Close to You (11 page)

Treat stared after her. What was going
on? Was she finally coming unhinged? Was he imagining things? Maybe
it was all coincidence?

No—how could it be? She was fixated on
Eve. If only he could figure out why—and maybe how to fix
it.

Chapter Fourteen

Margaret stood in the doorway of the
Whole Foods on California Street and watched the chaos inside. This
Whole Foods was usually busy, but weekday evenings were a madhouse.
She knew that—she’d thought of it before getting in her car—but
still she’d elected to come.

She had to get out of her house to
stop thinking about the letter she’d received earlier, from the
money manager Harry had employed—or wealth management consultant,
as his letterhead touted him. Apparently the mutual funds they’d
invested in had lost another twenty percent of its
value.

Wealth management consultant, her ass.
That faceless man had no idea he was playing with her
life.

The thought of failing was bad enough,
but to lose the house—Harry’s legacy, what he remodeled for her so
lovingly with his own hands—wrecked her. Braving the frantic
after-work crowd at Wholes Foods was better than staying at home
and having her failure right in her face.

But she didn’t know what to do here
either. She was spinning out of control and nothing helped. She
felt like she was going out of her mind.

Everyone else thought so too. She’d
noticed the way people were watching her, like they were waiting
for her to snap like an overstretched rubber band.

They’d have her committed it they’d
known how badly she’d been acting.

On top of it all, she’d almost thrown
a mug at her son.

She couldn’t believe Treat had accused
her of those things, even if they were true. He was her son. He was
supposed to be on her side.

She was going to lose him
too.

Someone pushed by her, and she
stumbled into the store. A woman with a shopping cart containing
only carrots gave her a dirty look.

Margaret had the urge to pick up a bag
of grapes and pitch them at the witch. She controlled the impulse,
instead mumbling an apology. She hurried down the aisle, browsing
at the products on the shelves.

She had no idea what she
wanted.

She smiled deprecatingly. Wasn’t that
just the perfect summation of her life?

She wandered aimlessly down the
aisles, coming to stop in the wine section. Maybe she should buy a
bottle of wine to take home.

She stared at all the bottles and
labels and wondered what to get. When she went to dinner, she just
ordered by the glass, red, whatever the waiter recommended. When
Harry was alive, they drank martinis.

She smiled faintly. It’d been so
fifties of them.

She’d tried having one after he’d died
but it hadn’t been right. Harry had always made them, and no matter
how she ordered them nobody could get them right. Another thing
that had died with him.

Anger surged up her chest and into her
throat. She tried to swallow it down, but it refused to
budge.

Seething, she stared at the wine
bottles. It was unreasonable to be so angry, but she couldn’t help
herself. That she couldn’t pick a bottle only incensed her, and the
only way she could think to relieve the fury was pushing the entire
rack of wine over.

“
I almost thought you were
a mirage,” a familiar voice said from behind her.

She stiffened, caught. Fists clenched
to keep control, she turned around.

The stalker from the golf course,
Grant, stood behind her. Close. So close she could see flecks of
blue in his eyes.

Margaret took a step back, walking
into the wine rack behind her. The clatter of the bottles sounded
oddly satisfying. “What are you doing here?”

He glanced to the wine, his brow
arched. “I wonder if it wasn’t fate that guided me to this
spot.”

“
Fate isn’t”— she almost
said
cruel
, but
that was exactly what Fate was.

“
Fate isn’t…?” he
prompted.

“
That obliging.”

“
I don’t know.” He leaned
his shoulder against the shelving, crossing his arms. The sleeves
of his dress were folded back from the day, but it still looked
crisp, tucked neatly into his fine wool trousers. “I went to the
wine store I usually shop at, but they were closed for inventory,
so I came here and found you. I’ve never believed in Fate before,
but I’m willing to if she’s going to lead me to you.”

She didn’t know what to say to
that.

He must have sensed that because he
smiled, and the corners of his eyes crinkled in a way that said he
smiled often.

She felt a shiver of something
unfamiliar. Something scary. She looked behind her, wondering if
she should leave.

As if he read her mind, he took her
hand, gently but firm. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“
I have not,” she stated
indignantly, trying not to notice how warm his hand was. She hadn’t
felt such warmth in years.

“
You’ve been walking at
times that won’t coincide with my golf game.” He smiled. “Don’t
deny it. You’re not the type of woman who’d stop walking
altogether.”

“
I’ve been busy,” she said
vaguely.

“
I realize that we had an
unconventional start, so what do you say we do it over again?” He
held her hand in both of his, looking into her eyes. “Hello, my
name is Grant Norquist.”

Looking into his eyes, she felt the
same way as when she walked into a thick fogbank: disoriented and
lost. Out of touch with time and her surroundings.

Floating.

The recent crazy part of
her wanted to throw her arms open, dive, and scream
“
Wee!
” But the
part of her that had been frozen for so long stood
shock-still.

Grant leaned in, saying
conspiratorially, “This is where you tell me your name
again.”

“
Margaret Byrnes,” she
said, startling herself.

“
Margaret Byrnes.” He
repeated it like it was something to savor. “Are you adventurous,
Margaret?”

“
No,” she said, making sure
her voice was defeatingly final.

“
Excellent.” He beamed.
“Then we’ll have an adventure.”

Frowning, she shook her head. “Didn’t
you hear me?”

“
I did, but I was listening
to the subtext under the words.” He reached out.

She stiffened. For a second she
thought he was going to hug her, but he reached behind her, grabbed
a bottle, and held it out. “This is quite a fine bottle but even
better, it has a screw top. Which means that when I take to you my
favorite spot in the city we won’t have to worry about
corkscrews.”

“
I never said I’d go
anywhere with you.”

“
Because I didn’t give you
a chance.” He tapped his head. “I’m learning.”

“
I need to go
home.”

“
Why?”

She blinked. She hadn’t expected him
to ask. “I have things to do.”

“
Like laundry?” he asked,
amused. “You don’t need to wash your hair. It’s lovely. You’ve done
something to it.”

Her hand went reflexively to her head.
She felt her cheeks grow warm, and she realized she was
blushing.

Blushing
.

She stepped back, pulling her hand out
of his. “I really have to go.”

“
You’re running away.” He
tipped his head, considering her solemnly. “You don’t seem like a
coward.”

She stopped in her tracks and glared
at him. “I’m not.”

“
Prove it.” He held the
bottle up. “Have some wine with me.”

The reckless feeling rose again,
driving her to do something. Anything.

And then there was Grant,
standing before her like an aged pirate, offering her something she
hadn’t felt in forever. Her entire being screamed to say
yes
. Wine with a handsome
man. Conversation. Intimacy.

She wouldn’t be alone any
longer.

She could focus on something other
than money.

She wavered toward him, seeing hope
and pleasure spring into his eyes.

He’d run when he found out she was
broken and dead on the inside.

Drooping, she shook her head and
stepped away. “No, thank you.”

He stopped her with a hand on her arm.
“You deserve to be happy, Margaret.”

His palm radiated heat, enough to
tempt her into melting. But she shook her head and tugged her arm
free. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“
I know more than you
think. And when you’re ready to admit to yourself that you deserve
happiness, I’ll be waiting.” He took a card from his shirt pocket
and pressed it into her palm. “Call me, Margaret. If for anything,
then because I’m a good listener.”

He smiled sadly at her and walked
away. She stood there, holding his card, reaching for her pearls.
Only her pearls felt cold and unwelcoming, and she dropped her
hand, at a loss.

Chapter Fifteen

“
Eve Alexander?”

Eve looked up from where she crouched
behind the bar, stacking glasses. The woman’s voice was too
officious to be anything but a sales rep or an IRS
agent.

The latter, based on her ill-fitting
navy poly-blend suit. The woman even had the Grim Reaper gaunt
pallor of a taxman. Her Clairol platinum blond hair was pulled
tight into a bun at the base of her skull, making her eyes look
stretched at the corners. If her black briefcase had still been a
cow, they’d have taken it out and shot it.

Eve was tempted to say “no” and get
back to restocking, but she stood up instead. “Yes?”

“
My name is Victoria
Stromberg and I’m from the Department of Health.”

Department of Health? Eve
felt a flutter of worry, wondering if she could have possibly
forgotten to renew some license or other. This was
not
what she needed right
now. “What can I do for you, Ms. Stromberg?”

No beating around the bush for the
Grim Reaper. “We received a report of health code violations, and I
was sent to investigate.”

Eve shook her head. “That’s
impossible.”

The woman just stared at
her.

“
Well, it is.” She gestured
to the café at large. “I keep it spotless here.”

“
Appearances don’t always
live up to code,” the Reaper said primly. She set her briefcase on
the counter, opened it, and took out a stack of papers. “I have
reports of cockroaches as well as unsanitary restrooms.”

This was the last thing she needed right
before Daniela was due to come check out the café. She rubbed her
temple, trying to convince herself that she was still in bed and
that she’d wake up from this bad dream soon.

“
Are you alright?” Victoria asked,
looking more uncomfortable than concerned.

“
I’m fine.” She
took a deep breath. “Tell me what I have to do to get this cleared
up as soon as possible.”

“
I’ll do a thorough
evaluation and then based on my findings, we proceed from
there.”

“
Let’s get this over with.”
Eve showed the Grim Reaper to the back. “I don’t have anyone here
with me, so I need to stay on the floor.”

The woman hummed absently, already in
her evaluating zone and making comments on her forms.

Picking up an empty cup, Eve went back
to the front to pace.

Half an hour later, Treat walked in.
His smile turned into a vague frown when he really looked at her.
“What’s wrong?” he asked in a low voice.

It didn’t occur to her not
to tell him. “Someone reported me to the Health Department.
For
cockroaches
. I
don’t have cockroaches.”

He ran a soothing hand down her arm.
“Then it should all be fine, right?”

“
I don’t know.” She worried
her lip. “It’d be bad for business if even a whiff of this got to
the public. And certainly Daniela Rossi wouldn’t want anything to
do with me.”

Treat hesitated, then he carefully
asked, “Do you have any idea who called in the report.”

“
No.” She frowned. “But if
I had to make a bet, I’d say it was the evil witch from Crumpet.
She seems bent on ruining me.”

Before he could say anything, the Grim
Reaper emerged from the back. “Your kitchen is the cleanest I’ve
seen in a long time,” she said, clearly impressed. She took off the
rubber gloves she wore and disposed of them before setting her
paperwork on the counter. “I found no evidence of cockroaches or
anything amiss.”

Eve tucked her hair behind her ear.
“Does that mean we’re good to go?”

“
Not quite,” the woman said
vaguely, noting something in frilly script. “I’ll come back to do
another inspection in a few months and if you pass that this charge
will be cleared. Sign here.”