a candlemaker, when he saw Helen Schaefer come out of hers, close the flaps and climb into her pickup truck without a backward glance. In seconds, the truck maneuevered around the corner, turned into the school playground and was gone.
She’d be back, he reminded himself. Tomorrow he could stop by and say hello, thank her again for the soap. Maybe ask about her family, in the hope that she wore the wedding ring out of sentiment rather than as a label.
As he did. Alec glanced down at the plain gold band on his left hand. It was a part of him. He hadn’t taken it off in sixteen years, not since the moment he said, “I do,” and kissed his bride.
He wondered how Linda would feel about him taking it off now, maybe putting it in the carved wooden box from Poland she had given him for Christmas many years ago that sat on his dresser. Was she anywhere she could know?
Damn it, Alec thought, what was wrong with him? This wasn’t the time to let himself get sucked into an eddy of regret or sorrow. There was no reason to dredge up the past just because he’d met a woman who had fleetingly made him imagine falling in love again.
Still he walked faster and made his last few greetings briefer. It was nine o’clock on Thursday night. Yeah, okay, Devlin was fourteen and therefore old enough to be in charge, but chances were he’d have spent the evening closeted in his bedroom, the door firmly shut, music shaking the timbers of the house. If his sister was being abducted, he wouldn’t hear her bloodcurdling screams.
Not that Lily wasn’t responsible, too. She knew better than to answer the door without being sure she knew who was on the other side. But she was only eleven, teetering between childhood and adolescence, her body dragging her along despite any protests her father occasionally uttered to God. Lately she’d taken to hunching her shoulders and wearing sacky sweatshirts stolen from her brother’s closet. Alec guessed it was time to tackle buying her first bra. Not the kind of purchase he had ever envisioned having any part in.
There weren’t any police cars parked in front of his house, and he didn’t feel a bass thumping through his bones when he got out of his Mercedes in the garage. Alec frowned. Dev wouldn’t have taken off and left his sister alone, would he?
But upstairs he found unusual harmony, the two slouched at opposite ends of the couch as they watched a movie that wasn’t familiar to Alec. The coffee table was littered with plates, empty pop cans and candy wrappers.
“Hey, guys.” He leaned against the back of the couch. “I’m home.”
“We noticed,” his son said disagreeably.
“Hi, Daddy.” Lily didn’t tear her eyes from the big-screen TV.
“What are you watching?”
His son gave him an impatient glance. “Don’t worry. It’s PG13. We rented it. Last night. Remember?”
Alec did vaguely recall paying for a couple of DVD rentals while they were grocery shopping. He’d glanced to see what they had chosen. He hadn’t recognized either title, but neither had appeared inappropriately gory or racy for an eleven-year-old.
“Good enough,” he said. “I take it you had dinner.”
“We ordered pizza. There’s some left in the fridge,” Devlin added begrudgingly.
“Thanks.” Obviously not needed in the family room, Alec retreated to the kitchen, where he put a couple of slices of pizza in the microwave. He shouldn’t eat crap like that, but he didn’t have the energy to hunt for something more nutritious.
While the microwave hummed, he checked his voice mail and glanced through the day’s snail mail. Neither produced anything interesting or urgent to distract him from his restlessness.
Setup for the annual arts and craft fair, which he and Linda had been involved in starting, was going smoothly. The quality of work for sale was better than ever, publicity had gone like clockwork, and the weather was cooperating. His kids were getting along.
So what the hell was wrong with him?
Of course he knew. Something about Helen Schaefer’s big brown eyes had gotten to him. He’d loved her smile, her gurgle of a laugh, her puckered forehead when she concentrated on laying out the soap. His hand had itched to touch her hair, a shade of auburn that could be subtle or brash depending on the light.
He was pretty sure she’d worn no makeup to enhance her creamy skin. Her hair had been scraped back in a ponytail so tight it looked painful. Her gray T-shirt and faded blue jeans sure hadn’t been worn to entice. But something about her had punched him in the gut.
He scowled at the microwave, which beeped obediently as if he’d terrified it into finishing. About time. He didn’t like hanging around the kitchen.
Carrying a soda and his plate of pizza, he stopped in his tracks. Funny, it hadn’t occurred to him until this minute how uncomfortable he was out here.
He turned around and looked at the room he and Linda had redone when the kids were little. Small-paned windows framed a view over roof-tops of Puget Sound. Mexican tiles covered the floor, their warm russet color echoed in the smaller hand-painted tiles that formed the countertop and backsplash. They’d eaten most of their meals at the antique table in the center of the room. In those days, he had paid bills at the desk in a nook that had once been the pantry. A refinished armoire had held toys and games, and the kids played on rag rugs Linda wove on crude looms. She had always kept several vases filled with flowers in here. They’d loved the kitchen when they were done remodeling it. They had lived in here.
The kids still ate at the kitchen table when they gobbled breakfast or lunch, but when the three of them sat down for a meal together, it was in the dining room. He didn’t even remember what excuse he’d used to initiate the change. They were all probably too numb to notice.
He couldn’t stand the kitchen because it reminded him of his wife. As if he’d conjured her, he saw Linda turning from the stove, smiling at him. She had been a tall woman, only a couple of inches shorter than Alec, her Swedish blond beauty flawed only by a nose she claimed was too big, and by a tendency to be clumsy. The first time they met, she fell into his arms. Literally. Given her size, he’d barely kept her from crashing to the ground.
“Linda,” he whispered, and she faded, taking with her the clear memory of her face.
Turning abruptly, he fled the kitchen for his office. There, the photograph of his wife was too familiar to bring her to life.
Looking away from it, he had a flash of memory in which he saw another woman’s face, another woman’s smile.
And the glint of gold and diamonds on the other woman’s left hand.
As he lifted the can of soda to take a swallow, he eyed his own wedding ring.
There was undoubtedly a Mr. Schaefer, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask, would it? There was something about Helen, who confessed to loving scents redolent of kitchen and home, that had given him hope he might love again.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he remembered the bar of soap still sitting on the seat in the car. He’d have to go get it. Start his day tomorrow with the pungent scent of eucalyptus.
CHAPTER TWO
“DO YOU HAVE the cash box?”
