We’d actually met when I visited Bookwaves not long after I moved to Beaufort. Julie, upon discovering I was the new owner, had graciously offered to lead the local book club discussions held at Chapters once a month. “Until you get used to it,” she’d said. Appreciating her kindness, I’d made a habit of visitingBookwaves to buy new books. Which had led to a close friendship. Even though Julie, at thirty-five, was seven years younger than me, we’d bonded over our mutual interest in books, music, good food, and intelligent conversation. And while I was a widow who had no current interest in dating, I enjoyed Julie’s tales of her romantic adventures. I suppose it was a bit of living vicariously.
“I think we probably have enough.” I motioned toward Julie’s pail of white roses before leaning over to collect the scattered crimson blooms and drop them into my own bucket.
Julie shoved a pair of garden clippers into the pocket of the green canvas apron I’d lent her. “I won’t argue with that,” she said, stripping off a pair of borrowed gardening gloves.
“Here, let me grab that bucket so you can take those things back to the garden shed,” I said, crossing to her.
We were about the same height, but Julie possessed the curvier figure—a fact she sometimes bemoaned. Although she enjoyed flirting, she didn’t like to be appreciated simply for her dark-haired, dark-eyed, voluptuous good looks. She preferred men who admired her mind as well as her physical attributes.
Who are harder to find than they should be, I thought.
I forced an image of my late husband from my mind. Even though it had been three years, I still had a hard time believing Brent was gone forever.
And I still have no interest in dating someone new, I thought, as Scott Kepler walked around the corner of the holly hedge that separated the carriage house from the rest of the backyard. Julie had urged me to consider Scott as more than a friend, but I knew it was impossible for two reasons. First, because I was still in lovewith my late husband. And second, because although she hadn’t noticed it yet, Scott was way more interested in Julie than in me.
I thought it was a perfect match. A booklover and an author: what could be better? Not to mention that Scott seemed like a kind and intelligent man. While he lived in Asheville, North Carolina, which was around six hours away, he visited Beaufort often to conduct research for his books.
“Hello, ladies,” Scott said, giving me a nod before his gaze swung back to Julie.
“Hi there.” Julie slipped off her apron, revealing her curve-hugging pink T-shirt and denim shorts.
Scott’s expression brightened as he looked at her. “Helping Charlotte out with the party prep?”
“Yeah, she always has so much to do, getting ready for these things.”
“I’m sure,” Scott said, with a swift glance at me. “Anything I can do?”
“No, we’re pretty much done,” I said. “I just need to get these roses into some vases, and that will be it. For the decorating, anyway.”
Julie flicked her dark-brown braid behind one shoulder. “Are you coming to the costume party, Scott?”
“Sadly, no. I have another engagement. Will you be there?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Julie said. “I actually have a costume I’m just dying to wear, although I’m afraid it may be a little warm for it this evening. But it’s so flattering, I think I’m willing to suffer. It’s velvet, and about the color of those roses,” she added, pointing toward my bucket.
“I’m sure that will look quite lovely on you.” Scott’s eyes were bright, but his voice held a note of disappointment.
I bet he wishes he were coming now, I thought, before clearing my throat. “Well, I’d better get these flowers inside before they totally wilt.”
Of course, since the buckets were filled with water, that wasn’t likely, but neither Scott nor Julie seemed to notice my little deception. I grabbed both buckets and headed for the door that led into Chapters’ kitchen, leaving Scott and Julie chatting in the garden.
I felt no shame in playing matchmaker, especially because I’d been worried about Julie lately. She’d told me in confidence that her latest boyfriend—a “mystery man” she refused to name—was married. “But separated and getting a divorce any minute now,” she’d told me. “I’ll introduce you to him as soon as that happens, I swear.”
Biting my tongue, I’d avoided making any negative comments about this situation, even though it concerned me. I didn’t want to see my friend caught up in some messy domestic drama.
Especially since there was Scott—long divorced and currently single, as he’d told me.Hoping I’d share that information with Julie, I bet, I thought, a little smile curving my lips.
As I was about to head into the kitchen, a series of sharp yips diverted my attention. I set the buckets on the steps that led up to the back stoop and turned to my neighbor’s home—a three-story Victorian whose cream-colored siding was enlivened by turquoise-and-maroon-painted gingerbread trim.
The house’s owner, Ellen Montgomery, was a seventy-five-year-old former location scout who’d spent years traveling for film and television companies before moving to Beaufort. Ellen was also the executor of Isabella Harrington’s estate and managerof the trust Isabella had established to assist with the maintenance of the bed-and-breakfast.
Like the rest of my family, I’d been perplexed when this codicil to Isabella’s will had been announced by the lawyers. I liked Ellen, but having to ask a virtual stranger for funds when the B and B’s expenses outweighed profits was embarrassing.
Another thorn, I thought, cradling my pierced finger in my opposite palm as the volume of the yips increased.
“Hey there, Shandy.” I crossed to the gate that led into Ellen’s lush backyard. A small black-and-tan dog, with hair that veiled his black eyes, leapt up at the inside of the gate.
“Oh, be quiet, you.” Ellen Montgomery picked up the Yorkshire terrier and held him against her breast before shoving back the battered straw hat shading her face. Sunlight glinted off her snow-white bob, which was streaked with deep-purple and cerulean-blue highlights. “And hello, Charlotte.”
