“Do you view me as a defector to the dating side?” Finley asked her.
“Of course I do.”
“Does that make you feel lonely?” Bridget asked, thoughtful as always.
“I couldn’t care less if I’m the only woman in America left on the non-dating side. I’ll still wave that flag proudly.”
“We love you,” Bridget said.
“We really do,” Finley agreed.
“And I love you two, which is why I don’t like seeing you set yourselves up for disappointment. But you’re grown-ups. So do what you gotta do. I’ll be here to pick up the pieces, even though I wouldn’t make the same decisions in a million years.”
“Was that Meadow’s version of encouragement?” Finley asked Bridget.
“I think so.”
“Men are trouble,” Meadow declared.
“Well,” Bridget said with a straight face, “thanks for letting us do what we gotta do.”
Luke certainly did spell trouble for Finley. It’s just that he was the most tempting brand of trouble. Delicious, irresistible, intriguing trouble.
“If you decide not to go out with Derek,” Bridget said to Finley, “do you think he’d be interested in dating me?”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Like an actor striding to center stage in advance of her first line, spring made a bid for preeminence ahead of its official start date. Slightly warmer, sunnier days interspersed more and more with the cold and rainy ones. Finley admired the early wildflowers, white and yellow and bright blue, which bravely opened their petals.
Days passed—three, then four, then five—as she and Luke pondered her father’s most recent clues. However, they came up with no other lines of inquiry other than those they’d brainstormed during the car ride home from dinner at Robbie and June’s.
When the weekend arrived, they drove to Macon to visit Satterfield’s Barbecue. The patrons and employees must have thought her very strange, since she’d spent an hour studying every nook and cranny of the establishment. No clues there.
In case Dad’s poem about Carla was meant to spur them to investigate Carla, they scoured every bit of information they could find about her online.
Carla Virginia Vance had remained at home after high school for two years while she’d pursued her associate’s degree. After that, she’d relocated to Nashville and attempted to forge a music career. While she’d never accomplished that on a big scale, she’d sung backup for some notable names and accumulated a few songwriting credits. At the age of forty, she’d moved to Hartwell toopen a store. At the age of fifty-two, she’d died of a bullet wound to the chest.
Finley was glad for the chance to learn more about Carla, but nothing they learned translated into a usable treasure hunt clue.
At the time of her death, Carla had lived in a historical building that had been refurbished and divided into apartments. Finley’s dad would’ve known that Finley couldn’t gain access to Carla’s old apartment. Thus, if a clue was to be found at Carla’s building, they surmised they’d find it on the exterior or in the lobby.
The weekend after they’d trekked to Macon, they trekked to Hartwell. She and Luke carefully studied the building and lobby. Both—perfectly ordinary.
No clues in Carla’s biography. No clues in Carla’s building.
One foggy Wednesday morning in mid-March, Luke recognized Finley’s footsteps entering the workroom. Moments later, the scent of her soap reached him.
His mind told his body to resist her, but his body had its own ideas. She put him at war with himself. So much so that by the end of every workday, he returned home exhausted.
He’d never liked or respected a woman as much as he did Finley Sutherland. He’d never wanted a woman as much as he wanted Finley Sutherland.
“Look who came by for a visit,” she said.
He swiveled his chair and saw that she was holding Agatha in her arms.
Dumb affection for the puppy clutched him. “Is this a nightmare?”
“More like a dream come true.”
