by Charlie’s mother. Evie had left the new owner a message the previous night, bringing her up to date, but had yet to hear from her.
“Miss Monica ran off yesterday.” Evie quickly explained about the older woman’s flight with her gentleman friend. “I’ve never seen the dance, and there aren’t very many notes on the production. Miss Monica mentioned many of the sets need to be refurbished, and I don’t even know where they’re kept. I have sixty students who expect to dance in front of their families in six weeks and no idea what I’m doing. Worse, there aren’t any videos of the production in the studio. If Miss Monica had any, they’re in her house, and she’s on her way to Italy.”
She stopped and forced herself to inhale. The panic had returned and with it the need for sugar. She started to reach for a small, plain cake donut, then gave in to the inevitable and picked up a chocolate glazed. As her teeth sank into the sweet, light center, the world slowly righted itself.
Charlie ran her hands through her short hair and groaned. “I’m trying desperately not to imagine Miss Monica and her gentleman friend.”
Evie chewed and swallowed. “I know exactly what you mean. The terror helps me overcome that image.”
“I’ll bet.” Charlie reached for her coffee. “Okay, let me think. I’ve seen the dance every year I’ve been in town, but I can’t remember the details. So, start with your students. Their parents will have the production on video, right? You can watch them and figure out what’s going on.”
Evie sagged back in the chair and nodded. “You’re right. They’ll all have it filmed. That’s perfect. Thanks.”
Charlie stood and moved back toward the kitchen. She pulled open a drawer. When she returned to the table, she had a pad of paper and a pen.
“The sets are going to be in one of the warehouses on the edge of town. There should be a receipt for the monthly rent in the studio’s records. This is the guy who manages the warehouses.” She wrote down a name. “Tell him who you are, and he’ll let you in, even without a key. Then you can evaluate the sets. Let me know how much work there is and we’ll organize a work party.”
Evie blinked at her. “A what?”
“A work party. People come and help repair the sets. You’ll have to provide the materials, but they’ll give you all the labor you need.”
“I don’t understand. You mean there’s a group I can hire to fix the sets?” She wasn’t sure what the budget would be. Maybe her new boss would want to cancel the production completely.
Charlie sighed and patted her hand. “Not hire. People will help you with the sets for free. Because they want to.”
“Why?”
“Because this is Fool’s Gold and that’s what we do. Just pick a day and I’ll get the word out. Trust me, it will be fine.”
“Sure,” Evie murmured, even though she didn’t believe it for a second. Why would people she didn’t know show up to work on sets for her production? For free? “I don’t suppose these miracle workers can also alter costumes and do hair for the show?”
“Probably not, but there are a couple of salons in town.” Charlie wrote on the paper again. “Someone’s been taking care of all that every year. Start here. Ask them who normally handles the hair and makeup for the show. I suspect it’s either Bella or Julia. Maybe both.” She picked up the second half of her maple bar. “They’re feuding sisters who own competing salons. It makes for some pretty fun entertainment.”
Evie’s recently injured leg began to ache. “Let me see if I have this straight. I’m going to talk to parents of my students to get videos of a production I’ve never seen so I can teach it to their daughters. In the meantime, a man who doesn’t know me from a rock is going to let me into a warehouse so I can evaluate the sets. You’re going to arrange a work party of perfect strangers to repair those sets—all of which will happen for free. Then feuding sister stylists may or may not know who does the hair and makeup for my sixty dancers.”
Charlie grinned. “That about sums it up. Now tell me the truth. Do you feel better or worse than you did before you got here?”
Evie shook her head. “Honestly? I haven’t a clue.”
Evie walked home after her last class that evening. The night was cool and clear and smelled like fall. All leaves and earth and wood smoke. She might be more a big-city girl, but there were things she liked about Fool’s Gold. Not having to drive her car everywhere was nice, as was being able to see stars in the sky. Now if only she could find a good Chinese place that delivered.
She turned onto her street, aware that most of the townhouses had Thanksgiving decorations in the windows and on the porches. She’d only been in her place a few weeks—it was a rental and had come furnished. She wasn’t interested in putting down roots, and buying furniture wasn’t in her budget. But maybe she should stick a flameless candle in the window or something.
Somewhere a door slammed shut. She heard laughter and a dog barking. Homey sounds. For a second she allowed herself to admit she was, well, lonely. Except for her family, she barely knew anyone in town. The most contact she’d had with her neighbors had been to wave to the young couple who lived across the street. She’d never even seen the people next door.
She couldn’t shake the feeling of being out of place. The sensation wasn’t new. In Los Angeles, she’d had plenty of friends but no real direction for her life. She’d been waiting for something. A sign. She’d been going through the motions of living without a sense of belonging. She’d always figured “one day” she would have the answer. Now she was starting to think there wasn’t going to be one day. There was now, and it was up to her to figure out what she wanted.
One of those would be a start, she thought with a quiet laugh as a fancy black sedan pulled into the driveway next to hers. Actually she would settle for having over a hundred dollars in her checking account at any given time.
Evie watched the driver’s door open and prepared to at least pretend to be friendly. But her halfhearted wave had barely begun when she recognized Dante Jefferson.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. Was he checking on her? Typical. Her brothers couldn’t even get the address right. Dante was in the wrong driveway.
“I live here.”
“Where?”
He pointed to the townhouse next to hers.
She dropped her arm to her side. “Seriously? For how long?”
“I moved in the weekend after you.”
“You knew you were moving in next to me?” she asked.
He shrugged. “There weren’t a lot of choices. I don’t know if I want to buy or not, so I took a short-term lease. Hungry?”
“What?” She was still dealing with the fact that her brother’s business partner was her neighbor.
Dante pulled a large white bag out of the car. “I got Italian. There’s plenty. Come
