Bree could practically see the wheels turning, the questions burning on Martha’s lips, questions that Martha could not yet ask. They’d only just met, and Bree was an outsider. Sympathies had to be determined and some measure of trust established before she could share whatever it was swirling around in that head of hers.
Bree allowed the silence to continue until it bordered on awkward, and then she gave Martha a slight nudge. Leaning forward, she asked softly, “Are you familiar with Sanctuary, Martha?”
“What? Oh, yes, of course. Everyone in Sumneyville knows about them.”
“What do you think of them and what they’re doing?”
Martha sniffed and sat up taller. “Well, it’s not really for me to say.”
Bree highly doubted that. In fact, there was probably very little that Martha couldn’t speak on for hours on end, complete with judgmental commentary. But there were rules of engagement that had to be upheld.
“That’s too bad. I was hoping to glean some valuable local insight.”
“I mind my own business.”
“Of course you do,” Bree soothed. “It’s just that, well, I’ve found there’s always more to a story than meets the eye, and it’s important to paint the whole picture, don’t you think?”
Bree didn’t give her a chance to answer. It was more of a rhetorical question anyway, intended to give the older woman something to think about.
She rose and thanked Martha for the tea. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to lie down for an hour or two. It’s been a long trip.”
With Penny in tow, Martha showed her to her room and told her she had the entire second floor to herself. That suited Bree just fine. Without bothering to undress, Bree stretched her tired body out on the comfy four-poster bed, set the alarm on her phone, and closed her eyes. She was out within seconds.
After two hours that felt more like two minutes, Bree forced herself to get up and move around. Adjusting to a new time zone would be easier if she didn’t sleep the entire day away. A hot shower and a change of clothes helped immensely, and soon, Bree was feeling back to herself again.
Her phone dinged, signaling a new message from a private number. Intrigued, Bree opened it to find it was from Sanctuary, a response to her request for an interview.
Sanctuary: RE: Request for interview. Does tomorrow at noon work for you?
Bree: Perfect. See you then.
Feeling brightened, Bree decided to take advantage of the beautiful weather and familiarize herself with the area. She still wasn’t sure how she was going to fill an entire week.
She found Martha on the front porch, watering the colorful assortment of petunias in hanging baskets, and told her she was off to do some sightseeing.
Bree couldn’t help the smile on her face as she climbed into the sporty red convertible she’d borrowed for the week. The female mechanic had known exactly what would lift her spirits. The Mustang was a little on the showy side perhaps but a huge improvement from the economy-sized rental and so much more fun to drive.
She snapped a selfie, sent it to Toni with a message—Maybe it won’t be so bad after all—and set out to explore.
Sumneyville itself wasn’t big. Located at the base of the mountains, the town proper barely covered two miles. Lots of individually owned businesses lined both sides of the main street, many of which were housed in decorative brick buildings a century old or more. No malls or superstores or major chains to be found; no structure stretched over three stories—with the exception of the hospital on the edge of town.
As she cruised around, she made a mental note of places to visit to gather information from while in town—the library, the salon, maybe the farmers market.
By six o’clock, her growling stomach prompted her to pull into the only restaurant she’d seen—a place called Franco’s. The red-white-and-green striped sign called to her Italian heritage and her longing for authentic cuisine.
“Table for one?” asked the smiling hostess.
“Yes, please.”
Bree breathed in the familiar scents of garlic and spices as the hostess led her to a cozy table near a window.
“Can I get you something to drink?” the woman said, handing Bree a menu. “Our local vineyards are quite good. I can bring you some samples, if you’d like.”
Pennsylvania has vineyards? “That would be great, thanks.”
“Preferences?”
“Surprise me.”
As the hostess walked away, Bree sipped her water and looked around. The majority of the tables were occupied despite being midweek. Some families, a few couples. Some old, some young. It was a nice mix.
The hostess returned with thick, crusty bread and a bowl of herbed oil with roasted garlic for dipping, then recited the dinner specials as Bree sipped the wine samples. The woman was right; they were surprisingly good.
“What do you recommend?”
“Personally, I’m partial to the garlic-butter shrimp pasta, but the chicken Marsala is a local favorite.”
“Garlic-butter shrimp pasta it is and a glass of the house white, please.”
“You got it.” The woman paused. “Are you visiting someone in town or just passing through?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Sumneyville is a small town.”
“I guess so.” Bree laughed, trying to wrap her mind around a place where everyone knew everyone else and could so quickly spot an outsider. Bree wouldn’t recognize half the people who lived in her six-unit apartment building, let alone random people in the town. “I’m here for the week.”
“Mel’s Motel or Martha’s B & B?”
“The B & B.”
The woman nodded in approval. “Good choice. Not that Mel’s isn’t nice,” she was quick to add, “but Martha’s is homier. I’m Carmella, by the way. My husband and I own this place.”
“Bree.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Bree, and welcome. Enjoy your dinner, and if you need anything while you’re in town, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Thanks. I will.”
Carmella walked away, leaving Bree wondering if everyone in Sumneyville was as friendly and welcoming as Martha and Carmella or if it was just an act put on for outsiders.
Bree dipped the bread into the herbed oil with roasted garlic. The first bite was nearly orgasmic. She closed her eyes and savored the richness. She decided right then and there that if the rest of the meal was even half as good, it wouldn’t be a hardship to have dinner there for the rest of the week.
While she nibbled, Bree pulled out her journal and jotted down a few thoughts and impressions as well as some ideas for her interview. There would be the standard obligatory questions, of course, covering the basic what, where, who, and why, but anything beyond would depend on what she found when she got there—how she was received, their willingness to share, that sort of thing.
A tingling awareness ghosted over her skin, causing her to pause mid-scribble. She looked up to find the hostess escorting a group of four men and two women to a large table in the back. One of the men in particular caught her attention. She recognized him as the same guy who’d stopped along the road earlier that morning to offer assistance.
He cleans up nice. The white button-down, open at the collar, accentuated the dusky tone of his sun-kissed skin, as did the sleeves rolled up to mid-forearm. His jaw was baby smooth, as if he’d just shaved; his wavy auburn hair looked slightly damp, curling at the ends where it met his broad shoulders.