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“Wait,” Zoey said, reaching out to clutch Charlotte’s arm. “Is he bringing usfood?” She was acting like they were peasants being visited by a charitable prince. Charlotte had to laugh.
Mac hunched over the platter as he walked across the garden, protecting the food from the birds, who had flown from their hiding places in the brugmansia trees and were now swarming around him, chirping loudly.
“Hi, Mac,” Zoey said when Mac stepped onto the patio. “You know Charlotte, right?”
Mac nodded. “We’ve waved and said hi over the years, but Lizbeth didn’t exactly make it easy to stop and chat.” The deep burr of his speech, like Frasier’s, was distinctly Mallow Island, a local accent that always sounded to Charlotte like they were all just getting to the good part of a story.
“Well, Zoey has more than made up for that,” Charlotte said. “Iknow a lot about you just from her. In fact, the only person she talks about more is Lucy.”
“That’s because I’ve never seen her,” Zoey said plaintively. “It’s like she only comes out when she thinks we’re all asleep.”
“Zoey believes someone is breaking into Lizbeth’s condo at night,” Charlotte explained to Mac.
“Why would someone do that?” he asked.
“Good question,” they both said at the same time.
Mac regarded them curiously, but seemed at a loss as to how to respond. “Well, I just wanted to bring you something on my way out. Sort of a welcome gift. Rosemary cornmeal doughnuts with a lemon glaze, and cornbread tartlets with ricotta and heirloom tomatoes.”
He set the platter on the table, and Charlotte and Zoey leaned forward to stare. The tartlets were small and perfectly round, with scalloped edges like the hems of Sunday dresses. Purple-tinged tomatoes were fanned on top, obviously cut by someone with seriously good knife skills. The doughnuts appeared to still be warm from the oven, the glaze dripping off them onto the platter. The green scent of rosemary and the sharp scent of lemon made Charlotte picture a long, sandy road. There was an old woman cooking in a summer kitchen somewhere down that road.Home.Charlotte blinked and the image was gone.
She turned to Zoey. “Puts our potato chip sandwiches to shame, doesn’t it?”
“I’ll never be able to cook like this,” Zoey said, shaking her head.
“Ditto. So this is just something you whipped up on your way out?” Charlotte said, looking up at Mac with a smile.
“Yes,” he replied.
She’d meant it as a joke, but he’d answered her sincerely, and she realized with embarrassment that he reallydidjust whip this up. “Well, it smells amazing.”
“Hey, Mac, do you have an opening at your restaurant?” Zoey asked. “Charlotte needs a job while she looks for another place to do her henna.”
He looked as if something finally made sense to him. “I’ve always wanted to ask you what that was,” he said, pointing to her bare legs. She watched as a blush crept up his neck into his beard. “I mean, it’s beautiful work.”
“Thanks. Most of it’s fading now.” She absently rubbed her thighs, where for months last winter she’d hidden Asher’s initials in her practice work, hoping he would notice that she wanted him so much that he was etched on her very skin. Long ago, Charlotte and Pepper had read in the henna book they’d checked out of the library about how, in some Hindu weddings, a bride would have her groom’s initials hidden in her henna for him to find on their wedding night. As girls, they’d been captivated by the thought of something so romantic and exotic and faraway. But if Asher had ever noticed his initials as they’d made love, he’d never said a thing.
“Are you really looking for a job?” Mac asked.
“Not a restaurant job, no. I had a booth in the Sugar Warehouse but had to leave because of the rent increase. I’ll find something to get by. No worries.”
He hesitated at the silence that followed; then he turned and left without another word.
“Bye, Mac! See, what did I tell you?” Zoey said as she took a doughnut. Charlotte did the same. As soon as she bit into it the lemon flavor burst in her mouth, immediately sweetened by the rosemary. The cornmeal didn’t make the doughnut heavy or gritty,but gave it a light earthiness. It was so perfect in its lack of pretension, obviously designed not to impress but to comfort, to extend to the eater a genuine piece of affection.
“You’re right. Nice,” she said, not entirely convinced that was a good thing. Nice, in her experience, meant one of two things: It was either hiding something darker just beneath the surface, or it made you lower your defenses and believe that there was more of it in the world than there actually was, which always led to disappointment.
Either way, she wasn’t falling for it.
Chapter Nine
Zoey believed in things other people never would. She’d accepted that a long time ago. If there was one thing Pigeon had taught her over the years, it was thatinvisibledid not always meanimaginary.
So when she found Lizbeth’s door unlocked again for the fourth time in a row the next morning, she didn’t bother telling Frasier or Charlotte. Nothing was taken, or even moved, as far as she could tell. But something was going on, and just because she was the only one who believed Lucy was behind it didn’t mean that Lucywasn’tbehind it.
Besides, the only other explanation was that someone was breaking in to actually sleep in here.
And that was even more improbable than an invisible bird.
