Rubbing his nose with one of his mitt-sized hands, Jefferson called out to his wife. “Lookie here, Di. It was so strange. Those two didn’t want to buy anything, but they left this on our counter all the same before they left.”
A ding and the cash drawer slid out from underneath the register. Jefferson reached in, pulling out a crisp bill, holding it up so Dinah could see.
The last of Grace’s hopes disappeared. Her curiosity? Gone. Because when Jefferson held up that money, she knew exactly why it had been left behind.
“Fifty dollars?” breathed out Dinah. “Whatever for?”
Jefferson shrugged before putting it back in the till. “Don’t know, honey. I noticed it after they left and, by the time I figured they must have forgotten it, they’d already taken off in some shiny black car. I figure, I’ll keep it safe in the register in case they come back. Seems right.”
“Could be a tip.”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” Peering at her through the thick lenses of his glasses, Jefferson found Grace again. “Do outsiders usually tip like that?”
“Some do,” she said, offering the shopkeeper a weak smile. Her stomach was roiling, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. The hand not holding the copies started to twitch and she quickly grasped the other side of the stack to hide it. The sharp edge of the sheets bit into her palm; she never lost that smile. “Thank you for the copies. Oh, and posting my flier, too. I really appreciate it.”
And then, with the stack clutched tightly to her chest, Grace murmured her goodbyes and made her escape.
11
Grace couldn’t get that fifty out of her head.
Hamlet was small. Between the big drop out front and the massive mountains that loomed on the skyline, Grace accepted that Tessa wasn’t kidding when she said it was secluded; it was basically its own little world, cut off from the rest of it. Still, did the Jeffersons not really understand that that was a bribe?
Okay, she amended, maybe not a bribe. It was definitely an incentive, though. She’d seen Tommy or one of his goons pull something like that countless times before. Leave a small token—and, for a Mathers, fifty bucks was a small token—and you bought the appreciation of an otherwise upstanding citizen. They might not even know what they were doing. But the next time those guys came around with more questions, maybe asking in a more direct way if Jefferson met any other outsiders, the shopkeeper might remember their token and be a little more talkative.
Jefferson didn’t seem like the type. His wife, either. It was obvious that Jefferson was leery of the suits so there was a good chance that he’d keep her visit to his store a secret if she asked. If it was one outsider or the other, she wanted to be the one he helped.
It had to be Pope. After Boone, he was Tommy’s top enforcer. He was a pretty man who used his good looks as a weapon as much as his piece and, she recalled, he was fanatically vain when it came to his hair. It was an amazing mix of colors—reds, browns and golden highlights—that he wore down to his shoulder. Long hair? It had to be Pope.
The edge of a purple ribbon flapping in the wind caught her attention, momentarily ripping her frantic thoughts away from Tommy and his guys.
She kept driving, right on past the turn that would take her back to the bed and breakfast.
She wasn’t sure why. Grace wasn’t looking for the way out of Hamlet. The few things she brought to Ophelia with her were important and, even if she heeded her sudden desire to escape, she wouldn’t leave them behind. Plus, in the last week, she had grown closer to Maria De Angelis than she had to anyone else since Monica. It wouldn’t be right to leave without saying goodbye.
So she flew by the entrance to Orchard Avenue, knowing that she would be heading back to Ophelia long before the locks engaged. Just… just not yet.
Maybe she was looking to see if she found Pope’s ride. It wouldn’t be as flashy as Tommy’s Jaguar, though it would still be fast, silent, and super expensive. She already knew from Jefferson that it was another black car. She kept an eye out for one.
Part of her accepted that, once again, Tommy was winning. If he had his men scoping out Hamlet, he couldn’t be too far behind. So maybe, more than anything else, she continued to stroll down the unfamiliar streets, daring them to find here.
Here I am, she thought in bitter defeat. Come and get me.
Grace didn’t know where she was
going. No clue. So long as the mountains stayed on one side and she didn’t come up on the gulley, she figured she was within the borders of Hamlet. Since she’d barely gone farther than Main Street in the last week and a half, it was no surprise that she was passing houses and landmarks that weren’t familiar to her.
That’s when she caught sight of a sign coming up on her right-hand side. It was wide and probably made of wood. The twin posts on each end definitely were. The bulk of the sign was painted a cream color, with two words drawn on in a vivid blue swirl: the coffeehouse.
The plastic sign for Jefferson’s store might not have been Maria’s work. There was no denying that this one was. It was hand-painted, each letter, each adornment a piece of art. And it was called the coffeehouse. That made it all the more tempting.
Grace could use some coffee. She decided it was worth it to stop.
Like at the market, there wasn’t a true parking lot. There were about seven or eight cars lined up along the curb—none of them shiny or black—and she drove around them until hers was at the front of the queue. She hated to parallel park. Walking a couple of blocks back toward this coffeehouse she stumbled upon was better than trying to fit her tiny car in some of the spaces left between vehicles.
Once she got back to the sign, her tote bag slung over her shoulder, her arms crossed over her chest, Grace looked at the two buildings behind it. The one closer to her was much bigger. A tall, narrow Victorian-style home complete with turrets and railings loomed in front of her. Just behind it, though, was a squat, flat version of the other house.
She wasn’t so sure what was going on with the bigger one out front. Since the smaller structure had the matching script drawn on another wooden sign that overhang the pale blue door, Grace figured that was where she was supposed to go.