Although, as it would turn out, appearances were decidedly deceiving.
The weekly meeting of the five women in question was purported to be an informal craft class. Local ladies signed up left and right for Cathy’s other classes, even woodburning and china painting, but the Wednesday-night calligraphers had closed their ranks to the uninitiated. Group therapy hadn’t been their initial intention, yet nearly every week the talk turned to Zack Brody: What he’d done to them, how they still hadn’t recovered, where he was now, whose heart he was currently breaking with his deceptively charming and oh, so smooth and seductive ways.
Which was not to say that the five women hated the man. Goodness, no.
It was Zack’s particular skill that he’d left even his jilted bride harboring certain feelings—definitely more than fond—for him. In fact, if the truth be known, several of the women maintained a secret fantasy that someday she would be the one to capture the legendary Lothario’s heart for good. The likelihood that the rest of his perfect male specimen body would be included in the deal was…not unpleasant.
Be that as it may, there were also times, when the hour grew late and strong ink fumes had gone to their heads, that the five women bandied about a suitable revenge. ’Twas only fair, they said. Heartbreak should have a taste of his own medicine.
Thus, upon the fateful evening of Heartbreak Brody’s prodigal return to Quimby, a scheme was afoot. A nefarious plot that would turn out to be neither as easy nor as simple as intended. But far more effective.
And it all began at Cathy Bell Timmerman’s arts and crafts shop….
1
“YOU’LL NEVER GUESS,” Gwendolyn Case boomed as she sailed through Scarborough Faire’s aisles toward the long farmhouse table where the rest of the Wednesday-night calligraphers had already taken out their pens and papers. “Guess who’s coming back to Quimby!”
Cathy Timmerman, the shopkeeper and head calligrapher, stifled her sigh of frustration. Calligraphy required concentration, hard to come by with this group.
Faith Fagan, a wan blonde, looked confused. “But you said we’d never—”
“Guess!” With one forceful word, buxom brunette Gwendolyn easily silenced meek Faith. Suffused with the power of her knowledge, Gwen put her hands on her hips and smiled broadly at the group. As self-appointed doyenne of the post office, she had her ear to the grapevine…and her mouth perpetually set to gossip mode.
Looking as peaked as Faith, Laurel Barnard slumped against the spindle back of one of the wooden chairs Cathy had picked up at rummage sales and then painted with colorful, whimsical patterns of swirls, dots, stripes and stars. Laurel, the pretty owner of the dress shop next door, opened her mouth, then couldn’t seem to summon words. Only one man was legend enough to evince such an announcement.
“Heartbreak,” said a calm voice.
Gwendolyn’s head spun around. Air huffed through her open mouth.
Carefully Julia Knox lifted the point of her pen off the paper. She shook her head so that a misplaced strand of honey-brown hair fell neatly into place in her precision-cut bob. “Yes, ladies, it’s shocking but true. Zack Brody is returning to Quimby.”
Somewhat deflated now that she’d been beaten to the punch, Gwen plopped into a peppermint-striped chair. “Yeah. You’re right.”
Allie Spangler said, “Boy-oh-boy-oh-boy,” and then suddenly all five of the Heartbroken were talking at once, even Faith.
Only Cathy Timmerman, whose position with the Wednesday nighters was often less that of a crafts teacher than a therapist, was silent. And it wasn’t because she didn’t know Zack “Heartbreak” Brody, although as far as these women and the rest of the town were concerned, she didn’t. Never met him at all.
Presumably.
Cathy had moved to Quimby only seven months ago, and Zack Brody had been gone for approximately a year. All she knew of him as an adult were the praises sung by the townsfolk and the frequent yet affectionate complaints lodged by the Wednesday nighters.
A year should have been enough time to heal a broken heart—even five of them—but of course Heartbreak was a legend unto himself. Ordinarily, Cathy might have believed that in Zack’s case time and distance had served to heighten, even exaggerate, his reputed lady-killer charms. She would have taken the women’s words with not just a grain but an entire shaker of salt.
Ordinarily, she might have.
If not for her secret.
“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Allie Spangler shouted above the fray. The women quieted. “Personally, I can’t believe it. Only last week—” Allie scrambled for her purse to a quartet of groans. “Okay, only a month ago, I had a postcard from Zack. He didn’t mention—aha, here it is!” She pulled the item from her disorganized saddlebag of a purse, blissfully unaware that the worn card’s continuing presence in her happily-married life was telling in its own way. Waving a red-rock canyon river scene at the other women, she said, “Zack’s still in Idaho with his brother.”
“A month ago, Allie.” Julia checked the postmark. April 6th. “Make that nearly two months ago.”
“So there,” Gwen said. “Kelly Thompson heard from the Rickeys in Florida who are neighbors to Eve Brody’s sister. Heartbreak’s coming home. Soon.”
“Julia?” Laurel’s voice was reedy. “Is this true? What do you know?”
With the excuse that she didn’t want anyone fainting in her store, Cathy was watching Laurel Barnard closely. The fellow shopkeeper’s face had gone from stark white to a mottled rosy pink. There was a fine trembling about her mouth. Though Cathy’s own emotions were in turmoil, she girded herself to minister first to Laurel.
Poor, poor Laurel. Heartbreak’s jilted bride.
Pale, feminine, maidenly slim at twenty-eight, Laurel’s air was delicate—misleadingly so, in Cathy’s opinion. Then again, at hearing the news, Laurel had believably gone from merely delicate to fragile as antique porcelain. The panic in her eyes seemed very real. While Cathy had never been sure if she entirely believed Laurel’s side of the cancelled wedding, she did sympathize with the woman. Being forever known as Quimby’s resident jilted bride couldn’t be easy.
Julia Knox capped her bottle of ink, her strong features drawn together in thought. She had been Heartbreak’s long-term girlfriend—from high school through a few years of college—and yet was still the most philosophical about him. While stingy with details, she claimed their breakup had been amicable. However, she also seemed to take little serious interest in the men she’d dated in the years hence.
“I’m afraid it’s true, Laurel.” Julia placed her manicured hand on the other woman’s sleeve. “Zack told me to take the Brody house off the market months ago.”
“Months?” Gwen was outraged. “And you kept it to yourself?”
Laurel sniffled. Faith handed her a tissue.
Julia was a Realtor. The Realtor, insular Quimby-style. “Zack and I haven’t spoken. He sent me a fax, Gwen. It didn’t provide any information concrete enough to share,
