She mounted the stairs to the second floor of the eight-unit apartment building. Were those Ginny’s footsteps behind her? Why won’t she give up and go home?
Peyton glanced over her shoulder. “Stop following me.”
“Stay away from Darius.” Ginny’s voice trembled with anger. That was fine. Peyton was angry, too.
She mounted the landing. The roof’s soffit had protected the second-floor landing from most of the snow.
“Peyton, I’m talking to you.” Ginny’s voice was becoming shriller.
Peyton clenched her teeth. She slid a glance at her neighbors’ windows as she hurried past them. Could they hear Ginny? They must. Peyton’s stomach muscles knotted. Was this how Darius felt when his parents bickered in public? Her heart went out to him.
She pulled her keys from her coat pocket as she approached her apartment. Peyton unlocked her door, then faced Ginny. “If Darius is the one with the problem, why does the sheriff have a restraining order on file against you?”
Ginny gaped. “He told you?”
“If you continue to malign Darius’s character, I’ll make sure everyone in Trinity Falls knows about that restraining order.” Peyton shoved off the hood of her coat to stare down the other woman. A red haze clouded her vision. “I’ll stand in the middle of the town center, holding a five-foot sign with your picture and the word stalker in big, red block letters across your forehead. Do you understand me?”
Ginny’s lips thinned. “You’ll be sorry you crossed me.”
“Do you want to bet who’ll be sorrier?” Peyton’s body shook with fury. The cold was a distant memory.
Ginny held Peyton’s glare a moment longer before stomping
away. Peyton watched her nemesis disappear down the stairs, then entered her apartment. She slammed the door shut, dumped her briefcase on the floor, and tossed her purse onto her sofa. Still bundled in her coat, she walked into her kitchen. Peyton filled her kettle with water from the faucet and set it on the stove to boil. She grabbed a mug, tea bag, and sweetener from her cupboards.
No wonder Quincy had urged Darius to file a restraining order against Ginny. Virginia Carp was seriously unhinged. Darius may not be worried about his crazy ex, but Peyton had a feeling Ginny was more of a threat than Darius thought.
“Is everything OK, Doreen?” Megan’s question barely penetrated the fog in Doreen’s head.
She and Megan were chatting in Books & Bakery’s modest kitchen in the early hours of Wednesday morning before the bookstore opened. It was a routine they’d developed when Doreen had first started working for Megan almost two years ago. The younger woman kept her company as she baked the day’s first batches of pastries.
Outside, it was cold and dark, with Christmas only fifteen days away. Not that Doreen was counting. But inside, the industrial oven kept the kitchen warm and cozy. The pastries filled the room with the scents of sugar and spice.
The kitchen was Doreen’s dream. It was bright and lined with modern, industrial equipment. Best of all, the cupboards were positioned within her reach. No need for stepladders.
“Yes, I’m fine.” Doreen hustled around the room, crossing the white-tiled flooring to pull ingredients from the silver refrigerator and add them to the electric mixer. “Why do you ask?” She set the industrial-sized oven to warm.
Megan relaxed onto one of the two decorative honey wood chairs set in the corner of the cozy kitchen. Her cloud of dark, wavy hair swung around her shoulders as she rested her elbow on the matching circular table. “Well, for one thing, you just cracked a couple of eggs over the trash can and dumped their shells into that bowl of flour.”
“Omigosh.” Doreen dropped onto the marble counter the ingredients and cooking utensils she’d been gathering and returned to the baker’s island in the center of the room.
“You’re not OK, are you?” Megan’s voice was soft concern. “What’s on your mind?”
Doreen poured the flour, salt, cinnamon, and eggshells into the trash can and gave the bowl a thorough washing. She dried her hands on her chef’s apron. “Alonzo proposed.”
“Oh, Doreen! I’m so happy for you! That’s wonderful.” Megan hesitated. “Isn’t it?”
“I told him I needed more time.” Doreen pulled fresh ingredients from the cupboards and started over.
Megan sighed her disappointment. “What did Alonzo say?”
Doreen shrugged defensively. “He agreed to wait, but I could see he wasn’t happy about it.”
“I understand his disappointment.” Megan crossed her legs. The emerald-green skirt suit made her honey brown skin glow. “But I also understand why you’d need more time.”
“I’m glad someone does because I’m not sure I do.” Doreen’s eyes stung with unshed tears of frustration. She blinked rapidly. “I’m also not convinced it’ll do any good.”
“Doreen, you’ve had a very eventful couple of years.” Megan recalled the most recent occurrences. “Paul died in February 2013. You started working for me in May of that same year. Then five months later, Ean came home. You ended 2013 by announcing your mayoral campaign. Then in January 2014, you managed the town’s Sesquicentennial Celebration Committee.”