Nick UnCaged (Santuary #4) - Abbie Zanders Page 0,10
but it is what it is.”
Bree inhaled sharply. She paid five times that much for her stash, and that didn’t include the priority shipping. “Sounds like a place I’d like to visit. Where is that?”
“Zeigler’s, on the edge of town. You probably passed it on your way in. Can’t miss it. Looks like a big warehouse from the outside. Most of the stalls are run by Amish and Mennonites though, so they’re only open on Saturdays.”
Bree made a mental note to visit Zeigler’s on Saturday. She’d had heard of the Amish, but she’d never actually seen one. And Squirrel Nut Zippers for under a dollar a pound! For that price, she’d buy a new suitcase and fill it to take back with her.
They proceeded into the quaint kitchen, painted in buttercup yellow with lacy white curtains and polished brass accents.
“Would you care for some iced tea? I just picked up some fresh this morning. It’s peach season, you know.”
Bree didn’t know, nor did she understand the correlation between iced tea and peaches, but it did sound refreshing. “I’d love some, thanks.”
Martha indicated that Bree should sit at the kitchen table. Almost immediately, a tiny black-and-brown dog with a pink bow in her hair scampered into the kitchen and made a beeline for Bree.
“Don’t mind Penny,” Martha told her. “She’s very nosy, but she’s harmless.”
“She’s cute.”
Martha beamed. “She knows it, too.”
Martha poured them each a tall glass of translucent golden-colored tea while Penny sniffed at Bree’s shoes.
Bree took a sip of tea and hummed in approval as the taste of ripe peaches exploded on her tongue. “This is delicious. I’ve never had peach tea before.”
“Obermacher’s makes the best. They’re doing peach cider whoopie pies tomorrow. I’ll pick some up.”
Whoopie pies?
Before Bree could inquire as what a whoopie was, Martha sat down and asked, “You’re from California, you said?”
Bree nodded. “Yes, I am. Just outside San Diego.”
“Pardon me for saying so, but you don’t look like you’re from California.”
Bree laughed lightly. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard that. Her dark hair, dark eyes, and curvy figure didn’t match the Hollywood stereotype. “We’re not all blonde and blue-eyed surfer types.”
The color rose in the older woman’s cheeks. “No, of course not.”
Bree wondered if Martha had ever been out of the county, let alone traveled to the other side of the country. Her knowledge of anything beyond her homogeneous little town probably came only from what she had seen on television.
“But you’re very astute, Ms. McGillicuddy,” Bree continued. “California is my home now, but I’m originally from New York.”
Martha nodded, appeased. “I thought so! I have an eye for that sort of thing, you know. And please, call me Martha.”
She paused and sipped her tea. Bree did the same, waiting patiently for the question she knew was imminent.
“So, Gabriella—may I call you Gabriella? Or do you prefer Gabby?”
“Bree, please.”
“Bree. How lovely. What brings you to our humble town?”
And there it is. “I’m here to do a piece on Sanctuary.”
Had she not been watching so closely, she might have missed the sudden tensing of Martha’s neck and shoulders.
“A piece, you say?”
“Yes. I write for the Sentinel Voice. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?” When Martha shook her head, Bree explained, “We publish stories we believe are in the national interest, and we have millions of digital subscribers all over the world, but our core subscribers are honest, hardworking citizens, like yourself.”
“Oh.” Martha chewed on that for a moment. “If I may ask, why are you investigating Sanctuary?”
Bree’s instincts flared. She noted the interesting choice of words and smiled benignly. “We heard about the work they’re doing with veterans and wanted to learn more.”
“I see.” Martha’s gaze dropped to her glass.
Bree could practically see the wheels turning, the questions burning on Martha’s lips, questions that Martha could not yet ask. They’d only just met, and Bree was an outsider. Sympathies had to be determined and some measure of trust established before she could share whatever it was swirling around in that head of hers.
Bree allowed the silence to continue until it bordered on awkward, and then she gave Martha a slight nudge. Leaning forward, she asked softly, “Are you familiar with Sanctuary, Martha?”
“What? Oh, yes, of course. Everyone in Sumneyville knows about them.”
“What do you think of them and what they’re doing?”
Martha sniffed and sat up taller. “Well, it’s not really for me to say.”
Bree highly doubted that. In fact, there was probably very little that Martha couldn’t speak on for hours on end, complete with