A woman who looked to be in her early forties walked out of the back area that I assumed housed the kitchen, wiping her hands on a spotless linen dishrag. She was average height and didn’t have a single hard edge to her, as she was all ample curve and wore her weight beautifully.

  She reminded me of a Renaissance painter’s model, her round cheeks naturally flushed pink. She smiled at me and her whole face lit up, not because she recognized me, but because she just looked genuinely happy to see me.

  “Good morning,” she said cheerfully. Her voice was high and airy, bringing blonde bombshell Marilyn Monroe to mind. Given that she was blonde, her hair worn in a stylish mussed bob, I felt like the voice suited her in the same way her body did.

  This was someone who was entirely herself, and it showed. I immediately wanted to be her friend.

  “Hi there.” I sidled up to the counter, trying not to get too distracted by all the pastries but knowing full well some of them would be coming back to the shop with me shortly. “I’m Phoebe Winchester, my aunt was—”

  She didn’t let me finish, her hand immediately going to her heart. “Oh, you’re Eudora’s niece. Of course you are—you look just like her.”

  This was actually not the first time someone had told Eudora and I how much we looked alike. It was hard to reconcile a younger version with the woman I’d known in her later years, her long, white hair in a braid, and deep-set wrinkles lining her eyes. But in the old photos she had showed me of her and my father when they’d been kids, she and I could have been twins, with matching raven-colored hair and icy-blue eyes.

  Haunted was what my ex-husband had called my eyes once when we’d been dating. I still wondered some days why I’d ever thought marrying him was a good idea.

  “It’s nice to meet you.” I offered her my hand, hoping she might tell me her name in return.

  She shook my hand with a firm, dry grip. “I’m Amy Beaudry—I own the bakery. I used to have tea with your aunt at least once a week. That Blueberry Apple Crisp tea of hers. My goodness, the best.” Amy made a chef’s kiss gesture.

  “The one with actual dried apple and blueberries in it.”

  She nodded vigorously. “I keep some stocked over here along with a few other of her popular sweet blends. That’s how we arranged things, in case you were wondering. No money exchanged, she just kept my shop in tea and I kept her in daily Danishes and a few other assorted goodies I had in overstock.”

  I let out a little sigh of relief and thanked whoever it was that invented small towns and the way people did business in them. I was sure I could have afforded to pay Amy whatever her goodies were worth, but knowing she’d be satisfied in trade felt like an unexpected weight off my shoulders. Just one less thing to worry about.

  “That’s amazing, and I’m more than happy to keep that same agreement or pay you, whatever works best. I’m hoping to reopen the store tomorrow. Would that be too soon for our first order?”

  Amy grinned. “Too soon? Sweetie, I have to be here baking all morning anyway—what’s a few more Danishes? I’ll get Eudora’s usual order ready for pickup at seven on the dot. Does that work for you?”

  “Better add a standing daily order for an extra-strong coffee, then,” I said, smiling. “I’m not exactly accustomed to the seven-in-the-morning lifestyle just yet. Speaking of coffee, I’d absolutely kill for one right about now, to get me through all the mail waiting next door.”

  “How about our signature chocolate hazelnut latte? On the house.”

  “Twist my arm, why don’t you?”

  Amy laughed, a high, bright sound that made me think of the way little girls laugh before they learn to make themselves small and invisible. “Take a look around, pick out some stuff. I can’t send you back to drudgery without something delicious to snack on.”

  By the time I was back outside, I was balancing a hefty pink box of pastry and a sweet-smelling latte topped with whipped cream. I was going to need to start an exercise regimen if I had to work next to Amy all day.

  I was just leaving Sugarplum Fairy, my head in the clouds and my mood high as a kite, when I stopped dead in my tracks.

  Standing outside The Earl’s Study was Dierdre Miller, and with her was a hulking mountain of a man, at least six and a half feet tall and probably about three hundred pounds, his dark hair pulled back in a ponytail.

  Dierdre had her face nearly pressed up against the shop’s front window, her hand over her eyes to give her a better look inside. I glanced over my shoulder, wondering if I could hide in the bakery until they left, but my curiosity got the better of me. After all, she hadn’t said she was interested in buying the store—just Auntie Eudora’s house.

  Maybe she was on the market for a steamy romance novel, and the giant was her boyfriend.

  Besides, I was going to have to perform a balancing act to get the shop keys out of my pocket, and there’d be no way to slip past them without being spotted. I let out a hefty sigh and braced myself, all my former enthusiasm wilting away.

  “Good morning, Dierdre.”

  “Ms. Winchester, just the woman I was hoping to see.”

  I wish I could say that made two of us.

  Chapter Seven

  Dierdre stood silently, her gaze darting from me to the door, then back to me.

  If this woman honestly thought I was going to invite her and The Incredible Hulk in for tea, she had another think coming. I rebalanced the box of pastries in my hand and took a long, drawn-out sip from my latte—which incidentally tasted like heaven—and made no move toward the door.

  I was comfortable enough: I had caffeine and could wait her out.

  “I’m assuming you a specific reason why you were looking for me?” I prodded when the silence inched toward the realm of uncomfortable.

  She cleared her throat. “It might be easier to discuss inside?”

  “The store is closed.”

  We stared at each other for a long moment. I had a feeling Dierdre Miller was accustomed to getting things the way she wanted them, as most bullies are, and didn’t like it one bit that I was pushing back against her requests.

  Could I have opened the door to let them in? Absolutely, and my mother would have told me it was the polite thing to do. But the spirit of Auntie Eudora, nestled in the back of my mind like the voice of a little devil on my shoulder, was hooting with laughter that I was pushing all of Dierdre’s buttons. Which is precisely how I knew I was doing the right thing.

  At last, Dierdre huffed, glowering at the giant man as if perhaps he might be able to convince me to change my mind, but the man was impervious to her sullen stare, and he neither said anything nor moved a muscle in my direction.

  “I was hoping that you’d had a chance to reconsider my offer from last night.”

  I smiled at her, baring all my teeth in what I hoped she would register as a warning but also hospitality, all wrapped up in one sweetly menacing package. “I am going to tell you what I told you last night. The house is not for sale, it will never be for sale, and the more interested you are in it, the more likely I am to add a line in my will that forces the town to turn it into a museum when I die.”

  I didn’t know where the hostility had come from, but I was tired of Dierdre and her inability to take a clear no for an answer. I was honestly hoping that by being mean she might actually realize I was serious and leave me alone.

  She gasped, and I wasn’t sure if she was acting or if I’d actually managed to offend her, but I wasn’t entirely sure I cared. I have almost endless patience for most people and like to consider myself friendly and easy to get along with, but going from cheerful chitchat with Amy to a few minutes in Dierdre’s presence was just too much for me to handle on so little sleep and too much stress over the last few weeks.

  “Have you even looked at the apartment yet?” she asked. “I’m very certain it would meet the needs of one single woman.”

  She said single as if it was the ultimate insult, and not a gift to myself after ten years in a miserable mistake of a marriage.

  “Bob and I need space.”

  “I thought you said you were living alone.” Her eyebrows knit together as if she were trying to make sense of this new mystery I’d dumped in her lap.

  This also confirmed my belief that she and Eudora hadn’t been close at all. If they had been, she wouldn’t have been so confused by my mentioning Bob.

  “Eudora’s cat.” The box of pastry in my hand was starting to feel heavy, and the latte was uncomfortably hot to hold but quickly becoming too cold to enjoy drinking. I wanted to ask Dierdre why she wanted Lane End House so badly, as if she might actually tell me the honest reason, but I also had no desire to continue this conversation even a moment longer.

  “If you’ll excuse me.” I elbowed between her and the giant and balanced the latte on top of the pastry box while I fished my keys out of my jacket pocket, managing to unlock the door with only one hand. Points for me.

  “This is truly absurd. You’re a headstrong, foolish young woman if you won’t even listen to what I’m offering you.”

  I glanced over my shoulder at her, smiling, and said, “Thank you for calling me young.”

  “Wait! Before you go, this man—”

  Then I shut the door in their faces, not wanting to know what kind of insinuation or threat about the silent giant she’d been working on. I locked the door behind me, taking my snacks and coffee back into the office, where I wouldn’t need to know if they continued to stand out there all day.

  As soon as I was out of sight, I let out a little sigh of relief. Dierdre didn’t worry me; in spite of how consistently annoying and pushy she was, I knew she wasn’t a threat to my safety.

  On her own.

  The big guy, though—he concerned me. What was the point of him being with her, and why had she wanted to bring him inside to talk? The part of my mind that watched way too many horror movies, and consumed more true crime podcasts than was healthy, thought perhaps she planned to physically intimidate me into giving up the house.

  But it was far more likely he was her boyfriend or maybe even a really poorly aging son or relative. He’d looked to be in his forties, but it was hard to get a read on Dierdre. She had seemed to be fifty-something the first time I’d seen her, but in the light of day she definitely looked older, making it hard to pinpoint what the age gap between them might be.

  I just didn’t like the vibe he gave off. He was too quiet, too casually menacing to just be there for no reason whatsoever.

  And why couldn’t she just accept that I didn’t want to sell her the stupid house? Auntie Eudora’s letter indicated Dierdre was a nuisance, but didn’t say anything about a plot to buy her out of her home. Had Dierdre just been waiting for Eudora to keel over before trying to sink her talons into the mansion?

  More than anything my curiosity begged me to find out why it mattered so much. Meanwhile, common sense told me to steer clear of her completely. I decided to split the difference and ask either Amy or Imogen about it when I spoke to them next.

  In such a small town, I refused to believe someone wouldn’t know what Dierdre’s plan was and let me know what I was really up against.

  Who knew? Maybe she just really wanted the carousel horse in the basement.

  Chapter Eight

  I spent the day buried beneath paperwork, sorting all of the mail into piles. There were book catalogues, notices of upcoming estate sales, bills that were thankfully not yet overdue, and more condolence cards addressed to the shop than I’d anticipated.

  Postmarks said they came from as far away as Alaska, and all over the lower forty-eight, all of them telling the staff of the store how much Auntie Eudora had touched them with her gentle spirit, advice, and kindness when they visited. They all offered up stories of how she found them the perfect book, or tea—or even just an unexpected shoulder to lean on when they’d come into the shop—and how they hoped the store would go on without her.

  When I was finished going through the mail, I set all the bills in a neat stack to pay as soon as I figured out what accounting software the store used, and I took the cards back out into the bookshop, where I lined them up along the fireplace mantle.

  The store staff and myself were not the only ones grieving Eudora’s passing, and I thought it might be nice for customers to see how much Eudora had meant to those she’d met, to know others shared in both their grief and their love. It made me feel better, somehow, seeing all those cards. It told me I wasn’t alone.

  I half expected Dierdre and the bouncer to be outside still, faces pressed against the glass, trying to claw their way in, but the sidewalk was empty except for a young man walking his extraordinarily tiny dog.

  I returned to the office long enough to collect Amy’s pastry box and take it with me into the café. There, I selected a stunning berry tart—each strawberry, kiwi, and blueberry glazed to a high shine—and put it on a teacup saucer. Then I started the kettle behind the counter and prepared a tea bag for loose leaf tea.

  There were a ton of options to choose from, and more unique blends than I remembered her having previously. Yet with all the fun and whimsical options—what on earth was Unicorn Poop?—I had to stick to a tried-and-true favorite and make myself a cup of classic jasmine.

  The jasmine blend Eudora had favored was one she’d first tried on a trip to China, where the tea leaves were blended with little bits of dried jasmine flower petals. It made the tea more interesting to look at, I thought, with its pretty white flecks, while still maintaining the subtle floral sweetness that made the tea so popular.

  She had a similar blend that also had an enhanced vanilla flavor thanks to vanilla bean-infused sugar mixed right into the loose leaves, but I preferred my teas unsweetened, for the most part.

  The kettle whistled and I turned it off, then let it sit for a moment until the temperature dropped below boiling, then poured it over the bag and set the nearby timer for five minutes. People often left their teabags in the cup, which usually resulted in over-steeped, bitter teas. By using the right water temperature and only leaving the bag in a set amount of time, the perfect flavor was able to emerge, and the experience of the tea was infinitely better.

  I took the steeped tea and tart into the bookstore and settled into one of the overstuffed armchairs facing out toward the street. I hoped no one would think the store was open if they spotted me, but I was also sick of looking at the same four walls of the office and needed to give myself a better view.

  As I sipped the tea and smile crossed my lips. Maybe, just maybe, I’d learned enough from Auntie Eudora I could pull this off. I knew how to recommend books, I knew how to brew a good cup of tea, and if I could figure out how to duplicate her blends, I could probably manage to keep this business going as she had.

  Of course, I didn’t have the same popularity and appeal with the local crowd and tourists as she did. Eudora was warm and open; she had a great sense of humor and loved to have long chats with strangers and get to know them. I, on the other hand, liked to share polite conversation, but never longer than absolutely necessary. It had been a long time since I’d worked in customer service of any kind, and that would prove to be the most difficult thing that awaited me.

  I still hadn’t found any of Eudora’s recipes in my exploration of her office, and suspected she might have them at the house somewhere, where I hadn’t really had an opportunity to dig through everything.

  There was one more thing I needed to check here before calling it a day, and that was the apartment upstairs that Dierdre kept telling me I should live in. If I wanted to use it as an extra source of income, I should see what it needed in terms of fixtures, furniture, and even whatever cleaning supplies or odds and ends I might have to purchase to get it ready to go.

  The store and the apartment weren’t directly connected, so I put my empty cup and plate in the kitchen at the back of the tea shop and headed outside again through the front door, locking it behind me. Directly beside the shop’s entrance was a second door, plainly marked with “642,” and leading to stairs going up. The mailbox for the apartment and the shop were on top of each other, and it appeared that the apartment box was empty.

  Unlocking the door, I headed up to the second floor. The air was surprisingly warm, and I hoped the heat hadn’t been running this whole time while the place was vacant. There was a good chance it might just be residual warmth from the shop below, though.

  I used another key to unlock the internal door at the top of the stairs and let myself into the apartment. Where, naturally, I walked directly into a man standing on the other side of the door.

  Chapter Nine

  I screamed.

  He screamed.

  We both staggered away from each other, which unfortunately meant I backed toward the open door at the top of the stairs. Before I was able to go too far and accidently take a tumble all the way down to the street, the man grabbed my wrist and pulled me back into the room.

  I stared at him, my mouth agape.

  He was handsome, probably only a few years older than me, with dark, curly hair that was damp. Realizing his hair was wet was also what made me realize he was wearing nothing but a towel, having clearly just gotten out of the shower.

  For some reason, him showering made me unexpectedly angry.

  This guy was probably squatting here, or had broken in, and he had taken a shower?

  “Hey.” He snapped his fingers to get my attention. “Are you okay? Do you need medical attention—or food? I don’t have any drugs.”

  I blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

  “You broke into my apartment. I don’t want to alarm you, and I don’t want to call the police if I don’t have to—no sense anyone getting in trouble—but you have to go.”

  “I broke into your apartment?” I repeated back to him, not comprehending what he was saying to me.

  “Yes. I must have left the door unlocked, but that doesn’t make it okay.”

  He had the most beautiful brown eyes I’d ever seen, with a rich, honey undertone. For a moment I was too busy staring at him to really understand what was happening. “No, this is my apartment,” I said finally.

 

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