I went inside, easing the screen door shut behind me, the warm kitchen making me feel silly for my earlier apprehension. Don’t be a drama queen, Riley.
Caroline sat at the old round oak table, a pot of tea in front of her. It was one of Buzzy’s favorites, a Brown Betty I’d sent her from England three Christmases ago. Tupperware containers and foil-wrapped dishes lined the kitchen counter behind her. There were several pies—everyone in Penniman knew Mike loved pie. The scent of flowers wafted from the dining room, where sympathy arrangements crowded every surface.
“So much food. People have been bringing dishes like crazy.” Caroline’s voice was dull. She hadn’t noticed that her scarf had fallen from her shoulders to the floor. I put it on the back of her chair and then hunted through the fridge and filled two plates, putting scoops of her favorite fruit salad on hers. I set the plates down and poured myself a cup of tea.
“Where are Mike and Angelica?”
Caroline shrugged. “In the Love Nest.” There was a one-bedroom cottage a quarter mile north of the farmhouse, built for a combative mother-in-law generations ago, which Buzzy occasionally rented out.
“Thank goodness for the Graver Girls.” We clinked our teacups.
“Riley, I’m so glad you’re here.” Tears brimmed and Caroline swiped them with the back of her hand. “Of course, I’m a mess, Mom’s gone. But she was eighty and she was content. She said she was going home and that Charles would be waiting for her.” Neither of us had known Charles. He’d died years before Buzzy adopted Mike and Caroline.
“It’s just…” Caroline’s voice drifted as she smoothed her skirt, a familiar self-calming motion. “What do I do now? With the shop and the farm?”
“Do you have to do anything?” I said. “Maybe get through the summer and then decide?”
“Mom worked so hard for Udderly.” Caroline used our familiar name for the shop. “It’s a Penniman institution. I want to keep it open. But I have to go back to work at the auction house and none of the staff here wants to be a full-time manager and—”
A soft knocking at the door made us turn.
Pru Brightwood stepped inside, her wavy silver-gray hair woven into one thick braid. Her husband Darwin followed, hands in his pockets. Last I’d seen him his hair was salt and pepper; now his hair was snow white and so was his beard, but he still wore his jeans held up with bright red suspenders. Behind them came their seventeen-year-old daughter, Willow, with honey blond hair and sea green eyes so beautiful I marveled every time I saw her. Prudence was a midwife who’d thought she’d never get pregnant herself—until she turned forty and Willow made her surprise appearance.
For more than twenty years, Prudence and Darwin Brightwood had run the farm for Buzzy, growing organic vegetables, fruit, and specialty herbs, in exchange for free rent on the property. Darwin partnered with a group that brought in volunteers who worked on organic farms in exchange for experience and room and board. These visiting interns, some from overseas, had delighted Buzzy.
“We hardly got any time with you at the service and reception today,” Willow said, throwing her arms around me, then Caroline.
Everyone gathered at the table. I set a platter of sandwiches in the center, then passed everyone a plate.
Willow took a sandwich and passed the platter to her father. “Riley, I can’t wait for your next blog. Will you post more about Italy? I want details.”
“You’ve got a fan,” Darwin said.
“I haven’t had a chance to write.” I didn’t want to get too specific. Italy had been complicated. “I’ve been on a leave of absence from my librarian job, so I hope I can do more traveling.” I crossed my fingers at this white lie. I was on leave and did hope to travel more, but it hadn’t been my idea.
“That sounds more exciting than being a librarian,” Willow said. “Even a CIA librarian.”
I laughed. Little did anyone know that for the past few years, in addition to my job at the CIA library, I’d had a few undercover assignments. My librarian job as well as my blogging were great cover.
Willow squeezed my arm, her eyes sparkling. “Riley, are you staying here for a while? You have to see the baby goats I’m raising.”
“I’d love to!”
“And are you going to help in the shop?” she continued.
“Of course.”
Pru said, “Willow and I can help in the ice cream shop tomorrow. I’m between babies.”
I gave her a quick smile. “Thanks.”
A plump, impossibly fluffy white Persian halted at the entrance to the kitchen, her copper eyes surveying the scene.
Willow swooped her up. “There you are, Sprinkles!”
Sprinkles had been a star on the cat-show circuit, granted, a difficult star, a feline Gloria Swanson in Sunset Boulevard. Her owner, Buzzy’s dear friend, had passed away and left Sprinkles in Buzzy’s hands. She loved Sprinkles, even though she’d been more accustomed to freewheeling barn cats, not aging stars like Princess Hortense Ophelia Tater Tot, Sprinkles’ official name.
A flash of annoyance ruffled Sprinkles’ broad face as Willow picked her up. Willow had spoiled her entrance. Sprinkles liked nothing better than to be admired—from a distance. I knew well enough to let Sprinkles come to me. She’d scratched me more than once, but she allowed Willow to pick her up without incident.
“Hey, the gang’s all here,” Mike said as he and Angelica entered the kitchen. Everyone greeted them as Mike took off his warm-up jacket and set it on the back of Caroline’s chair, then gave her shoulder a squeeze. Caroline stiffened, but smiled a greeting to Angelica.
Sprinkles squirmed from Willow’s arms and disappeared under the table, looping once around my ankles, then sashayed down the hallway with one sweep of her lush tail.
Mike and Angelica had both changed into something more comfortable. Mike wore gray sweats embroidered with Mystic Spa, a pricey resort near the shore. Angelica wore blue yoga pants and a matching fitted jacket that accentuated her height and toned physique.
“You’re Angelica Miguel!” Willow exclaimed.
“Guilty.” Angelica shook Willow’s hand, then accepted a cup of tea from Pru. Mike unwrapped one of the pies and cut a slice. “Blueberry! Any takers?” He wolfed the slice down as he leaned against the sink.
“It’s good to see you, Mike,” Pru said. “Where are you living now?”
“Greenwich,” Mike said. “Brand new condo with a water view.”
Willow and Angelica chatted about tennis, but after a few minutes the conversation dragged. Caroline picked at her food and kept her head turned away from her brother.
Pru shared a look with Darwin, then squeezed Caroline’s hand. “We’ll let you get some rest.”
“Thank you for the snack.” Darwin brushed crumbs from his hands and stood. “Well, you know I’m up way past my bedtime.”
Mike set his plate in the sink. “Can I talk to you for a second, Darwin?” Mike gestured down the hall to a small parlor.
“Sure.” Darwin pushed in his chair and joined Mike.
That was odd. What did Mike have to say in private?
Caroline lowered her eyes.
Pru cleared her throat. “You’re up at the Love Nest, Angelica?”
“Is that what you call the guest cottage?” A light blush colored Angelica’s cheeks. “Mike didn’t tell me that. I guess I’ll head back up there for the evening. It was nice meeting you all.” She stepped out the kitchen door to a chorus of crickets.
Pru and Caroline talked while Willow and I gathered the dishes. I rinsed plates, wondering what Mike had to say to Darwin that had to be said in private. Was he telling Darwin to take care of his sister before taking off with his celebrity girlfriend?
Over the water and clink of silverware I heard the men’s voices, not their words but their tone: Mike’s low baritone, Darwin’s tenor rising at one point. I turned off the water as I cursed the solid wood walls. I still couldn’t make out what they were saying.
Darwin came back into the kitchen, hands in his pockets, his back stiff. “You take care now, Caroline. We’re here if you need us. Always good to see you, Riley.” A rasp of repressed emotion in his voice made my heart drop. Whatever Mike said had blindsided Darwin. One of Buzzy’s old Yankee sayings ran through my mind: Beware the anger of a quiet man.
“See you tomorrow,” I said. Wouldn’t I? What happened?
Money. Had to be. It was always money with Mike.
Oblivious, Willow threw her arms around me. “Eleven o’clock at the shop, right?”
I returned the hug. “Come at ten thirty.”
She laughed and saluted. “Yes, ma’am.”
Pru wrapped her arms around me. “I’m glad you’re here.” Her words were freighted with extra meaning and I felt the tension in the room build as the Brightwoods stepped into the night.
As the screen door closed softly, I turned to Caroline and Mike. “Okay, what’s going on?”
Mike went to the inner door and closed it, cutting off the chorus of crickets. He straddled a chair at the table and tented his fingers, a gesture he’d picked up after watching the Godfather movies.
“You can say anything in front of Riley,” Caroline said. “You know I’ll tell her everything anyway.”
Mike turned to me. “Maybe you can talk some sense into her.”
Caroline lifted her chin. “Mike wants to sell the farm and the ice cream shop.”