Olivia smiled, a pink glow rising in her cheeks, and Lia wished she could see that look more often. That and an occasional laugh would relax some of those worry lines that shouldn’t be on a twenty-nine-year-old’s face. As far as Lia knew, Olivia had a happy home life with a loving husband and young son, and all were in good health. She obviously loved making and selling her soaps and oils. A realization that her life was worth smiling about and that no meteorite was speeding in her direction to destroy it all—at least not that day—was in order. At least Lia thought so. She would never directly say so, though a gentle hint, now and then, might pass her lips.
They had moved on to talk of ribbon colors for the baskets when two men dressed in business suits strode into the craft barn. They ignored the craft stalls and vendors and instead wandered about, the shorter, stouter one pointing out various points, high and low, in the facility. Shoppers were few at the time, and the place was quiet enough for his voice to carry, which seemed to be his intention.
“Not nearly big enough to convert into anything like a supermarket,” he boomed. “And old. Would have to be totally rewired and remodeled for any good use. Not worth the cost.” His taller companion nodded agreement as they circled the area, seemingly oblivious to the stares and question marks on every vendor’s face.
“Best thing,” he pronounced, “is to tear it down, start from scratch.”
“Oh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you, Darren.” Belinda suddenly appeared, striding toward the two.
“Ah, my not-so-lovely ex.” Darren Peebles, whom Lia had finally recognized, stopped to face the manager, his lips curling slyly. “I didn’t dare to hope we’d see you today.”
“Come off it, Darren. You couldn’t wait to rush over and rub this in my face. But it’s not going to work. I know enough about your shady business to make Schumacher shred any contract before you get anywhere near it.”
“You don’t know squat, my dear. And never did, simply because there was nothing to know. And before you even think about making threats, you might keep in mind that little incident from the summer of ’oh-eight. Wouldn’t like to see that spread around, would you?”
Belinda’s eyes narrowed. “I knew you were low, but I didn’t know how low. If you would stoop to—”
“I’ll stoop as low as necessary to clear whatever gets in my way, so I’d advise you to stay out of it. Now, unless you want to air more dirty laundry in front of these lovely people . . .” He waved an arm toward the stunned vendors and shoppers. Belinda, uncharacteristically speechless and with a beet-colored face, turned on her heel.
Darren Peebles grinned as he watched her stomp off. When the office door banged, he actually chuckled and murmured something to his companion. The two turned and eventually left, though not in any kind of hurry, Peebles chatting casually the entire time.
Once they’d gone, Lia glanced around the barn. The vendors seemed frozen in place. Quilter Maggie Wood’s arms were outstretched, holding a half-folded quilt. Beekeeper Zach Goodwin gripped the jar of honey he’d been stacking on a row of others. Joan Fowler still held one of her watercolor paintings for a shopper, who’d turned her back on it at the start of the argument. Both looked stunned.
Slowly, the craft fair came back to life, though the vision was eerie. Lia, standing at the side of her booth where she’d been chatting with Olivia, saw that her neighbor was okay—as wide-eyed as Lia probably was, but not overly upset. Perhaps the excitement of her big sale had been enough to insulate her? Just as well, since Lia didn’t have a thing to say about what they’d witnessed, a condition that lasted until it was time to leave.
Chapter 3
Lia’s daughter had texted that she’d arrived, so Lia set aside craft fair problems for the time being and drove home in a lighter mood. The professed reason for Hayley’s visit was Mother’s Day weekend, but she had been driving from Philadelphia often. Lia sensed a need in Hayley to regularly check on her mother—unnecessary, to Lia’s mind, but she wasn’t going to protest just yet, since she enjoyed the visits. When she thought they were becoming too much of a burden for her daughter, Lia would say something.
She’d given Hayley an extra key to the house and wasn’t surprised to see lights on inside when she pulled up in front. Lia had bought a much smaller place than she and Tom had owned in York, but it fit her current needs. It was a well-kept-up but older home, built before the Civil War, and something about the place spoke to her when she had first toured it.
She liked the welcoming porch that fronted one of Crandalsburg’s quiet side streets and the cozy parlor that was small enough for one person to feel snug in but with enough space for three or four to gather comfortably. The plumbing and wiring had been updated, a very important consideration, but the character of the house remained, making her feel, as she sat and knitted by the light of a single lamp, as though she had gone back in time. She loved imagining the lives of the previous occupants and sometimes felt pleasantly surrounded by them.
“That would creep me out,” Hayley had said when her mother shared that tidbit with her, but it was fine with Lia.
As Lia climbed out of her car, Hayley stepped out onto the porch, her long blond hair, the same color Tom’s had once been, catching the late-day sun and framing features that were a mix of both parents. Her temperament was totally her own, more lively than either Lia’s or Tom’s, but also less practical and much more impulsive, traits that had caused difficulties when she was growing up. Lia was relieved that maturity had moderated both, but Hayley was still a work in progress.
“Happy Mother’s Day!” Hayley came down the short walkway to throw her arms around her mother. She wore a flower-printed tee knotted at the waist of her artfully torn jeans.
“Thank you, dear,” Lia said, hugging back. “How was your drive? Any problems?”
They turned and headed back to the house, arm in arm. “None whatsoever. Unless you count the turtles on the turnpike.”
“Turtles? Oh, you mean drivers going the speed limit?”
“In the left lane, Mother!” She held the door open for Lia.
“Yes, I see,” Lia said, stepping inside. “Unbearable. Are you hungry? I fixed a chicken dish to pop in the oven. But it’ll take about half an hour.”
“Oh! I was thinking I’d treat you to dinner tonight. We can’t do it tomorrow. You’ll be at the fair all day, and I have to head back before dinner. But if you have something ready . . .”
“Such a lot of driving in two days! It’s very nice of you, Hayley, but you know I’m just as happy to pass on a made-up holiday like Mother’s Day, especially when it means putting you to so much trouble.”
“It’s not a lot of trouble, Mom. I enjoy driving, really. Well, except when there’s turtles in front of me. But I kinda wanted to talk to you about something.”