Saving Grace (Madison Falls) (12 page)

“You’re in a quartet?” Grace perked up, excited by the opportunity to discuss her favorite subject, but fearful of saying more than she should. “What instrument?”

“Piano.” Lucy’s voice warmed. “I’ve played it forever. It’s my little escape.”

Escape
. Funny that the word could carry such a different meaning for different people.

“This will be fun.” Lucy gestured toward the shopping bag that Grace swung by her side as they walked. “I’m so glad you brought along that throw pillow.”

“I can’t believe someone was selling it.” Grace dipped into the sack that had held her new wardrobe just a few days before and now contained one of her rummage sale finds. “It has all the colors of the living room in it. I think I’d like to tie the rooms together with a unifying color.”

“Listen to you, Miss I’m-not-really-a-decorator.” Lucy backhanded Grace’s arm with a playful tap. “This is going to be easier than I thought.”

Grace gave a small smile of ascent. Things were looking up.

“Oh, I put out some feelers yesterday.” Lucy’s tone was as cheerful as her coral T-shirt that nicely set off her ponytailed tresses. “I’m sure we’ll have a healthy turn-out for the paint party on Saturday.” She pulled open a shop door, stepping aside as if she expected Grace to walk through it.

Grace’s face dropped. “Why are we going in here?”

“Well, where else would we go to look at paint?”

Grace tipped her head back as if the sign reading
Roberts and Son
might have changed to something more inviting. No such luck. Swallowing a feeble protest, she took a few careful steps into the hardware store, her eyes darting around like a secret agent on a mission.

“Is something wrong?” Lucy’s eyes narrowed with concern.

“No. It’s just that—”

“Well, hello ladies.” Mr. Roberts’ warm voice was like cocoa on a cold day.

Grace turned to him as he stepped from behind the front counter. A lump instantly materialized in her throat.

“I hope you didn’t mind waiting for that crowbar the other day, Miss Addison.”

She rasped out a weak response. “No, it was fine, thank you.”

“Hello Mr. Roberts.” Lucy beamed. “Will we be seeing you at the town council meeting on Thursday?”

“Haven’t missed a one in thirty-five years.” He spoke with an air of humble satisfaction, then clasped his hands together as if to signal his shift to business mode. “What can I help you ladies with today?”

Lucy spoke with a soft enthusiasm. “My friend Grace here is painting her house. You know, the old Miller place?”

Grace winced. When she went back home, would the house then be referred to as ‘the old Addison place’?

Mr. Roberts nodded sagely. “You’re in luck. Sam just got back from his delivery.” He leaned toward Grace in an aside. “He’s my paint specialist. I’ll go get him.”

“No…” Grace reached out to stop him, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“It’s okay, Grace.” Lucy patted her arm. “Sam really knows paint. In fact, he already said he’d be happy to come on Saturday.”

She did a slow burn. “You asked
him?
” Did everybody really know everybody else around here? What was the population of this town, seven?

With an offhand shrug, Lucy turned her attention to a display of vintage doorknobs. “Well, word got ’round church.”

Church?
Grace frowned. She was supposed to buy that this flirtatious beer swigging louse with obvious anger management issues was a churchgoer? She believed it of Lucy—she just seemed the type—but Sam?

“Lucy, I really don’t think that—”

“Morning, ladies.”

Grace whirled around, finding herself face to face with the paint specialist. The ‘plum’ under his eye had ripened slightly, its effect somewhat less alarming. His hair was tousled but at least this morning he had bothered to shave. He put his hands on his hips, throwing emphasis on his broad shoulders.

He tossed his head in the direction of Mr. Roberts, as the older man returned to the counter. “My dad tells me you decided to paint. Great idea.”

His dad?
But his dad was Mr…

A light went on in Grace’s head that could have illuminated Manhattan.
Mr. R and Son
, ‘just like it says on the sign’. She wanted to kick herself. That sweet Mr. Roberts was the heartless businessman whom she had charged with selling out the town.

Pulling in her breath, she grasped the bag handles with both hands.

“She has a color scheme.” Lucy sounded so chipper, as if she was auditioning for one of those decorating shows. The next Paige Davis. “Show him the pillow, Grace.”

Grace held a beat before pulling the pillow from its nest. Sam took it, examining the embroidery. He chuckled.

She lifted a hand to reclaim the pillow. “I don’t see what’s so funny.”

He shifted slightly, oblivious to her grasp. “I could swear I’ve clobbered Jill with this a hundred times. Her mom’s redecorating?”

Lucy clucked. “She finally let Jill talk her into it. It’ll do her good. She took such great care of her things that they’re practically like new, in spite of Jill’s hooligan friends.” Lucy took the pillow and gave him a playful swat. “Grace made out like a bandit at the sale.”

He looked at Grace with a disquieting ease. “A bandit, I know. I was an accessory to the crime.”

A burn settled in Grace’s throat. She felt like such a fool. Why had he let her prattle on like that the other day about his dad?

Sam spoke to Lucy, but remained focused on Grace “She took all that old stuff from the theatre off my hands.”

Lucy’s eyebrows lifted. “No kidding.” She snapped toward Grace. “You could use it for decorating accents. Maybe frame some of the programs. It could be a motif.”

Just what she needed—a
motif
. “Maybe…”

“It would be great. Shabby Chic is definitely in.”

Grace shrugged, looking at Sam with a mixture of resentment and regret. “I just couldn’t stand to see all that rich history of the theatre get split up. Once I started shopping…”

“Don’t think I don’t appreciate it.” Sam’s eyes softened. Why did they seem to get more appetizing with each passing day? He looked at his dad, then lowered his head toward Lucy. “You know how much I need the cash right now. Every little bit helps.”

Fear flecked Lucy’s eyes as she lightly touched Sam’s arm, then visibly calculated a change in tone. “So…paint.”

“Right.” He held his hand out in an ‘after you’ gesture, and Lucy strode down one of the overcrowded aisles toward the back of the store. As Grace moved to follow, Sam leaned forward and spoke in a confidential tone. “Decided to stick around after all, huh?”

She seethed, firing him a fierce look. She’d have to be careful not to let herself be manipulated by him. She knew his type.

Chapter 17

“Careful gentlemen, that’s a valuable piece of equipment.” Grace held her breath as two farmhand/ushers hoisted Salvatore onto the concession stand counter like a bale of hay.

“You want us to bring in those other boxes too, Miss Addison?” The one named Hank removed his trucker’s cap and swiped a hand across his brow.

“If you wouldn’t mind.” Grace admired her acquisition. “I’ll give you two the first samples for your efforts.”

Hank exchanged a perplexed look with his buddy Carl before the pair headed back outside.

Buffing the fingerprints off the sides of the machine, she heaved a satisfied sigh. “Salvatore, you look right at home.”

“Who are you talking to?” Nancy peeked into the concession stand, trepidation lining her sprightly face.

“You’re just in time.” Grace arched her arm à la Carol Merrill. “Meet Salvatore.”

The diminutive woman eased into the tiny room “Okay….” What is it?”

Grace puffed mock impatience. “
He’s
our ticket to concession stand success. When people around here find out what coffee’s supposed to taste like, they’ll be lining up around the block.”

“Around the block?” Nancy perked up. “Can we charge fifteen bucks a cup and let them drink it in an audience seat?”

Grace laughed. “I don’t think we’ll have to be that sneaky. Once we lure them in with our new coffee house ambiance, we’ll promote the show like crazy. We can even advertise some sort of deal…like a free ‘tall’ with each ticket.”

Nancy’s eyes glazed. “A tall
what?
”

“Latte.” Grace held up a paper cup. “I’ll have to teach you the lingo.”

Nancy’s expression crossed from confused to dubious. “Well, I hope you can return it if it doesn’t work out.”

“He’ll work out.” Grace smiled. “Trust me.”

From the look on Nancy’s face, that was close to the last thing she felt like doing.

“Where would you like this set, Miss Addison?” Hank and Carl stood at the door to the stand, laden with treasures from the hidden tomb of King Costco.

Nancy cast a wary eye on their load. “What’s all this?”

Grace shot her an offhand glance as she calculated how to stage everything. “Supplies.”

“You bought
supplies?”

“Yeah. You know, coffee beans, grinders, cups. I got two kinds of syrup, and I even bought some biscotti. Look.” She leaned over, digging around in the lidless box as Carl struggled to maintain his grip. She produced a wastebasket-sized container and held it up like a trophy.

“Biscuits?” Nancy seemed befuddled. “They look like cookies. You got all this at the Peach Basket?”

Grace twisted her mouth.
If only
. “No, I drove all the way to Missoula to shop at Costco.”

“Costco!” Nancy’s face blanched. “Wait a minute. You
bought
supplies?”

“Sure.” Grace shrugged. “Right after I bought a car.”

“You bought a car?”

“It made sense. Joanie from the bakery was selling her Beetle, so—”

“Oh,” Nancy’s face brightened—back to familiar territory. “You bought Joanie’s Beetle? Cute car.”

“Yes. It’s a little old, but it runs.” Grace didn’t really see herself as the Beetle type, but it would come in handy. She’d acquired a few things that would look adorable in her apartment in New York, and besides, she’d never driven across the country. It might be more relaxing than flying.

A bead of sweat formed on Nancy’s upper lip as she perused the contents of the boxes. “So, how much did all this cost?”

“It wasn’t so bad.” Grace flapped a dismissive hand in the air. “Considering what I spent on the machine, I could splurge on the beans.”

“But the theatre can’t afford—”

“Don’t worry.” Grace raised her palm. “It will be it my donation. I know the theatre needs money and every little bit counts.” She paused, casting a quick glance at the clean rectangle of wall paper between the windows where her painting had once hung. “Which reminds me…” She vacillated. Did she really want to bring this up? “Sam was selling off some theatre things at the rummage sale, and—”

“Oh, don’t get me started.” Nancy rolled her eyes. Hurt and anger practically announced themselves in writing on her forehead. “It makes me sick to think of all those things that we’ve preserved for years just getting sold like junk.” She waved the subject away as she turned her back and started out the door. “I’ll be in my office.”

“But…” Grace moved to follow, but stopped herself. She wanted to tell Nancy that all the theatre’s precious memories were boxed up in her basement. That she was about to become a wealthy woman and that someday soon she’d make a sizeable donation to the Madison Playhouse. If it still existed, of course.

No matter how badly she wanted to, she couldn’t quite bring herself to tell Nancy the truth.

“Uh…Miss Addison?” Carl readjusted his grip on the box he held.

“Oh, right. Sorry.” Grace scanned her minuscule space, then gestured toward the floor. “Why don’t you just set those down over there. I’ll have to make room.”

“Good luck with that,” Hank said, obliging. He looked around the booth. “You know you’ve got no power in here. You’ll have to plug ’er in out in the lobby.” He gestured toward the wall next to the stand. The men tipped their hats and returned to their regular duties.

Great
. Grace scooted the machine clear to the end of the counter just inside the stand and draped the power cord down to the floor and around the corner. To her relief, it was just long enough to reach the brass-plated relic of a power outlet. She plugged it in, hoping the outlet still had some juice.

“Oh!” Yanking her hand back, she shook off the afterburn of a tiny shock.
She pulled herself to her feet, then reached around and flicked the ‘on’ switch. A red light came to life, and she let out a relieved breath.
We’ve got power
.

She folded her arms and surveyed her purchases. Now that she saw the bulk of supplies sitting in the tiny space, she realized how daunting the task of storing it would be. She looked around. At least the stand had a little storage space.

She yanked open a drawer so old she half expected to find a yellowed pamphlet from the Suffragette Movement or a ‘Vote for Grover Cleveland’ button in it. To her disappointment, all it contained was a coupon for a free shave from Hector’s Barber Shop, and an ancient ring of keys. She pondered. Could be a good place to keep the twist spoons.

She sat down on the rough wood floor and began removing items from the boxes. Soon, encircled by barista paraphernalia, she leaned back and thought about how the day had gone.

Buying a car had been surprisingly simple. She’d been nervous about using her fake ID for such a major purchase, but since she had the funds in her checking account no one had questioned it. She knew it was impractical to own a car in the city, but her mom had more than enough space at her house. A definite plus to living in the Jersey suburbs.

Shopping had been fun, but the appraisal experience had been questionable. She’d been scared off by the taxidermy display in the waiting area of the first place.

“The owner’s hobby”, the receptionist had beamed.

The second place looked promising until the guy showed up in stained overalls and waders. Did she really want to trust the estimate of someone who spent their days measuring crawl spaces?