Chapter 24
I woke confused about all things Bronson, my feelings further complicated by dream-memories of good times with him. If he was willing to make changes, to try to be different, shouldn’t I give him the chance? We had so much history, and I didn’t want to jump into my life here without being sure the old one was unrecoverable.
But I loved this small town—even if it was irritating sometimes that I couldn’t buy what I wanted around the corner. I’d already ordered and received new equipment, picked up my business license, got all the balls rolling. Could I walk away from this?
I decided to clear my mind. I needed to be certain, very certain, of my choice in a way I hadn’t been when I impulsively told him I was starting the business here, staying forever. I couldn’t go into this with doubts or it would never succeed.
After walking down the length of Main Street, I ended up at the little gift shop across from mine. The bell on the door rang, tinny, small and not nearly as obnoxious as my own. I’d have to consider getting a different one.
“Hello, Marge, how are you doing today?” I asked as I approached the old proprietor who had been one of my grandmother’s best friends for decades. I had seen her around town and stopped to chat with her on the sidewalk the previous week, but I hadn’t been into her store in several years.
“Glad you made it in,” she said, giving me a warm hug. The wrinkles in her face seemed to multiply when she smiled, even though the vivacity of it made me think she couldn’t be as old as I knew her to be. “Looks like you’ve been having some trouble over there. Are you going to clean that window off or not?”
I laughed. “Yes. I’ll do that. I was a little busy yesterday, but it’s first on my list today, when I finish chatting with you.” I took the chair she indicated and settled in for a gab session.
“It sure is nice that you’re back here again, opening your grandma’s old restaurant, even if you are doing something different with it,” she said. “We need businesses on Main Street to keep people shopping in town. I often saw pictures of your cakes; you have real talent.” Her nose was a bit beaky, her eyes bright, though tiny in her wrinkled face. It would have been an imposing or scary face, if she hadn’t had the sweetest smile in all of the Southwest and used it often.
“It’s a big job, but I’m excited. I’ve wanted to be in charge of my own life, and here’s my chance.” Now if I could be sure I’d made the right choice.
Marge laughed, a sound like gravel rubbing together. “You say that now, but running your own business is more like it owning you than the other way around. You’ll end up working far more hours than before.”
I doubted I’d be that busy in a town like Silver Springs, but with taxes and the books, she could be right. “That’s a fact. Paperwork alone is making my head spin.”
“Oh, you’ll be fine with that, and if you love your work, it won’t matter how many hours you put in. Starting my own business was the best thing I ever did, even if it meant that I had real tight times when I wasn’t sure if I would weather the storm.” She pulled out the tin of cookies she’d always hidden behind the counter for as long as I remembered, and offered me one.
“Thanks. I could use that reassurance.” I picked out a small chocolate chip cookie. “So how are things going here?” I looked around, taking in the change of merchandise, noticing the displays.
“New products, fancy faddish things out all the time, but they sell well,” Marge said.
My eyes caught a black circle poking out of one wall near the ceiling. “Is that a camera?” I looked up and verified the video camera would catch my every move.
“Sure is. Theft around here has increased. No one seems to have any respect for other people’s property. I’ve been meaning to come over there and talk to you about that, in fact. You see that camera?” She pointed to one that took in the front displays, including the windows that faced the street.
“Yeah. Catch a few shop-lifters with it?”
“Not yet, but someday.” She clicked the mouse on her computer and a screen with four video images popped up. “I’ve got the whole shop covered.”
I looked at the screen and noticed how the cameras canvassed the small shop from counter to displays. I paused, stared at the square that covered the front window. I could see my own store. “Could I check your recording from a couple nights ago? The person who painted my window might be on it.”
“That’s what I wondered.” Marge reached into a cabinet and fumbled for a minute, then pulled up the tape marked “Wednesday, Camera 3”. “Do you have the equipment to play this?”
It was a small tape, the kind that fit my video camera, which had me grinning. “No problem. I’ll return it as soon as possible. If the police need it as evidence, I’ll replace it.”
“Don’t worry about it. I hope it helps you.”
“If anything will, this will. Thanks.” I took the tape. “And for that, I’m going to make a batch of cherry almond shorties and bring some over for you. We’ll make it a party.”
“That sounds right fine, dear. I’m sure I’ll love anything you make.”
I took the tape and said goodbye, heading back across the street to my place. It was time to see what I could find out about this vandal—and hope that whoever it was could be linked to Valerie’s murder. I was ready to put this whole situation to bed.
The tape took a while to cue up, but my front window was clear on the screen, and the light of the street lamps helped, making it easy to see the front walk.
When the video came into focus and the person entered the screen, it took me a minute to decide it was really him. The vandalism occurred around midnight, less than an hour after I’d returned from the hospital. And I knew why I hadn’t seen it before, because the person who caused the damage had been with me, and unable to deface my building while I was away. He waited until he said goodnight, pretended to care about me and then painted my window. I felt my mouth firm, even as the muscles along my shoulders tensed.
I wasn’t sure at first, because I couldn’t believe my eyes, and let’s face it, the store front was quite a distance away. And the quality of the picture wasn’t all that great. Still, I knew that gait. I’d been dating that sack of bones for two years; I knew every mannerism, every move he made. And I’d make certain that Bronson cleaned up his mess, and went packing back to Chicago within twenty-four hours. I wasn’t sure if I was more hurt or angry at his actions, then decided on angry. It was safer.
The thing that really bothered me, though, was why he’d done it. I had every intention of finding out.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my cell.
“Hey, Tess,” he greeted me when he answered a few seconds later.
“Hi. You know, Bronson, I have this problem, and I think maybe you’re the only person who can help me with it.” I laid it on thick, making my voice a little bit breathy, worried.
“Really?” Oh, yeah—he’d lapped that right up.
“Yes. Can you come over now, or soon, anyway?” I knew he’d jump at the chance. He was here for me, after all, so what else did he have to do?
“Of course. I’ll be right there.”
When Bronson arrived ten minutes later, he looked disgustingly eager. I had turned the television off, though the DVD player and Camcorder were still cued and ready to go at the push of a button.
“I’m glad you called. I know you haven’t wanted to ask me for help,” he said when I opened the door.
“I’m sure you understand. It’s been hard for me.” I opened the door wider and gestured for him to enter.
“Yes, I know I’m the one to blame for our problems, and I’m sorry about that, but I’ll do anything to make it up to you.” He leaned in and brushed his lips over my cheek.
It was all I could do not to deck him.
I didn’t plan to make it easy for him. “You said last night that you’d fire Karen.”
He adjusted his shirt, straightening it, which was a sign that he was uncomfortable with the request. “Yes, I thought I made that clear.”
“Good. I also want to help you pick her replacement. If I might work with the new head chef, I want to have some say on things. You could consider me the staff liaison.” I kind of liked the sound of that title.
He nodded even as his fingers jerked again and grew fidgety. He hated the idea. “I think we could do that, so long as you understand that we do need to have someone competent in there, someone who is going to run the kitchen and keep the long tradition of excellence my grandparents started. But with you on the staff again, that’s a given.”
Now for the bombshell. “That’s the thing. I’m still not sure it’s a good idea for me to come back to work for you. Maybe I should find a different job in another restaurant, or start my own business there instead of here.”
Bronson’s eyes grew wide, and desperation oozed from him. “No, you can’t do that. You need to keep working for my hotel. It’s important to me to have you nearby, to see your smiling face every day.” The first part of his comment had been worried, hazy and upset, a little freaked out, but he seemed to catch himself. He took a deep breath and held my hand in his. “Of course, the most important thing of all is that we’re together. We can work out the rest of it later.”
“Do you think so? Because I have to wonder. For example, what were you thinking Wednesday night after you brought me back from the hospital?” I managed to keep my tone light despite the anger shooting through me. When I started the video, I expected panic.
Wariness entered his eyes. “What do you mean? I was worried about you. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“Really? Is this how you show me how important I am to you?” I flicked the remote to turn on the television, then pushed play on the Camcorder when the picture came in all the way. A few seconds passed, and Bronson’s figure walked onto the screen. He looked casual, unconcerned at first, then glanced around him, lifted his arm and began spraying words on my window.
The Bronson beside me was silent while he watched the footage, and I watched him. Stress, fear and finally calculation filled his expression. When the clip finished, he looked at me. “That should help the police find the culprit, don’t you think? Or at least to have a body type to go on.” He tried to sound calm and unworried, but his voice quavered, and his face had gone pale. “Too bad there’s not a good shot of his face.”
I threw the remote control at his head. Unfortunately, he ducked and it missed him, slamming against the sofa instead and bouncing down to crash on the floor. “How big a fool do you think I am? I know your walk, your every gesture. Don’t think for a second that I didn’t recognize you because the picture’s a little fuzzy.”
“I can explain,” he said, lifting his palms toward me in a calming motion. “It’s not what it looked like.”
“Funny, isn’t that what you told me when I caught you kissing Karen? Guess what, I’m not buying it. And to think you had me doubting my decision to move here.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I realized I shouldn’t have admitted that. Too late now.
“I did?” He sounded too happy about that.
“A little, but you can forget it, because I wouldn’t date you or work for you again if you doubled my salary and wore a chastity belt.”
His brow furrowed. “Do they make them for men?”
Angered beyond reason, I socked him in the chest with my fist, which caused him to move away, a look of pain on his face. Similar aching ricocheted through my hand.
“Ow! Why did you do that?” He rubbed his chest.
“Why did you vandalize my building?” I tried not to show how much my hand hurt from hitting him. I extended all of my fingers, checking to make sure nothing was knocked out of joint despite the pain. All would be fine.
“I know it looks bad, but I need you to come back to work for me.” He lifted his hands in front of him in placation, desperation on his face. “I’m glad you’re going to fix things for the Goulds and Tanners, but I have other clients who only signed because of you. They’ll back out; go somewhere else if you aren’t there.”
“And whose fault is that? You’re a man—buck up and take it. I’m sure if you wheedle and up the pay, you’ll find someone decent to take over for me. The clients may even be satisfied with their work.” It tweaked my pride to say it, but there were plenty of other pastry chefs around who were capable of doing my job adequately.
He didn’t appear mollified. “Yeah, but Grandma wants you.”
I froze. His grandmother was a formidable woman. She held the purse strings for the hotel, did spot checks to make sure it was being run right and always, always used me for her parties and events. She’d long ago said she wouldn’t eat someone else’s pastries.
That was nonsense, of course. She’d eat anything she darned well pleased, but it was a nice little sop to my pride. She still loved my work when someone complained that the cake wasn’t exactly what they wanted—whether or not they gave me a clear idea from the beginning—or some idiot like Valerie was feeling crabby and mean and chose to pick at me. I might not be the most even-tempered person on the planet, but I’ve never looked for minor problems with people’s work so I could make them feel bad about themselves.
“So,” I said when I had finished processing his words, my heart breaking. “This isn’t about us at all, or, not about you loving and wanting me. This is about pleasing Grandma. What did she threaten you with if you didn’t get me back, both as your fiancée, and as your employee?”
Silence filled the apartment like a heavy fog, but I refused to be the first to break it. Finally he swallowed. “If you don’t come back, she’ll replace me at the hotel and make me find somewhere else to work.”
Sometimes I really loved that woman; her punishment was so much better than anything I could have done to him. “You’ll have to tell your grandmother that I’m very sorry, but I’ve been in the city too long already and it’s time for me to return to my roots. I love this town, Bronson. It’s where I belong, and you are a major jerk.” I pushed my hurt away and focused on what came next. Sucking in a breath, I crossed my arms over my chest. “I’m giving you two choices.”
He moved to argue, but I held up my finger and spoke over him, “One: you can clean my window, every single scrap of the paint must be removed, and you can leave town tonight. Fly back to Chicago tomorrow and never bother me again. Or two: I’ll turn this video over to Detective Tingey and press charges.”
He sank onto the sofa as if his legs wouldn’t hold him any longer. “Tess, come on, have a heart.” He didn’t look convinced that his words would make a difference this time.
I shook my head. “You had my heart, Bronson, and you threw it away. I was even starting to wonder if I had been too hasty. But this little trick,” I pointed to the frozen frame of the vandalized window, “tells me it can’t happen, that I didn’t really know you at all. How could you do that to me, to my shop?”
He put his head in his hands. “I wanted you to stop searching before you got hurt again, and I wanted to spook you so you’d come home where you belong. Being attacked didn’t scare you enough.”
I really wanted to hit him again—in the nose this time, but I fisted my hands at my sides instead. My voice rose to a yell. “You are such a jerk! The man I thought I was going to marry would never have done something like that to me. There’s nothing you could say that would make me trust you again.”
“But you’ll be wasted here. You need to go back to the city, where you belong and will be appreciated more.”
“This is where I belong.” And for the first time since my arrival, I really, truly believed it. Whatever else happened, this is where I needed to be for the foreseeable future. “I’ll be back in Chicago in a couple of weeks. I’ll take care of the two accounts I mentioned, and if you want help finding a replacement for me, I’ll be happy to look at applications and with interviews while I’m in town. I even plan to visit your grandmother. You know how much I like her.”
He sat there, silent, though he nodded at my last sentence. I handed him the razor blade, bottle of glass cleaner and roll of paper towels I had gotten out while I waited for him to arrive. “Go take care of the window.”
He stared at me for a long moment, then turned and headed for the door without protest. When he reached it, he looked over his shoulder at me. “You’re not going to change your mind, are you?”
“No, I’m not.”
He left. The storm door slammed closed behind him at the bottom of the stairs.
I should have felt vindicated, victorious, thrilled, but instead I felt the loss of my ideals all over again. I’d thought I’d known who and what he was. I thought he really loved me, but now I had to wonder if he’d only proposed because his grandma wanted it. Two weeks ago I would have sworn he could never do the things he’d done. Now I knew better. Was anything the way I thought it was?
Cherry Almond Shorties
1 Cup butter, softened
2 Cups flour
½ Cup sugar
¼ tsp salt
½ tsp almond extract
1 tsp cherry flavoring
¼ C chopped dried cherries
2 Tbsp slivered almonds, crushed into smaller pieces
Cream butter and sugar. Add almond and cherry flavorings and salt, mix. Mix while you add the flour one cup full at a time, then add the chopped cherries and slivered almonds. Chill the dough for at least half an hour to make it easier to work with. Roll out to ¼” thick on a lightly floured surface and either cut with a knife or use cookie cutters to cut out cookies. Chill for 15 minutes before adding to 350 degree oven and bake 8-10 minutes, or until lightly browned.
Bronson’s grandmother loves shortbread, but is allergic to cherries. Instead I put in craisins and replaced the cherry flavoring with vanilla.