Saving Grace (Madison Falls) (19 page)

The kitten responded by hurdling herself from the floor to the mantel and sprinting across it like an Olympian. Grace leapt to her feet and bounded into the living room, making a lunge for the water globe as it teetered to its near demise. She flashed the kitten a futile frown as the young animal ricocheted from the mantel to the side table, landing spread eagle on the polished floor.

Grace sighed, grateful that none of her recent decorative touches had succumbed to her new roommate’s acrobatic display.

“Where did you get your training, Cirque de Soleil?” She looked at the globe, then around the room for a safe haven. “I still need to come up with a name for you, you know.” She walked around testing out various horizontal surfaces while the kitten licked her paws. “How about Brunhilde? No, too much name for such a little girl. Ariadne? No, someone might ask where that came from, and well…wouldn’t want to tip my hand, now would I?”

The kitten looked up at her with curious eyes.

Grace set the globe on the side table and knelt down, offering her hand as a plaything. “That’s right baby. You don’t know my secrets yet. Well, I think you’re trustworthy. If you promise not to tell anyone, I’ll fill you in on the whole sordid yarn, okay?”

The kitten rolled onto her back, grasping Grace’s hand with all four paws and her needle teeth.

“Ow! Speaking of ‘yarn’.” She pulled her hand from the cat’s prickly clutches and grabbed a catnip mouse to dangle over her.

“So, I had this really bad thing happen to me. Well, it didn’t exactly happen
to
me, but I was there. Anyway, things were going really well in my life right up until—”

The doorbell made her jump like a scared rabbit. Cautiously, she pulled herself to her feet, crossed to the door, and peered through the window. She paused as Sam glanced up, making eye contact through the glass.
Great.
Why hadn’t she looked through the front window, like she usually did? Now she was faced with having to open the door to the drug dealer’s apprentice. She heaved a sigh and pulled it open just enough to see out.

“Morning.” Sam held his tool box in one hand and a box of supplies under the other arm. His hair was shorter, and he smelled vaguely of fabric softener.

“What are you doing here?” She clipped her words, the scene from the park the day before still fresh in her mind.

He worked up a snide smile. “Are we playing this again? I wouldn’t have to come here, except the kitchen is too big to take back to my shop.”

She firmed her mouth. “Didn’t Devon tell you not to come back?”

“He said something about staying away from you, but I didn’t pay any attention.”

“You got fired, and you didn’t pay any attention?”

“Oh, he was firing me? See, I didn’t get that, considering he wasn’t the one who hired me.” His expression switched from mocking to apprehensive. “So, what does Devon have to do with—?”

“Never mind.”

“Okay.” He gave a hesitant shrug. “You want me to go?”

Her eyes darted toward the computer on her dining room table. It
would
save her a lot of grief if she didn’t have to find a replacement. “N…no, actually. You’re almost done, right?”

“Closer to ‘done’ than when I started.”

She heaved a resigned sigh. “Then come on in. Just don’t tell Devon.”

He angled a half-smile. “I’ll resist the temptation when we meet later for tea.”

She made a point of keeping her face a blank slate. If they had to spend time together she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of thinking she was happy about it.

He stepped inside and gave a quick shiver. “You want me to check your thermostat? It’s in the nineties all over town, but in here there’s a chill in the air.”

She folded her arms. Did he think he was funny?

“I’ll just get to work.” He tilted his head toward the back of the house. “Kitchen still this way?”

She pursed her lips and followed him. The door to the kitchen was already propped open, and he knelt down just next to it. He started to pull some gadgets from the box he’d brought.

Grace sat down at the dining table and gave her keyboard a few perfunctory plunks. At least now she could forget about the floor and focus on hiring an art dealer.

“Don’t feel like you have to stay in here on my account.” Sam leaned down low to examine the floor.

Irritation chewed at her. “You’re not affecting my plans in the slightest. I happen to have work to do here.”

“My mistake.” He tossed her a slight smirk.

Grace slipped him a sneer. Guys like that had always galled her. They thought they were so macho because they knew the right screwdriver to use. They’d crack their first beer before noon and think the ladies couldn’t live without them. Then they’d demonstrate their complete lack of ability to treat a woman with any respect.

A sudden image of that poor woman’s face as she held her baby on the picnic blanket flashed through Grace’s mind. How could he resort to dealing drugs when he had kids? This was an awful situation and somebody had to do something.

“How’s the family?” She spit out the question, her genuine concern swathed in sarcasm.

He gave her a sideways glance. “Not bad. You know family. You love ’em, but sometimes—”

“You think life would just be easier without them?”

“
Oh
yeah.” He raised his eyebrows and nodded. “So, I’ll do what I can today to stave off the damage, but we’re going to have to keep the water shut off in here until the rest of the parts come in.”

“Oh. When will that be?”

“Well, I ordered from a place called ‘Speedy Plumbing’, so I have high hopes for tomorrow.” He pondered. “If not tomorrow, next week.”

“Next
week?
” Annoyance seethed. She’d just have to hope Devon didn’t ask about the project. “Fine.”

“Your homeowner’s insurance will cover the extra cost of eating out till this is fixed.”

She shrugged and focused on her screensaver. “I eat out most of the time anyway.”

“Most of the time?” He gave her a quizzical look. “Wow.”

“Not everybody’s a chef.”

“True. Must add up though.”

She fired him a glare. “I manage.”

“Okay. Just trying to help.” He returned his attention to the floor. “So have you discovered all the fine cuisine Madison Falls has to offer?”

“Some of it’s decent.”

“A lot of it’s actually pretty good. There’s a place called the Fountain—”

“Been there.”

“Really?” He looked up.

“You sound surprised.”

“No, it’s just that people around here sort of think of that as a special date destination.”

What was he implying? “You don’t think I would have gone there on a date?”

“No, I’m not saying that. It’s just—”

“Because for your information I did have a date.”

“Oh. Well. Good.” An array of emotions flashed across his face, landing on something that resembled indifference. “The guy who owns it is a chef from Chicago. Did you like the food?”

“Mm hmm…” She glued her eyes to her screen, unable to focus but hoping he’d get the hint.

A sudden crash from the kitchen disturbed her planned silence. She jumped up, darting to the doorway and looking past Sam. “No…. Don’t tell me I’ve got rats.”

One of the lower cupboards eased open. A bag of cat food fell out, its contents spilling perilously close to the damaged area of the floor. The kitten followed the bag, looked around with fiery eyes, and darted out onto the sun porch.

“Cutest rat I’ve ever seen.” Sam smirked. “You ought to replace that cabinet latch.”

Grace clenched her fists. “Argh. That cat’s nothing but trouble.” She snapped her fingers. “That’s it, the perfect name.”

“For the invisible rat?” Sam smiled as he continued to work.

She slid him a
very-funny
glance, silently repeating the name. It held a secret comforting connotation from her real life, but nobody would decipher the reference. “I’m naming her ‘Trouble’.”

“Nice.” He grabbed a wrench and pried at a pipe. “That reminds me of something…. It’s like that opera. What’s it called?”

Her heart fell like a broken elevator. “
You
know
Madame Butterfly
?”

He chuckled. “You think we ain’t got culture out here in the Wild West?”

She harrumphed back to her chair. What did he know about culture? And who did he think he was making fun of her for thinking he wouldn’t have it?

Peevishly, she typed out ‘art dealers, New York City’, and raised her fists to her chin as a list appeared. There were so many. How was she supposed to know who was reputable?

A pounding noise from the next room jostled her. All she could see now of Sam through the door was one work-boot-clad foot as he worked. She was tempted to ask Mr. Culture over there if he knew anything about art.

The thought forced an arrow of guilt to perforate her gut. Of course he didn’t know anything about art. If he did, he wouldn’t have to fix pipes to bring in extra income. He would have sold the painting for its true value and he wouldn’t be mixed up with people like Carson.

She leaned back, placing her hands in her lap as the list of art dealers vanished behind her screensaver. It was awkward doing this research while he was there. It could wait.

“So, I haven’t forgotten about that other thing.” His voice sounded strained, as if his was muscling a pipe into place as he spoke.

She looked up, confused. “What ‘other thing’?”

His face appeared in the doorway. “The crate. It’s on my list. Are you in a hurry for it?”

“Oh.” She’d honestly pushed that to the back of her mind. It suddenly seemed cruel to expect him to build it, given the circumstances. “You know, you don’t have to do it. Really.”

He gave her a sideways glance. “Are you firing me officially, or should I wait to get word from Devon?”

A genuine smile found its way to her lips. “I speak for myself,” she said. “Don’t worry about Devon.”

“Don’t worry about him?” He arched an eyebrow. “If only that were an option.”

He returned to work, leaving Grace’s obvious question hanging between them.
Why on earth would he be worried about Devon?

Chapter 26

“You’re avoiding my question.” Grace wrinkled her nose at Lucy as she tossed a stack of cat food tins into their shopping cart.

“What question?” Lucy was far too honest to convincingly feign ignorance. “Oh. Clay. Go with the clay litter.”

“Not
that
question.” Grace resisted a laugh as she hoisted two bags of cat litter into the cart.

“I know, I know.” Lucy sighed. “But the theatre already
has
a piano player. Myra Henderson has played for every musical that theatre has done since—”

“Since Civil War times?” Grace jeered.

Lucy twisted her mouth. “I know she’s not as good at counting as some people prefer—”

“‘Some people’? Like the non-hearing-impaired?”

“And she can’t see as well as she used to, but she loves it so much. I can’t imagine who would be heartless enough to fire her.”

“Oh, I can.” Grace made a slashing gesture across her throat.

Lucy brushed her off with one hand, guiding the cart with the other. “I should pick up some paper towels. You go through a lot when you have an eight-year-old boy and an amateur mechanic in the house.”

They rounded the corner of the paper goods aisle.

Grace refused to give up. There wasn’t a lot she could do with the cast, but some actual talent in the orchestra pit would at least mask some of their flaws. “We have to step up the quality of our productions, Lucy.”

“Step it up?” Lucy made a face at the paper towel selection. “I swear, Grace. Bob might as well just give his paycheck directly to this market. They get most of it eventually anyway.”

“Lucy, this is really important. We need to show Mr. Roberts that the theatre can be a money maker for him. Otherwise he’ll…” She stopped herself. This was no time to break her promise to Nancy. “The show needs a decent pianist.”

Lucy shook her head. “I don’t know…”

“You know you want to. It’s supposed to be a fast paced show. The way Mrs. Henderson plays, we’ll have to tell the audience to pack in a meal and a pillow.”

Lucy tittered nervously. “Well, you’re enterprising. You could start selling sandwiches at your little stand.”

“Please. It’s all I can do to handle the espresso.” Deflated, Grace folded her arms. She had expected Lucy to jump at the chance to help the theatre. She had talent, and it was a shame to waste it just playing at church once a week. Why wouldn’t she want to put her skills to better use? “You know you’re changing the subject.”

Lucy lowered her voice. “To tell you the truth, I’m not comfortable performing without other musicians. I’m more of a team player.”

“But…” Grace pictured Lucy onstage at church. She’d looked so at ease, but she’d had the band around her. Suddenly, it hit her. “That’s a great idea! It would be even better if we had a full band.”

Lucy’s eyes opened in wide contemplation. “That
is
an idea.” She stopped perusing the paper products and weighed the proposition. “Let me see what Sa…what
people
think.”

Grace clapped her hands together. “Terrific.”

“Okay.” Lucy was silent for a moment, as if she had something more significant to say but was holding back. When she did speak, it was with a disproportionate fervor. “So, how’s the floor coming?”

Puzzled by the gusto with which she spoke of home repair, Grace chuckled. “Just fine, thanks.”

Lucy’s head bobbed as she sorted through various brands of wax paper. “Good, good. It sounds like some project.”

“Yes, apparently I bought some pretty ancient pipes. Sam says the plumbing is practically older than the house.” Now it was Grace’s turn to weigh her words. “Lucy, I—”

“Sam mentioned—” Lucy spoke at the same time. “Sorry. Go ahead.”

Grace rolled in her lips and started over. “I just wanted to tell you that I figured out who your friend is—the one who’s mixed up with Carson.”

Lucy stopped pushing the cart for just a second as she blinked sadly. “Oh. I probably shouldn’t have said anything.”