The Widow of Saunders Creek Read online

  “Oh yeah.” She stood and held the door while I passed by, straining with the boards. She smelled faintly of Ralph Lauren Blue. I only knew the scent because I’d bought her at least five bottles of the stuff over the years for one event or another. My memory liked it.

  “So, I met Jarrod’s wife.”

  “Oh?” I tried to keep my tone nonchalant. The last thing I wanted or needed was Ava zoning in her radar on my feelings for Corrie, especially when I wasn’t sure about them myself. “When did you meet Corrie?”

  “On my way here. She seems nice.”

  “She is.”

  “She said the two of you are just friends.”

  I scowled at her, irritation zipping through me. “What’d you do, interrogate her?”

  “Of course not, Eli.” Her tone dripped with irritation. “She told me you were here. I asked if you were dating, and she said you were just friends.”

  “Well, she’s right, and I’m not talking about it.” I started up the steps. Predictably, she followed. She didn’t seem in any hurry to get back to the store, after all.

  “Wow, Eli, you’re really fixing this place up.” Her boots clicked on the wooden steps behind me. “It’s a labor of love, isn’t it?”

  I shoved out a breath. “I told you we’re friends. Nothing more.”

  I set the two long boards on the hallway floor and straightened up to find her smiling, her eyebrows raised.

  “What?”

  “I was talking about the house, the past, your grandparents, Jarrod. But obviously you have more feelings for Corrie than you’re copping to.” She stepped forward and put her arms around me. We had known each other for so many years, my natural reaction was to pull her to me and accept the hug. She drew back. “I’ll let you get back to work. I just wanted to say hi.”

  “Will you be around on Sunday?” I asked. “I’m preaching at the little church.”

  “I’m driving back to St. Louis Sunday afternoon, but I might stop by to hear you preach before I go.”

  “I hope you do.” I watched her descend the steps, her long legs striding gracefully, her slender fingers sliding along the banister. She stopped at the bottom of the steps and looked up at me. “Don’t kid yourself, Eli.”

  Her words jolted through me. I knew exactly where she was going with that loaded comment. “It’s a renovation, Ava. Nothing more. Don’t read more into it than there is.”

  Reaching for the door, she gave a throaty laugh. “I may not have my mother’s talents, but I think I can read people pretty well. You are smitten with the new girl.”

  Corrie

  Delicious aromas of rising yeast and baking chocolate greeted me as I stepped into Jerry’s. Beyond the bakery section, to the far right, I could see a door leading into what I assumed was the art store. Paintings stood on easels and hung on the walls. At first glance, I didn’t recognize any of the painters. A few of the more abstract pieces caught my eye, and I wondered if these were local artists.

  The man behind the bakery glass had a round face and an equally round belly. He couldn’t have been much taller than I was, and his face lit up when he saw me. “Hiya, Corrie Saunders. Happy birthday!”

  I couldn’t help but return his wide grin. “Thank you.” I hesitated, trying to remember if he’d been in Sam’s shop while I was working. “Have we met?”

  Waving his pudgy hand, he shook his head. “Nah. Eli Murdock described you to me. I’m Jerry. I own the place. You here for your paints and supplies?”

  “I am.” I motioned toward some of the paintings on display. “These are good.”

  He nodded, and I sensed pride. “My son Billy painted most of these. Gets all his talent from his mother. I sell them here. ’Course most folks ’round here have already bought his work, so these have been here awhile.” He grinned at me. “You want one?”

  Of course I would get one, if for no other reason than to support a man who so unabashedly promoted his son’s talents. Besides, I was a strong believer in supporting local artists.

  “Sure,” I said. “Let me take a look at them.” They were stills mostly. Foliage in the autumn; the river in spring or summer. A beautiful red barn set against rolling, snowy hills. I was leaning toward the river picture when Jerry pointed toward the far wall at the end of the counter. “You might recognize that.”

  I walked to the painting he indicated. “My house.”

  “Yep. Looks exactly like it, don’t it?” He practically beamed as he took it off the wall and handed it over.

  Resting the bulky painting against my thighs, I studied the technique. Jerry’s son had good raw talent but could benefit from training, though I’d never presume to say something like that.

  I tilted my head to one side and concentrated on the story the artist was trying to tell. The lines were a bit off here and there, and he’d used too much gray in the dingy white, but it was definitely my house, painted against a cloud-ravaged night sky. I shuddered. It looked haunted. Was this the way Jerry’s son saw my house? Something scary and Halloweenish?

  “What is that in the attic window?” I asked. The double windows had some sort of shadow standing behind a candle.

  A shrug lifted meaty shoulders, and he averted his gaze. “Just something the kid saw that night. Said he thought it might be a ghost or something. I don’t believe in that hooey, but kids these days believe in everything. Billy sat in his car sketching the whole thing on a pad before he came home and painted it.

  Intrigued, I squinted, unable to look away. “When did he paint this?”

  “Let’s see.” He moved in front of me to the back of the painting. “Says here November 12.”

  My stomach did a little turn, and my fingers weakened so that I almost dropped the painting. I recovered it in time.

  “All right.” I handed it to him. “I need to look at the art supplies, but this is the one I want.”

  I was a bit unnerved as I went into the art room to look at their selection. Jerry followed me, carrying the painting. A short, plump fortyish woman greeted me as warmly as Jerry had moments before. “You must be Corrie,” she said. Her eyes smiled, along with her lips. If it were possible for a whole face to grin, hers would. Immediately, I was drawn to her. She held a cloth in her hands and wiped at the paint on her fingers. “I’m Verna, Jerry’s wife.”

  Jerry’s chest puffed out, and he slipped his arm around the darling woman. I swear, if they’d introduced themselves as Mr. and Mrs. Claus, I would have believed them. “Verna paints too.”

  “It’s lovely to meet you, Verna.” I walked to the canvas she seemed to be working on. Now I knew where the abstracts originated. I related to the painting of a flock of geese surrounded by reds and golds. “This is nice,” I said.

  “That’s so sweet of you to say.” Her face glowed red. “It’s a pastime, really.”

  I didn’t believe that for a second. This lady had talent and vision. Clearly, she loved what she did here. “Only a pastime?” I asked, then regretted my impulse. I tried to stay out of other people’s business. Besides, I had no room to talk. I hadn’t colored a canvas in eight years.

  But I’d already opened the window, and she nodded. “I gave it up when I married Jerry.”

  “That’s right,” he said. “I’m a full-time job.”

  She laughed and patted his cheek. “You sure are, hon.” She focused her attention on me once more. “I picked it up again as a hobby a year or two ago, after our Billy graduated high school and went on to college.”

  “Well, you’re quite good,” I said. “This is impressive work.”

  “Never seen a red goose before,” Jerry said. “But my girl sees things her own way.”

  The front bell dinged. Jerry grinned and tipped his cap. “Customer. Make sure you come see me before you leave.”

  “She’ll have to go through there to get out anyway, Jerry,” his wife reminded him.

  I spent the next twenty minutes rummaging through the store for supplies. I grabbed so much it was
as though I’d never seen paints and brushes before. I knew I was racking up a monster bill, and I had no intention of allowing Eli to pay for it all. But when I got to the register, Verna refused my payment. “Eli threatened never to do another day of business here unless I let him buy it all.”

  “But it’s too much. I can’t let him do it.” I held out my credit card again. “Can’t you just ring up a few things for him and let me buy the rest?”

  She shook her head. “He said you’d probably try that, and I was honor bound to keep my word.”

  “Good grief.” I snatched up the two bags she’d already tallied. “Fine.” I’d just slip a little extra into his check when he got around to billing me for labor at the house. “How much for Billy’s painting?”

  She named a price I thought reasonable, and I nodded.

  Her face softened. “Thank you for supporting him.”

  “He’s pretty good.” Finally, she accepted my card. “And it is my house.”

  When the transaction ended, she picked up the painting. “I’ll carry this out to your car for you. And Jerry has something for you from the bakery too.”

  “Oh?”

  Jerry was waiting on a customer when we walked through the door. He glanced up. “Ah, the birthday girl is finished shopping. Looks like you got yourself an armload.”

  “Your wife knows how to stock an art supply store.” I was sincerely pleased with my purchases and doubted I could have found much better in the city. It was clear she knew about paints. “I’m afraid I broke poor Eli.”

  “Now, you let him get you that birthday gift. A girl needs pampering now and then.”

  The customer paid, grabbed her bag of goodies, and left. Jerry lifted a box from the shelf behind him and set it on the counter. “These are also from Eli.”

  “These?”

  Grinning, he opened the box, revealing a dozen cupcakes.

  My mouth watered. “Red velvet with cream-cheese frosting?”

  “Yep. Said he called your sister and asked her your favorite.”

  “He must have jacked my phone when I wasn’t looking,” I said, mostly to myself.

  A red candle poked through each cupcake, and I was taken aback by Eli’s thoughtfulness and generosity.

  “He must like you a whole lot to go to all this trouble for you,” Jerry said, chuckling.

  “Jerry!” Verna shook her head and frowned.

  “What?”

  “Mind your own business, that’s what.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. It must be wonderful to grow into a plump older couple and still be so much in love.

  Jerry carried the cupcakes outside while Verna followed with the painting. I had to admit that so far Eli had given me a very special birthday. Now I was off to do a little shopping until lunch with Samantha Murdock.

  I waved as I drove away, leaving my two new friends standing outside their shop, arm in arm, waving back. At the stoplight, I glanced at the painting, which was wrapped up to protect the paint. November 12. Billy saw the shadow of something he thought was a ghost in the window the very day Jarrod died.

  Was it possible Jarrod had left his body and come back to the home he left me? Hope poured into me like warm liquid, and I could almost feel his love for me. Maybe I had been right after all, that Jarrod was the one leading me back to this place.

  Only, if it was true …

  “Jarrod,” I whispered. “I came back. So where are you?”

  By noon my stomach had reached a new low. I hadn’t put anything in it except coffee this morning, and it wouldn’t stop reminding me. I walked into the café where Sam and I were to meet for my birthday lunch feeling like I could eat my weight in food.

  Sam had already arrived and waved at me from the far end of the room. I walked over and slid into a red vinyl booth. “Happy birthday,” she said, her face lit with the same smile I’d seen a hundred times on Eli’s face.

  “Thank you. Am I late?”

  “Right on time. How’s your day so far?”

  I relayed my morning phone calls, Eli’s gift, and the art-store-slash-bakery, leaving out the ghost-in-the-window painting of my home. “Oh,” I said. “And I met Ava.”

  “Ava Lancaster?”

  I shrugged. “I didn’t get her last name. Are there lots of gorgeous Avas around here?”

  Her eyebrows rose, but as the server approached our table, she didn’t comment. I ordered sweet tea and opened my menu. It felt awkward because, as much as I was dying to hear about Ava, I didn’t want to appear interested. Luckily, Sam spared me the conundrum. “I assume she was riding?”

  I nodded. “She was looking for Eli, so I sent her up to the house.”

  “They’ve been friends forever. She grew up with the boys.”

  By “the boys,” I assumed she meant Jarrod and Eli. I wondered if Ava had dated one or both of them through the years. Again, Sam seemed to read my thoughts. Aunt Trudy had nothing on her. “All the little boys had a crush on her, but she set her sights on Eli and never wavered. They were good friends until high school, then started dating in their junior year.”

  Something akin to relief washed over me, as I assumed she and Eli were nothing more than friends turned childhood sweethearts turned friends again. The server returned with our drinks and took our order. When she walked away, I met Sam’s gaze. “Did they break up when they went to college?”

  “Yes. Then a few years ago, they both moved back to Saunders Creek and took up right where they left off. They dated awhile, then got engaged.”

  I hated to sound nosy, but she had opened up the conversation. “What happened?” Then it occurred to me that maybe she was the reason Eli never showed up with a girl. What if they were still engaged and their relationship was confined to weekend visits? I hadn’t noticed a ring on her finger earlier, but then again, I never looked.

  “They were a fairly good match. I didn’t object to Ava. After all, I’ve known the girl her whole life and enjoy her very much. I think it came down to a fundamental difference in how the children would be raised.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, Eli has deep convictions about God as He is portrayed in the Bible. He believes in absolutes and doesn’t have patience for anything that he feels contradicts the Bible.”

  “And she doesn’t believe the same way?”

  Sam shook her head. “Ava’s mother is a medium and wiccan. You’ll find quite a bit of that around here.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  She smiled. “Ava’s mother has a little shop that sells a lot of potions and dream catchers. Supernatural paraphernalia. It’s mainly tourist trinkets and the like without much, if any, power. Aunt Trudy and her kind don’t care much for it. They tolerate each other at best.”

  “Ava’s mother isn’t part of Aunt Trudy’s coven, I take it?”

  “Heavens, no. Aunt Trudy isn’t in it for profit, and she believes she has much more power than Ava’s mother does.”

  “Sounds like a rivalry.”

  “It’s more than that. Aunt Trudy believes she has a calling, every bit as much as Eli believes that about himself. She would no more open a booth and read palms than she would start a psychic hotline. She’s the real deal.”

  I listened to Sam, intrigued that she seemed to accept the idea of witchcraft so easily. “What about you, Sam? You sell herbs and things that they use in potions and ceremonies. But you’re a Christian, right?”

  “Now you sound like Eli.” She shook her head. “He believes I should close up shop since some of my customers are buying the herbs for what he considers ungodly purposes. But as you’ve seen since working with me, I only order the natural things all my customers want. St.-John’s-wort might be used to honor a goddess to the wiccans, but for others it’s a calming agent and has nothing to do with spells and potions. If I closed my doors, as he seems to want me to, I would be depriving the community of a valuable health-food store.”

  I could see logic in both arguments, but as much as I
’d come to admire Eli’s single-focused mentality, I sided with Sam.

  “So back to Eli and Ava,” she said with a short laugh. “They broke off the engagement three years ago, and Ava took a job at an ad agency in St. Louis. They rarely see each other.”

  Our food came, and we changed from talk of Eli and Ava to my family. I told Sam about my grandparents and Lola, skirting the issue of my mother as much as possible. “And your father?” she asked.

  “He’s a wanderer,” I said. “Lola and I just accept him as he is and enjoy the rare occasions when he visits.”

  She seemed to sense my desire to let it drop, and as she looked away, her eyes widened in recognition. Smiling brightly, she sent a hearty wave toward the door. I followed her gaze, and my stomach did a flip-flop as Fred and Liz, Jarrod’s parents, walked to a table in the middle of the room. It would have been rude not to acknowledge them after Sam’s greeting, so I followed her example and gave a polite wave of my own, along with as much smile as I could muster. They nodded and smiled in return. Not a bright “great to see you” kind of smile but cordial enough. The server came up to their table, and their attention turned away from me. I felt sufficiently dismissed.

  Feeling Sam’s focus on me, I forced myself to meet her gaze. She studied my face, her eyes full of compassion. I could tell she was refraining from whatever she wanted to say. As she looked from me to Jarrod’s parents, I realized she expected me to go to them. My stomach tightened at the thought, but I knew one of us had to make the first move. Jarrod would expect it to be me. “Excuse me,” I said, sliding from the booth.

  My legs felt heavy as I forced my steps toward the table, imagining everyone’s gaze following me. Fred and Liz both turned before I reached the table, watching me with guarded expressions as I approached.

  “Hello,” I said and reached out to shake Fred’s hand.

  A grunt left him as his work-roughened palm met mine. “We heard you’d come back to town.”

  “Yes sir.” My throat tightened around the words. “A couple of weeks ago.”

  He turned my hand loose, and I reached out to Liz. “I hope you’re both well,” I said, drawing on my polite upbringing to force out anything that might sound cordial.