He had to have heard by now, so why hadn’t he come? Frannie unlocked the bakery’s front door early Monday morning, determined not to think any more about Matthias.
She held the door wide while Susan glided in, a wide smile across her face. “Good morning.”
Frannie’s head still pounded, and she’d avoided acknowledging how dark the inside corners of her eyes were. When it was three-thirty in the morning, some things just weren’t worth facing.
Now it was just before eight and she needed to rustle up some “perky” fast, or today was going to seriously drag. Yesterday had been bad enough. Even though the volume of goods for the church was smaller than what she would make for the store, the down-side of delivering baked goods for service and looking rough was everyone asked if you were okay. They’d all wanted her to stop and chat. To stick around so she could “hear the message.”
Frannie realized the first lady was staring at her with her head cocked to one side.
“What?” Released from her lips, Frannie heard how short her tone was. She sighed. “Sorry. What is it?”
Susan shrugged off Frannie’s behavior. “Nothing, I just wondered for a second what your name used to be, that’s all. You don’t have to tell me, it was simple curiosity.”
Frannie shut the front door and they got to work, side-by-side. “It was Francesca, now it’s Francine. But I was always Frannie.”
Susan looked back for a second, one hand on the fridge door. “That doesn’t put you in danger, not having changed your identity?”
Frannie accepted the tray of chilled lemon bars and set them on the counter-top. “Not when you technically no longer exist. It would be hard for my father or any of his men to find us when there’s nothing to find. The only paperwork that exists is here in Sanctuary. A lot of people don’t bother changing their names at all. Although they’re still miffed we have to pay taxes under the table.”
Susan smiled. Maybe she was planning on talking to her husband about that. Frannie figured there had to be some advantages to pillow talk with the president of the United States.
“And there’s no paperwork anywhere else?”
Frannie shook her head. “When the director assigns one of us to Sanctuary our WITSEC file is brought with us and given to the sheriff. It doesn’t leave here, and neither do we. The only way there could be a breach of security is from within Sanctuary itself.”
“Wow.” Susan rested her manicured fingers on the edge of the counter, studying Frannie. “And a breach like that really happened with Andra, the previous school teacher and the deputy sheriff?”
Out of the three of them one was back in town, one was in jail and the last was dead. Deputy Palmer had sold out Andra’s safety in exchange for a life beyond the boundaries of Sanctuary’s mountains. The school teacher had been duped by Palmer into believing she would go with him. And while he was dead now, she got her wish—she’d left Sanctuary—she’d just done it cuffed, facing a lifetime behind bars and a gag order from the president.
“Have you thought about dying your hair red?”
Frannie blinked. “Red?”
“You have the coloring for it, and I figured after the couple of days you’ve had maybe you’d like some time off this afternoon to relax and be pampered.”
“Pampered?” Susan probably thought she was an imbecile, repeating everything she said back as a question.
Susan smiled. “You say that like it’s a foreign concept.”
“It isn’t.” Frannie was familiar enough with pampering just watching her mother, who took every opportunity to “treat” herself to a spa day. “I’ve just never actually done it myself.”
Who had the time for that stuff? Most days she worked, which meant little-to-no make-up and a ponytail. It wasn’t going to make any waves with potential suitors, but she had no time for that either. Especially not when she’d said yes to being part of the next theater production. Mimi and Izzy were going to die laughing when they found out about it. Frannie would—probably, hopefully—dazzle everyone during the two weeks of rehearsals and then wind up throwing up on stage in front of everyone opening night.
Susan smiled. “I can see you’re thinking about it.”
“Maybe.” Frannie smiled back. “Right now we have a ton of work to do, though. Since it’s Monday, everyone will be in to get the special.”
If Frannie didn’t love trying new sweets recipes, she’d probably loathe it. Dan’s fresh crop of strawberries from his geo-thermal heated greenhouse had been way too good to pass up. Once the Danish pastries were fully cooled, they carried the trays out front. Sure enough, a crowd had gathered at the door.
Frannie let them in, noticing as she moved that the first lady was dumping out the old coffee grounds and filling the pot. She should have done that already, before Susan did—even though the first lady didn’t seem to mind menial jobs at all.
A trio of gray-haired, knuckly old men shuffled through the door. Sonny, Louis and Michael. “Gentlemen.”
Sonny shot her a look and went to intercept the first lady, like it was her fault Susan was making the coffee. She’d be hearing about that later.
Louis pecked his papery lips on her cheek and squeezed her upper arms with more strength than he should have had, before he broke off and followed Sonny. Probably to flash his pearly dentures at the classy woman Frannie was going to have to figure out how to pay. Was Susan going to accept a check? This whole situation was beyond awkward.
Michael stopped in front of her. His dull gray eyes pinned her in place. He hugged her with his right arm and the stump that remained past his elbow on the left side. “How is your head this morning?”
Frannie pushed back a strand of hair that had come loose from her ponytail. “I’m fine.”
“That is not an answer to my question, angela.”
The name her father had called her sliced through her like a blunt blade, but Michael knew. He continued to use it even after she’d told him her father used to call her “angel.” He’d explained it by telling her something about locusts eating years. Which was bizarre, and also not worth the effort of arguing with.
Michael turned her, and she hooked her arm above his elbow to clasp his loose bicep. “You should sit with us, take a break.”
“Michael—”
He chuckled. “At least you did not begin to complain by calling me capitano.”
Frannie smiled. He only wished he was the boss. Sonny was firmly the one in charge. Louis was the underboss, and Michael was the consigliere of their group. Which left Frannie as a lieutenant whether she wanted to be or not. It had taken a couple of years of push-and-pull, and their incessant attempts to give her what she’d lost, but eventually she’d succumbed to the fact she would always and forever be “family.”
Michael led her to Sonny and Louis, who stood beside one of her four-person tables. The first lady walked over with a tray of coffees and four plated strawberry Danishes. This was getting worse and worse.
“Here you are.” Susan set it down with a flourish. “Frannie, you too.”
Sonny shot her a look.
Frannie sat down.
She waited until the men had settled, and then said, “This couldn’t wait until next weekend’s meeting?”
Sonny set his mug of black coffee down. “This isn’t chamber of commerce business. We’re simply concerned, that’s all.”
“The first lady is only volunteering here.” Until Frannie could figure out how to give her some kind of recompense. “It’s merely charity, nothing more.”
Sonny’s eyebrow rose. “You think that’s all you are?”
The bakery door opened and Beth entered, dressed in the cleanest jeans Frannie had ever seen, and a gray wool sweater that hung from her shoulders and down over her wrists to hook on her thumbs. She sent Frannie a smile and motioned to the back. Frannie nodded, and the first lady’s daughter went into the kitchen.
Beth had been a professional ballet dancer. She always moved like she was still on stage, making Frannie feel frumpy in comparison. Yet somehow Beth managed to maintain an air of gentleness and quiet that made no sense, considering she was one of the most well-known women in the country. She should have been brash and entitled, and the lack made Frannie feel even worse.
The front door didn’t shut. Nigel Billet ushered his girth into the bakery and glanced around. Don’t see me. His attention settled on her with a glare, like he’d caught his intended prey. The former Dallas newspaper editor had beady eyes like pin-pricks in his tubby face. And his personality matched.
A voice with a thick Bronx accent said, “Francesca.”
She jerked her gaze to Louis. “Don’t call me that.” He didn’t react to her statement, he just looked at Sonny. Frannie sighed. “I have to get back to work. We’re very busy, as you can tell.” And her head hurt.
Sonny’s hand settled on her arm. “Your life could be in danger.”
“It isn’t.” At least, not any more than it had been before she saw someone try to kill Stella.
“We understand you have no wish to become a witness for the second time, but you must understand—”
“No,” Frannie said. “I didn’t see anything. I don’t know who tried to kill Stella, and I have no intention of dwelling on it any more than I have to. This isn’t some long, drawn out drama. It happened, and now everything is going to go back to normal.”
Louis’s head jerked. “You’re not going to try and figure out who it was?”
“No.” Again. “The sheriff has made me aware of the fact I could potentially be in danger. But I didn’t see the person’s face. If he tries to silence me, or kill Stella for real, he could fail and then someone might catch him. I might see his face after all. If it was me, I wouldn’t risk exposure like that.”
Sonny said, “You’re going to gamble your life on a maybe?”
“I’m not a cop, so I can’t bring him to justice. And I’m also not an amateur sleuth with bad impulse control and a death wish. I’m a baker.”
“So you’re going to ignore what happened.”
“No.” She stood then, leaning down to the three men to say one more thing before she got back to work. “I’m going to live my life.”
Frannie strode to the kitchen. She pushed the swinging doors open, immediately assailed by the sound of retching. Then water running. Beth emerged from the bathroom, her face pale and the hairline on her forehead damp.
“Are you okay?”
Beth shot her a look. “Are you?”
Frannie blinked, and then smiled at her. Touché.
“I won’t tell if you don’t.” Beth strode out.
Susan chuckled. Frannie spun around and saw her in the corner of the kitchen. The sink behind her was full of dirty plates and mugs, and she’d donned Frannie’s pink rubber gloves.
The woman was out of control.
“What was that about?”
Susan said, “She’s pregnant, but she doesn’t want anyone to know yet. Not that she’s going to be able to keep it a secret much longer.” The first lady hesitated for a second, her face suddenly wistful. “I haven’t seen her smile in weeks, but I finally managed to get her to write a letter to her husband. Even if it never reaches him, I still think it helped her to get all her thoughts down. I’m going to take a trip and see my husband soon, so I can tell him about the baby at least. I’ll have to leave you in the lurch, I’m afraid, but we can’t schedule it. I’ll only know it’s time when John tells me the helicopter is here.”
“You should be with your husband if you can.” What else was Frannie supposed to say? This was the president and the first lady. If they wanted to have a conjugal visit, it had nothing to do with her.
Susan smiled. “I’m hoping the president can get word to Lieutenant Myerson about the baby.”
Frannie couldn’t imagine having a spouse she was estranged from, or had no way to contact. Both Susan and Beth hadn’t seen their husbands in weeks.
Neither could she imagine how the SEAL was going to feel when he found out his wife—who’d essentially disappeared off the face of the earth—turned up in a WITSEC town, pregnant. It sounded like Susan and Beth were assuming the baby was his, at least.
Frannie didn’t know exactly what the situation was, since Beth didn’t talk about her husband. Which, in and of itself, said a lot. Here Frannie would rather be anywhere else than the one place she couldn’t get away from her family, and Beth couldn’t even share her pregnancy directly with her husband.
Frannie followed Susan back out front. Nigel Billet had left without his Sanctuary News exclusive, but that was okay with her—even if it meant the man was going to make up whatever story he wanted. If she didn’t know he’d been a huge Dallas newspaper editor in his former life, she’d probably have sworn he wrote fiction. Maybe he was living the dream now, spinning everything whichever way he pleased without repercussions.
Still, the one person she actually wanted to see never came in.
After Tias stuck his head in the day before—after church—to quickly say “hi” and ask her how she was feeling, he’d promised to come back when he had more time. Maybe that was just something he’d said to fill the conversation.
The door opened, and two families entered. Frannie brushed aside the melancholy feelings and shot Susan a smile. “Welcome to Mondays.”
Susan laughed. “Just try and keep up with me.”
The lunchtime rush had just died down when the door opened, and Nadia Marie walked in with Andra. Nadia Marie strode between tables, while Andra followed more cautiously, surveying the room. They looked like a famous starlet and her bodyguard.
“Sandwich?” Frannie glanced between them. “Sam brought over some barbecue chicken and it’s incredible.” She’d inhaled two between customers, just after twelve o’clock.
Nadia Marie grinned.
Uh-oh.
She clapped her hands together. “Makeover!”
Susan must have called the salon. “No—”
“Red is going to look so good on you. Trust me.”
Why did it always freak her out when people said that?
Andra chuckled, like she completely understood Frannie’s pain. Except her natural hair was the darkest shade of brown, so it wasn’t like she knew. Not really. It would probably be that color when she was eighty.
Andra said, “If she says it’ll look good, then it will. Nadia Marie really is a master. But that’s not the only reason why we’re here.”
Andra trailed back to the front window, and Nadia Marie waved Frannie over. Andra’s attention was fixed on the road from the ranch. “They’re almost here.”
Nadia Marie grinned, but her gaze snagged on Frannie. “You really should come by this afternoon. Let me treat you to a hair-coloring.”
Frannie turned to the window. She’d been blonde as long as she could remember, although there was a significant amount of red in it from some unknown grandparent on her mother’s side. If she went fully red she would be taking steps to separate herself from her mom and sister.
In a way, it sort of felt like they’d tried to leave her behind years ago. Maybe it was time for Frannie to do it too. I’m going to live my life. Her own words rang in her ears. Eventually she was going to have to quit vacillating, and now was as good a time as any.
“I’ll do it.” She turned to Nadia Marie, who had her nose pressed to the window. “I’ll come over and—”
“Here they come!” Nadia Marie squealed. She jumped up and down and clapped, while Andra stood next to her smiling.
Frannie glanced out the window. A pack of men in shorts and sweat-dampened T-shirts pounded down the blacktop from the ranch toward Main Street. The two men at the front, Sheriff John Mason and ranch boss Bolton Farrera, both wore weighted down backpacks while the rest of the guys followed without.
Nadia Marie sighed, the wistful sound of a woman with unrequited longing. “I love workout day.”
The pack hit Main Street. When they reached the bakery window, Frannie saw Matthias just behind the sheriff and Bolton. His face cracked a smile when he saw them all watching at the window.
Frannie took two steps backward. Her foot caught on something and she tripped. She flung her arms up and wind-milled before her back hit the ground with an oof.
“Ouch.” Winded, Frannie rolled over and tried to stand. Multiple people jumped up and lifted her to her feet. Her cheeks flamed, and she silently petitioned God, if He really did exist then maybe Matthias might not have seen that horrendously embarrassing display.
“He seriously likes you.” Nadia Marie planted her hands on her hips.
“Even if he did, there’s no way he does now.”
“Pshaw.” Nadia waved away Frannie’s concern. “I bet he didn’t even see.” She paused. “But if you let me do your hair it would make a bold statement. Frannie, the all new woman.”
“You realize you freak me out, right?”
Andra laughed. “Me too, but you just roll with it. She really does know what she’s doing.”
“I know that.” Frannie grasped the hem of her apron. “It’s just…” She looked around at the crowd of customers. They were a pretty good reason not to ditch on the bakery for the afternoon, but why was she hesitating to say it out loud?
“You can be back in an hour and a half, tops.”
Frannie bit her lip. “You really think I’ll look like a new woman?”
When had she ever felt new, even when she became someone else and enrolled in witness protection? She’d quickly realized she was still the same person she’d always been. Daddy’s girl, despite betraying him. Her mother’s confusing daughter. Her sister’s lame older sibling.
When would she feel like the Frannie she’d always wanted to be?
“Have I ever given anyone a bad haircut, or a color that didn’t suit them?”
Frannie sucked in a breath and straightened her shoulders. If she was going to make some changes... To actually live... “Okay. I’ll do it.”
Nadia Marie jumped up and down, clapping. Again. She made a noise that sounded like, “Eeeeeee!” And Frannie got caught up in the celebration.
Beth came in the door. She surveyed the scene and laughed. “I take it she said yes.” The first lady’s daughter had pink cheeks and a bright-eyed smile. Apparently the morning nausea had passed.
Frannie glanced between Beth, her two friends, and Susan who was behind the counter. Her eyes narrowed. “You guys planned this.”
Beth strode to the counter. “Mom did. You go get your hair done and take a break. I’m going to lend a hand while you’re gone.”
Because what was better than the first lady doing menial labor at her bakery than the first lady and her daughter doing Frannie’s work?
Andra stepped closer and whispered in Frannie’s ear. “They want to do this for you.”
Frannie swallowed. She glanced around then nodded to Andra. “Okay. Let’s go before I change my mind.”
Two hours later, Frannie returned from Nadia Marie’s salon with a new hair style that was several gorgeous shades of red and rich copper. She didn’t feel any better about making prestigious, upper class women work for her, but the time spent in Nadia’s leather massage chair had almost been worth it.
Frannie locked the front door at precisely four in the afternoon and flipped the sign to Closed. It took a few minutes for Beth and Susan to exclaim appropriately over her hair and hug Frannie as though it had taken all kinds of bravery to make the change—which wasn’t entirely inaccurate, then Frannie made her way to the stairs.
A white envelope sat on the linoleum just inside the back door.