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Annette exchanges a look with a woman in a flower-print dress, who’s been standing like a loyal sentry beside Annette.
“I don’t, actually.” Annette’s never had a good poker face.
“If you know where she is, you need to let me know. What if something’s happened to her? Is she alone? She could be—”
“Helen is fine. She sent me a postcard last week telling me as much, apologizing for worrying us, and asking me to respect her need for space.”
“Did she write anything else? Where did the postcard come from?”
“I don’t know. I threw it away. Recently your mother was confiding in other people.” Annette emphasizesother peopleso there’s no mistaking her opinion of those people.
It takes a heartbeat too long for the puzzle pieces to connect. “Delilah mentioned a woman named Maeve. My mother got close with her, right? Is she the one my mother was confiding in?”
Annette’s raised chin is my answer.
“Who is she?”
Annette and her friend exchange another long look. “She’s a con artist and a predator who is staying down at the Ahava Cottage—illegally, I’m sure. I’ve complained about her to the sheriff multiple times, but he hasn’t done a thing about it. I can’t fathom why not.”
My mind dredges up a decade-old image of Sheriff Wilson. He lost his husband a few years before my dad died and has always been kind to my mom, even looked the other way a few times when Darren was young. “I’m sure if there was a reason for the police to be involved, they’d be on top of it.”
“Did you know she took advantage of Linda’s daughter—persuaded her to cancel her engagement and go to art school?” She makes a face like she just tasted something awful. “In New York. Bailey’s just a child. She can’t make that kind of decision for herself.”
The woman who must be Linda brings a tissue to her glistening eyes. Annette covers the woman’s hand with her own plump palm. The whole scene feels staged, and I should go, but an abrupt exit would cause an even bigger scene. Maybe that’s what Annette’s hoping for.
“Don’t worry,” Annette says, the sincerity in her voice belied by the shrewd sweep of her gaze across the restaurant. “Bailey’s a sensible girl. She’ll come around.”
Linda sniffs. “I’m not so sure. She drained the money from her savings account for this nonsense. Canceled the ballroom at the Inn, despite a nonrefundable deposit. It’s awful.”
“Did Maeve talk my mother into going ... off grid? Is that why she left?” At Linda’s hardened expression, I realize my mistake and arrange my face into a sympathetic expression, murmur reassurances, and promise to refund the deposit. Once Linda’s properly mollified, I ask again.
“Like I said, your mother was confiding inotherpeople. All I know is that good, responsible people don’t just walk away from perfectly good lives.” The implication in her words would sting if I expected any less from Annette. “Anyway, I’m sure you have bigger things to worry about now that you’re running the Inn. Running a business is a bit harder than daydreaming at a desk all day. And I suppose you’ll have to start repairing burned bridges.”
The bell above the Friendly Bean’s door chimes, and Annette calls out a “goodbye” to a departing customer. Her plastered smile deteriorates as she turns back to me. “Speaking of, Natalie’s fine. Happily married with two kids. Not that you even bothered to ask.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” I’m not surprised. Natalie and I were over long before we—I—ended things. She knew that too. Though she would never have admitted it. If I hadn’t walked away, we would have been unhappily married with three kids and a golden retriever by now.
“I hear you’ve got your sights set on Hope Gold now.” Annette’s eyes narrow, ready to see what I’m not saying.
I suck my teeth. “You’ve heard wrong this time.”
Annette purses her lips. “You two spent quite a bit of time alone on the roof-deck.”
“And that means something?” I ask. Kingsette needs more than one coffee place. Then maybe gossip wouldn’t travel so fast.
“You be careful with her.” Everything she thinks of me is undisguised in her expression. “That girl has been through enough trauma to last a lifetime. She doesn’t need someone else to come into her life if he’s just going to disappear without a trace.”
“Trauma?” Instantly, I wish I hadn’t asked.
No complications. No ties to Kingsette.
Annette leans closer, always willing to put aside personal grievances for gossip. “Her husband died. Terrible car accident. He was so young and handsome. They were deeply in love. It was all very tragic.”
An image of my mother holding my hand at my father’s funeral flits into my thoughts. When she lost her husband, everything changed. The way she ran the Inn, the way she spoke, even the way she laughed.
“She hasn’t been the same since,” Annette adds, as if reading my mind.
“I should go.” I tap my knuckles on the counter. “Thanks for your help, Annette.”
