Saving Grace (Madison Falls) (3 page)

She floundered. “Grace. Grace Addison.”

“Middle name?”

“Oh…no middle name.”

He shot her an inquisitive glance. Why hadn’t she thought of a middle name? Didn’t everyone have one? Now she had raised a red flag with a banker, and that wasn’t good.

“Middle name, none.” He scribbled on the paper. “Address?”

“1827 Pine Vista Avenue.”

His head snapped up again. “Oh, of course. The Miller place.” His face relaxed into a smile as he extended his hand across the desk. “Welcome to Madison Falls.”

“Thank you.” She accepted his welcome and nodded at the paper. “Is there much more?”

“Let’s see…” He scanned the document. “Not much. It’s been so long since I’ve done a new account. We don’t get a lot of people moving into the area.”

“It’s a small town.” As if he wasn’t aware of that.

“Yes, and we like it that way.” He looked beyond her, his brow lifting. “Joanne, come meet the gal who bought the Miller place.”

Suddenly surrounded by outstretched hands, it felt like her dressing room on opening night. Several customers lingered on the outskirts looking at her the way fans sometimes did when they were too timid to ask for an autograph. She drew in an impatient breath. If she had wanted to stay center stage, she’d still be in New York.

“Where did you move from, honey?” The woman named Joanne seemed genuinely friendly.

“Um…Seattle.” Her throat clenched at the sound of the lie.

“Beautiful city.” Another woman—Tina, according to her nametag—nodded. “I went there once for high school choir. Why would you leave such a great place?”

Grace had chosen Seattle as her fictitious hometown because she’d spent enough time working there to be able to fake a familiarity. She forced her fists to unclench. She was an actress, after all. It wasn’t lying so much as role-playing.

“I needed a slower pace, I guess.” She hoped she sounded earnest.

Heads bobbed on all sides of her.

“That’s what you’ll find here,” Joanne said. “Our pace is so slow you could take a nap for a year and pretty much not miss a beat.”

Grace coerced a smile.
Sounds exciting.

“You know,” Joanne’s intent look had become disconcerting. “You remind me of someone.”

Grace’s heart galloped but she forced her expression to remain dispassionate. “Oh really?”

Joanne snapped her fingers. “I know. Anne Hathaway. In that movie
Rachel Getting Married
, where she had the short cut.”

Grace let out a tiny titter and touched her hair. Warm Cinnamon from a box would not have been her first choice. She shifted in her seat, anxious to pick up the pace on that paperwork. A couple strolled past on their way to the door, stealing a quick look at her.

Joanne leaned in. “Don’t mind us, Miss Addison,” she said with a hint of candor. “We’re just not used to seeing such fancy attire around here.”

Grace glanced down at her favorite spring green linen pants and matching silk short-sleeve sweater. The heels of her white sandals were only two inches high. Flat-out casual.

She quickly assessed the costume-plot of the scene in which she seemed to be starring. The customers all wore shorts or jeans, and the bank employees looked as if they’d extended casual Friday to include Monday through Thursday. The men weren’t even wearing ties.

Great
. If she had any hope of blending in, she’d have to learn to dress the part.

Chapter 4

An hour later, Grace wrote her first check from her new account made out to ‘Sylvia’s Closet.’

She exited the store, laden down with several bags full of jeans, T-shirts, socks and sneakers. She drew in a satisfied breath. Small town life at least weighed in on the plus side of the comfort scale.

Her heart lightened as she toted her new wardrobe down the street. She’d only been able to bring one suitcase. She needed new clothes anyway, so that justified the expense.

Casting a look at the vibrant blue overhead, a spark of homesickness jolted through her. She pinched back a tear. If she was home right now, she’d more than likely be on her way to her voice lesson, glancing up at the same sky, albeit a narrower strip of it.

She looked around, noticing for the first time that nobody seemed to be in much of a hurry. She slowed her pace, mimicking that of the dozen or so people who meandered along Main Street. Of course they weren’t in a hurry. Where did they have to go? She smiled lightly. Walking at her usual rate, she’d have run out of sidewalk and stumbled into that park up ahead as if she were running a race. That was no way to blend in.

The eclectic display in an upcoming store window brought to mind another item on her list. She tipped her head back to read the sign over the door.
Roberts and Son Hardware
. Surely someone here could instruct her. Struggling, she got hold of the door handle in spite of her bulky bags.

The place looked surprisingly tidy considering the crammed-full shelves lining its aisles. Having no idea where to even begin looking, she started on one end, taking care not to knock anything over with her shopping bags.

Suddenly, her breath caught in her throat. Blinking back threatening tears, she set down her bags, freeing her hands to pick up a water globe from its place on a top shelf. Its smooth coolness mesmerized her as she rolled it over in her hands. It felt heavy, not some cheap souvenir. Its base was real wood, and the simple treble clef inside looked like brass. She held it close to her face, as if she might melt into its magical world.

Her fingers found the key protruding from the back of the base. She hesitated only a moment before turning it. Eyes closed, she released the key.

At once the music swept her away, washing her with vivid memory. The tinny tune played a full symphony to her heart.

“Sounds like opera.” A voice jarred her back to reality, and her eyes snapped open.

The warbled features of a man’s face projected through the glass globe in front of her. She lowered the orb as her stomach jumped to her throat. It was
him
—the stagehand wannabe.

“Nice.” He nodded at the globe, flashing a dimpled smile. “If you like that sort of thing.”

“That ‘sort of thing’ is called music.” Her words dripped icicles.

“Yeah, so I’ve heard.” He ran a hand across his dark, tousled hair. “Can I help you find anything, or are you just here for the concert?”

So, the guy worked here. Irritation boiling in her veins, she put the globe back on the shelf. Was that any way to talk to a customer?

“Yes,” she said, folding her hands in front of her. “I seem to have a small problem.”

“Most people do. That’s what keeps us in business.” He winked, his roguish brown eyes drilling into her. “What can I do to help you?”

She wavered. Her rush of emotion had thrown her off-balance, and now this man had muddied her thinking. Resolving not to play along with his familiar bantering, she firmed her mouth. “It’s my kitchen floor.”

He nodded, placing one hand on his hip and the other on a shelf edge. “I’m going to need a little more detail.”

Her annoyance brewed. “It’s squishy.” She felt ridiculous, like one of those women who didn’t know a wrench from a pair of pliers.

“I see—”

“Just in one spot. Under a tile.
Two
tiles. Anyway, I need something to pull them up with so I can put in some kind of support.” She smiled, satisfied that she’d sounded like a knowledgeable homeowner.

“Okay.” His head bobbed agreeably. “Or you could actually fix it.”

Her jaw tightened. Once again this guy had brought to mind those stagehands who always tried to impress the ‘little ladies’ with their knowledge of construction. Their technique might be more effective if they’d bother with a close shave and clean shirt.

“Fine.” She dipped down, reaching for her bags. “If you don’t think you can help me, I’ll—”

“No…sorry.” He held both palms up in surrender. “Spritz called me a little while ago.” His face softened as he offered his hand. “I’m Sam.”

Teeth clenched, she allowed his hand to hover for a moment before lowering her bags and accepting his handshake. “Grace Addison.”

“Grace…” His eyes latched onto hers a little too intensely. “Miss Addison.” He let go of her hand. “About your floor—”

“I can fix it myself,” she said. “I just need a crowbar.”

He looked like he wanted to either argue or laugh, then held up a just-a-second finger. “I’ll meet you at the counter.”

She moved to the front of the store, still stewing, and waited while an older man helped a customer at the till.

“Did Sam take care of you, Miss?”

She looked up to see that the older man had finished his transaction.

“Yes, I…” Her voice seized up with unexpected emotion. It was like looking at a
ghost
. She forced a steady tone. “He’s getting me a crowbar.” She looked away, unable to meet his gaze.

“Oh, well you’re out of luck then.” His soft voice revealed a caring spirit. “I sold the last one this morning, and I’m not sure when our shipment’s coming in. You might want to borrow one from a neighbor.”

Tears stung her eyes, and her throat threatened to close. “I see. Well, thank you.” She hurried out the door, anxious to get away before her emotions overtook her again.

When she was well out of view of the store, she set down her bags and brought her hands to her face. This would have to happen to her now, on top of everything else.

What was it about the older man that had jarred her memory and jolted her heart? A quality in his voice, or the gentleness in his eyes? Whatever it was, it had caught her completely off guard. She hadn’t expected to be reminded of her father.

“Excuse me…Miss?”

A deep male voice brought her sharply around, alarmed by its propinquity. Only when she saw Sam standing in front of the hardware store holding up the water globe did it register that she’d heard the bell over the door signal his exit.

Her face flushed. Giving her eyes a casual dab with the back of her hand, she forced the emotion from her voice. “Yes?”

“Did you want this?” He spoke haltingly. “I forgot to mention it’s on clearance.”

Debating, she inched closer. She did want it, even if it meant prolonging their conversation. “How much?”

“Six bucks.” He closed the gap between them. “But you can pay when you get your crowbar. Sorry we were out.”

“It’s okay.” She took the globe, kneeling to place it snugly amongst her clothing purchases.

“I’m not sure when we’ll get our shipment.” He wavered. “You’re in the old Miller place, right?”

Her head dipped tentatively as she stood.

“I drive down your street on my way home. I could bring it by when it comes in.”

She pulled back her shoulders, not knowing how to respond. It chilled her to think she’d only just arrived in this town and already she had no anonymity. Complete strangers seemed to know more about Grace Addison than even she did.

She shot him an admonishing look. Why would he just assume he could come to her house after she’d refused his help? A protest formed in her throat, but when her mouth opened to release it, she swallowed hard. The last thing she needed was to develop a reputation as the town diva.

“That won’t be necessary, thank you.” She grabbed her bags and spun around, hoping this creep got the point. Who did he think he was, anyway?

As she marched back up Main Street, she vowed to avoid the hardware store. From now on she’d keep to herself as much as possible.

She’d never fit in here, that had become painfully clear.

Chapter 5

Glitter rained down around the treble clef as tears dripped from Grace’s cheeks.

Barely making it home in time to keep her emotional outburst private, she had fished the water globe out of the shopping bag, knowing its tune would help pull every bit of sorrow from the corners of her soul. She’d slumped against the living room wall where she remained now, at least an hour later. What else did she have to do besides wallow in grief?

As if her life hadn’t been bad enough—with the murder, then the ordeal with Kirk—it had only gotten worse with her dad’s diagnosis. She’d been so wrapped up in protecting herself that she hadn’t realized till it was too late how sick he was. Her mom had tried to tell her, but Grace had been too absorbed in her own problems. Besides, she hadn’t wanted to endanger her parents. If Kirk knew where they lived…. A tremor shot down her back. Her intentions had been good, but would she ever stop blaming herself for not being there when her dad died?

She rubbed her eyes as the question ran through her mind for the millionth time.

Exhausted from the flood of feelings that had been building for months, she wiped her eyes with her fingertips and scolded herself.
Would it really hurt you to buy a box of Kleenex?

Looking around, she realized this was the most time she’d spent in this stark colorless room, which actually had some cute features. It certainly deserved more attention than she’d given it. She pulled herself to her feet and placed the water globe ceremonially in the center of the mantel. Taking a step back to admire it, she had to admit that this tiny bit of home decor had been a good idea. It lifted her spirits just looking at it.

She let out a sigh. What a wasted day. Bad enough that she’d plummeted into unexpected emotional despair at the reminder of her father, but she’d neglected the most important item on her To Do list.
Find gainful employment
. She rubbed her temples. True, her savings were now safely tucked away, but they wouldn’t last long, especially now that she had a house payment.

The
ping pong
of the doorbell nearly propelled her out of her skin. She stared at the door. What was she going to do, run? She didn’t have an escape plan. This
was
her escape plan. How could a person flee any further than the middle of nowhere?

“Yoo hoo!” A female voice sounded from the front porch.

Grace took a careful step toward the door. Any person who would utter the phrase ‘yoo hoo’ couldn’t be much of a threat.