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“Turns out, she’s asked a real estate agent to come out tomorrow, tell us what our options are. That’s the meeting she was headed to the other day when I showed up unexpectedly.”
“It’s always good to know your options,” Nic said.
“Options,” Sarah replied, “mean change. And I’ve had enough change.”
“We walked by the old Lake Hotel where that café wine bar place was,” Holly said.
“Why did it close?”
“Mom said the owners got a chance to take over a bigger place somewhere else and left on short notice. The Spruce is fine, but a decent town needs more than one café. It would be perfect for Janine.”
“In Deer Park? Are you kidding? Why would she want to come back here?”
“You may be tired of change, but she’s ready for one.”
“She’s actually mentioned it,” Nic said. “Her son’s fiancée is from this area. They’re talking about moving after they get married, and suggested she move up too. She’s always wanted to run her own place, but it’s daunting.”
But if Janine couldn’t afford a new phone, she couldn’t afford to open a restaurant.
“She would never take money from me.” Sarah bit into a molasses cookie, soft and moist, sweet and sparky.
“We can figure out a way,” Nic said as Holly said “Think about it.”
She grunted. They were teaming up on her, and it might work. But they would have to step carefully. “Dinner time. We can’t expect Janine to cook for us every night.”
“Why not?” Holly said. “One more thing. Two things. I called the local vet and the animal shelter. No reports of a missing cat who fits Bastet’s description.”
“Huh. So how did she get here? She’s too sweet not to have been someone’s pet.”
“Dunno. The other thing. On my way back, I saw a car pulling away from the roadside shrine.”
“What? Who?”
“Big white SUV. Woman driving, I think. No passengers that I could see.”
Like the one she’d seen.
“Did you see where she went?”
“Down the road to the Hoyt place.”
The same rig George spotted Sunday evening, or someone else? White SUVs were popular.
“Did you know George sold some of his land, on the east end below Porcupine Ridge?” Sarah asked her sister.
“Not until Connor just mentioned it. Who bought it? And why? You wouldn’t want to live up there.”
“No idea, though it sounds like the company is logging it.” She frowned. George had not liked her suggestion that he ask Connor to clean up the storm damage on his home place. Was there a connection?
* * *
They ignored all talk of murder and suspicion over dinner on the deck. They talked kids, the lodge, the cat, old friends, old times. The good times—and most of th
em were good times.
No grief support group, Sarah decided. She didn’t need it. She needed this—spinach salad, perfectly done pork chops, grilled peaches glazed with thick, sweet-tart balsamic vinegar. She needed friends talking about their lives, working things out together. She had friends back home, good friends. But old friends were the best friends.
After the dishes were washed, the air had picked up a chill and they settled inside to watch night descend on the lake through the big windows. So peaceful. For a moment, Sarah almost forgot that they were only here because of tragedy.
