that housed the community center. Through the windows I saw people gathering in a conference room, a whiteboard at the ready. A woman in a pink dress with a cascade of blond hair brushed it off her face with a swing that tilted her whole upper body. Emily Weinberg. She was chatting with Kyle Aldridge.
My footsteps slowed as I considered their presence at the meeting. Across the green I could see Kyle’s law office right next door to Emily’s real estate firm. They were next-door neighbors. How cozy.
A black Lincoln Continental squealed into the parking lot. Gerri waved, peering at me over huge, round, white Jackie-O sunglasses.
She angled the Lincoln into a space, then got out and flung her peacock blue scarf over her shoulders. Gerri wore her hair in a dyed-black bouffant, highlighted by jeweled pins. Her clothes were always jewel tones, dramatic and deep like her voice.
“Hi…” Though she worked at the shop, I still didn’t feel comfortable calling her by her first name.
“Hello, Riley,” Gerri said. “I’m glad you’re here. I’d originally planned to attend this meeting with Buzzy. Where’s Caroline?”
“She’s working.” I didn’t mention that she was still fragile and that I hoped she’d soon be home cuddling with the cats.
Gerri made a noncommittal sound as she popped her sunglasses into her purse. Her deep set black eyes made me think of crows, and I remembered that they’re considered the most intelligent of birds. She walked with a cane topped with a silver eagle head. Despite the cane and her broad-shouldered build, Gerri moved quickly.
I opened the door for her.
“Thank you, dear. Let’s move so we can get a seat.” We followed the sound of conversation to a door at the far end of the hallway. A sign next to it read “Quarterly Planning Commission—Public Comments.”
A podium was set up at the front of the room and most of the forty or so seats were full. As we entered, Gerri acknowledged murmured greetings with a regal tilt of her head.
Emily and Kyle spoke together at the front of the room and when she saw me, Emily’s eyebrows popped up. Gerri and I took seats in the last row. There was only one empty seat left, directly in front of Gerri.
When my bottom hit the metal folding chair, uncomfortable and hard as it was, I felt myself relax. I hadn’t realized how tired I was. I wasn’t the only one. The man in front of me started to breathe deeply, his breath droning into a snore.
Gerri jabbed his shoulder with her cane and the man jerked upright.
Not wanting to suffer the same fate, I straightened my back. A woman handed out small paper cups of coffee and I took one with a grateful smile. Gerri waved it off and made notes with a fountain pen in a leather journal.
The head of the Planning Commission announced that much of the information to be discussed tonight was also available on the town website. I resolved to read it when I was more awake and allowed my attention to shift to the crowd. It was evenly divided between locals on the side of keeping things the way they were, some wearing Preserve Penniman pins, and on the other side many in expensive business attire—those in favor of the development.
“Time for public comment,” the head of planning said. “Mrs. Hunt, I believe you signed up to speak first.”
Gerri didn’t go to the podium. She stood and waited for the room to quiet. People had to turn to see her, and I wondered if this was some public-speaking trick to keep the audience on its toes.
“Thank you.” Deep rolling vowels reminded everyone that she’d taught the elocution portion of the high school public-speaking class. “Let us be mindful of the myriad reasons we love Penniman. Why you developers want to build here. I will not stand by as the land I love is defiled! It’s desirable exactly for the things that will be destroyed under the treads of the rapacious bulldozer of greed.”
There was passionate applause from our side of the room as she resumed her seat. A voice called, “You tell ’em, Gerri.”
The head of planning turned to Emily. “You’re next, Ms. Weinberg.”
“Thank you.” Emily gave him a smile. “I represent Penniman Properties and the Preserve at Fairweather Farms.”
“What a pretentious name for a development.” Gerri sniffed.
“Preservation is right there in the name.” Emily clicked a button on a laptop and a map of Penniman appeared on the board behind her. “Development and history can coexist in harmony. Careful, thoughtful, respectful development can meld the needs of the present with the desire to preserve the past.”
The snorer nodded. Gerri jabbed his shoulder.
“Kyle will tell you more,” Emily said, stepping to the side.
Kyle rose, buttoning his jacket as he did. “Preservation,” he said. “That’s why our plan is so perfect.”
Our plan. I knew it.
Kyle continued. “You don’t want some developer rolling in here, one who doesn’t have skin in the game, who doesn’t have history here. My family’s been here for over one hundred years. As some of you know, I was working on this with Mike Spooner.” He pressed a button on the computer and the image onscreen changed to a map of Fairweather Farm.
Fury built in me. Mike had suggested that Buzzy use Kyle for her lawyer. Talk about a conflict of interest.
At Mike’s name, sympathetic murmurs filled the room. “Mike was all for it,” Kyle said. “The plan preserves so much of what we love of Penniman. Even Mike’s mom was in favor of the plan—”
Gerri whacked her stick on the back of the empty metal chair, just missing the man in front of us, and the sound rang like a bell. She used the cane to lever herself to her feet. “Balderdash! How dare you put words in Buzzy’s mouth! She was not in favor of this plan. I won’t stand for this benighted dog-and-pony show.” She whipped her scarf over her shoulder, whispered “excuse me, dear” to me, and marched out of the room.
I watched her go, my mouth open. A man in the back clapped with a slow, sarcastic motion. I narrowed my eyes at him. He wouldn’t have dared do that with Gerri in the room.
“Well, now that we’re all awake,” Kyle said. “We know how dramatic Mrs. Hunt gets.” Kyle chuckled and there was some nervous laughter, but it died quickly.
There were a few other speakers, but I hardly registered what they said. I was too busy thinking how angry and hurt Caroline would be when she found out Mike and his best friend not only planned to move ahead with the Preserve at Fairweather Farms, but that Kyle was telling everyone Buzzy had been in favor of it. Before I knew it, the head of planning adjourned the meeting and I headed for the door.
Emily ran after me. “Riley, can I talk to you for a minute?”
Impatience rose in me, and wariness. I didn’t trust this woman. At first I’d thought she was just one of Mike’s old girlfriends carrying a torch, but now that I knew she was working on the real estate deal? This was no flighty flirt. Mike was gone, but the deal was still in play. That’s why she’d come to the house and had the nerve to give Caroline her card in that bouquet of sympathy flowers.
“How’s Caroline?” Emily said in a soft, warm tone.
I kept walking.
Seeing that approach wouldn’t work, she raised her hands and jogged after me. “Listen, I’m so sorry about Mike. Turned out that his firm was working with mine here on the development. I didn’t find out until after, you know. Do you think Caroline would mind if I came over to talk to her?”
“She has your card,” I called over my shoulder. “She’ll call you if she’s interested.” Which will never happen.
I pushed through the crowd leaving the building and got in the Mustang. What a mess. So many lies. I took a deep calming breath and turned the key. I’d go visit Dad. He always put me in a better mood.
The engine purred to life and once more I realized that I really had to return this expensive rental. If only I didn’t love driving it so much. I’d have to ask Caroline if the police had given her the okay to get Buzzy’s car out of the barn.
I drove around the green and swung into a space in front of The Penniless Reader.
As I stepped into the welcoming atmosphere of the familiar shop, I felt my tension ebb. The sweet mustiness of old books mingled with the aroma of coffee. Two readers enjoyed cups of the rich brew Dad preferred in overstuffed chairs next to the fireplace where a fire crackled all winter. Now the fireplace was filled with a dried arrangement of golden sunflowers and purple coneflowers. The shop felt like home. I even laughed for the thousandth time at the sign my dad had hung over an old wall phone mounted by the coffee maker: Call Your Mother.
“Come to do some shelving, Riley?” Dad joked but his eyes were full of concern. “What’s happening at the farm? How’s Caroline?”
I filled him in. When I mentioned Darwin being questioned by police, his eyebrows shot up over the slightly bent metal frames of his glasses. “I know Jack Voelker’s a by-the-book guy, but Darwin Brightwood’s as guilty as I am.” He shook his head. “Everyone’s talking about Angelica Miguel—”
“That she’s guilty as sin.” Paulette bustled over and set a stack of cookbooks on the counter.
“Hi, Paulette,” I said. “Actually, I’m going to the hospital to see her.”
Paulette read me right away and pursed her lips. “Well, if she wants to see you, your name will be on a list of approved visitors at the front desk.” Her expression said, That will never happen.
I took a deep breath. One favor would be all I’d get tonight. I smiled at Dad then turned the smile to Paulette. “I was wondering, Paulette, if you had time, if you’d like to come over to the shop for a few hours and help make ice cream. You’re such a good cook.” Flattery never hurt.
Dad could read me too. “Should be quiet here Thursday evening. I bet you’d have a lot of fun making ice cream.”
Paulette beamed at Dad. “Of course. I’ll come by Thursday. Six o’clock, though usually at that time I’m fixing Nate his gourmet meal, but it’s for a good cause.” She patted Dad’s arm. “You’ll have to settle for leftovers, honey.”
Chalk one up for love. “Perfect. Thanks!”