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  This second strike to the same raw wound flipped her switch. She coiled like an angry snake. “I don’t really care what Daddy thinks.” She jabbed a finger in his face. “He left this family. Remember?”

  Matt jerked his head back. A red hue coated his cheeks and his jaw flexed tight.

  Tia’s eyes watered and she ran from the room.

  Sophie covered her mouth with her hand. What had she done? She’d never spoken that way to Matt before. Self-loathing sunk deep. She hated herself right now for saying those words, but the person she hated the most was her ex-husband for manipulating their son.

  She slowly lowered her hand. “Matt, no matter why you believe I made the decision, it’s the one I’m sticking with. Please don’t ask again.”

  His glare seared her skin. He rushed from the room and, seconds later, slammed his bedroom door.

  Matt’s nasty comment echoed in her head. Pure hatred toward her ex burned through her veins. Mike had slammed her with similar logic the night Henry died. She’d wanted to say no to her son’s outing with his friends, but Mike insisted they let him go, accused her of babying him. So, Henry had gone out but never came home. Her granted permission could never be taken back. The outcome could never change.

  She buried her face in her hands and tears spilled. Grief sunk deep into her chest when a notion suddenly hit. The suffering didn’t only belong to her. Both her children had lost a sibling, too. She cried harder.

  After she got the tears out of her system, the pain subsided. She slowly headed up the stairs to give both kids the hugs they deserved instead of this sadness.

  Chapter 10

  The bells on the tackle shop door chimed as Sophie pushed it open. Jay stuck his head out of a curtained doorway leading to the store’s office. “Hey, Sis. Didn’t expect to see you today.” He stepped out and gave her the once over. “Why all gussied up?”

  “I’m not gussied-up.” The dressy black slacks, starched blouse, and herringbone patterned blazer were a switch from her usual casual style, though. “I have an official appointment with Buzz. Couldn’t even just pop in like usual. According to his secretary, he’s been busier than the governor this week. Where’s Dad?” She plopped her leather bag on top of the case.

  “Home. I told him to take a day off. Mid-week is quiet. Of course, he fought me. He’s a pain in the ass sometimes.”

  “Oh, yeah. It’s not like you’d ever do that.”

  He grinned and his bowl-round chin changed shape. She’d inherited her dad’s calm, levelheaded way of thinking, tempered by occasional female outrage. Jay had Dad’s knowing eyes and his blondish hair, also starting to turn the same soft silver. He’d also been blessed with the Moore stubborn gene,

  “So, why the visit to Buzz?” Jay flipped open the box top and pulled out some Ross fly reels. “Is he your new best friend too?”

  “Too?”

  “I heard you and the Resort Group guy are chummy.” He narrowed his eyes and rested the reels on the glass counter.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Bart and I went out for a beer the other night at Griswold’s. He said the firm’s president winked at you during the hearing. What gives?” Jay shook his head. “The guy is our arch-rival.”

  “Once again, you two knuckleheads have proven how the volume of beer consumed is commensurate with the exaggeration of any given story.”

  “Huh?”

  “This isn’t the first time you and Bart have drank at Griswold’s and spun a tale worthy of a woman’s sewing clutch.” Relief settled over her, glad he hadn’t learned she’d been sitting with Duncan at the concert two nights earlier. “Maybe you’d like the real facts.”

  He grunted and reached his arms up to tighten the band on his short ponytail. “So, what really happened?”

  She explained about the kayak clean-up, offering a modified version of Duncan’s fib. Jay didn’t need any more gasoline thrown on his steady stream of scorn for the developer. The lines of Jay’s face stiffened while he listened.

  When she finished, he swatted his hand through the air. “Whatever. Speaking of him, I read your nice story in the Gazette.” Jay’s mouth pinched. He brushed past her and picked up a stack of mail by the cash register, flipping the envelopes with force. “Jesus, Sophie. Jamieson ruined our plans. Aren’t you angry?”

  “I am, but you know I couldn’t show that in my piece.” His nonchalant shrug annoyed her. “I’m here for a reason. Two reasons, actually. Something’s been bothering me.”

  He looked up from the mail.

  “When we were about to sign the contract for the land, did you ever worry about the money?”

  “Why would I?”

  “It’s a big step. Selling both your house and Dad’s to make it work. Taking a loan. The stress of your family and Dad all living under one roof. I mean, Dad is pretty set in his ways. Then there’s the risk of a start-up venture.”

  “What?” Jay’s pale eyes went a shade darker. “You don’t want the land now?”

  “I didn’t say that. I worry. What if the vineyard isn’t profitable or what if—”

  “Stop being so damn logical, Sophie! For once in your life, go with your heart. RGI railroaded us, but I plan on getting back on track. You’d better too.”

  “I’m voicing a concern.” She was in no mood to fight with Jay. “If we’re going to run a business together, you’d better learn to be ok with me speaking up. And you need to be honest with me. The money doesn’t scare you a little?”

  He dropped the mail on the glass top and rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know. We were finally getting a chance to do something special. Go for a dream we’d given up on. It was worth some risk.”

  Jay stared past her. “Guess ever since I left the restaurant to come home and help Dad, I’d hoped someday to find an opportunity here to make up for what I lost. My chef training has gone to waste at the shop.” Jay’s eyes met hers. The down-curved U of his lip showed all the sadness he hid inside.

  “Our dreams aren’t over.” She spoke quietly, without her usual conviction.

  “The Tates’ land is perfect, though.” He crossed his arms.

  “There could be a location, a better one that we haven’t considered.”

  Jay studied her face intently. She didn’t dare bring up the things they couldn’t replace, like Dad’s hope to recoup his family’s land and, of course, her son’s memorial garden.

  He forced a weak smile that didn’t reach his eyes, the way he always did when admitting he’d taken his angst a step too far. “So what else did you want to talk about?”

  Sophie dug into her bag. “I come bearing a possible reason for RGI to remove their bid and I need some help. Set your brain back to the early eighties, when you used to listen to Michael Jackson.”

  He snorted. “I never listened to Michael Jackson. Is this some kind of trivia thing?”

  “Sort of.” She unfolded the newspaper story reporting the gunshot incident at Buzz and Marion’s. “Read this. Tell me if you remember anything.”

  He took the paper and wiggled his fingers in his flannel shirt pocket. “Damn it. I can never find those glasses.” He stretched his arm out as far as it would go and squinted.

  Sophie retrieved his dollar store pair from the far counter and handed them over. “Sucks getting old, huh?”

  “I wouldn’t be so smug.” He grinned then started to read. After a minute, he looked up. “Sure. I remember this. My buddy Andy Murray had started working at the station right around the time this happened.”

  “Andy from your baseball team?”

  “Uh-huh. At Griswold’s one night, Andy went on about how the station kept something quiet that happened at the Harris household. All of a sudden, he clammed up. Wouldn’t say any more.”

  “Now read this.” She handed off the warning note.

  “The Jamiesons are corrupt. Both now and in the past. Question the gunshot.” Jay looked o
ver the rim of his glasses. “How are these connected, besides that both mention a gunshot?”

  “Both were left for me by an anonymous donor at my office. Do you ever hear from Andy? Maybe he’d talk now.”

  “Last time we spoke, he’d started a job near Hartford. I don’t have his number. I can do a little digging.”

  “Thanks.” She picked up her purse and threw the strap on her shoulder. “It’s so weird. I don’t even remember this gunshot at Buzz’s. Thanks for your help. Don’t forget to ask.”

  “Sis, if there’s a chance this could get our land back, you have my word.”

  * * * *

  After a quick stop in the office, Sophie entered the municipal building and went straight into Buzz’s reception area.

  “Have a seat, hon.” Wanda tucked the corner of her curly mop behind her ear, further exposing heavy gold hoops dragging down large earlobes. “He’ll be a few minutes.”

  Sophie plopped into the chair across from his door and crossed her legs, taking inventory of the dated gray carpet and hotel liquidation artwork. Certain areas in the town facility were in serious need of a makeover, starting with their First Selectman’s reception area.

  Wanda swiveled her head between the computer and a document stand, her long neck like a giraffe’s. Voices behind Buzz’s office door rose and an argumentative tone seeped through the cracks, barely tempered by the wood.

  Wanda cleared her throat, not missing a beat on the keyboard. “So, how was your Thanksgiving?”

  Wanda possessed the loyalty of a Labrador when it came to her job. As someone who tried to stay neutral when reporting, Sophie admired how this woman maintained her position through multiple administrations of both political affiliations. Nobody knew if Wanda registered Democrat, Republican or Tory Party member.

  “Thanksgiving was good. We went to Jay’s. Can’t go wrong with his cooking. How about yours?”

  “Same as always.” She stopped typing and gave her full attention to Sophie. “I slave over a hot stove for twenty people and go to bed exhausted.”

  An obvious hush settled in Buzz’s office.

  Wanda resumed her typing. “Anyway, one more crazy holiday month ahead. I can’t wait for January second.”

  Sophie nodded her agreement. She pretended to study a nearby bulletin board, her ears trained to the low voices in Buzz’s office, much calmer than a minute ago.

  Seconds later, his door clicked open. Sophie’s stomach clenched, knowing his mood after an argument could range from mild to spicy. He stepped out with Adli Zimmerman behind him. Both men nodded at her without even a pressed-on phony smile. Buzz turned to Adli. “I’ll speak to you before the meeting. Sophie. Come on in.”

  She gathered her bag, took two steps, but stopped short when Duncan stepped outside of Buzz’s door.

  They stood close, so close she could see dark flecks in his rich blue irises.

  “Sophie.” His eyes softened. “Good to see you again.”

  Her heart pounded loudly against her ribs. Neither moved for what seemed like an eternity but probably amounted to three seconds. He wore an open-necked white dress shirt tucked into his khakis, making the pink hue that rushed his neck more obvious.

  “You too.” The swift patter of her heart sounded in her ears.

  His attitude shifted, suddenly business-like and he stuck out his hand in Buzz’s direction. “Buzz. I appreciate the time today.” He offered the same gesture to Adli and returned his gaze to her when finished. “Thanks for the names you gave me the other night. The carpenter is coming over tonight to talk.”

  “Good. Glad to have helped.”

  Adli, Buzz, and Wanda looked on while a burn seared her cheeks. She hoped the redness wasn’t obvious to their small audience.

  Duncan’s expression shifted. “Well, then. Uh, men, thanks for your time. Sophie, guess I’ll see you around.”

  He walked out. Adli walked by her, too, holding a thick, bound document with the word “Environmental” in bold letters on the cover.

  “Hey, Adli?”

  He turned around and glanced over the half-rimmed glasses positioned near the tip of his nose. “Yes?”

  “Anything new going on with the lakefront zoning changes?”

  “As a matter of fact, we’re looking carefully at two environmental studies Duncan had completed.” He nodded to the thick package in his hands. “We may delay the board’s vote. No sense rushing things.”

  A delayed vote brought relief. More time to research RGI and possibly find something to sway the zoning board vote against them. A little resuscitation for her family’s bid.

  Buzz scowled from his doorway, but Sophie ignored him. “When will you decide if you’re going to delay things?”

  Buzz grunted and disappeared into the office.

  Adli’s jaw flexed. He turned to her. “Next Tuesday night. At the regular meeting.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” Sophie scooted inside the selectman’s office. “Do you want the door shut or open?”

  “Depends on what you’re here to discuss.”

  She shut the door. Buzz flinched.

  She sat opposite him at the large oak desk. “I’m not here about zoning issues. Even if I was, I’m not Bernadette.”

  “Yes. I know.” His shoulders relaxed. “Things have been pretty tense lately. I can’t help that my back is up. People don’t understand how I’m trying to do what’s right by this town.”

  “I’m sure you are.”

  “What can I do for you today?” His polite, businesslike tone didn’t hide the edgy stiffness of his expression.

  Sophie removed the article and slid it across his desk, keeping the block-lettered warning note to herself for now. “I wanted your take on this.”

  Buzz took the paper. Deep lines creased his forehead as he scanned the page. The muscles of his face twitched like a horse’s hide. The wall clock ticked loud, the only sound in the room.

  Finally he drew in a deep breath. “Yes, of course I remember the day this happened.” Buzz appeared to reread the words while his fingers drummed along his chin. He chuckled, an uncomfortable little snort, and met her stare. “Very embarrassing. The neighbors called the police when they heard the gunshot. Why do you have this?”

  The nervous pulse in her throat throbbed, as it always did right before she raised a controversial issue. “Oh, let’s say something led me to it.”

  He shrugged, as if in doing so the item would slither off his shoulders and go away. “It’s nothing more than the article says.”

  “Then it doesn’t involve the Jamieson family?”

  Boom! His jaw tumbled, followed by a bright hue splaying across his face. “It has nothing to do with them. Why would you say that?”

  “I heard they owned a house here when it happened.”

  “So?” In his attempt to regroup, the cogs in his mind were nearly visible. He frowned. “So. What’s your point? A lot of people owned houses here back then.”

  She leaned forward, breath now steadied, thanks to confidence in her conclusions. “You’re telling me this police report has no connection to their family?”

  “It most certainly does not.”

  Sophie scribbled on her pad but still saw him fidget in his seat and chew a cuticle. She jotted uneasy along the margin.

  “Did someone say otherwise?” Nervous curiosity laced his tone.

  “No. The Jamiesons’ arrival is the only unusual thing happening right now. I’m grasping at straws.”

  He tilted a suspicious brow. “Where’d you find this story, anyway?”

  “At the library. If you say there’s nothing to it, then I’m barking up the wrong tree.”

  He avoided her eyes as he handed back the paper.

  “Thanks for seeing me.” She tucked the story back into her bag. Sometimes she needed Buzz and smoothing over the bed she’d ruffled was prudent. “Hey, how’s the statue of Dewty coming along?”

  Buz
z’s face brightened like a five-year-old being offered candy. Exactly the reaction she’d hoped for. “Do you want to see the artist’s sketches?”

  “Sure.”

  Buzz went to his filing cabinet, took a folder off the top, and flipped through the contents.

  Every school kid in town had learned about Northbridge’s most famous resident, Dewty Flynn. He’d earned fame in the early 1900s for his vaudeville productions, later joining forces with Harold Sullivan and traveling the country performing under “The Family Theater of Flynn and Sullivan.” To mark the showman’s 150th birthday celebration next spring, Buzz had made a shrewd political move to commission a bronze statue to display in front of the museum, one of his better ideas.

  “Here are three sketches.” Buzz’s tone lightened. “Which do you like?”

  Sophie gushed over the choices, picked the pose where Dewty tipped his derby hat in greeting and even suggested she interview the artist. Buzz glowed. She’d played him as smoothly as freshly Zambonied ice, same as he often did with her.

  Five minutes later, despite his earlier assurances, she left with the belief the article and incident had everything to do with the Jamieson clan. Exactly why, though, remained as clear as frosted glass.

  Out on the municipal building’s front steps, the first snow flurries of the season greeted her. She tightened her scarf and tucked the ends into her buttoned blazer. Something made Sophie glance over her shoulder. Buzz stood in the window watching, his stare as icy as the air surrounding her. He turned away.

  Feathery flakes danced in the air as she rushed to the car and just as she reached the door, a frigid wind gust slammed into her, sending a shiver to her core. Time to take out the winter coat.

  Chapter 11

  Duncan tooted the car horn. What the heck was taking Patrick so long? While waiting, he studied the front of his new home, his chest swelling with pride. He noted each arched peak and unique architectural detail, especially the custom-made stained glass installed in a few key windows. The day Elizabeth had remarked money couldn’t by him happiness popped into his head, a moment he’d regrettably treated in his usual detached manner. She was right. Money couldn’t buy him happiness, but his earnings bought this place and a chance to start a new life with his children.