Ain’t She Sweet?

“. . . she had ample time to observe her sister’s lover.”

GEORGETTE HEYER, Devil’s Cub

Colin answered the door. Ryan stood on the other side, which wouldn’t have been unusual except it was ten o’clock on Monday morning, and he looked like hell. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks.”

Colin hadn’t spoken with Ryan since Saturday night. The lapse had been deliberate, since he’d had a fairly good idea of what direction their next conversation would take. Ryan was Colin’s best friend. Their old relationship of teacher and student had happened so long ago that neither of them thought much about it anymore. They played in a basketball league together, occasionally jogged on weekends, and Ryan helped him coach the boys’ soccer team.

“Has the plant burned down?” Colin said. “I can think of no other reason you’d abandon your customary workaholic habits.”

“The plant’s fine. We need to talk.”

Colin wished he could avoid this particular tête-à-tête. Sugar Beth had appeared on schedule this morning, predictably ignoring the fact that he’d fired her, and then she’d made herself scarce while he’d holed up in his office, staring at his computer screen. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. Making love with her yesterday had been better than anything he could have imagined, which, considering what he’d been reading lately, was fairly astonishing. She’d been bawdy, spontaneous, thrilling, and unpredictable. Afterward, she’d shown no interest in engaging in a postcoital examination of their relationship, which should have relieved him. Instead, he’d experienced this unhealthy compulsion to make her spill her secrets. Although he knew who she’d been, he didn’t entirely understand who she’d become, and the mystery enticed him. Maybe this was why so many men had fallen under her spell. She issued a subtle, irresistible challenge that lured them to their deaths.

But the image of Sugar Beth as a cold-blooded man-killer wouldn’t take hold.

Ryan gazed down at Gordon. “Where did the dog come from?”

“Just showed up one day.” He gave in to the inevitable. “Would you like some coffee?”

“Why not? I might as well make the hole in my stomach even bigger.”

“You should switch to a low-acid organic coffee.”

“And give up all that stomach pain? No, thanks.”

Gordon followed them into the kitchen, then waddled over to the sunroom and lay on the rug. Ryan pulled out one of the counter stools, only to push it back and begin to pace. “Look, Colin, you deserved some payback, no question about it, but this situation with Sugar Beth is out of hand. Now other people are being hurt, and you have to get rid of her.”

The faint sound of water running overhead pressed home the need to get rid of Ryan, and Colin only filled the mug halfway before passing it over. “Winnie’s upset, is she?”

“Winnie’s way past upset. Sugar Beth’s been seeing Gigi.”

News, indeed. Still, nothing Sugar Beth did could surprise him.

“Yesterday while we were at the concert, Gigi sneaked out of the house to meet her. Sugar Beth probably encouraged it. I don’t know how it happened. Gigi won’t talk about it.”

Colin silently cursed Sugar Beth. Did she go out of her way to create trouble? “I suppose it’s only natural for them to be curious about each other.”

“I can’t believe she’s involved Gigi in all this.”

“What do you think Sugar Beth will do to her?”

“You know what she’s capable of.”

“Sugar Beth isn’t eighteen any longer.”

“Let’s get real,” Ryan retorted angrily. “She’s floated through three marriages—the last one made her a certified gold digger. Now she’s broke. Desperate, too, or she’d have told everybody to go to hell on Saturday night and stormed off. Call me overprotective, but I don’t want a woman like that around my daughter.”

Colin hated being dragged into other people’s messes, but he couldn’t see a way to sidestep this one. “Things aren’t always what they seem where Sugar Beth is concerned.”

“You’re defending her?”

“I’m being objective.” Now there was a laugh. Even before yesterday, he’d lost his objectivity where Sugar Beth was concerned.

Ryan’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve gotten suckered in by her, haven’t you?”

“I haven’t gotten suckered in by anybody.”

“Then fire her.”

“I already did.”

“You did?” Ryan looked surprised, then relieved. “The first good news I’ve heard this weekend. Sorry, pal, I underestimated you. Do you know if she’s left town yet?”

“As to that . . .”

“I should have trusted you. But . . . I’m a little keyed up right now.” He gazed into his coffee mug. “The truth is . . . Winnie’s moved out of the house.”

“What?”

“She’s left. Moved into the apartment over the store.”

Colin was stunned. Ryan and Winnie had the best marriage he’d ever seen. If they couldn’t make a go of it, no one could. “I’m sure it’s only temporary. You and Winnie are the genuine article.”

“Apparently not. It’s like Winnie’s possessed. You know how rational she always is, but lately . . . She thinks I’m still hung up on Sugar Beth. After all these years. And she started talking about not knowing who she was, all that Oprah bullshit. I feel like I don’t know my own wife anymore.”

Colin remembered the way Ryan’s eyes kept straying to Sugar Beth on Saturday night. By making it possible for her to stay in Parrish, Colin had inadvertently hurt the two people whose friendship he most cherished.

“I’ve tried to reason with Winnie, but she won’t listen. She didn’t even talk to Gigi before she drove off. She left that little task up to me.”

“How did Gigi take it?” Colin asked, not really wanting to know.

“Oh, she’s taking it fine. I said that her mother was stressed out because she had so much work to do at the shop, and she’d decided to settle in there for a few days to get things cleared up without any distractions. Gigi bought it, but she’s a smart kid, and it won’t take her long to figure out what’s really going on.”

“I’m sure Winnie will come to her senses before then.”

“It’ll happen a lot quicker if Sugar Beth is gone. I’ve never believed in throwing my weight around, but if I find out somebody else has hired her—”

“Hey, Ryan . . .” Sugar Beth waltzed into the kitchen, a bottle of drain opener in her hand. Colin wanted to strangle her. She couldn’t have stayed upstairs until Ryan left. Oh, no. In her screwed-up head, that would have been a sign of cowardice, and how could she let a day pass without giving a hard time to as many people as possible?

“Your shower’s running great now, Colin. Add the sixty bucks a plumber would have charged you to my paycheck.”

Coffee slopped over the edge of Ryan’s mug as he slammed it on the counter. “You said you fired her!”

“I did. Unfortunately, Sugar Beth still doesn’t listen well.”

“It gets in the way of my self-serving lifestyle.” She headed for the sink, where she bent down to put the drain opener away.

Colin tore his eyes from her bottom, clad this morning in a pair of deep purple cigarette pants. “Exactly the sort of remark that makes people line up to hate you, Sugar Beth. But then you know that very well.”

“You think?”

He refused to play her game. “Ryan stopped by to tell me that Winnie’s moved out. Because of you.”

She straightened and smiled. “No kidding. Now that just about makes my day.”

Ryan’s mouth hardened. “That’s low, even coming from you.”

Colin wouldn’t let her weasel out of this with wisecracks. “Sugar Beth doesn’t mean it. She’s deliberately antagonizing you.”

“I sort of mean it,” Sugar Beth said. “You and Winnie pissed me off royally yesterday with Gigi.”

“You were way out of line,” Ryan said.

“In my humble opinion, you both need to lighten up with her.”

Colin cut in before there was blood. “I’m sure Ryan isn’t interested in hearing any of your opinions on child rearing.”

“His loss. I know a hell of a lot more about headstrong teenage girls than he does.”

Colin gave her his most quelling look. “You’re baiting him again.”

Ryan studied first one of them and then the other. “What’s going on with you two?”

“Nothing.”

Unfortunately, they spoke together, automatically making them look like liars. Sugar Beth recovered first and handled the situation in her own way. “Relax, Ryan. Colin’s done his best to get rid of me, but I’m blackmailing him with some unsavory facts I’ve unearthed about his past, which may or may not involve the ritual deaths of small animals, so if my body ends up in a ditch somewhere, tell the police to start their interrogations with him. Plus you might warn everybody to be careful with their cats.”

Amazing. Sometimes her cheek surprised even him. Ryan, however, had lost his sense of humor. “You still don’t care how many people you hurt as long as you get what you want.”

Sugar Beth liked to sting, but she didn’t have much appetite for genuine hurt, and all the amusement vanished from her eyes. “I don’t like being the bearer of bad news,” she said quietly, almost gently, “but your marriage was already in trouble or my showing up wouldn’t have sent your wife out the door.”

“You don’t know a thing about my marriage.”

“I know that Winnie’s moved out.” She regarded him sympathetically. “And you seem to think all you have to do to get her back is see the last of me. But I doubt it’s going to be that easy. Now if you’ll both excuse me, I have some errands to run.”

Sixty seconds later, she was out the door.

By the time Colin got rid of Ryan, the house had closed in on him. How had a man who cherished his privacy let everything get so far out of hand? Nothing he’d written so far that morning was worth keeping, so he grabbed a jacket and headed out the back door.

He’d thought about this long enough. It was time for action.

Everybody in the lunchroom was watching her, or at least it felt that way. Gigi’s clammy hands gripped the plastic tray as she gazed around for somebody—anybody!—she could sit with. She should have spent lunch period in the library, but she’d told herself she was claiming her power today, no matter how scary it was and no matter how much her parents hated her. Now, though, she decided she was too young to claim her power. She should have waited till ninth grade. Or maybe tenth.

Until now, she’d been feeling pretty good about her first day back in school. Nobody’d said too much about her getting suspended, and Jake Higgins told her she looked cool. Jake had acne and was like four feet tall, but still . . . Before she’d gone to bed last night she’d painted her fingernails with black polish and borrowed this black T-shirt her mom never wore because she said it was too small. This morning, she’d put on an old pair of black jeans that were tight and too short, but, with black socks, she didn’t think anybody noticed, and she’d found a choker necklace she’d strung in seventh grade with brown beads. It wasn’t the best Goth look she’d ever seen—she needed a cool belt with silver rivets or a black skirt with black-and-white tights—but it made her feel sort of strong and reckless.

Win-i-fred had spent the night at the store so she could get an early start on her inventory, and her dad had been in a crappy mood, so Gigi’d waited till she got to school before she ducked into the rest room and put on some really dark eye makeup. It made her light eyes look spooky and mysterious, which was cool. Her parents couldn’t get any madder at her than they already were, so tonight she intended to cut some choppy layers in her hair around her face and maybe put red streaks in if she could find a red marker. It felt good getting rid of her old baggy clothes.

A seventh grader bumped into her, and her bean burrito nearly slid off the tray. She couldn’t keep standing here. Chelsea was at their old table, throwing her dirty looks. She was sitting with Vicki Lenson, who Gigi knew for a fact had done oral sex so she’d be popular with the boys. Just the thought of oral sex totally grossed out Gigi. She’d never ever do that, not even if she was married.

Kelli Willman and all the girls Gigi used to hang out with were sitting near the front. There was an empty seat, but Gigi didn’t feel powerful enough to take it. The thought of eating lunch by herself made her armpits sweaty. Only total losers sat by themselves.

Somebody laughed at Gwen Lu’s table. All the geeks were there. Gwen and Jenny Berry. Sachi Patel and Gillian Granger. Which would be worse? Sitting by herself or sitting with the geeks? Somebody really powerful would admit that Gwen Lu and Gillian Granger were the most interesting girls in eighth grade and nice, too. But if she sat with them today, she couldn’t turn her back on them tomorrow. That would make her as bad as Kelli.

Panic hit her. She didn’t want everybody thinking she was a geek, but she couldn’t keep standing here. Her feet began to move. She didn’t know exactly where she was going until she found herself standing next to Gwen’s table. Her tongue stuck in her mouth. “Can I sit with you?”

“Okay.” Gwen moved her tray a little to give her room, but she didn’t make a big deal out of it. Gigi sat down and unwrapped her burrito. Gwen and Sachi were talking about their science fair projects. Finally, Gwen asked Gigi what she was going to do.

“Something about cows and why everybody should be a vegetarian.” Gigi opened her bag of chips.

“Gillian’s thinking about being a vegetarian,” Gwen said, talking a little too loud. “But I like meat too much. I couldn’t ever do it.”

“I think it’d be cool,” Jenny said. “I love animals. But I talked to my mom about it, and she freaked. She said I need protein.”

Which led to a big and very interesting discussion about how parents didn’t ever want you to do anything unique. Then Gigi said she thought they all needed to make sacrifices for the planet, and she knew Gwen was starting to think about it because she didn’t finish her hot dog.

Gigi was surprised what a good time she had at lunch—nobody even asked her about being suspended—and she was sorry when the warning bell rang. After they took their trays up and got rid of their trash, Gwen and Gillian left for gym class. Gigi had English, and she headed for her locker to get her notebook. She’d just closed it back up when she saw Kelli and Heather Burke coming toward her. She started to put her head down and pretend she didn’t see them like she’d been doing all year, but she changed her mind and walked up to them instead.

Kelli looked so surprised that she stopped chewing her gum, and Heather’s cheeks got sort of red, like she was afraid something embarrassing might happen. Gigi pulled her books tighter to her chest and spoke fast before she chickened out. “Kelli, I want you to know you really hurt my feelings when you said all that stuff about me behind my back, about me being a rich bitch. I think if people are really friends and they have problems with each other, they should just be honest, so I guess we weren’t as good friends as I thought. And if I was acting stuck-up, I’m really sorry. I don’t feel stuck-up anymore.”

Kelli sort of hunched her shoulders, like she only knew what to say about people behind their back and not to their face. Gigi felt kind of sorry for her because Kelli didn’t know about claiming her power.

“It’s not my fault,” Kelli finally said, sounding really immature. “Nobody liked you.”

Gigi felt herself starting to get mad all over again, but she knew she’d be giving up her power if she lost her temper. “I was being immature,” she said, which totally surprised Kelli because she wasn’t used to total honesty.

Heather spoke up for the first time. “I think maybe we were being immature, too.”

Kelli didn’t say anything, she just looked down at the floor, and Gigi walked away. She didn’t know if she and Kelli could ever be friends again, or if she even wanted them to be, but when she got to English class, she answered every question.

Sugar Beth couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “A job? You’re offering me a job?”

“I’m desperate, and at least you read.” Jewel set a stack of books on the counter near the register. “Meredith quit without giving me notice. One phone call from an old lover, and she was on her way to Jackson.”

It had been evident at Colin’s dinner party that Meredith was more than an employee, and Jewel’s offhandedness didn’t fool her. “I’m sorry. Not about the job; I couldn’t be happier. But a broken heart isn’t any fun.”

Jewel shrugged her small, graceful shoulders. “I’ll get over it. We weren’t right for each other. We both knew it. But we were lonely, and, let’s face it, the pickin’s are slim in Parrish for girls who like girls.”

Sugar Beth had to say it. “You understand, don’t you, that hiring me could hurt your business?”

Jewel smiled for the first time since Sugar Beth had walked into the store. “Are you kidding? After what I saw on Saturday night, customers are going to line up just to get inside and torture you.”

Unfortunately, she was probably right. Still, Sugar Beth accepted the job.

On her way back to Mockingbird Lane, she told herself this would make everything so much simpler. It wasn’t good for her to be around Colin so much. She flipped on the radio and hummed along with Lucinda Williams as she sung a needy-woman song, but that didn’t help shut down her thoughts. She had to stop overdramatizing and put things in perspective. Yesterday had been nothing more than a hot fudge sundae. She’d gone without one too long, so the craving had built up until she hadn’t been able to think about anything else. But now that she’d given in and eaten her fill, she wouldn’t need another for a long time.

She turned the volume louder. She should be thinking about how she could get into the attic instead of about hot fudge sundaes. Jewel wanted her to start the day after tomorrow, which meant she had to accomplish her goal right away. Her stomach grew queasy at the thought.

When she returned, she found the door to Colin’s office shut, but she couldn’t hear his keyboard clicking. She was beginning to realize that the writing life would be a lot more glamorous if writers didn’t actually have to write. Ryan’s coffee mug sat in the sink. Sugar Beth didn’t like the pain she’d seen on his face, and fair or not, she blamed Winnie for it. What kind of spineless woman ran out on her husband just because an old girlfriend showed up?

A movement outside distracted her. She gazed through the sunroom windows and saw a workman digging at the far end of the backyard. As far as she knew, no one was scheduled to—

Her eyes widened. She shot to the door, bolted across the yard, and came to a dead stop next to him. He propped a wrist on the handle of his shovel and regarded her with his customary hauteur. She held up her hand. “For the love of God, don’t say anything until my heart starts pumping again.”

“Perhaps you should put your head between your knees.”

“I was only teasing when I told everyone you had a drug problem. If I’d thought for one minute . . .”

“You will let me know when you’re done caterwauling, won’t you?”

He wore the raunchiest pair of Levi’s she’d ever seen—threadbare in the right knee, a hole in the butt—an equally ratty gray T-shirt, worn work gloves, and scuffed, dirt-encrusted brown work boots, one of which had a knot holding the shoelace together. An honest-to-God smudge ran up alongside that gorgeous honker of a nose. And he’d never looked more irresistible. She scowled. “Even your hair’s a mess.”

“I’m sure a quick trip to my stylist will set it right again.” He pushed the shovel back into the ground.

“I’m not kidding, Colin. If the Armani people see you like this, you’re going to get blacklisted.”

“Horrors.”

She wanted to drag him into the pecans, wrap her arms around his neck, and make love with him until they were both senseless. So much for one hot fudge sundae being enough to satisfy her.

Dark patches of sweat stained his T-shirt, and the muscles bunched in his arms as he drove the shovel in again. He tossed a square of turf into the wheelbarrow at his side. He was digging some kind of trench. Or maybe a shallow grave . . .

He knew she was curious, but he kept digging for a while before he condescended to explain. “I’ve decided to build a stone wall. Something low that defines the property. It’s warmed up enough to get started.”

“Does this have anything to do with how quiet your computer’s been lately?”

“I’ve been thinking about doing this for a while,” he said with a trace of defensiveness. He pointed toward the west, where the property dipped toward a small ravine. “I’m going to build some terracing back there. I want everything to conform to the landscape. Then I’ll extend the wall up the sides of the property.”

“It’s going to be a lot of work.”

“I can do it at my own pace.”

Although the front of Frenchman’s Bride had been exquisitely landscaped, no one had ever paid much attention to the back. He dug up more turf. There was something about a man with a shovel, and the sweat on his neck might as well have been chocolate sauce. It wasn’t fair. Brains and brawn should be two separate categories, not bundled into one irresistible package. She needed to pull herself together before she went after him with a spoon. But where to start?

“I have to get into the attic. I heard something scampering around up there while I was in your bathroom.”

“I haven’t heard anything.”

“If you’d been upstairs you would have.”

He stopped what he was doing and propped both hands on the shovel to study her. “You’ve been trying to get into the attic ever since you started working for me.”

“I’m a housekeeper. It’s part of my job.”

“You’re not that good a housekeeper.”

Time to make her getaway. “Fine. If you want squirrels nesting over your head, I’m sure I don’t care.” She flipped her hair and turned away. Unfortunately, she wasn’t fast enough because he threw down his shovel and stepped in front of her.

“This new book has distracted me more than I thought, or I’d have caught on faster. You think your painting’s in the attic.”

Her stomach sank.

“All those stories you’ve come up with . . . Squirrels, looking for dishes. They were excuses.”

She tried to see a way out, but every exit was blocked, so she stuck her nose in the air. “Call it what you like.”

“Why didn’t you just come out and ask me?”

She tried to think of a polite way to explain that she didn’t trust him not to claim the painting for himself. He was a smart man. Let him figure it out.

Except he didn’t.

The bridge of his nose furrowed. He cocked his head and waited. Right then, she had one of those blinding realizations that told her she’d made a gross miscalculation. She tried to save the situation.

“It occurred to me that you might . . . The house is yours, after all, and . . .” Her voice faded. She licked her lips.

Another few seconds passed before he finally got it, and then outrage took possession of his dirty, elegant face. “You thought I’d take the painting from you?”

Her reasoning had been sound. Surely he could see that. “You do own the house. And I didn’t have enough money to hire a lawyer to figure out what my rights were.”

“You thought I’d take your painting.” It was no longer a question but a cold, hard accusation.

“We were enemies,” she pointed out.

But she’d offended his honor, and he was having none of it. He leaned down and snatched up the shovel.

“I’m sorry,” she said as he rammed it back into the ground with enough force to sever a spinal column. “Really. A miscalculation on my part.”

“This conversation is over.”

“A gross miscalculation. Come on, Colin. I really need your help. Show me how to get into the attic.”

Another clump of turf flew into the wheelbarrow. “What if your painting’s there? Aren’t you afraid I’ll steal it?”

He sounded sulky now, and sulky she could deal with. “See, this is the problem with having so many character flaws. I assume everybody else does, too.”

That chipped a bit of ice from his offended British dignity. “You don’t have that many character flaws. But you are an idiot.” He pronounced it like an American so she’d get the point.

“Does this mean you’ll show me your attic?”

“There’s nothing up there. Winnie cleaned everything out before I moved in. She might have put some of it in storage. I’m not certain.”

“Maybe you don’t know where to look. For example . . . there’s a hidden cupboard.” She could see that he wasn’t entirely mollified, but she also detected the first hint of curiosity. She pushed her bottom lip forward, going for a pouty, adorable look. “I really am sorry I offended your honor.”

He saw right through her, but he didn’t call her on it. She held her breath.

“All right,” he said begrudgingly. “Let me get cleaned up, and we’ll have a go at it. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

She wanted to tell him not to get cleaned up, that his grungy self was perfectly fine with her—more than fine—but she held her tongue.

Half an hour later, the sweaty stonemason had traded in his jeans for Dolce & Gabbana. He led her down the hallway to the upstairs study. “The door to the attic had to be moved for the renovation. But I didn’t want to lose wall space, so the architect got creative.” He headed for the built-in bookcases.

She’d already noticed that the center unit stuck out farther than its mates, but she’d assumed it had been built that way to accommodate ductwork. As Colin pushed on the edge of a shelf, however, the whole thing came forward a few inches, then slid to the side. Behind it, a narrow flight of stairs led to the attic.

“I’d never have found this.”

“Prepare to be disappointed.”

She followed him up the new set of stairs, then came to a stop at the top.

The attic was empty. The last time she’d been up here, her family’s dusty relics had filled the place, but now Colin’s footsteps echoed off the bare wooden floor and bounced against the faded green beadboard walls. The odds and ends of three generations of Careys had been wiped out. The Christmas boxes were gone, along with her grandmother’s steamer trunk and her grandfather’s golf clubs. Diddie’s ugly wedding china and the zippered plastic bags holding her old evening gowns had been swept away. A nail still protruded from the old paneling, but Griffin’s fraternity paddle no longer hung from it, and the basket holding Sugar Beth’s precious Care Bears collection was nowhere in sight. Everything erased. Winnie Davis had thrown away all the pieces of Sugar Beth’s history.

Dust motes swam in the shafts of sunlight coming through the small windows, and the floorboards creaked as Colin wandered toward the middle of the attic, the place where a Rubbermaid bin had once overflowed with her old dance recital costumes. “Nothing here.”

He had his back to her, which made it imperative to find her voice. “Yes, I see.” As he turned, she somehow managed to pull herself together. “The old house has a few secrets, though.”

The attic was filled with nooks and crannies from chimneys and dormers. She headed for a corner just to the left of the main chimney where she and Leeann had built tents from two broken chairs and an old stadium blanket.

Diddie had shown her how to open the cupboard long ago, but also made sure Sugar Beth wasn’t tempted to do it herself. “See, precious. Nothing’s in there except great big bugs and hairy spiders.”

Sugar Beth knelt in front of a two-foot-wide section of the old bead-board paneling and felt along the base. “My grandfather lived in terror of a return to Prohibition. He said that knowing this was here let him sleep at night.” She felt for the concealed latch and released it. “There’s another latch above the ledge at the top.”

The expensive fabric of Colin’s trousers brushed her shoulder as he moved closer. “I have it.”

The paneling had warped over the years, and she pushed hard on the sides to loosen it. Colin stepped in front of her and lifted it away.

The cupboard was too small to hold one of Ash’s larger, mounted canvases—she’d known that all along—but he might have left Tallulah a smaller work. Or a larger one could have been rolled up. She’d dreamed of the moment for weeks, but now that it had come, she was afraid to look. “You do it.”

He peered inside. “It seems to be empty, but it’s hard to see.” He turned his shoulders and crouched so he could reach along the floor. “There’s something here.”

Her mouth went dry, and her palms felt clammy.

He withdrew a dusty old liquor bottle. “My God, this is fifty-year-old Macallan scotch.”

Her spirits crashed. “It’s yours. See what else is there.”

“Be careful with that,” he exclaimed as she jerked the bottle away from him and set it on the floor with a hard thud. He reached into the cupboard again. “This definitely isn’t scotch.”

She gave a soft cry as he pulled out a fat tube about three feet long wrapped in ancient brown paper tied with string.

He straightened. “This doesn’t feel like—”

“Oh, God . . .” She pulled it from his hands and rushed toward one of the windows.

“Sugar Beth, it doesn’t seem heavy enough.”

“I knew it was here! I knew it.”

The string broke easily, and the brittle craft paper fell apart in her fingers as she peeled it away. But underneath, she found only a fat roll of paper. Not canvas at all. Paper.

She slumped against the window frame.

“Let me look,” he said softly.

“It’s not the painting.”

He squeezed her shoulder, then opened the roll. When he finally spoke, his voice held even more awe than he’d shown toward the scotch. “These are the original blueprints for the window factory. They were drawn in the 1920s. This is quite a find.”

To him, maybe. She hurried back to the cupboard, crouched down, and reached inside. It had to be here. There was no place else to look. She felt along the floorboards and into the corners.

Nothing but cobwebs.

She sank back on her heels. Paper rustled as he set the blueprints aside. He knelt next to her, bringing with him the smell of cologne and sympathy. He pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, ran his thumb along her cheekbone. “Sugar Beth, you don’t need the painting. You’re perfectly capable of supporting yourself. Maybe not in the first lap of luxury, but—”

“I have to find it.”

He sighed. “All right, then. We’ll search the carriage house and depot together. Maybe I’ll see something you overlooked.”

“Maybe.” She wanted to lean against him so badly that she pushed herself away. “I’d better get back to work.”

“I’m giving you the rest of the day off.”

That unbearable sympathy again. She rose to her feet. “I have too much to do. And I don’t need coddling.”

He’d only been trying to be kind, and she’d snapped at him, but she couldn’t manage another apology, and as she made her way to the stairs, she felt as blue as a person could get.

He stayed in his office the rest of the afternoon. Whenever she passed the door, she heard the muffled clatter of the keyboard. As evening approached, she put one of the mystery casseroles from the freezer into the oven, set the timer, and left him a note saying she’d see him in the morning. She felt too fragile to risk having him showing up at the carriage house later, so she added a P.S. I have cramps, and I intend to do some serious self-medicating. Do not disturb!

By the time she left Frenchman’s Bride, she still hadn’t told him she was quitting to take a job with Jewel, hadn’t thanked him for his kindness in the attic, hadn’t said anything to him she should have.

It had begun to drizzle again, and Gordon shot ahead. She let him in the house but didn’t enter herself. Instead, she made her way to the studio. As she opened the lock and stepped inside, she tried to convince herself that what had happened today hadn’t marked the end of her search. Colin had said he’d help. Maybe fresh eyes would see something her own had missed.

She flicked on the overhead bulb and gazed around at the workroom—the paint-encrusted ladder, the ancient cans and brushes. Even through the dirty plastic that protected it all, she could make out thick dabs of vermilion, splashes of pulsating green, curls of electric blue, and great sweeps of acid yellow. On the drop cloth that covered the floor, tacks and cigarette butts, a lid from a can of paint, other objects that weren’t as recognizable had become encapsulated like beetles fossilized in amber.

Paint was everywhere, but the painting was nowhere. And the man who lived in Frenchman’s Bride wouldn’t leave her thoughts. She struggled to hold back her despair.