Tierney stepped off the bus and retrieved her large backpack from its belly. Hoisting it, she looked around, pleased with the lovely scenery and picturesque main street. East Quay had looked awesome on the map on her cellphone, and so far, it didn’t disappoint.
Gazing around, Tierney found a message board with tourist information and began walking over to it. The trees on either side of Main Street were almost in bloom. Small green leaves flickered in the faint breeze, bathing the street in a green light.
Tierney ran her fingertip against the first notes, humming. Clearly the inhabitants of East Quay posted everything from missing pets and garage sales to temp jobs on this message board, much like people did in similar towns all over the US. Aware she had only eighty-some dollars left in her wallet, she had to find something fast. She didn’t need money for accommodations, as she had her lightweight tent and her brilliant find in a thrift store in Stowe, Vermont—a high-end sleeping bag. It would keep her warm even if the temperature dropped below zero. Granted, she hadn’t tested it in such extreme weather, but the review in a hiking magazine she had read at a library claimed that was true. It was still only September, and a persistent Indian summer had made it a moot point so far.
Pulling off a few tabs asking for someone to walk dogs and trim hedges, as well as one wanting someone to paint a garden shed, Tierney couldn’t help but overhear two women talking. The one to the left—curvy, middle-aged, and with jet-black hair—shook her head.
“I was walking Timo along past her place last week. Speaking of Timo, I’m still trying to find a decent dog walker.” The dark-haired woman shrugged. “Like that’s going to happen in this town. Anyway, I saw her standing there, just outside the door, tearing up a note. I swear she was trembling.”
“Really,” replied the other woman, a brunette in her thirties. “Well, can you blame her? She hasn’t left that place by herself in ages. Losing Frances must be a blow. Should we offer to grocery-shop for her?”
The first woman raised her head as if warding off such an idea. “I wouldn’t stick my head into her garden, let alone her house. She doesn’t know how to accept true human kindness. Remember how she tore poor old Mrs. Craig to pieces for suggesting she needed a gardener and perhaps some of those happy pills?” Shrugging, the woman snickered, a thoroughly unpleasant sound. “I mean, the nerve. She may be pseudo-famous, but that doesn’t give her the right.”
“Excuse me?” Tierney interrupted the two women before they ripped the woman they were talking about to pieces. “Did you say you need a dog walker?”
“Yes?” Looking suspiciously at Tierney, the dark-haired woman placed a hand on her hip. “And who might you be? I’ve never seen you around East Quay.”
“My name is Tierney Edwards, and I just arrived in town.” She put on her best winning smile that usually did the trick. The women before her appeared to relax marginally. Good. Time to reel them in with a well-thought-out lie. “I’m checking out colleges and have to do it on my own, since my parents can’t afford to take time off from work to drive me.” Donning a pensive look that she had rehearsed in the bathroom mirror many times, she allowed her voice to mimic her expression. “I just didn’t realize how expensive even backpacking is. Got to earn some cash whenever I can. I’m very reliable.” Tierney knew she looked several years younger than her twenty-seven. Adding how innocent she could appear if need be, she usually could fool people. Her old social worker at the CPS had often stated that Tierney could manipulate anyone to give her the key to their safe after knowing her only fifteen minutes.
“I’m Leanne Walters,” the dark-haired woman said, looking quite taken in by Tierney’s story. “You poor girl. Kudos for still trying for an education. If I can help with that by letting you walk Timo, that would be a win-win situation, wouldn’t it?”
“It sure would!” Tierney didn’t have to fake the relief streaming through her. She had a foot in the door now. “If you know of anyone else needing help around the house or other chores, could you please let me know?”
Leanne exchanged furtive glances with her friend. “What do you say, Daphne? This could be a way to help Ms. Bonnaire without her knowing we’re behind it.” If she hadn’t looked entirely gleeful, and if Tierney hadn’t listened in on the tacky conversation from before, she would have assumed the two women were really looking out for a friend.
“You know of someone?” Tierney blinked, making sure she appeared unassuming.
“Yes. We do, actually. A woman living on the outskirts of East Quay, in the countryside. She just lost her housekeeper/gardener and might be looking for a replacement.” Daphne nodded, as if to emphasize how important this information was.
“Surely I’d need references to land that type of job?” Tierney thought the two women might be naive to think they could spring her on someone who appeared unlikely to accept a new employee.
“I know!” Leanne clapped her hands, making Tierney suck her lower lip in between her teeth and bite down in order not to let loose the loud guffaw that was threatening to spoil everything. “Why don’t you just say that Frances recommends you? Before Ms. Bonnaire has time to check your credentials with Frances, who’s on her way to Europe as far as I know, you will have made yourself indispensable.”
Tierney wondered if Ms. Bonnaire had any serious problems, since these women were jumping through hoops to get her a new housekeeper. Hoisting her backpack, Tierney tried to rid herself of the fatigue she’d struggled with the last few weeks. Hardly eating anything would do that to you.
“Ms. Bonnaire is very withdrawn and rarely ventures out of her house, let alone her property. She has an amazing park-like garden.” Leanne, the more soft-spoken of the two women, pulled out a small notepad and a pen from her purse. “Now, here’s my phone number and address, and, oh, let me write down Giselle Bonnaire’s. If you can walk Timo for an hour Mondays and Thursdays? My daughter takes him the other days during the week.”
“Sure. I charge fifteen dollars an hour, no matter what service I provide. As for dogs, I don’t have any formal training, but they are my favorite people.” Tierney blasted off another broad, toothy smile. “Especially big dogs. What kind of dog is Timo, by the way?”
“An American cocker spaniel,” Leanne said, and her features softened. “He’s quite headstrong but walks well on a leash.”
Thank God. “Sounds great. Today’s Tuesday. I’ll call you Wednesday evening to set up a time for the first walk.”
“I hope you realize I will have my husband run your name for any potential priors. He’s the chief of police in East Quay.” Leanne looked apologetic. “I just can’t take any risks with my baby.”
Tierney knew there was nothing to find—at least not in this state. Her only run-ins with the police had taken place in Chicago more than ten years ago and were in sealed juvenile records. “Absolutely.” She nodded eagerly. “I totally understand.”
“If you prove trustworthy with Leanne’s dog, I might need you to babysit my two-year-old in a few weeks.” Daphne didn’t offer Tierney a business card but merely looked at her as if she might turn into a tentacle-swinging alien at any given time. Odd that neither of them thought twice about giving her this Bonnaire woman’s name and address. Was she really that good at putting on her best face, or were these small-town women that gullible? Or, worse, did they enjoy making trouble for Giselle Bonnaire—and if that was the case, why?
Either way, Tierney couldn’t afford to let the opportunity of a steady income pass her by, and she was harmless, even if Daphne and Leanne couldn’t possibly know that fact.
“Thanks.” Tierney always carried handwritten notes with her cellphone number in the breast pocket of her army-surplus jacket, and now she handed one to each woman. “Just call me if you need something done.”
“Thank you, dear.” Leanne tucked the note into her purse. “Talk to you Wednesday, then.”
Tierney nodded and fastened the buckle of her backpack. A quick map search on her phone showed the location of Giselle Bonnaire’s home and gave the walking distance as one hour and ten minutes. At one time that would have seemed very far, but these days it was nothing. Placing the earbuds to her phone in her ears, Tierney pulled up her favorite playlist. She’d illegally downloaded the music off the internet at a library in Detroit, and now she referred to this playlist as her marching music. With the upbeat songs in her ear, she could appreciate walking for more than an hour.
As she strode along the picturesque streets of East Quay, the beat of the music urging her forward, she was already imagining scenarios that might unfold at Bonnaire’s house. She had to pick her best approach, and if successful, she might have weeks of a real salary, perhaps even somewhere to stay. Giving herself pep talks was another of her habits.
But though Tierney was a major fan of the art of visualization, she wasn’t prepared for someone like Giselle Bonnaire.