“You knew?”
He pulled out onto a sleepy Main Street. St. Helena rolled up its welcome mats early, so it wasn’t surprising that the central section of town was nearly empty.
“Lexi sucks at keeping secrets.”
Tanner pulled in behind Lexi’s minivan and put the car in park. She reached for the door handle, but at the last minute looked back over her shoulder. “Thanks for the ride. And . . .” Go on, Abby, say it. “Thanks for helping out tonight, Jack.”
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Before she could answer or even roll her eyes, he was out of the truck and opening her door. Ignoring his smug smile, she slipped past him, reaching for her purse. Only he was quicker, grabbing it and refusing to let go.
“Abby,” Deputy Jonah Baudouin said, stepping out of his cruiser and sending her a warm smile. Tanner frowned. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you.”
“Oh, I forgot I had my phone on silent.” To avoid her family’s seven hundred calls.
“Everything okay?” Tanner asked, shaking the man’s hand and puffing out his chest. Abby wanted to roll her eyes. Jonah’s sister was married to Nate, so in a way that made him family. Nothing more.
“Remember that missing person report you filed last year? It seems your missing”—he looked at the sky, then back to her, shifting on his feet a little—“uh, husband is no longer missing. Phone’s been ringing all day with people reporting sightings around town. Apparently there was a parade, then someone claims to have spotted him skinny dipping in the fountain at the community park and, well, Nora Kincaid has called 911 three times already to report a naked Peeping Tom on your lawn. She’s claiming he’s a dead ringer for Richard Moretti, and that he’s staring at her through the windows while she tries to dress.”
“About that. Richard’s not . . . uh, well,” Abby mumbled, toeing at the curb. “He’s, um . . .” Her throat closed as though her body refused to say the word.
“Dead,” Tanner explained, scooting his body a little closer to Abby’s. “Richard is dead.”
And there it was. The word she’d been avoiding all day. Tossed out there with so much authority that it ended all speculation and cut through the awkward sidestepping that was about to begin.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Jonah said gently, taking off his hat.
“Me too,” Abby said again, because there weren’t enough words in all the languages in the world to express what she was feeling or just how sorry she was. There were a lot of things that Richard deserved, like a complete ass kicking from her, but dying young wasn’t one of them. “His remains were delivered to my house in a lifelike statue. But the movers are coming back on Sunday to take it away, so the Richard sightings should calm down after that.”
“That would explain why,” Jonah opened his notebook, flipped to a page of scribbled notes and read, “Shirley Bale from the senior center requested a license to hold her weekly art class on your lawn.” Jonah pocketed his notebook and gave her an uncomfortable pat on the shoulder. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”
After a quick thanks and a series of good-byes, the deputy climbed into his cruiser, leaving Tanner and Abby alone.
“You sure you’re okay?” Tanner asked. “Because I’m here if you want to talk, I’ll even promise to keep my hands to myself.”
Abby shook her head, because what she wanted was some time alone to process. She’d pushed through earlier, using the bottlery as a distraction so she wouldn’t have to admit the truth—Richard was dead, and she’d never know why he left.
But now it was out there, and in a few hours everyone would know. And Abby didn’t know how she was supposed to act, how she was supposed to respond to questions that she had no answers for. She was angry and sad and embarrassingly relieved, and that made her feel guilty. “I’m good, but thanks.” She tugged her purse from Tanner’s hand and headed toward the bistro. Only, the stubborn man followed.
She picked up the pace, passing the Paws and Claws Day Spa before reaching the Sweet and Savory. Like the rest of Main Street, the two-story brick-faced building looked as pristine as the day it was built back in the late 1800s. Tonight it had little twinkle lights outlining the red-and-white-striped awning and two beautifully sculpted potted cypresses next to the door that had—Lord help her—little dildo wineglasses hanging from each branch.
Bracing herself for the party of the decade, Abby peeked in the window, and even through the glass she could smell the vanilla, cinnamon, and crushed unicorn horns that went into every Lexi-inspired pastry. She could also see that, based on the empty tables inside, she was early. And that every horrifying nightmare she’d had about tonight was going to come true—only worse.