The Coldwater Warm Hearts Club (29 page)

“I haven't said yes.”

“But you will,” he predicted. “Let us fly you in to discuss it. You must be wild to escape that ridiculous little hamlet you've landed in by now.”

Oddly enough, the idea of leaving Coldwater Cove was a lead weight that dropped through her heart and settled in her belly. It would mean giving up on Jake completely.

“I can't, Neville.”

“Don't say no. Say you'll think about it. I'll send you the offer in writing. You can mull things over and give us the green light next week. Toodles.”

The astronomical sum he'd offered to pay her orbited around her brain a time or two. If she was making that kind of money, she'd have the O'Leary brothers paid off in half a year—less, if she was frugal.

Even that much-to-be-desired outcome didn't raise her spirits. But she did feel oceans better about having returned the money from the sale of the Erté to the Bugtussle family.

“Evidently, there's something to that old sowing and reaping stuff,” she told Effie.

Then her phone rang again. Hoping it was Jake, she answered before checking caller ID this time.

“Ms. Evans, this is Deputy District Attorney Ethan Hopkins.”

Oh, shoot!
He was probably calling to tell her new charges had been filed against her to appease Bradford's influential family.

“Are you still there, Ms. Evans?”

“Yes. Yes, sir, I'm here.” Unfortunately, if he had her number, he probably knew where “here” was, too.

“I want to apprise you of new developments in your case.”

“I thought my case was settled,” she said shakily. After all she'd done to make restitution, how could the Commonwealth go back on the settlement like this?

“I suppose I should amend that. Some things have happened that have changed the disposition of your case.”

“Is Mr. Endicott in custody?”

“No. To my knowledge, he's not even in the States. Besides, this doesn't concern him directly.”

Oh, no.
The Endicotts had managed to have all the blame for Bradford's embezzlement transferred to her.

“This has to do with your arrangement with the former DA and Thomas and Malcolm O'Leary.” He went on to explain that his boss had been indicted for taking kickbacks from known organized crime types and was awaiting his own trial. DDA Hopkins needed Lacy to return to testify that the former DA had wrongly forced her to make restitution for a crime for which she was not guilty. Then the DA had put her in touch with the O'Learys so she could meet the financial requirements of the deal he'd made with her.

“You're not the only one who's fallen prey to this sort of arrangement,” DDA Hopkins explained.

“If there are others, you don't really need my testimony.”

“On the contrary, the weight of numbers makes a difference.” DDA Hopkins needed as many of the old DA's victims to step forward as possible. “Besides, you're one of the few who is actually an innocent party. A jury will be especially sympathetic to you.”

Lacy shakily agreed to testify.

“Oh, and just so you know, the O'Leary brothers were indicted as well and the judge ruled that all loans they made in conjunction with the DA's office are frozen until such time as a trial can determine whether said loans should be considered fraudulent. So in the meantime, you don't need to worry about repaying another dime.”

All the air whooshed out of Lacy's lungs. Stunned, she thanked DDA Hopkins, promised again to appear in court when he needed her, and ended the conversation.

She'd done one good thing by turning the money for the Erté over to the Bugtussles, and now her whole financial life was turning around.

Sowing and reaping, indeed. Maybe Heather Walker and the Warm Hearts Club were on to something.

But being out from under the O'Learys' thumbs and having a fabulous job offer didn't make her happy. As long as Jake was suffering, she would suffer with him. But he wouldn't let her help him, and she wasn't sure what she could do even if he did.

So Lacy tried something she hadn't done in a long time.

She prayed.

 

—Wanda Cruikshank, editor of the
Coldwater Gazette
, who wouldn't trade it for some big-city rag on a bet

 

 

 

A
week moseyed by.

Though most doings about town were overshadowed by news of the astounding good luck of Tina-Louise Bugtussle, a few things of note happened.

Deek Atwater, the sole member of the cyber team at the
Gazette,
took first place in a chess tournament in Muskogee. He credited the win to all the hours he spent playing against the computer in his mother's basement. Who knew the time spent in such a dank, musty place would amount to anything except mushrooms?

Mrs. Paderewski's piano students presented their yearly recital in the Catholic church fellowship hall. Mr. Evans would have said the performance was rated PC—Parental Consumption.

The town council voted to have a Most Beautiful Front Lawn Contest to encourage folks to plant more flowers and shrubs and generally spruce up their homes. Like most things decreed by government, the competition had unintended consequences. Lacy's dad overfertilized his lawn, which left several patches of grass dry and brown. He fixed this with a can of green spray paint and a promise from Lacy “not to tell her mother.”

She also didn't tell her mother about the job offer in Boston. Or her dad. In fact, she didn't tell anyone except Heather and then only because she had to talk to someone. Her friend offered a sympathetic ear but no answers.

She'd been praying for Jake all week without receiving any answer, too. Finally, she called in the big guns and put him on the prayer chain as “an unspoken request.” God would know who Marjorie and her gang were talking about, even if they didn't.

* * *

“Did you hear the latest news?” Lester asked Jake. The two men worked side by side flipping pancakes and making breakfast scrambles to meet the demands of the Tuesday morning rush.

“I'm not deaf.”

Everyone in town had heard about how Grandma Bugtussle had turned an old painting she didn't even like into a big fat wad of cash. Not only was there a full-page article about it in the
Gazette,
the Bugtussles' good fortune was on everyone's lips.

Jake, however, had gotten the whole story from Gloria, the owner of Gewgaws and Gizzwickies, when he'd dropped by some pieces his mother wanted to consign. She thought it would be a good idea to have some of her wares in both consignment shops.

“Best not to put all your eggs in one basket,” his mom had said. “It's good to spread things around.”

Gloria evidently agreed. Without any encouragement on his part, Jake was told that Lacy Evans had bought the painting from the shop.

“In fact, she came back in wanting to know who it had belonged to before, but don't tell her I said anything. My discretion is why folks trust me with their treasures,” Gloria had said without a trace of irony. “Forget I said anything. If she'd wanted you to know what she did, she'd a told you.”

But Lacy wasn't telling him anything. In fact, she'd gone out of her way to make sure their paths didn't cross. The Coldwater Warm Hearts Club was meeting for breakfast in the Green Apple as usual that morning, but Lacy was a no-show.

The club didn't know she'd given the biggest helping hand of all that week. Considering her debts, Jake figured Lacy's good deed was certainly more sacrificial than any of the other things the Warm Hearts did.

“To be honest,” Jake said to Lester over a mess of frying sausages, “I'm a little tired of hearing about the Bugtussles and their plans to invade Disneyland.”

“That ain't the news I'm talking about,” Lester said. “Lacy Evans got herself a big job offer from some company back east. I overheard Heather Walker say something about it while I was bussing the table next to her group and—hey! Where you off to?”

“I need to top off some coffees. Ethel's running a little behind.”

Ethel would have disputed that with her dying breath, but Jake had to have some excuse to leave the kitchen and find out about this job offer. When he'd told Lacy to go back to Boston, he never dreamed she'd actually do it.

His heart was pounding, but he tried to act casual. As he refilled the mugs around the Warm Hearts Club table, Mr. Bunn came in to the meeting late and had to be brought up to speed. It seemed Lacy had been offered a very lucrative position with a prominent New England art and design firm. They wanted her to start next week.

“Is she going to take it?” Mr. Bunn asked.

“She'd be a fool not to.” Heather's nose twitched delicately and she glanced toward the kitchen. The smell of something burning wafted toward them. “How's Lester working out, Jake?”

He didn't take time to answer. Instead, he hoofed it back to the kitchen and sent Lester out to bus more tables before the old vet set the whole place on fire.

For the rest of the day, Jake was on autopilot. Cooking had a certain mind-numbing routine to it. He didn't really need to think about most of the prep work. Chopping veggies and measuring ingredients had become second nature to him. He really only needed to focus when he was dealing with a new recipe or the hot grill.

So while his body went through the motions of his day, his mind raced a mile a minute.

It was what he'd told her he wanted.

He'd lied.

A couple of days after that horrible night, he'd started working on a plan to dig himself out of the hole he'd fallen into. Jake broke down and went to the Bates Clinic to talk to a psychologist. It might take medication, he was told. It would certainly take therapy, but there was help for his flashbacks. He just had to be willing to accept the help and do the work.

It wasn't going to be comfortable. It wasn't going to be easy. If it meant he'd be safe for Lacy to be around, he'd do whatever was necessary.

But she might not let him. She might have come to her senses and realized he'd been right after all. She
had
outgrown Coldwater.

And him.

He wavered between letting her go and trying to change her mind. If he loved her, and he was sure he did, shouldn't he stand aside and let her take the dream job she wanted? All day long, his thoughts chased each other like squirrels circling the same tree trunk. Even once Ethel and Lester went home and he turned the OPEN sign over, he was no closer to an answer.

Jake looked across the Square to Lacy's windows. If she was packing to leave, she wouldn't have time to fix supper. The least he could do was take her something to eat. Surely after all they'd been through together, she'd let him feed her one last time.

* * *

Lacy wasn't packing. She hadn't decided whether or not to accept Neville's offer and in the meantime, she still had a job with the
Gazette
. She was working on an article about the college's summer term. While she made notes, she also decided to call her sister, Crystal, tomorrow. She was the dean of admission at Bates, after all. What better source for her piece? And it would be a chance for Lacy to actually talk to her sister.

The truth was, Crystal was just so poisonously good, Lacy had been avoiding her. Since she'd been home, she'd only seen Crystal and her family at a couple of “command performance” dinners at their parents' home. It was wearying to be in the presence of perfection and judge herself wanting by comparison. Still, she thought her relationship with her sister might improve with time.

If she went back to Boston, there'd be no time.

Yet another thing to regret if she took Boyleston, Quincy, and Lodge up on their offer.

But the main reason for staying in Coldwater was Jake, and he'd pretty effectively taken that reason away. If he wouldn't let her near him, why stay just to torment herself?

Someone rapped on the door. She went to answer it, thinking it was Heather. Her friend had often dropped by since Lacy had stopped spending her evenings with Jake. Instead, when she opened the door, she found Thomas O'Leary on the other side.

She tried to slam it shut, but he shoved the door all the way open and came in without being invited.

“What are you doing here?”

He shook his head and made a
tsking
noise. “That's not very hospitable. I thought people out here in flyover country were friendly sorts.”

“Aren't you supposed to be in jail?”

He feigned shock. “Whatever happened to presumed innocent, darlin'? My brother Malcolm and me are out on bail. And speakin' of that, a little birdie in the DA's office tells us you're going to be the Commonwealth's star witness.”

So that's how he'd found her, an informant close to DDA Hopkins.

Lacy took a step back. “I'm not the only witness.”

“Maybe not, but you're the strongest. If you don't take the stand, all Hopkins will have to trot out are thieves, embezzlers, and con artists who got caught and pled out in exchange for their testimony. Jurors don't like that a lot,” Thomas explained. “So that's why Malcolm and me are keen on seeing that you don't speak against us.”

When she was younger, Lacy had read the Narnia books. In one of them, C. S. Lewis wondered if it was possible for men to go wild on the inside while still looking human on the outside. There was a glint in Thomas O'Leary's eye that made Lacy think he was one of Lewis's wild ones. There was no pity. No empathy. No recognition that she was anything more than an obstacle for Thomas and his brother to shove out of their way.

Permanently.

“Where is your brother? Back in Boston?”

“Oh, Malcolm will be touched you asked after him, indeed he will. But you'll soon see for yourself that he's just fine. He's waiting for us down in the car.”

A lookout ready for a clean getaway.
“OK. You win. I won't testify.”

“Ah, now, why don't I believe you?” Thomas said with a charming smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. “Tell you what. You come for a little ride with me and my brother and we'll see if you can convince us.”

“I'm not going anywhere with you.” Now would be the perfect time for Effie to leap down in her wildcat mode, but she was cowering from her perch above the cabinets.

Thomas pulled out a small handgun that had been tucked into his jeans at the small of his back. “I hope you'll come quietly. If your neighbor should pop by unexpectedly, things could get . . . messy.”

* * *

The hackles on the back of Jake's neck rose when he passed by the sand-colored sedan parked behind Lacy's building. He didn't remember seeing it there before. It had out-of-state plates, but he'd walked by it before he could make out the logo. Jake knew just about everybody in town, but he didn't recognize the guy drumming his fingers on the wheel.

Surely that wasn't enough to warrant the prickles on his spine.

No, God, please. Not another episode
.

But he didn't flash. Instead, he focused. As he continued to walk, balancing the insulated caterer's bag in both hands before him, he thought about all the times in Afghanistan when that prickle had saved his life. It was a holdover, his CO had told him, from a time when people were less civilized. It was the same instinct that made a doe raise her head the instant before a hunter framed her in his sights.

There were still some pretty uncivilized folk in the world. Jake couldn't shake the feeling that someone had eyes on him and without good intent.

At the bottom of the stairs, he heard footfalls on the iron staircase above him. Lacy was coming down with another man who had one arm around her waist, the other hand behind his back. Besides being so cozy with this stranger, there was something off about the way she carried herself—shoulders hunched, fingers bunched into fists. Her eyes went wide when she saw him, then she quickly averted her gaze. The guy cinched her closer to him.

Something was definitely up. Jake lowered his eyes as well, and started up the stairs, studiously not looking directly at the guy by Lacy's side. With the caterer's bag in his hands, he could pass as a delivery boy. He exaggerated his limp to present a non-challenging appearance.

When they passed on the broad staircase, Jake saw that the guy was holding a SIG Sauer pistol behind his back. Its muzzle was pointed in Lacy's direction. He shoved the caterer's bag between the man and Lacy, and made a move for the piece.

The gun fired, splattering meat loaf and biscuits and bits of insulated nylon everywhere. Lacy screamed as the guy gave her a shove that sent her over the railing. Jake launched himself at the man and they rolled down the staircase together, clattering to a stop at the bottom.

The man tried to wiggle away, but Jake wrestled him down, straddled him, and proceeded to beat the tar out of him. He'd held a gun on Lacy.

A beating was too good for him.

He heard the guy in the car shouting. Someone was coming toward them at a run, but Jake couldn't seem to get out of his adrenaline-fueled aggression. Then sirens blared and there was more shouting. Jake was vaguely aware that the other man had been subdued by a sheriff's deputy.

All his frustration over losing Lacy because of his own unwillingness to change, and then almost losing her for good because of this lowlife bleating under him, made Jake's blood boil. He just couldn't seem to stop pounding the man.

It took two men to pull him off.