Lock, Stock, and Over a Barrel Read online

  “Oh?”

  “I noticed Dee’s Corvette parked out front. So I took a second look and saw you enjoying yourself with Ricardo—”

  “And Olivia and Jeff,” she added crisply. “I just went to get a bite to eat and Olivia insisted I join them. And then Ricardo joined us. It wasn’t as if it was a premeditated date.”

  He laughed. “No, I’m sure it wasn’t. But it did appear as if you were having a good time. Nothing wrong with that.”

  “Oh, good. I’m relieved to know I’m allowed to have a good time.” She didn’t know why she was being so defensive. But something about his tone was really irritating.

  “Of course you’re allowed. Dee would be pleased to see you’re making such progress in such a short amount of time.”

  She glared at him. “What are you insinuating?”

  He shrugged. “I was just a little surprised to find you and Mick in the garden this morning.”

  “You make it sound like we were having a little tryst.” Her defenses were up now, but at the same time she was thankful Jake hadn’t happened on them when she’d been conversing with Mick in her nightie. That would’ve given Jake plenty to tease her about.

  “Forgive me, but I’m only saying that for all your protests against the unfairness of the conditions of Dee’s will, you seem to be making good progress with two of the town’s most eligible bachelors. You work fast, Daphne.”

  She bristled as she pointed to the table. “Do you want to sit down while I sign the papers?”

  “Thank you.” He sat down.

  “Would you like some coffee?” She considered dumping a cup right over his head.

  “No, thank you. I’ve already had more than enough.”

  So had she. But she controlled herself from saying it as she pulled the packet of papers out of the envelope.

  “As you surely noticed when you read these last night, this is only an agreement for the next year, giving you the use of Dee’s estate for the duration of twelve months and—”

  “Yes, I read the contract carefully. I understand the conditions.” She clicked the pen impatiently. “I realize that I have no right to any capital gains from interest or royalties or property or anything. I will only get a monthly stipend, which is actually quite generous, and the use of Aunt Dee’s house and car. I understand that you will continue to act as my aunt’s trustee.” She narrowed her eyes. “And my Big Brother, keeping a close eye on my transactions to be sure I don’t try to embezzle any funds or sell off—”

  “That’s a little harsh. I’m only doing what Dee asked me to do.”

  She twisted her mouth to one side.

  “I’m sorry, Daphne.” He laid both his palms on the table. “I think I offended you with my comments about Ricardo and Mick. And in retrospect, I can see that I was out of line. Will you forgive me?”

  Taken aback and somewhat disarmed, she blinked. “Yes, of course I forgive you. And I’m sorry I was coming across so defensive just now.” So she explained about giving notice on her job this morning and how Amelia so easily dismissed her. “I suppose I was already out of sorts. But your insinuation about me being a fast mover—well, that hurt.”

  He nodded. “I really am sorry. The truth of the matter is, I was probably just jealous.”

  “Jealous?”

  A sheepish smile tipped the corner of his mouth. “Yes. Ricardo and Mick were already making headway with you. Maybe I was jealous.”

  She cocked her head to one side. “But aren’t you married? I mean, Dad told me that Jenna is your daughter and, well, I assumed you had a wife.”

  “I was married. But Gwen and I have been divorced for some time.” His brow creased. “Jenna was about seven then.”

  “Oh . . .” Daphne sighed. “Well, I’m sorry. That must be hard . . . I mean having a child . . . and being divorced.”

  “It’s not so bad. Gwen and I have managed to get over a lot of our differences over the years. And we share joint custody of Jenna. And thankfully neither of us wanted to move away. All in all, it’s a fairly congenial relationship.”

  Daphne nodded, but she really didn’t get this. A congenial divorce? It sounded like an oxymoron to her.

  “Anyway, no hard feelings?” he asked.

  “Yes. No hard feelings.”

  He showed her where to sign and before long they were done, and he gathered up his set of papers and handed her back hers. “Now, you have exactly one year from today’s date to figure it all out. May the best man win.”

  She wondered at his words. Win what? Her? Or Aunt Dee’s estate? Suddenly everything about this arrangement felt murky and confusing. “Does anyone else know about this?” she asked as she walked him to the door. “I mean besides you?”

  “No one.”

  “And you won’t tell anyone?”

  “No, of course not. Why would I?” He peered curiously at her. “If news like this got out, you’d have no end of characters knocking on your door.”

  “Yes . . . I suppose so.”

  “As it is, you will have to be careful. Many will make the assumption that you’re fairly well off. Kind of like the wealthy widow, if you know what I mean.”

  “Yes, that just occurred to me.”

  “So just be watchful.” He smiled pleasantly. “And just for the record, as far as I know, both Ricardo and Mick are good upstanding guys. I suppose that’s what aggravated me.” He chuckled. “Your comment about Big Brother was slightly on target. But not the Orson Welles type. I’d rather think of myself as your friend, appointed by Dee, to watch over you for your welfare.” He stuck out his hand. “Friends still?”

  She shook his hand. “Yes. Friends. Absolutely. I appreciate it.”

  “Good. And if you have any questions, feel free to call—anytime. In the meantime, I’ll try to stay out of your hair as well as your love life.” Then he tipped his head and made his exit.

  But that last comment about staying out of her hair and love life bugged her. One minute he seemed to be coming on to her and the next minute he was backing off. What was up with that? She wondered what Dear Daphne would say. And once again, she found herself constructing a letter in her head.

  Dear Daphne,

  There’s this guy I’m mildly interested in, and at times it feels like he’s interested in me as well. But the next moment, he’s acting like he only wants to be friends. I feel like a Ping-Pong ball getting bounced back and forth. How can I determine what he really wants in our relationship?

  Annoyed in Appleton

  As she rinsed out the coffee carafe, she imagined what Dear Daphne would write back.

  Dear Annoyed,

  You say you want to determine what this guy wants in a relationship, but maybe you need to figure out what it is you want. You need to ask yourself what this man has to offer you and whether or not you’re really interested. Perhaps when you settle this question, your fellow will stop acting so wishy-washy.

  Daphne

  She chuckled as she washed down the kitchen table. Dear Daphne was probably right. Instead of worrying about Jake’s intentions, she should figure out her own feelings. Besides, it was sweet of him to offer his big brotherly friendship. She needed someone she could trust.

  She looked at her laptop and considered e-mailing Fiona back at The Times with her forwarding information like Amelia had advised her, but instead she decided to call. It might be interesting to hear what was going on there.

  “Amelia Jones’ office, this is Fiona,” Amelia’s assistant said pleasantly.

  “Hi, Fiona, this is Daphne. Amelia told me to call you.”

  “Oh yeah, I heard you quit. Everyone was pretty shocked. I mean, you were like a fixture around here. No one ever thought you’d quit.”

  “I was a little surprised too.”

 
“So what are you going to do?” Fiona asked with her usual curiosity. “I mean for a living? Do you have another job lined up?”

  “No, not really. Thanks to my aunt’s will, I don’t need to worry about that right now.”

  “Oh, man, you’re so lucky. Does that mean you’re an heiress?”

  “Sort of. Mostly I’m just looking at this as a vacation. I plan to take it easy for about a year. Although I do plan to do some writing . . .” She thought about the Dear Daphne column, wondering if she would be able to pull it off. “Among other things I might work on a novel I’ve been noodling on for years.”

  “What a life. I am so jealous.”

  They chatted a bit longer, and after enjoying a smidgen of relief to know that someone at the paper seemed to care that she was gone, Daphne gave the forwarding information. It was heartening to hear how Fiona longed to be in Daphne’s shoes. By the time she wished Fiona a long and happy future at the paper, ending the conversation, she was glad she’d taken the time to call.

  As she hung up, she decided to call Beverly. Daphne was just telling her about inheriting her aunt’s house when her friend interrupted her.

  “I hate to cut this short,” Beverly said curtly, “but I’m right in the middle of an article and I really wanted to finish it before Robert gets back.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were busy.”

  “Yeah, well, some of us still have to work to pay the bills.” Beverly laughed like this was funny. “I’ll call you back later. Okay?”

  “Sure. Don’t let me keep you.” As Daphne set her phone aside, she tried not to feel hurt.

  She’d been looking forward to confiding in Beverly, hoping that her old friend might even have some advice for her.

  And it wasn’t often that Daphne went to Beverly for help. Yet how many times had Beverly called Daphne at inopportune times? How many times had she used Daphne as a sounding board, asking her about everything from picking out shoes to menu suggestions? And now Beverly was too busy? How much busier would she be when the baby came? Perhaps it was just as well that Daphne wasn’t going back to New York. But she hadn’t even been able to tell Beverly that.

  Instead of brewing over Beverly, Daphne decided to rebook her return flight, giving herself another week before going back to the city. After that she called and left a message with Greta, telling her the news. Thankfully, the “binding” lease from more than twelve years ago had long since expired.

  “But I’ll pay next month’s rent,” she promised. “Or longer if necessary, although I’m sure you’ll find a new tenant before long.” Daphne didn’t feel guilty since Greta never seemed to have a problem finding new roommates.

  Daphne spent the rest of the day puttering about the house, enjoying the feeling that she was in control here. Oh, she knew the house wasn’t really hers to keep indefinitely, but for the time being, she planned to pretend it was.

  But as she began making herself more comfortable, she realized that she still had some legal questions for Jake. Although the contract she signed stipulated that she couldn’t dispose of or sell any of Aunt Dee’s property, what was she to do with her aunt’s personal effects? Wouldn’t it be nice to share a few things with some of the family members? Or would that be breaking her contract?

  Just as she was pondering this, her dad called to ask how she was doing. She filled him in on a few things, including her changed flight, but the topics she really wanted to discuss with him, details about Aunt Dee’s will, seemed to be off-limits. Another question for Jake. So as she was chatting with Dad, she added that one to her growing list.

  “I have a meeting tonight,” Dad finally told her. “Or else I’d ask you to join me for dinner. Maybe tomorrow night?”

  “Sounds good.” For the second time today, she felt a bit slighted. But her dad was a busy man . . . he had a life. For that she should be thankful. Besides it was a good reminder to her—she needed to get a life too!

  Later that afternoon when straightening out a drawer in the kitchen, she found the paint colors Aunt Dee had picked for repainting her house. Again she wondered about the contract she’d signed. Would that allow her to get the house painted? The colors, a buttery yellow for the body and soft orange and olive green for the trim, actually looked quite nice together. And Daphne could imagine how they would bring new life to the old house, as well as go well with some of the others in the neighborhood. Besides that, she’d noticed that some of the white paint was getting chalky and flaky, and it was obvious that the exterior of the old house needed some TLC. But, of course, as she considered changing the exterior, she couldn’t help but wonder about the interior. All those weekends of watching HGTV made her want to try her hand at some things. However, she wasn’t sure if she was allowed.

  She called Jake’s number the next morning, and because he was about to see a client, he recommended they meet for lunch to go over her questions. However, she was a little surprised when he suggested The Zeppelin.

  “Isn’t that just a dinner place?”

  “No, they serve lunch too. I often have business lunches there.”

  So she agreed to meet him at one. And realizing this restaurant might be more formal than Midge’s Diner, she decided to wear her black skirt and moss green sweater set. Her wardrobe choices seemed to be getting more limited with each passing day. Not only that, but she realized that her clothes back in New York might not be appropriate for small-town life either. Might her old friend Olivia be able to give her some pointers? Perhaps after lunch she would stop by Bernie’s Blooms and chat with her and reconnect.

  After dressing for lunch, Daphne remembered Aunt Dee’s pearl necklace. Since she was allowed to use anything in the house, it was permissible to wear her aunt’s jewelry as well. And a string of real pearls would go nicely with the cashmere sweater set. But so far there were two rooms in this house where Daphne had been unable to force herself to enter—Aunt Dee’s study and Aunt Dee’s bedroom. Both of those spaces seemed so personal, so private, and so far she had avoided them.

  And now, feeling like an interloper, she cautiously opened the bedroom door and just stood there looking. To her relief, Lucy and Ethel wasted no time, pushing right past her, and entered the bedroom as if they owned the place. They sniffed around and Lucy jumped on the bed while Ethel peeked underneath it, but both cats seemed to have the same curious expression—as if they were asking—where did she go?

  “She’s not here,” Daphne quietly told them as she went into the room. “And she’s not coming back.”

  Everything in this room looked exactly as she remembered from childhood: from the rosebud wallpaper to the blond-toned midcentury modern furnishings to the pale blue satin comforter and lace-covered pillow shams. Besides being a little more faded and worn, nothing had really changed. She looked at the aqua blue fainting couch, still positioned by the window that overlooked the backyard, where Aunt Dee sometimes liked to recline after lunch, enjoying a short nap before returning to her “textbooks.”

  Daphne could almost hear her aunt’s voice. “A girl needs to make her surroundings comfortable and reflective of who she is,” she’d told Daphne as they put a new set of pink satin sheets on the bed. Her aunt later confessed that the sheets were too slippery. “I felt like I was falling out of bed,” she’d said as she bundled up the shiny sheets to donate to Aunt Dee’s church’s tag sale. “But I wouldn’t have known that if I hadn’t tried them.” Daphne ran her hand over the satin comforter, wishing Aunt Dee were still here to answer all of her many questions.

  For instance, what was Daphne supposed to do with all of Aunt Dee’s clothes and shoes and hats and things? Because whether Daphne remained here for only a year, or longer, it seemed inevitable that her aunt’s personal effects would need to be sifted and sorted and removed from here. One more question for Jake.

  She went over to the long d
ressing table, looking at the many bottles of perfume still arranged on a gilt-framed mirror. Some of them were decades old and some a bit more recent. She slid open one of the drawers where Aunt Dee had kept her jewelry. Other than the pearls, which Dee had explained were “an extravagant splurge from the success of one of her textbooks,” Daphne had always assumed that most of her aunt’s flashy jewelry was only costume. But now she wasn’t so sure. Not much about Aunt Dee would surprise her anymore.

  The pearls were right on top, resting in a velvet-lined box, almost as if her aunt had recently worn them. As she picked them up, Daphne wondered if her aunt should’ve been buried in them. However, Dad had made those decisions before she arrived. He’d taken her clothes to the mortuary on the first day. And Daphne hadn’t questioned his choices. As she ran the smooth, cool pearls over the palm of her hand, she knew in her heart that her aunt—grandmother—would be glad for her to have this strand. At least for a year anyway.

  She slipped them around her neck, fastened the latch, and then checked her image in the big round mirror above the vanity. Yes, it was just the touch of elegance her conservative outfit needed. Appropriate for meeting her lawyer at a nice restaurant. Respectable. Her aunt would be proud.

  “Aunt Dee,” she said quietly. “You really didn’t have to die to get me here.” She closed the drawer, then picked up a sleek glass bottle of her aunt’s favorite fragrance, Chanel No. 5. She removed the top and squirted some into the air, sniffing the familiar aroma. As a child she hadn’t been fond of the overpowering smell, but over the years it had grown on her. A sophisticated powdery scent with contrasting elements of dark musk and light sweetness. A bit like her mysterious aunt . . . grandma.

  “Are you pleased with yourself now, Aunt Dee? Are you up there chuckling in your sleeve over how you got me over this confounded barrel? Are you impressed with the fact that I have managed to catch the attention of not just one, but two and possibly three men?”

  She frowned at her image in the cloudy old mirror, smoothing her auburn hair a bit, not that it made much difference. “But marrying for true love—really? That’s a tough one. How will I know what’s true love and what’s not? And what about being true to myself? I know you care about that too. I hope you won’t regret this game you created. And I hope you won’t be disappointed in me.” She turned from the mirror, went over to the window, and opened it up wide to let some fresh air into the stuffy room. Then she shooed Lucy and Ethel back out and closed the door.