to her computer. ‘But there’s bound to be a site on the web that can tell us what that date might be.’
Rick didn’t move. ‘It’s the twenty-sixth of May in the year of two thousand and thirteen.’
That was almost a year ago now. ‘The paper is bound to archive its back issues online.’ She went to the newspaper’s homepage, flicked through several screens and found the paper issued for the twenty-sixth of May. All the while she was aware of Rick standing on the other side of the table, unmoving, and it started to worry her. ‘Rick!’
He started and glanced her way. It hit her that inactivity wasn’t good for him. ‘Here, I found the right paper. I think. You do the search while I organise cake and coffee.’
Searching would keep him focused. Organising afternoon tea would give her something to do with her hands other than fidget.
He took her seat. ‘What do you reckon—search the personal classifieds for some coded message?’
She growled. ‘It better not be too coded.’
He laughed and turned his attention back to the computer screen.
She measured out coffee and set cupcakes on a plate—Citrus Burst, Pine Lime, Vanilla Cream and Café au Lait. She almost swiped a finger through the frosting of the coffee cupcake, but pulled back at the last minute. It had taken her a lot of work to lose her teenage puppy fat. As soon as she had her Victorian teahouse up and running she meant to enjoy the fruits of her labours to her heart’s content and to hell with her waistline. But until then...
Her nose curled. It was a well-known fact that slender women received more chances and better opportunities than plump women. It wasn’t fair. In her opinion it was downright scandalous, but she didn’t have too many assets—a big house that was threatening to crumble down around her, her ability to cook the best cupcakes on the planet and a trim figure. She meant to make the most of all of them while she could.
Behind her, she sensed Rick’s sudden stillness. She swung to him. ‘Well?’ Her voice came out choked, as if she had an entire cupcake lodged in her throat.
‘There’s a message here...for me.’
Her heart gave a giant kick. ‘Does he tell you...?’
‘No. The message reads: Rick Bradford. Many Happy Returns.’
The twenty-sixth of May was his birthday?
‘You’ve exceeded expectations. For she’s a jolly good fellow.’
‘She?’ That couldn’t be right, surely?
‘She,’ he repeated.
‘Do you think that’s some oblique way of saying your unknown sibling is a sister?’
‘I think he’s referring to you.’
Her?
‘Return on the thirteenth of March.’
She slammed the plate of cupcakes to the table. ‘Return where?’ she shouted.
‘I think he means to the classifieds in the newspaper.’ He leaned back. ‘Which means he put some thought into all of this before he died—paid for these ads well in advance. I wonder how many years’ worth he organised.’
The intricacy of John’s scheme stunned her. ‘The thirteenth of March is only a couple of weeks away.’ She bared her teeth. ‘That is if he’s referring to this year. There’s no guarantee of that, of course.’
‘All will be revealed then if you have the eyes to see it.’
She opened a kitchen cupboard just so she could slam it shut again. ‘That’s what I think of that!’
‘And it ends with Hip Hip Hooray!’
‘Oh, and that’s worth its weight,’ she snarled.
He laughed. ‘He was right about one thing. You are a jolly good fellow. I’d never have got this far if it hadn’t been for you.’
‘Well, of course you wouldn’t!’ she exploded, pacing up and down. ‘That’s the whole stupid point, isn’t it? How could you ever have possibly traced that stupid code to bits of paper in my books? How would you have ever known about my stupid marigold tin? How dare he risk everything on something so...so tenuous! How could he risk... All of it hangs on such a thin thread that could’ve broken at any time.’ She slashed a hand through the air. ‘How could he know I’d keep helping you? How could he know you’d even stick around? How could he know that I hadn’t sold the house?’
‘He couldn’t.’
She stared at the plate of colourful cupcakes and made a fist. Rick dragged the plate towards him out of harm’s way.
‘Princess, it’s not worth getting all hot under the collar about.’
‘Not worth...’ She started to shake.
‘You’re really furious at him, aren’t you?’
She had a feeling they weren’t talking about John any more. ‘Yes,’ she gritted out. Because whether they were talking about her father or his, it was true on both counts. ‘How dare he drag me into his nasty little game!’
Again, that counted on both heads.
‘What right did he have? What...’
The air went out of her and she sat with a thump.
Rick leaned towards her, his eyes wary. ‘Uh, Nell...you okay?’
She swallowed. ‘Earlier you said that he might be trying to make himself feel better...to make amends.’
‘Yeah, so?’
‘That’s what this is about. He wants me to make amends too.’
RICK PULLED UP short when he strode into the kitchen to find Nell drinking coffee and eating cupcakes.
At ten on a Wednesday morning.
He counted two cupcake wrappers, which meant she was steadily making her way through a third. He frowned. That wasn’t the way to eat one of those cupcakes! Every mouthful should be savoured to the full.
She didn’t look up. He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Good morning.’
She continued to glare at the table. ‘Morning.’ Bite. Chew. Swallow.
Okay, take two. ‘I ducked out to grab a few supplies. I ran out of sugar soap and sandpaper.’
‘You don’t need to justify your movements, Rick. I believe you’ll keep your side of the bargain. The how and when is entirely up to you.’
He should leave her be and get back to sanding and painting,
