From Scratch (15 page)

Millie leaned forward. “Did you actually say, ‘Maggie, do you want to go to the dance with me?' Or did you pull a Taylor and invite her by telepathy?”

Sean lifted an eyebrow. “Again, with the surfer dude?”

Millie opened her mouth to challenge as Lindy interrupted. “Ladies, not that we don't love having your attention showered on us, but we don't want to keep you from your duties.” He squeezed Jane's shoulder. “It looks as if there is a significant back-up at the bar, sweetie, and Millie, isn't that Shayne Delroy from Columbus Monthly?”

Both friends instantaneously swiveled in opposite directions.

“I told Raymond to open another bar twenty minutes ago.” Jane looked over her shoulder. “Sorry to rush off.” She kissed her husband on the cheek before bulleting to the side door.

Millie rose with the languid pace of a lioness rising from a nap and kissed the top of Jason's head. “Boys, I'll see you later. I am off to make this the most talked about event of the year.” She glanced over her shoulder at Lindy. “And don't think for one minute that you are smarter than me, Barrett. I know a diversionary tactic when I see one.”

All three men watched as Millie sauntered across the ballroom to the waiting reporter and photographer.

Lindy lifted his drink to his mouth. “Jason I applaud your patience and your intelligence. I don't know many men who could go toe-to-toe with her every day.”

A smirk stretched across Jason's face. “She's a handful, but I can't imagine my life without her. Not to get all movie-of-the-week on you, but she's made me believe in God's goodness in a way I never knew possible. He truly created that one woman for me.”

Lindy sighed as a slight grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I know the feeling.”

Apparently sentimental gush was contagious amongst men.

“And,” Lindy shifted his gaze to Sean. “If what I've heard from my wife and can see with my own eyes is true, I imagine you know the feeling, as well.”

Sean grazed the edge of his glass with his finger. “I don't know what I feel. Maggie is a complicated, frustrating, engaging, beautiful, and confusing woman. Half of the time I want to yell at her and the other half I want to squeeze the stuffing out of her.”

Jason lifted a single eyebrow. “‘Squeeze the stuffing'? Are you an eighty-year-old grandma or a single dude? Do you like her?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to date her?”

“Yes.”

“Then what's the problem?”

“I don't really know anything about her.”

Lindy leaned back in his chair. “Isn't that why you date someone?”

Sean rammed his hand through his hair and began kneading his neck and his shoulders. “That's just the thing. Every time I get close enough to ask her out or even when we are spending time together, I'll ask her what I think is an easy question, and she evades the answer like a rookie running back avoiding a tackle.”

Jason shrugged his shoulders. “Doesn't sound like you really like this girl.”

Sean gritted his teeth together. “How would you know?”

“'Cause if you liked her, you wouldn't care how many blocks she threw up. You would keep trying to get through to her. You'd keep trying because you believed she was worth it. Do you think getting Amelia Tandis to fall in love with me was easy?”

“No.” Sean chuckled.

“Exactly. I had to use every stick in my hockey bag and find a few new ones to crack her thick exterior. Millie's issue was trusting that anyone could love her for something more than her looks. Once she accepted and trusted that I loved her in spite of how she looked, rather than because of how she looked, it was a whole new ballgame. I wouldn't settle for anything less than having it all. Dude, I know this is a little too chat-time-over-lattes-with-the-ladies, but being a real man doesn't mean hiding your feelings. It means not being afraid to let them shine.”

Lindy nodded. “Although I do think marriage has made us both overly in touch with our emotions, Hooty's right. I almost let a wayward sense of nobility and my own fear keep me from being with Jane. Loving someone has more to do with understanding what that person needs from you than it does trying to figure out what you need from the other person. If you are focused on how confusing this girl is to you then your focus is still on you. She doesn't need you to decode her. She needs you to be there for her. What you have to do is figure out what it is that only you can provide her. You determine that and the rest of it will fall into place. It won't be easy, but trust me,” he said as he looked over his shoulder at his wife. “It's totally worth it.”

Sean leaned back in his chair and contemplated the two men who had married his two oldest friends. No one would ever consider either of the professional hockey players weak or unmanly, but here they were professing love for their wives and encouraging him to seek out the same kind of love with Maggie. Listening to Lindy and Jason made him want to discover if there was a chance. He stood up and nodded.

Lindy grinned. “Good luck, man.”

“Dude's a goner.” Jason leaned back in his chair and tossed another piece of chocolate in his mouth.

Sean wove his way through the crowd with his heart pounding, drowning the shouted compliments of party-goers. He didn't slow down to talk with anyone. He needed to get home. He needed to see Maggie. As he slammed open the door to the main lobby of the hotel, a heavy hand dropped to his shoulder halting his momentum.

Chuck Riley. He stepped into a manly hug, one-armed with three quick pounds on the back. “Hey Riley, sorry I didn't talk with you and Shelia. Something's come up and I need to get back to Gibson's Run.”

“Understood. Party's great. I won't keep you, but I thought you might want to know what I came up with on that little project you called me about.”

“The car?”

“Yep. Seems that your questionable car was actually rented by a recently released parolee of the State of Maryland, Mitchell O'Donnell. Name ring a bell?”

“Should it?”

“Not really. Just wondered. Name didn't mean anything to me, so I did a little digging.” He stepped through the doorway and leaned against a supporting beam. “He's from a pretty well to-do family in upstate New York. He was high up in a semi-popular Jesus cult called The Mission, before he upped his criminal advances. There was some hub-bub about him and a pretty little singer he tracked all over the country before he tried to kill her for not appreciating his overzealous fawning. His sentence was reduced to stalking and aggravated assault, thanks, it seems, to his parents' long-reaching influence. He's been a guest of Maryland's for a little over three years until a few weeks ago when he was released on good behavior.”

The hair on Sean's neck bristled. “But, if he's a parolee, he shouldn't be allowed to cross state lines. I'm not sure if he can cross county lines in some states.”

“Which is likely why he rented the car under a pseudonym.”

“But why would he come all the way to Gibson's Run, and then leave the car that got him there?” Sean kneaded his neck and shoulder.

“That's a question for you to figure out, Chief. I will help anyway I can, but I have enough criminals of my own to keep track of, I can't take on another state's lunatics, too.”

“Thanks. It would have taken me months to get this information. I really appreciate you going out on a limb for me.” Sean's lips tightened.

“Partners don't stop being partners just because one of them quits.” Chuck grinned. “Anyway, maybe now I can get you to come up and have dinner with us. Shelia's been in my craw for weeks, but I didn't want to bug you.”

“You mean you forgot to ask.”

“That too.”

“I'll try and come up in the next week. Tell Shelia I am sorry for not getting back to her sooner.”

“Thanks, man.”

“Who was the girl?”

“Not a clue. Her name was sealed in the record.”

12

Maggie scrolled through her expansive music collection. Her fingers lingered over certain songs, flashes of memories crowding her mind. Every song told a story. She swallowed against the lump expanding in her throat, choosing a playlist that was melancholy and matched her mood.

She settled on the sofa and cracked the spine on her latest find. Books held the same allure as music and cooking. Each acted as a buffer to the outside and often toxic world. She read the opening chapter. She read it again. And again. And a fourth time. Slamming the book on the garage sale trunk doubling as her coffee table, she stood. She picked up the steaming mug of tea and shuffled to the large windows that spanned the back of the apartment. The graveled space behind her shop had a quiet view with a shining security light. The view of the gravel and broken-pavement parking lot just out the backdoor of her shop made her feel safe; a bird's-eye view of the easiest entry point to her apartment.

The parking lot was empty except for her delivery van. The lone security light flickered, signaling that it would soon need to be replaced.

She pursed her lips. Another thing to add to the list for Sean.

Jane and Millie seemed surprised tonight that she didn't stay for the party.

Even if Sean had invited her, she would have declined.

Despite her more than flicker of attraction toward him, she knew the best thing for both of them was to remain friends.

Friendship implied a subtle distance that would keep both of them safe.

She tilted her head to the side and the vertebra in her neck cracked. Every bone in her body ached, as if she were in her late nineties, not her twenties. Lifting her free hand to her shoulder, she rubbed the muscle trailing her collar bone. Her eyes floated shut, allowing the simple massage to soothe more than her weary bones, and she melted against the brick windowsill.

Her mind wandered back to the conversation she had with her Uncle Jack when she'd arrived home. He confirmed that her tormentor had made all of his scheduled appointments with his parole officer, except one last week. When Jack asked his PO about the missed appointment, he assured him that his parolee would likely have an excellent excuse. Her godfather wasn't as convinced and planned to drive up to Maryland to pay a surprise visit to the ex-con.

She tried to convince Uncle Jack that visiting him would bring more risk than reward, but her fierce protector couldn't be swayed.

She rubbed her temple at the mental replay of the phone call. She regretted placing her beloved Jack in jeopardy, but she knew her arguments were futile. Convincing a man to do the safe thing was rarely successful. She never should have risked an unscheduled call.

But Sissy's mystery car had her scared.

She tried to casually question Sean the evening after she saw Al's Always Available towing service hauling the sedan down Main Street.

He told her that the car appeared to be abandoned, and he wanted to return it to the rental company.

Who would rent a car and leave it in Gibson's Run?

The thought of whom the “abandoner” could be sent Maggie's mind rocketing in a thousand directions, but she'd simply nodded to Sean and filled his coffee cup in silence. If she'd asked one of the questions that had shot through her mind, she knew his curiosity would be piqued. She wasn't prepared to quench his thirst for answers. Instead, she called Jack. But their conversation left her more worried and fearful than she'd been in over three years.

He missed a scheduled check-in with his PO.

There'd been an attempted break-in at the shop.

And the explosion at the station…could they all just be coincidences?

Don't borrow trouble.

She closed her eyes and exhaled a slow breath. Drawing in a lungful of air, her eyes fluttered open. The warmth of the air from her lips fogged against the window. The flash of wind against the glass pane seeped through the poorly sealed frame, forcing her to turn from the view.

Her gaze landed on coat hooks that held her well-worn wool coat and a fleece jacket she'd had since college, but nothing else. Her stomach twisted.

Have you noticed anything missing recently?

Her blue scarf, one of the last presents she'd received from her parents, hadn't been at church last week. From the night of her parents' deaths, she had wrapped herself in the scarf like a security blanket whenever she needed the comfort of their arms. The past five days were jammed with preparations and the missing scarf hadn't crossed her mind until this moment. Setting her tea cup on the foot locker, she pivoted toward the jackets. She yanked them off their hooks hoping to see the tattered, midnight blue cashmere strip float to the ground.

No scarf.

Her heart sped.

She closed the few steps to her small bedroom. In the center she slowly spun, studying the space. Her bed was neatly covered with a second-hand quilt, and nothing else. The nightstand and dresser were empty. Jerking her minimal clothing from her closet, she flung the hanging pieces on the bed one by one. A knot grew in her throat.

No scarf.

Sean had asked her over a week ago if she was missing anything, and she had methodically searched the café, looking for any sign that her life had been invaded. Everything appeared to be in order downstairs. She'd never thought to look in her apartment.

She slithered to the floor. Her legs suddenly became boiled spaghetti. A warm tear streaked down her face. Dragging in a breath, she forced it out through her lips.

The break-in? The car? The missed appointment? The scarf? Was he here? No. No. It couldn't be him.

Her lungs burned with the pressure of the air she gulped. She shook her head. Coincidence did not dictate pattern.

He hadn't been in Gibson's Run. The madman wouldn't risk his freedom to spy on her and not make contact. He didn't work in stealth, subtle gestures. If he had been here—she swallowed against the knot in her throat—he would've wanted her to know it.