Giselle closed the lid over the keys of her Steinberg grand piano. She loved the instrument her father had given her when she graduated from Juilliard. Nowadays she could barely remember when she had lived in an apartment with three other students. Granted, the apartment had been located close to the school, so she didn’t have to suffer the crowd in the subway, but living there and being out on her own had given her a certain freedom.
She stood and walked into her bright white-and-yellow kitchen. Her former housekeeper, Frances, had claimed it was one of the most nauseatingly cheery kitchens she’d ever seen. Giselle missed Frances and her matter-of-fact humor. The utterly maternal way Frances acted toward her had somehow worked for Giselle in a manner she never would have expected. Frances was extremely loyal and equally protective of her. Now on her way to stay with her recently widowed sister in London, Frances might be gone a long time. Perhaps she would even decide to stay in Europe.
Pushing such depressing thoughts away, Giselle ran the water, filled the electric kettle, and started it. She was a coffee person, but the caffeine might trigger an anxiety attack that she normally could avoid. She indulged in one small cup in the morning, usually, but any more than that later in the day set her up for failure.
Something curled around her legs, and she looked down at the duo sitting there. Her dog, a black retriever mix named Charley, and her red-and-white cat, Mister, looked up at her with equally pleading eyes.
“You’re joking. You two work in pairs now?”
Charley gave a sound that sounded almost like a purr, while Mister managed to produce what could only be described as a growl.
“Seriously?” Giselle opened a container where a divider kept the dog and cat snacks separate. With both of her furry friends sitting at attention, she gave them a piece each, which disappeared in half a second. “Good Lord. You’re voracious creatures. Eating me out of house and home.” The last sentence reminded her that it was time to buy new pet food.
Normally Frances would take care of that task while grocery shopping, but now Giselle had to figure out how to do it. Perhaps she could call the pet store and find out if they delivered? Eventually she would need groceries as well, and she was pretty sure the local whole-food store didn’t do that.
Groaning, she poured herself a tall glass of strawberry iced tea. She truly hated to be so dependent on her housekeeper, but she couldn’t figure out how to fix her dilemma. The mere idea of getting into the car and driving to the center of East Quay, or worse, the mall just south of town, made her nauseous. When she needed a break from her work, she sometimes took the car and drove into the countryside, stopping at favorite places but never leaving the vehicle. Sometimes other cars would be parked at the beautiful sites, and then she would return home, angry at herself and dismayed at the disappointment coursing through her. Why couldn’t she function like everybody else?
Sighing, she picked up her cup of Earl Grey, walked out onto the front steps, and sat down. She blew on the hot beverage she was cupping and then carefully sipped it. Her garden was looking nice, and she loved spending time reading in her hammock when she wasn’t working in her music study. She felt safe venturing only as far as her white picket fence, afraid another attack would hit.
Once, Frances had persuaded her to ride along with her to an outdoor coffee place. It was uncrowded and provided plenty of space between tables. The outing went quite well to begin with, until a busload of senior citizens flooded the shop and loud chatter filled the entire place. Frances had taken one look at Giselle, no doubt spotting the complete panic written across her face, and dragged her off to the car like a rag doll.
After that, Giselle had flat-out refused to go anywhere where people might gather, whether it was one person or a hundred. Nothing Frances could say would make her risk having the panic that felt like death claim her. No matter what anyone said, Giselle was sure it was entirely possible to die from such fear.
Something moved to the left, behind her fence. A person was walking along the gravel road leading from the main road to her property. As the figure neared, Giselle saw it was a young woman dressed in khaki pants and what looked like an army-surplus jacket, carrying a large backpack and a messenger bag. She stopped at Giselle’s gate, pulled off the backpack, and placed it on the ground. Spotting Giselle, she waved and smiled broadly.
“Good afternoon, ma’am. My name is Tierney Edwards. I’m looking for Giselle Bonnaire,” she called out.
Giselle gripped her mug harder. “Why?”
“I’m here to inquire about a job.” The woman, Tierney, didn’t attempt to open the gate, which helped Giselle relax, if only marginally.
“Nobody is hiring here. I’m sorry.” Giselle stood on shaky legs but remained on the steps, curious about Tierney. “Who sent you?”
Tierney looked hesitant. “I heard from an acquaintance of yours in East Quay that your housekeeper had to leave.” Tierney then told Giselle a story about visiting colleges and needing to earn some extra cash. “Are you Ms. Bonnaire?” Tierney placed her hands on the gate but kept her distance.
“I am. And as I said, I don’t need to hire anyone.”
“That lawn and those flowerbeds beg to differ. I’m good with my hands. Gardens and pets are my specialty, but I can take care of a house too, if need be.”
As if on cue, Mister and Charley came from the back of the house, no doubt after hearing a strange voice. Charley rushed over to the gate and rose on her hind legs to greet the newcomer with a wagging tail.
“Traitor,” Giselle muttered. Mister stayed by Giselle’s side, looking regal where he sat, regarding the fool of a dog with whom he only deigned to cooperate when something was in it for him. Like treats.
“Hi, girl. What’s your name?” Tierney scratched Charley’s head and under her chin. “Oh, here’s a tag. Ah. Charley. That your name, pretty girl? Charley?”
Charley now wagged her tail as if it was attached by a hinge to her body and gave a muted woof as if to confirm her name.
“Such a pretty girl.” Tierney massaged Charley’s ears with both hands. “Good girl.”
“Charley, come here.” Annoyed, Giselle called her dog over, which under the best circumstances worked fifty percent of the time. This wasn’t one of the better attempts. Charley turned her head over her shoulder and glanced at her, grinned with her tongue lolling out between her teeth, and then returned her attention to her new friend.
“No.” Tierney took a step back. “Return to your mom. Go back.”
Charley’s tail dropped so fast, Giselle felt the corners of her mouth threaten to turn up. Charley tried her charm by barking and wagging her tail again, but Tierney pointed at Giselle and said, “Go back to your mom” as she took another step back. Charley sat down and looked between the two women, clearly confused now. “Call her again,” Tierney said.
Giselle wanted most of all to go back into the house and leave her dog to socialize in her absence, but as that seemed beyond childish, she raised her voice. “Charley. Come here!” She added more of the same stern tone that Tierney had used, and to her amazement, Charley slowly turned around and walked back to her as if she expected to be scolded.
“Now tell her to sit and then praise her. Maybe give her a treat if you have one. Or a toy.” Tierney remained a few steps from the gate.
Now Giselle was reluctantly interested. “Charley. Sit.” She snapped her fingers as she spoke the last word, which usually worked. Charley sat down with a thud, wagging her tail again.
“Good girl.” Having spotted Charley’s favorite ball within reach, Giselle took it and gave it to the easily forgiving dog. “That’s a good girl.”
Charley bounced around with her ball near the flowerbeds, while Giselle got on her feet and slowly approached the gate. “You do know your way around dogs.” She stopped two yards away from it. “A Jack-of-all-trades?”
“Pretty much.” Tierney remained where she was. “You sure you don’t need some help with that rascal as well as the garden? I charge fifteen dollars an hour. If you offer room and board, then I charge half.”
Giselle gaped. She hadn’t offered this woman anything! “Who referred you to me?”
“Actually, two rather chatty women in town set me up. One of them hired me to walk a dog, and the other one mentioned something about babysitting a kid once her friend’s chief-of-police husband checks my nonexistent priors.” Tierney looked unwaveringly into Giselle’s eyes. “They told me you’d lost your housekeeper and said you’d give me a job if I said Frances sent me. I’d never dream of telling such a blatant lie.”
“Dear God.” Giselle had to put her mug down or she might shatter it. She was furious at the women Tierney was talking about. They were clearly up to their old tricks, sticking their noses where they didn’t belong. “I’m sorry you walked all the way here for nothing.”
Of course, Charley had to return for a repeat performance. She sat down between them, looking happily from Giselle to Tierney and back again. She barked and then tossed herself onto her back and waved all four paws in the air.
“Retrievers. They’re such clowns, it’s unbelievable.” Tierney laughed.
It was such contagious laughter, a sound like nothing Giselle had ever heard before…and something she wished she could have replicated at the piano. She smiled reluctantly.
“They sure are. I’m pretty sure I got the silliest one in the litter, as she was the only one left out of nine puppies.” Giselle shook her head.
“Can’t you give me a try? Please? It’s not like you have to let me stay in the house. I have a tent. I can camp in your backyard or in the woods over there.” Tierney pointed toward the small forest behind Giselle’s house. “I’m sure you could use me to do something.”
Giselle meant to turn Tierney down once and for all. She opened her mouth and intended to begin her next sentence with “Sorry,” but instead she heard herself say, “Can you make a decent plain omelet?”
Tierney shot her a blinding smile. “Sure. I saw the movie with Meryl Streep about that chef. I’m not through Julia Child’s entire cookbook, but when I get a chance, I try a new recipe. The French omelets were the first one I tried.”
Nothing Tierney had just said made sense, but she looked so cute when she talked about Meryl Streep and some cookbook, and she might at least stick around to help Giselle stock up on enough food for her to be all right for a while. If Leanne Walters’s police husband was going to check her record out, that would be an adequate safety measure.
“You don’t have to use your tent.” Giselle pointed to the left of her house. “Up there is a guesthouse. You can stay there for a few nights. Then you have to find something else. This is just temporary.”
“All right! Thank you!” Tierney carefully extended her hand. “This is awesome.”
Pulling herself together, Giselle took Tierney’s hand for a few seconds. “Good. I hope you have a driver’s license?”
“I do.”
“Good.” Walking back toward the house, Giselle called over her shoulder. “The key to the guesthouse is under the flowerpot by the door. Once you finish putting your things away, you can make us some omelets.”
“Sure. No problem.”
Giselle reached her front door and stood there watching while Tierney hoisted her backpack and entered through the gate. A beeping noise next to her showed that the alarm worked, and Giselle punched in her code to mute it. All the entrances to her property were connected to the alarm system. Was letting a perfect stranger inside the alarm’s perimeter an even bigger mistake than she feared?