Forty-Six

Happy birthday to me. Charley walked Cocoa to the gallery door for the last time. She didn’t feel like celebrating.

How had the summer disappeared so quickly? Soon the lazy buzzing drone of cicadas would give way to the wild honk of geese flying overhead. Red treetops ablaze in heavy autumn light. Mist settling on looking-glass clear water, on bright splashes of wet leaves, like splotches of paint. And she wouldn’t see it. Back to rush-hour subways, crowded streets, and grey pavement, she’d have to imagine it and hold onto that.

The magical turning point had come, and she didn’t feel older or wiser.

She was an artist. This summer had proved it. She could create paintings other people wanted to own. It was a heady realization. Powerful. But to make the dream a permanent reality, she had to figure out how to finance it. Because selling a few paintings had barely covered her share of the lease.

Nothing had changed. The summer was coming to an end, and she’d have to leave Oakcrest. It would be hard. Harder still, to say goodbye to Matt.

Don’t think about that. Not yet.

She’d get through the day and, when the time came, she’d move on. There was no other choice.

She fit the key in the lock. And froze.

The door was unlocked. But she’d double, triple-checked it last night. A habit she’d picked up since the break-in.

But, instead of snarling, Cocoa wagged her tail and pressed her nose to the doorjamb.

Braced for anything, Charley gathered her courage and flung the door open. Cocoa bounced ahead, dragging the leash out of her hand.

“Surprise!” A chorus of voices shouted.

Heart thundering, she entered the gallery. Instead of the faint fresh paint smell of canvas, chocolate filled the air, warm and fragrant, with an undertone of butter and sugar.

The room was full. Matt stood there, grinning at her. Alex and Meghan, too, with that glow she got when she was flying high on a secret kept too long. Eric, all in black, and Kayla. Sarah and Deborah. Even Thomas, looking thinner but rested. Posed like a tableau in a painting, they stood together, gathered in one spot.

Meghan broke away and slung an arm over her shoulder. “You’re looking a little pale, sis.”

She dug an elbow in Meghan’s ribs. “My heart stopped, that’s all.” And was just now starting back up again.

“This was Matt’s idea, so you can blame him for that.”

“Blame?” He leaned down and brushed a kiss over Charley’s lips. “I’m taking credit. I figured it’s time to focus on the good.”

And bury the hurt? Only two weeks had gone by since Jeffrey’s arrest. The grief was still there, still fresh. You could see that just by looking at Matt. Pretending everything was fine might seem like the easiest solution, but it was like applying paint to unprimed wood. Eventually, the underlying surface would show through the cracks.

Alex said, tongue-in-cheek, “Shame you have to resort to scare tactics, Matt, to get a woman’s heart to skip a beat.”

He shrugged. “You’re just jealous, because Meg’s going to expect you to do the same for her one day.”

A grin spread across Meghan’s face. “He’s right. He’s set the bar pretty high.”

Charley shook her head, her pulse starting to settle back into a normal rhythm. “For a second, I thought I was about to find another vanitas still life.”

“There would be no point,” Sarah said. Backlit by the sun streaming through the windows, her face was in shadow. “It didn’t work the first time.”

That proprietary tone, the trace of annoyance. It sank in. “You put the postcard there?”

Sarah drew herself up taller. “I was under the false impression that Kayla had removed her husband from her life. And was the better for it. Your sleuthing, Charley, would have altered her storyline for the worse.”

Arching an eyebrow, Kayla asked, “So you decided to use a painting to save me from a life in prison?”

Sarah glanced at the wall of framed illustrations on their left. “I thought it appropriate, all things considered.”

No one would have questioned Sarah. She owned the building. And yet… “You told me it was up to the observer to make sense of it all.”

“Oh, my dear.” Sarah shook her head, smiling as though the very idea amused her. “I wasn’t talking about you. I was talking about myself. Editing is an art in which the best work goes undetected.”

And it almost had.

Alex grimaced. “I should have figured that one out.”

Sarah dismissed the comment with a flick of her hand. “You had a homicide to investigate. Hopefully the first and last the Oakcrest police department will be called upon to solve.”

Deborah pivoted away from the painting she’d been studying. “As a reader, I appreciate the work you do, Sarah, but I’m not sure you can apply the same methods to real life as you would to fiction.”

“And that,” Sarah replied, “is the narrow-minded comment of a bookworm who can’t visualize the creative process.”

Deborah took one step forward. “I beg your pardon?”

“Let’s leave death at the door,” Eric drawled. “And cut the cake already.”

Cake? If that’s what smelled so amazing then, God, yes.

Thomas rubbed his hands together. “Now that’s a good idea. Thanks to this damn diet they put me on, I can’t remember the last time I had cake. But you can’t live like a saint every day. And one piece won’t clog the arteries.”

Charley glanced at Matt. “Chocolate?”

He held her gaze a second longer. “What else?”

“The cake is a work of art,” Meghan said. She never could resist a good pun. “Fudgy and decadent.” Catching hold of Charley’s arm, she tugged her over to the wrought iron table, where they’d set up the snacks on opening night.

So that’s why they’d all been standing there like that. To block her view of the glass plate. The cake rose from it in a light and airy cloud of whisked egg whites and bittersweet chocolate.

Matt came to stand beside her. “A chocolate soufflé cake, served with vanilla-scented whipped cream and” — he gestured at the cooler on the floor — “a scoop of espresso ice cream.” Picking up the small glass dish filled with bone-shaped cookies, he added, “The milk bones are for Cocoa.” The dog looked up, gaze fixed on Matt and the treats he held. “Filet mignon flavoured.”

“Because you promised her steak.” So much for not being charmed. And, as for Cocoa, she’d been a lost cause from day one. “When did you find the time to do all of this?”

“I baked early this morning,” he said. “And when I say early, I mean really early.”

Alex grumbled, “Now you’re just milking it.”

“And it took some work to get all of you here.” Matt clapped a solid hand on his back, hard enough for Alex to grunt and take a step forward.

Beside the cake rested a bag from the Blast From The Past Boutique, a few small packages done up in birthday paper, and a box, wrapped in newspaper. The front page of an old issue of the Oakcrest Courier. “Nice gift-wrap, Meg.”

“You’re just going to tear it anyway,” she said. “And you should. Right now.”

“Bossy much?” Charley picked up the box. “It’s heavy.” Really heavy. “What is it?”

Meghan rolled her eyes. “You don’t need to make three guesses. This isn’t a game of Clue. Just open it, already.”

She tore through newspaper to the cardboard beneath and lifted the lid on the box. From a bed of scrunched tissue paper, she freed the cool weight of cast iron. “A doorstop?” It had a curved tail. She laughed. “In the shape of a squirrel.”

“A souvenir from Oakcrest,” Meghan said with an impish expression.

“And it’s red.” Don’t cry.

“For luck.”

Oh God. Tears pricked her eyes.

Sarah stepped forward. “Which you won’t need. I’ve been mulling over what to do with this building now that the pop-up gallery is ending.”

With my building. But she no longer had any right to be possessive. This place, when the walls were stripped of the paintings, wouldn’t be the same. “What did you decide?”

“That a gallery, featuring the work of local artists, is an asset to Oakcrest.”

Afraid to even breathe, she asked, “A permanent gallery?” Here.

“This building deserves a happy ever after. You promoted the gallery well. Drew visitors,” Sarah said, all business now. “And it’s obvious you have a keen artistic vision. I would like you to run it. You don’t need to answer right —”

“Yes.” Curate a gallery? As if she even had to think about it. “Yes, yes, yes.”

Meghan grinned and tucked her hands in her pockets. “Told you she’d do it.”

Kayla said, “And Oakcrest will be a destination village, soon.” She spread her arms, reminding Charley of the woman in her sketch, who spread raven wings and took flight. “You’re looking at the newly appointed Community Events Coordinator. There won’t be any missing food trucks at the next festival, I’ll make sure of that.”

“You’re going to be perfect for the job.” Maybe Kayla had found the magic words after all, her antidote to doubt.

Thomas poured sparkling water into a glass. “About time things shaped up around here.”

Nearby, Matt murmured to Alex, “What about you?”

“I can wait,” he answered cryptically. “A little longer.”

What was that about?

Sarah said briskly, “We’re in agreement then. Renovations will need to be done. But, this time, they’ll be done right.”

Matt’s hand closed over Charley’s. He gave her fingers a squeeze. “I can help with that.”

She glanced up at him, a flicker of hope catching in her chest. “You’re staying?”

“Looks like we both are,” he said. “Besides, what would Oakcrest do without a chocolate shop?”

Thomas eyed the cake. “It wouldn’t be the same, if you ask me.”

A smile curved Sarah’s lips. “A wise person pursues her passion.”

Eric rocked back on his heels, blue eyes twinkling. “Passion is an honourable pursuit. And I’ve always found the end justifies the means.”

“I think she meant other passions,” Thomas said dryly.

“Did I? Perhaps.” Sarah swept her gaze around the gallery. “Life calls for many sacrifices, but a dream should not be one of them.”

To think, she’d almost given up on hers.

Instead of an end, this was a beginning. What would happen next? Charley couldn’t wait to find out.

Matt lit the candle on the cake. He turned to her with one of those crinkly-eyed knee-jerking grins only certain men can muster. And said, “Make a wish.”

She already had.