danger. Kids get in trouble all the time, and parents bail them out. You’ll get through this.”
“Okay, but I can’t talk. Chris’ll be down in a second, and we’re going into town to meet with Jay.”
“Are they still outside your house?” No need to explain who “they” were.
“Yup. My car’s in the carport, so we may be able to sneak to it without being caught, but they’ll see me back out. I’ll be sure to—”
“Give them the finger? Do not do that, Grace. They’ll photograph it. Is that what you want going viral?” When she didn’t answer, I said, “Your behavior reflects on Chris. Aggression won’t hack it.”
“They’re scum.”
“I know that, you know that, but don’t let them drag you down to their level. Please, Grace?” When she didn’t respond to that, either, I could only pray that my message registered. “Are you coming to work later?”
“Garrett called.” The general manager of the resort. “He told me to stay home.”
One phone call and I could fix that. I knew the new, alleged owner of the Inn, did I not? It would give me a good reason to call him, and, “By the way, Edward, what in the hell are you doing in my town?”
“Maggie?” came a voice from behind. It was one of the women who had been near the mailboxes.
I gave her a weak smile and, seeing no choice, acknowledged the others with a quick wave. I liked these women. The last thing I wanted was to offend them. Nor, though, did I want to discuss what I knew they had in mind. At one point or another, every one of them had seen me with Grace and Chris. As well-meaning as their inquiries might be, I had nothing to add.
Sensing my dilemma, Cornelia waved an imperious hand to shoo off not only the one at my side but the others as well. It might have been overkill, but when it came to ordering people around, she had a free ride. Once the women had left, she retrieved my mail from the back room and handed it over. “Be prepared when you get to the Spa,” she warned. “Word has it they’ve been doing live shots from the station and Town Hall. The Spa is next. They’ll try to interview you.”
“They tried last night. I didn’t say anything.”
“Good girl.”
“How long do you think they’ll stick around?”
She didn’t have to know my history to know I loved the serenity of Devon. We were of like mind in this.
Her smile was small and resigned. “Until something else takes front page.”
* * *
Her warning was spot on. I had barely parked, shouldered the strap of my makeup case, and lifted the box of supply refills, when a pair of reporters swooped in. Whether or not they recognized me as Grace’s friend from last night, it didn’t take a genius to guess that I worked here. Who else would park in the employees’ lot? Who else would be carrying a cardboard box marked EYEBROW WAX?
They were joined by a third and a fourth, all shooting questions as they crowded me toward the door. They had barely moved from requests for my name to my knowledge of Grace, when a linebacker in a blazer and tie emerged, closed a firm hand on my arm and pulled me out of the fray.
6
I was never pleased to see Michael Shanahan. Nervous, maybe. Uneasy, for sure. Lately, resigned. The sight of him now, though, brought pure relief—at least until that door closed and, taking the box from me, he guided me deeper into the Spa.
Michael had been named my probation officer when I petitioned the Massachusetts courts to let me move to Vermont. We met monthly at his office in White River Junction, but in these waning days of my probation, he was showing up unannounced in Devon too often for comfort.
Spot-checks were within the terms of my probation. But I knew that Michael’s showing up was more personal than legal. He liked me. He had told me as much—had told me that once my probation was finished he hoped we could be in touch. The words were innocent enough. Not so the cologne he had recently started wearing, or the warmth in his eyes.
I should have been flattered. He clearly appreciated the new me, complimenting me one day on my hair, another on my sweater or my boots. And he wasn’t shabby himself. The few times we’d gone to lunch together, I had seen other women