“Sort of.” Cage relayed his brief encounter with the woman on the way back from Ian’s. He stuck to the facts and didn’t mention just how attractive she was or how she’d been on his mind ever since.
“What’s your read on her?” Doc asked.
Cage carefully considered his next words. “I think we should do the interview.”
They all frowned, except for Heff, who was looking at him far too intently for Cage’s liking.
“She’s already in town,” Cage reasoned. “She’s not likely to leave empty-handed. If we don’t talk to her, someone else will. And if that happens, chances are, she’s not going to get an accurate picture of what we’re trying to accomplish here. It could, as Smoke said, come back to bite us in the ass.”
“The best defense is a good offense,” Doc commented quietly.
“Exactly. Invite her in, where we control the circumstances and the information. Give her the facts, make a good first impression. Then, if she does decide to interview some of the locals—”
“Any aspersions they cast won’t take root as easily because we’ve already laid a solid foundation,” Doc finished, nodding.
“Also,” Heff mused, “I have to believe the locals aren’t going to be very forthcoming. They’ve got their own piles of dirty laundry to worry about.”
“All right then, let’s take a vote. Everyone on board?” Church asked. At the round of reluctant nods, Church looked directly at Cage and said, “She’ll be your responsibility.”
“What? Why me?”
“Because you’ve laid the groundwork with your knight-in-shining-armor routine,” Heff quipped. “Don’t you know? No good deed goes unpunished.”
Doc clapped him on the back. “Come on, Cage. Man up and take one for the team.”
Cage exhaled and tried to look put out, but inside, he felt a tingle of anticipation at seeing the pretty brunette again.
Chapter Seven
Bree
The Sumneyville Bed-and-Breakfast was everything Bree had expected in a small-town B & B. Located a block off the main street, it was a two-story Victorian with a wraparound porch, flower boxes, and exterior trim that brought Norman Rockwell paintings and gingerbread houses to mind.
The proprietor introduced herself as Martha McGillicuddy. She was a sturdy-looking woman, fortyish, with reddish-blonde hair and a friendly smile. Ms. McGillicuddy seemed hospitable enough, but there was no mistaking the curiosity—and wariness—burning brightly in her eyes.
Bree’s initial assessment: Martha McGillicuddy was a busybody at heart, privy to many secrets, and a valuable resource if properly cultivated.
However, when Bree saw the crystal candy dish on the credenza filled to overflowing, Bree decided Martha was also a kindred spirit. Not only were Squirrel Nut Zippers and Mary Janes in the mix, but also Root Beer Barrels, Peanut Chews, Bit-O-Honeys, and Caramel Creams. “Where did you get these? Did you special order them?”
“Oh, heavens, no! I buy them in bulk at the farmers market. Highway robbery at ninety-nine cents a pound, but it is what it is.”
Bree inhaled sharply. She paid five times that much for her stash, and that didn’t include the priority shipping. “Sounds like a place I’d like to visit. Where is that?”
“Zeigler’s, on the edge of town. You probably passed it on your way in. Can’t miss it. Looks like a big warehouse from the outside. Most of the stalls are run by Amish and Mennonites though, so they’re only open on Saturdays.”
Bree made a mental note to visit Zeigler’s on Saturday. She’d had heard of the Amish, but she’d never actually seen one. And Squirrel Nut Zippers for under a dollar a pound! For that price, she’d buy a new suitcase and fill it to take back with her.
They proceeded into the quaint kitchen, painted in buttercup yellow with lacy white curtains and polished brass accents.
“Would you care for some iced tea? I just picked up some fresh this morning. It’s peach season, you know.”
Bree didn’t know, nor did she understand the correlation between iced tea and peaches, but it did sound refreshing. “I’d love some, thanks.”
Martha indicated that Bree should sit at the kitchen table. Almost immediately, a tiny black-and-brown dog with a pink bow in her hair scampered into the kitchen and made a beeline for Bree.
“Don’t mind Penny,” Martha told her. “She’s very nosy, but she’s harmless.”
“She’s cute.”
Martha beamed. “She knows it, too.”
Martha poured them each a tall glass of translucent golden-colored tea while Penny sniffed at Bree’s shoes.
Bree took a sip of tea and hummed in approval as the taste of ripe peaches exploded on her tongue. “This is delicious. I’ve never had peach tea before.”
“Obermacher’s makes the best. They’re doing peach cider whoopie pies tomorrow. I’ll pick some up.”
Whoopie pies?
Before Bree could inquire as what a whoopie was, Martha sat down and asked, “You’re from California, you said?”
Bree nodded. “Yes, I am. Just outside San Diego.”
“Pardon me for saying so, but you don’t look like you’re from California.”
Bree laughed lightly. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard that. Her dark hair, dark eyes, and curvy figure didn’t match the Hollywood stereotype. “We’re not all blonde and blue-eyed surfer types.”
The color rose in the older woman’s cheeks. “No, of course not.”
Bree wondered if Martha had ever been out of the county, let alone traveled to the other side of the country. Her knowledge of anything beyond her homogeneous little town probably came only from what she had seen on television.
“But you’re very astute, Ms. McGillicuddy,” Bree continued. “California is my home now, but I’m originally from New York.”
Martha nodded, appeased. “I thought so! I have an eye for that sort of thing, you know. And please, call me Martha.”
She paused and sipped her tea. Bree did the same, waiting patiently for the question she knew was imminent.
“So, Gabriella—may I call you Gabriella? Or do you prefer Gabby?”
“Bree, please.”
“Bree. How lovely. What brings you to our humble town?”
And there it is. “I’m here to do a piece on Sanctuary.”
Had she not been watching so closely, she might have missed the sudden tensing of Martha’s neck and shoulders.
“A piece, you say?”
“Yes. I write for the Sentinel Voice. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?” When Martha shook her head, Bree explained, “We publish stories we believe are in the national interest, and we have millions of digital subscribers all over the world, but our core subscribers are honest, hardworking citizens, like yourself.”
“Oh.” Martha chewed on that for a moment. “If I may ask, why are you investigating Sanctuary?”
Bree’s instincts flared. She noted the interesting choice of words and smiled benignly. “We heard about the work they’re doing with veterans and wanted to learn more.”
“I see.” Martha’s gaze dropped to her glass.