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“Thanks, but I…never knew him.”
The awkward silence between us only lasted a few seconds, but it felt longer. Chief Grady looked like he’d rather be anywhere but here.
“Yeah, that whole thing was, uh…it was tough for Pete.”
I wasn’t going to let the opening pass me by. Though I was eager to leave, this was the only real opportunity I’d had to find out more about why my parents had lied to me about their families.
“What whole thing?” I asked. “I haven’t met many people here so far, but everyone looks at me like…well, it’s almost pity, and I have no idea why.”
He held my gaze for a brief moment, then shook his head. “Have you met Laura?”
“No, I just got into town this morning. You were the first person I met.”
He grunted in response, looking like he was about to say something else when there was a knock on his door.
“Come in,” he said.
It was Terrie, who walked toward his desk to hand him the papers he’d printed. He met her halfway, nodding his thanks as she passed him the small stack.
“Can I get you some coffee or anything?” she asked. “Either of you?”
“I can get my own coffee,” he said. “Do you want any, Avon?”
I liked the way my name sounded when he said it in his deep, masculine voice. Now that he was standing and I couldn’t just see him but feel him towering over me from a few feet away, I was reminded how attractive he was. Yes, I wanted some, but I didn’t mean coffee. My libido didn’t seem to care that he had treated me like a dumb tourist just a few hours ago.
My cheeks burned as I grinned and shook my head, not trusting myself to respond with words.
“Chief, the mayor is ready for you whenever you’re able to get to his office,” Terrie said.
He handed me the papers and looked at me expectantly. “Need anything else? Or should I get back to writing speeding tickets?”
Was that amusement I heard in his tone as he recalled my earlier verbal jab? I couldn’t be sure, so I just tucked the papers into my bag.
“No, that’s all. Thanks.”
I left his office, not looking back as I walked down the hallway, my heels clicking on the tile floor. The same shoes the chief had made fun of earlier. Why was I attracted to someone who made fun of me?
I remembered the trophy Blaire gave me a year ago when I’d been crying for a full week over a man who’d dumped me because I believed the moon landing was real, which he said made me a sheep.
Worst Taste in Men Ever was the engraving on the trophy. It was true. I used to have a thing for fixing broken men, but I was wiser now. A younger me would have jumped at the chance to see what Ryan Grady looked like beneath his uniform, but twenty-nine-year-old me knew better.
I’d spend my four nights in Sven’s Beard in bed alone. Or maybe on a park bench if I couldn’t get a room at The Sleepy Moose.
CHAPTER THREE
Avon
“Okay, let me know if anything opens up…thanks.”
I hung up the phone and heaved a sigh, my eyelids heavy from my long day of travel.
“Told you,” Bess said smugly from her desk.
It was 7:30 p.m.—time to admit I wasn’t getting a room at The Sleepy Moose. I’d gotten up at 3:30 a.m. to get to the airport on time for my first flight, which felt like days ago. Curling up on the tile floor of the Chronicle’s office didn’t sound too bad at the moment.
“You’re welcome to sleep on my couch,” Bess offered.
Waking up a room away from the scornful, demanding woman I’d spent most of today with? Pass. Though I was curious about the man who’d married her. She probably critiqued everything from his toast-buttering form to his favorite sleeping position.
“Or you could always sleep in the apartment,” she suggested. “It’s part of the building, so it’s yours now.”
The apartment. I closed my eyes, guilt streaming through me for the thoughts I’d been having about Bess.
“That’s a great idea,” I said.
She opened her desk drawer and took out a key on a ring. I walked over to her desk and took it, reading the faded gold wording on the white plastic key ring.
We’re master baiters - Mort’s Bait Shop.
How many times did my uncle use this key to unlock his apartment? I felt a momentary pang, wishing I could have met him, even once.
“Hey, Bess?”
“Hmm?” She was peering at her computer screen.
“What happened to Pete? I mean, how did he pass away?”
Her eyes found mine, her shoulders slumping. “It was an aneurysm. He was walking back here after breakfast. He liked to eat at The Corner Café, which the locals call Tipper’s. And he was walking back, talking to Jim Dorner, and Jim said his eyes got real wide and he just dropped. That was it.”
