I ran outside to confront Potter and kick him off the property once and for all. I didn’t care if he was a big muck-a-muck at the bank. How dare he threaten Lizzie! Or anyone else. I was tempted to call the bank right there and then to let them know that until this job was finished, Potter was not welcome on the work site.
But glancing around, I didn’t see him anywhere and some of my rage was replaced by bewilderment. How did he vanish so quickly? The garage was only a hundred yards away. Was he a fast runner? Was he hiding in there? It was a ridiculous thought, but where else could he be?
I glanced down the driveway and saw that his car was still out front. So where was he?
I walked along the side of the house and had a “Duh!” moment when I realized he could have walked back inside using any one of six entrances. I’d been too freaked out by Lizzie’s screams to think about it rationally. Potter was probably upstairs by now, harassing someone else for some other absurd reason.
As an executive with the biggest bank in town, where so many local people had bank accounts and confidential loan applications and all sorts of other sensitive information on file, Potter would be privy to information about hundreds of people. Knowing he was capable of using such private information against one of my dearest friends made my skin crawl.
Patrice came running outside after me and turned in four directions, looking for her boss. “I don’t understand. He’s not out here. Where did he go?”
“He probably walked around to the front door and right back into the house.”
“I should go look for him.” But instead of leaving, she leaned in close and said, “Did you hear your friend just now, threatening to murder Mr. Potter? Don’t you think we should call the police?”
I gaped at her. “That’s ridiculous. Lizzie didn’t mean anything by it. Your boss threatened her livelihood for no good reason, so she has every right to be upset. But that’s all it is. If you want to do something helpful for everyone here, I would suggest that you track down Mr. Potter and make him go home.”
She shot a quick glance at Lizzie. “But she could be dangerous. Is she on medication?”
I was beginning to wonder if she was on medication. Did she honestly not know that everyone in town hated Potter? That hundreds of people probably muttered, I’m going to kill that man over and over again every day? How could she be so clueless?
I took another deep breath before speaking again. “I understand that you have to defend your boss, but you’re wrong about Lizzie. She’s the most solid citizen in Lighthouse Cove and Potter deliberately harassed her. If anyone deserves police scrutiny, it’s him.”
I walked away before I said something even more offensive and hurried back inside to give Lizzie a hug. She was sniffling back tears.
“He’s full of it,” I said. “You know that, right? He can’t close down your store. It’s one of the most popular shops on the square and it’s doing great business.”
Her hands were still trembling. “But his bank owns the deed, so he can do whatever he wants.”
“No he can’t,” I insisted.
“Shannon, get serious. The bank owns every store on the square. If they wanted to tear us all down and put up a new bank building, they could do it.”
“Not without the entire town protesting and boycotting them.” I grabbed her arms and gave her a gentle shake. “Look at me. Nothing’s going to happen to your store. He’s just a big bully and he’ll say whatever he can to get a rise out of you.”
I heard a footstep and turned to see Patrice standing a few feet away. I could tell by the look on her face that she’d been listening in on our entire conversation. Now she was staring at Lizzie and frowning.
Lizzie stared right back at her. “You. I know you. You’re his girlfriend.”
Patrice blinked. “Who?”
“Potter’s girlfriend.”
Her mouth rounded in shock. “What?” She blinked. “No, I’m not. I’m his secretary.”
“But you . . .” She frowned in confusion. “Weren’t you having dinner with him at the Lobster Pot last weekend?”
“Of course not. He’s a married man.”
“But . . .” Lizzie’s shoulders sagged. “Sorry. My mistake.”
I watched Patrice roll her eyes and circle her finger around the side of her head, indicating that Lizzie must be crazy. She whispered, “I think she’s having a mental breakdown.”
I pointedly ignored the woman and concentrated on Lizzie. Since my friend was several inches shorter than me, I hunched down to make direct eye contact with her. “I’m calling Hal.”
At the mention of her darling husband, Lizzie’s eyes widened and she snapped back to reality. “No, Shannon. Please don’t. He’s busy at work. I don’t want to bother him with this.”
“Then I’ll drive you home.”
“No, no. Come on, forget it. I’m fine.” She swiped her hair back from her forehead, looking drained but a little less frenzied and generally better than she had appeared a few minutes ago. “I was just shocked, that’s all. You’re right. Potter was trying to torment me because he can. He sneaks up and attacks when you’re least prepared. But I’m okay now. I want to keep working.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I am.”
“Okay, I’m glad.” But I had every intention of telling Hal exactly what that old bugger had done to Lizzie.
She sat down at the utility table that was set up along the wall of apartment one. “I was having so much fun until Potter walked in here.” Holding up a plaster mold, she explained what she was working on. “Spencer showed me how to make a new plaster corbel from this mold.”
Sections of the beautiful old corbels were disintegrating but we had managed to salvage parts of two of them to create the new mold that Lizzie was working with. I looked around for my contractor. “Where is Spencer?”
“He had to run out for a little while. We were going to clean the wooden doors next and he said he knows of a super-deluxe-formula wood cleaner he wanted to pick up somewhere.”
“Probably the auto supply,” I murmured.
“No, it’s for wood.”
I smiled. “If it’s the super deluxe wood cleaner I’m thinking of, he’s actually going to pick up a bottle of car engine degreaser.”
“That’s crazy.”
I shrugged. “It works.”
“You would know best, I guess.”
She stared at the corbel without speaking and now I was afraid to leave her alone. “Do you need help with anything?”
She scowled. “If that old blowhard Potter hadn’t interrupted me, I might’ve had the corbels done by now.”
And that was another strike against him, I thought. Just because he was the money man on this project didn’t give him the right to hover over the people actually doing the work. What was wrong with him?
Lizzie was working in what used to be the elegant front salon, now known as apartment one. It was as large as the ballroom, with just as many interesting features, especially the circular outer wall. I had asked Spencer to work in this room because he was a genius at recreating these wonderful old touches of Victoriana, like the elaborate ceiling frieze and the ornate corbels that Lizzie was working on. The decorative brackets would be used to accent the graceful archway that separated the main part of the room from the circular tower space. This was where the Foresters had once housed a fancy bar for their parties. But soon that portion of this space would become the bedroom for apartment one.
Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the circular wall, allowing a dramatic view of both the wide front lawn and the rows of graceful eucalyptus and sturdy pine trees that formed a natural border along the eastern side of the property.
I looked around, but Patrice seemed to have taken the hint and disappeared, just like her boss had. Maybe she had even managed to track down Potter and convinced him to leave. I could only hope so. I couldn’t take much more of this crazy negativity today.
I supposed Patrice was essentially a nice person and I even understood why she’d said those things about Lizzie. It was her way of standing up for her boss. Unfortunately, Potter’s behavior was indefensible.
Never mind her, I thought. If she showed up again, I would try to use her as a buffer between Potter and my crew. If she could do that much for me, I would forgive the other stuff. And honestly, until she began insulting Lizzie, I had thought she had her heart in the right place, unlike her awful boss. I hoped I wasn’t wrong.
* * *
After a quick debate with myself, I ran upstairs to find Jane and tell her what had happened to Lizzie. She was working in apartment five, another large round tower apartment on the second floor at the front of the house, directly above Lizzie’s room. I found Jane in the bathroom on her hands and knees, prying up old tile squares with a gooseneck pry bar. Half the floor was done and Jane didn’t look ready to quit anytime soon.
“Anytime you want a job on my crew, you’ve got it,” I said, impressed by her commitment to ripping up that floor.
She chuckled, sat back on her feet, and wiped a trickle of perspiration from her temple. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind in case my hotel ever closes.”
“Not much chance of that.”
Jane owned the elegant Hennessey House, a beautiful Victorian inn that was always at full capacity. I had helped her renovate it over the years until she opened the doors to the public just last winter. Ever since then, the place had been receiving rave reviews from travelers around the world.
“Are you here to help me?” she asked hopefully.
“I suppose I could.” Looking down into my friend’s eyes, I really hated that I would upset her as much as I was about to, but she had to know. “But unfortunately, I just came up to tell you that Mr. Potter cornered Lizzie a few minutes ago and threatened to close her shop.”
She froze at the words and then clutched the pry bar like a weapon. “Where is he? Let me at him.”
“Down, girl.” I patted her shoulder. “That’s exactly how I feel. Which is why I’m telling you. Friends get to be ticked off together, right? Anyway, I’ve decided to ban him from the site. He’s ruining the work vibe, messing with the volunteers. I have no choice.”
She gave me a look. “Good luck with that.”
“I know.” I had to stretch my neck around to get rid of the tension that had been building up inside me all day long. It didn’t work. I couldn’t wait to get home and soak myself in an Epsom salt bath tonight.
“Poor Lizzie.” Jane checked her wristwatch, then glanced with regret at the chunks of tile on the floor. “Does she want me to take her home?”
“No, she wants to finish the project she’s working on.”
“Good girl. I’m glad.” Jane looked as furious as I felt. Somehow that made me feel better about everything.
“I just wanted you to be aware of what happened. You know, in case she says something on the drive home.”
“I’ll try to get her to talk about it.” She gazed up at me. “So what can we do about Potter?”
I felt my jaw clench and Jane shook her head. “I know what that look means. I’d better hide this pry bar before I leave for the night.”
* * *
I didn’t find Potter, so instead of focusing on him, I concentrated on doing some actual work. I spent the rest of the afternoon helping the attic crew with the framing. I figured they had the most to do, and I also thought there was a chance that maybe I would run into Angry April, the bizarre volunteer, up there. But according to Blake, the contractor in charge of the attic space, April hadn’t shown up until after lunch and then disappeared a little while ago, right after he asked her to help with the cleanup.
“Was she any help at all?” I asked.
He glanced around the room and shrugged. “Not really, but it doesn’t matter. It’s like we talked about at the meeting. The work up here is pretty intense, since we’re building the rooms from scratch. We’ll be framing for another few days, then hanging a lot of drywall and installing electrical outlets, running wires and plumbing up the walls.”
“Not much a volunteer should be helping with.”
“Right. So I didn’t want to give her anything too complicated because I thought she might get hurt.” He quickly held up his hand. “And I don’t mean, you know, because she’s a woman. It’s because she was the one who insisted she didn’t know anything about construction or tools or, well, anything. So there was also the worry that she’d do more damage than good.”
“I know what you meant,” I said, smiling.
“Okay, good.” He chuckled ruefully. “Don’t want to get myself in trouble. But anyway, you know how some of the volunteers are so eager to help out?”
“I know. It’s so great to see that, isn’t it?”
He made a face. “She isn’t one of those. So basically, I just had her passing tools to the guys while they did the heavy lifting and nailing. In between, she mostly walked around, exploring the attic. Oh, and she stopped to talk to that guy from the bank.”
It was so random, it took me a few seconds to figure out who he was talking about. “You mean Mr. Potter?” But why was I surprised? It seemed only logical that two horribly difficult people would find each other in a place like this. And knowing Potter, he would want to talk to anyone interested in sharing negative opinions of me. “What was he doing up here?”
“He walked around criticizing everyone’s work,” Blake said. “Told me I was hanging the drywall wrong.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I hang the sheets horizontally.”
“As you should.”
“He thought they should go vertically.”
It was official: I wanted to wring Potter’s neck, not only for being annoying, but for being stupid. “Did you tell him to buzz off?”
“Nah. I just ignored him.”
“You’re a lot nicer than me,” I said, feeling another rush of irritation. Being a banker didn’t make him a construction expert. Seriously, something had to be done to keep him from interfering. “I swear, someone’s going to punch his lights out one of these days.”
Blake chuckled. “It might be Willy.”
“Oh no. What’d he do to Willy?”
“He told him not to wear those jeans anymore. You know, the ones with the hole in the knee?”
This was a new high in lows. “You must be joking.”
“Nope. Said they were obscene.”
I couldn’t speak without muttering expletives, so I just shook my head.
Blake was grinning now. “Willy just laughed, told him the ladies love to see his knees. Potter’s face got all red and he stormed off.”
“Good.” I took a deep breath to rid myself of the now-familiar frustration I was feeling. “So what did he say to April?”
“I only heard a few words of their conversation. They were whispering over by the banister and we were all pretty busy over here.”
“Oh, darn,” I said with an easy smile. “I really wanted to know what they talked about.”
Still grinning, he said, “Next time I’ll listen better.”
“No worries. I just hope he didn’t tell her to do something we haven’t authorized.”
Blake shrugged. “I doubt it. All I heard was him asking her if she got it. She said no. I couldn’t hear the rest of it.”
“Got it?” I repeated, confused. “Got what?”
“Sorry, Shannon. That’s all I heard.”
“It’s no big deal,” I said, and patted his arm. “But you said she was exploring the attic. Could she be looking for something up here?”
He glanced around. “Until we started framing, there were four walls and nothing else. What does she think she’ll find?”
“I don’t know,” I murmured. “They used to have a lot of vintage stuff stored up here but we moved everything to the garage.”
“She must not know that.”
“No, I guess not.”
Blake folded his arms across his chest, pondering. “Maybe Potter lost something.”
“Yeah, maybe.” I shrugged. “If she comes back up here tomorrow or anytime this week, will you text me?”
“You’ll probably see her before I do, but sure.”
“Thanks, Blake.”
He reached into a pocket on his tool belt and pulled out the biggest, fattest tape measure I’d seen in a long while. Moving to a doorway, he caught the end hook on the top edge of the doorjamb and measured the distance down to the floor. Then he scribbled the measurement on the exposed drywall.
“Nice tape measure,” I said.
“Yeah, thanks.” He held it out for me to take. “Try it. It’s like a weapon. Weighs about a pound.”
I hefted the thing in my hand, feeling its weight. “Too heavy for me. You’re lucky you’ve got big hands.”
He grinned. “It’s a curse.”
I chuckled, shaking my head as I handed it back to him. “I’d sprain my wrist if I had to use that thing all the time. But it’s pretty cool.”
“I think so.” He slid it back into his tool belt.
“I’d better get going,” I said, heading for the stairs. “See you tomorrow, Blake.”
“Okay,” Blake said, then remembered something. “Hey, if April does come back up here, you want me to tell her that everything got moved to the garage?”
I thought about it and smiled. “Sure, why not? But if that happens, will you let me know?”
“You bet.”
If I got the high sign from Blake that April was back here looking for something, maybe I could catch her in the act. There were probably some interesting things to be found in the Foresters’ old trunks and dressers. We had also moved an old-fashioned rolltop desk, a baby carriage, two old sofas, and a fainting couch. But other than some interesting antiques, I couldn’t imagine there was anything particularly intriguing or important hiding in there.
But then, maybe I would find out for myself one of these days.
It was close to five o’clock, official quitting time for the afternoon volunteers, so I stopped by each room on the second floor and said good night to each of the teams. I found Alyssa and Kailee cleaning up in apartment ten and stopped to talk for a few minutes. I asked about the other kids in the program and how everyone was doing.
“Alyssa has news,” Kailee said.
Alyssa was practically bouncing with excitement. “My dad got a job.”
“Oh, honey.” I gave her a big hug. “I’m so thrilled for you.”
“Me, too.” She wiped her cheek, where a happy tear had escaped. “My mom is starting to look for a place for us. She wanted to try and move in here, but none of the apartments are big enough. Of course, after living in a minivan for six months, these rooms kind of look like palaces to me. But anyway . . .”
Her voice faded and Kailee grabbed her hand. “You’ll find a place,” she said lightly.
Alyssa nodded somberly. “And just think, when we do find a place, I’ll be able to caulk the tub and unclog the toilets.”
They both laughed and I joined in. I couldn’t begin to imagine how these girls and their families had survived without a home for so long—and still maintained a sense of humor about things. They were so much braver than I could have ever hoped to be.
I gave them each hugs and told them I’d see them Thursday afternoon for our regular empowerment meeting at the community center, then said good-bye and headed for the stairs.
“Oh, hey, Shannon.”
I turned and saw Zach Penn, the contractor working on apartment nine. He waved me over and I stepped into the room.
“We have a little problem in here,” he said.
“What’s up, Zach?”
“We were just cleaning up and about to clear out for the day when this happened.” He pointed to the corner where Heather Maxwell was sitting on one of the five-gallon paint tubs, crying her eyes out.
“Heather, what’s wrong?”
“Oh, Shannon,” she moaned. Jumping up, she ran over and wrapped her arms around me, dissolving into more tears and heartbreaking sobs.
“Tell me what’s wrong, sweetie.” I patted her back while giving Zach and two of his crew a baffled look. They all shrugged in confusion. The combination of women and tears could mystify almost any man.
“I’ve lost my diamond charm bracelet,” she wailed.
“What?” I pulled away and stared at her. “No, you didn’t.”
“I did. Look.” She pulled the arm of her sweater up and her wrist was empty. “It’s gone. I took it off while I was working and put it in my purse.” She held up her purse, a big, baggy thing that was very chic, I supposed, but it had no way to secure the contents, no zipper or clasp. “And now it’s gone.” She burst into a fresh round of tears.
“It’s got to be around here somewhere,” I said, and turned to Zach. “Was she working in here all day? Have you looked for it?”
“I watched her empty out her entire purse,” he said. “Nothing.”
“Was she working in here all day? Have you looked for it?”
“Yeah. It’s nowhere, Shannon.”
I thought for a minute. “Did you all take a lunch break?”
“Heather stayed and worked,” Zach said. “I brought her back a sandwich.”
I looked at Heather. “You’ve been here all day? But you only signed up to work the morning session.”
“I was having so much fun, I didn’t want to leave. Zach let me stay.” She batted her damp eyelashes in his direction and he had the good grace to appear embarrassed. I hid my amusement. It wasn’t easy being a studly contractor wearing a tool belt. “I only left the room to use the bathroom a few times.”
“Don’t worry,” I said, squeezing her arms with more confidence than I felt. “We’ll find it. Tomorrow I’ll ask every single person to be on the lookout for your bracelet.”
Her lips quivered. “I must’ve shown it to a few dozen people today. Do you think someone stole it?”
“If they did, they’ll never be able to wear it around town. Everyone knows it belongs to you.”
“I guess you’re right about that.”
“Of course I’m right.” I grabbed a tissue from my tool belt—yes, I kept a packet of tissues on hand at all times—and passed it to her.
“So once you started working in here, did you take the bracelet out of your purse to show it to anyone?”
“Yes. A bunch of times.”
“Do you remember who saw it?”
She named a few people and vaguely described a few others whose names she couldn’t remember. I didn’t recognize anyone from her descriptions.
“Anyone else?”
“I can’t think of anyone.”
“Okay, but if you remember someone else, you’ll let me know. Are you coming back tomorrow?”
She sniffled a few more times. “Can I?”
“Of course.” I rubbed her arms, trying to comfort her. “And please don’t cry anymore. I know we’ll find it tomorrow.”
She wrapped me in another tight hug, then let go and grabbed her backpack. “Thank you, Shannon. Bye, Zach.” She practically skipped out of the room.
“Thanks, Shannon,” Zach murmured. He walked me to the door.
“Good luck with her,” I murmured.
“She’s no problem. I can handle a few tears.”
I smiled in understanding. I’d gone to school with his wife. “So how’s Julie doing?”
His smile faded. “Not so well. You know we’ve been trying to have kids, right?”
“She told me.”
“Yeah, well, looks like that’s not going to happen.”
“Oh no. I’m so sorry.” Julie had been one of those girls who’d always wanted children. She loved babies, the more the merrier. But over the past few years, she’d had a series of miscarriages. “Are you doing okay?”
“Me? Yeah, I guess so, but it’s tough. They told us that Julie had some kind of internal problem when she was like ten years old and now . . .” He shrugged helplessly and I gave him a hug.
“I’m so sorry, Zach. I wish there was something I could do.”
“I know. I appreciate it.”
“Please give Julie my love.” What else could I say?
“I will,” he said. “Don’t spread the news around, okay? But I wanted you to know.”
“You know I won’t say a word.”
He nodded, as he zipped up his backpack. “Yeah, I know.”
“See you tomorrow.”
I watched Zach jog down the stairs and then checked the rest of the rooms to make sure everyone had left for the day. Only then did I head for the stairs, taking each step deliberately. My mind was filled with thoughts of Zach and Julie. I felt so bad for them. Especially Julie, who had always been a little mother to all of us. I hoped that once the initial pain wore off, they might think about adopting.
As I rounded the stairway’s inner landing, my mind drifted back to Heather. Had someone stolen her bracelet? Or had it slipped out of her purse one of the times she was showing it off? Would we find it tomorrow? I hoped so. Otherwise, we would have a hysterical teenager on our hands.
My thoughts moved on to Alyssa and Kailee, the two homeless teenagers whose young lives had been so difficult up until now. They were so different from Heather, who had been pampered and doted on from the time she was born. Heather was a sweet girl, but I doubted she’d ever had to deal with the kinds of real-life problems the other two had faced.
What would a fifty-thousand-dollar diamond-studded charm bracelet mean to Alyssa and Kailee? Three years’ worth of rent on an apartment for their family? Groceries for a couple of years? Clothing? A car? A college education? Maybe. And yet, I knew without a doubt that those two girls would never be tempted to take something that wasn’t theirs.
But someone else around here might not be that impervious to temptation.
And if nobody had taken it, then where was the bracelet?
My mind still wandering, I stopped on the outer landing to take in the partially tree-shrouded view out of the gorgeous leaded glass window—and almost tripped the rest of the way down the stairs.
“No,” I whispered. It couldn’t be.
I wanted to cry out at the injustice of it all. With my hands splayed against the window, I stared down, praying this was some kind of bad mirage that would fade into the ether and disappear.
But it didn’t disappear. It just came closer.
Could this day get any worse? Obviously it could. Because walking up the driveway, wearing a typically inappropriate outfit of stiletto heels, black spandex pants, and a sparkly top, was my high school archrival and still worst enemy, Whitney Reid Gallagher.