Claws and some money to spend on clothes and a few discreet but expensive-looking accessories. The gray pullover, black trousers and sleek little flat-heeled shoes looked pricey. So did the big leather bag and the small gold studs in her ears. Her dark brown hair was precision-cut in a stylish, angled curve that ended at her jawline, framing her expressive face and knowing green eyes.
He watched her open the door of the compact and slip behind the wheel. There was something sleek and sexy about the way she moved. Maybe she had kept up with the yoga.
He realized he was not the only one watching Lucy. Some of the customers sitting at the sidewalk tables in front of the Sunrise Café were also paying attention. He recognized two of them from the old days—Nolan Kelly, the proprietor of Kelly Real Estate, and Jillian Benson, now Mrs. Jillian Colfax.
Jillian hadn’t changed a lot since the summer that Tristan Brinker had mesmerized the local teens. She looked like what she was—a former cheerleader who had discovered the hard way that when you married for money, you earned every penny. Life in the Colfax clan had probably proved a lot more difficult than she had anticipated.
But at least she and Quinn Colfax were still together, he reminded himself. He was the one whose marriage had gone down in flames.
Jillian raised a hand to get Lucy’s attention, smiled vivaciously and called out a greeting. The words were muffled because the door of the shop was closed, but Mason thought it sounded like “Lucy. Lucy Sheridan. It’s me, Jillian. I heard you were in town. Why don’t you join us for a latte?”
Lucy gave no indication that she saw or heard Jillian even though the café was just across the street. She closed the car door and pulled away from the curb.
“Nicely played, Lucy,” Mason said aloud. “You really have learned a few things.”
Anticipation about the coming evening crackled through him. He watched the snappy little car until it turned the corner and disappeared.
He stood there for a while, contemplating his prospects for the night. Then he remembered the closed-up fireplace and started making a mental list of the tools he might need.
Nolan Kelly finished his latte and got to his feet. He strolled across the street and opened the door of Fletcher Hardware.
“Hey there, Mason.” He flashed his warm, easy smile. “How’s it going?”
Thirteen years ago Nolan had exhibited all of the attributes that had destined him for a career in sales. Red-haired, blue-eyed and infused with a friendly, high-energy personality, he still radiated the earnest, honest air that had made parents trust him while their kids were buying pot and booze from him on the side. The only thing that had changed, Mason decided, was that these days Nolan sold real estate.
Joe got to his feet and wandered out from behind the counter to take a look at Nolan. Joe did not appear to be impressed. Bored, he went back behind the counter.
“Things are going fine,” Mason said. “What can I do for you?”
“That was Lucy Sheridan I just saw coming out of here, wasn’t it? Heard she was in town.”
“So?”
“I thought I recognized her. She sure has changed. Who would have thought that she would turn out looking that good? She was here the summer that Brinker disappeared. Remember?”
Mason said nothing. He had discovered a long time ago that the old cop trick of staying silent actually worked very well in real life. It was amazing how people would try to fill in a conversational void, especially people like Kelly, who were constitutionally inclined to talk.
“She inherited her aunt’s place, you know,” Nolan continued. “I’d like to talk to her about putting it on the market. I sent her a couple of emails and tried phoning her, but she never responded.”
Lucy had not answered Kelly’s emails or calls, and she had made a point of pretending not to see him a few minutes ago, even though he had been sitting right across the street. It didn’t take a detective to figure out that she was not interested in talking to Kelly. Not yet, at any rate.
Mason made his way back toward the counter. “I expect she’s probably still grieving.”
“Sure, sure, understandable. The house needs some work, but it’s a nice piece of property, and that old orchard is worth its weight in gold. I can get her a very good price.” Nolan headed back toward the door. “I’ll drive out there now and see if I can catch her.”
“Don’t bother. She mentioned she was going to do some grocery shopping.”
“In that case, I’ll drop by later on this afternoon or early this evening, then,” Nolan said.
“She told me that she has plans for this evening.”
“How could she have plans?” Nolan frowned. “She just got into town yesterday.”
“Sounded like personal business. Doubt she would appreciate having a real estate agent knocking on her door tonight. If I were you, I’d wait until tomorrow before trying to talk to her.”
Nolan’s clear blue eyes gleamed with a speculative expression. “What was she doing in here?”
“This is a hardware store,” Mason said. “I sold her some lightbulbs. What did you think she was doing?”
Nolan’s jaw tightened, but he obviously realized he wasn’t going to get any more information.
“See you later,” he said.
He did not actually slam the door on the way out, but something about the way he closed it made it clear he would have liked to have been able to slam it.
Mason watched him walk back across the street to join Jillian Colfax. Nolan sat down at the table and spoke briefly to Jillian. She did not look pleased.
Interesting, Mason thought.
6
What was it about the beautiful old house that made her so uneasy? It wasn’t just the general gloom, Lucy thought. That would soon be rectified with the new lightbulbs she had picked up at Fletcher Hardware.
She set the sack of groceries, the six-pack of beer and the lightbulbs on the ancient, scarred wooden table that occupied the center of the kitchen. She paused to look around, searching for whatever it was that was bothering her. She remembered the house as warm and welcoming, but now it felt cold. True, it was late in the day, but the place seemed darker than she remembered it.
The paneled walls, faded drapes, wooden floors and heavy, vintage furniture had always been atmospheric, but in a cozy way. Now the two-story house was saturated with shadows. She wasn’t sure the new lightbulbs were going to help all that much.
Perhaps the problem was that while Sara was alive the house had reflected her bright, positive, spiritual personality. Now that she was gone, the old house was simply an old house. Missing its owner, Lucy thought.