Moonlight Masquerade (30 page)

Under normal circumstances, Sophie would have been blushing at what Roan was saying, but his tone made her laugh. “Did the gossip wagon have any idea how I'm supposed to do eight animals and open a restaurant at the same time?”

“This is Edilean.”

“What does that mean?”

“That everybody has an opinion on everything.”

“All right,” Sophie said. “I have an opinion too. Today I make the sculptures and tomorrow I get groceries and make some soup and the next day I open a restaurant and I'm going to need some help with all of that.” She started to say something about the money that she'd need but didn't have, but she couldn't bring herself to mention it.

“It's all taken care of. While you were lollygagging around in the woods yesterday and peeling potatoes, I was working.”

“Unpeeled. Makes for better animal skin.”

“Right,” he said as he opened the front door. His truck was just outside. “Here, hold this open.”

She held the door as he went to the bed of the truck and opened the tailgate.

“I brought the fifty pounds of clay and you're going to sculpt and do some actual work at the same time.”

“But I—”

“Don't even think of saying that you can't do it. I teach at a university, remember? You kids do your homework while partying to three a.m.”

“I'm hardly—” Sophie began but Roan held out a box for her to take.

“Tools,” he said. “And I got a few cookbooks so we can decide what we're going to make.” Under the back window were four huge shopping bags with the William and Mary logo on them. Beside them were three more bags and four boxes from Williams-Sonoma.

“You've been shopping.”

Roan gave a little grin. “Funny thing about women and shopping. I called two women I know who say they are in a . . . What is that disgusting term people use nowadays? A committed relationship. That's it. For months they've been saying they can't go out with me, but when I asked them to help me buy things, they just said, ‘When and where?' One helped me buy books and the other one helped me choose cookware.”

“All of which you could have done by yourself.”

“But who wants to, right?” he said, and they both laughed.

The day was hectic. Roan was used to being in charge of a lot of people, so he came up with dozens of things for Sophie to do at one time. The chaos wasn't
helped by the fact that the day before he'd placed an ad in the Williamsburg newspaper.

HELP WANTED IN SANDWICH SHOP IN EDILEAN. CREATIVE, INTELLIGENT, ENTERTAINING, TALENTED, EDUCATED PERSON DESIRED. COOKING ABILITY A BONUS.

“Are you advertising for a waitperson or a wife?”

“I'm open to opportunity,” he said. “Let's see what turns up.”

The people who showed up were not what Sophie had in mind to help with the work of a restaurant. Every college kid for fifty miles around who was trying for a degree in some art form answered the ad. Since they recognized Roan's professor attitude, they were drawn to him and sat down at the tables. Soon all of them were into deep discussions about art and philosophy and the meaning of life.

Sophie was left with the work to do. When Reede showed up at one o'clock she was sitting on the floor with a cookbook open beside her, the manual for the big coffee machine Roan had bought in front of her, and a piece of clay that was beginning to look like a giraffe in her hands. Roan and his “students,” i.e., the job applicants, were taking up all the tables.

Reede made his way through the mess, looked down at Sophie without saying a word, and offered her his hand. Gratefully, she took it and they went outside.

“Looks like you're getting to know my cousin,” Reede said.

“Oh yeah. He has a quote from a philosopher for every thought mankind has ever had.”

“Mankind, huh?”

She had the clay in her hands and was moving it about as they spoke. “Another day of this and I'll be calling myself ‘one' as in, ‘One can only guess at the enormity of the cosmic consequences of one's inner self.' ”

Reede laughed. “Sounds just like Roan. Have you eaten?”

“Not for hours.”

“Good. Me neither. Let's go to Ellie's for lunch.”

“Is she my competition?”

“She's your savior. She owns the grocery, and she'll sell to you wholesale.”

“She could give me a ninety-nine percent discount and I still couldn't afford it. I tried to talk to Roan about money, but he was busy.”

They'd reached Reede's Jeep and they got in it. “You have to understand that Roan is a McTern.”

“Al said he'd inherited some property.”

“More than a little.” Reede started the engine. They were in the little parking area behind his office. “See the building my office is in?”

“Yes.”

“Roan owns that. And the one next to it and that one and that one. In fact, he owns most of the downtown, and we all pay him rent. An ancestor of his, Tam McTern, bought the land and began building the town.”

“And it's stayed in the family all this time?”

“Through centuries. He sells some of it now and then but mostly to cousins.”

“He wants to sell the sandwich shop to Al. He isn't a cousin, is he?”

“No,” Reede said, “but Al's family's been here a while.”

Sophie was beginning to learn about Edilean. “A hundred years?”

“Or more,” Reede said, his eyes twinkling.

By the time they got to the grocery, she was almost finished with the giraffe. They sat in the car and he watched her as she pushed and pulled the clay. “Could I borrow your keys?”

He handed them to her and she quickly used a point to etch onto the clay a semblance of the giraffe's distinctive skin pattern.

“I don't know how you do that,” he said.

“I don't know how you give life to people.”

Reede grunted. “This morning I had three cases of hives, one of an ‘itchy place,' and a pulled muscle. On a daily basis, it's not exactly an exciting job.”

Sophie couldn't help frowning. “But the people need you.”

“What they want is my cousin Tristan, who is part therapist.”

“You mean that he listens to them?”

“Yeah,” Reede said. “He listens. Done?”

She wrote ‘Brittany' into the clay and put the little giraffe on the dashboard so it could begin drying.

The grocery was very high end and she was impressed.
“I think I'll need a place a little more . . . uh, human than this one.”

“Don't worry, Sara's mother, Ellie, owns the store and she'll arrange whatever you need. Hey! I know. I'll get Sara to send Mr. Lang to you.”

“I thought you liked this girl,” said a pretty, older woman from behind a tall glass deli case. “You can't sic Mr. Lang on her.”

“Sara will keep him in check, and besides, the old man likes pretty girls.”

“Then he'll like you,” she said to Sophie and extended her hand over the top of the counter. “I'm Ellie and Mr. Lang is . . . ” She looked at Reede. “How do you describe him?”

“Healthy,” Reede said. “I have thirty-year-olds who aren't in as good a shape as he is.” He looked at Sophie. “Mr. Lang is over ninety.”

“Must come from a lifetime of driving people crazy.” Ellie didn't seem to be joking.

“I'm looking forward to meeting him,” Sophie said. “He sounds interesting.”

“Whatever he is, he grows the best vegetables in the state. If he likes you he'll sell them to you directly.” Ellie was straightening the counter as she spoke.

“That sounds like a challenge,” Sophie said. “Any suggestions on how to make him like me?”

“Throw a box over him,” Reede said, and he and Ellie laughed. “I'll tell you the story later,” he told Sophie.

“So what can I get for you two today?” Ellie asked. “I hear you're doing soup and sandwiches at your new shop. How about desserts?”

“No thanks. I have too much to do already.” Sophie started to say something about Roan's ridiculous ad but he was their relative so she didn't dare.

But Ellie didn't hesitate. “How are your creative employees doing?”

“I liked the talented aspect,” Reede said. “This morning my whole office was giggling about it. Heather said her best talent was doing a backbend over a picnic table.”

Ellie and Sophie looked at him.

“I don't think I was supposed to hear that.”

“I think not,” Sophie said.

“So now to get my foot out of my mouth,” Reede said, “we need some butter . . . It's something orange.”

Ellie looked at Sophie in question.

“Butternut squash,” she said. “He likes that soup.”

“What's the name of your restaurant?” Ellie asked.

“I haven't thought of that,” Sophie answered, but lying made her glance away.

“Anything to do with doctors?” Ellie asked.

Sophie laughed. It looked like Roan had told what she'd said about naming it No Doctors Allowed. She glanced at Reede. “Maybe I should name it Now and Then.” She and Ellie looked at each other and laughed.

“I don't think I'm needed here,” Reede said, but he was smiling.

“You poor thing. You want your usual?” Ellie asked.

“Sure.” Reede looked at Sophie. “What sandwich do you want?”

“Brie and cranberries,” she said, then looked up. “Oh. Sorry. I keep coming up with ideas for soup and sandwiches. I'll take chicken on whole wheat. And—”
Breaking off, she blinked a few times. “Phoenix. I'm going to name the restaurant Phoenix because . . . ” She trailed off.

“Rising from the ashes,” Reede said as he took her hand and squeezed it.

She smiled at him in thanks for understanding.

“You two are steaming up the glass,” Ellie said, but her voice was pure happiness. “I'll get the sandwiches while you fill your carts. Your prices won't be retail and it'll all be charged to Roan.”

“Thank you,” Sophie said. “Thank you very much.”

Ellie looked at Sophie, with a brief glance at Reede. “Thank
you,
” she said quietly.

“Hate to break up the hen party but I have to get back to work. Who knows? Somebody may have a paper cut that I'll have to tape together.”

“I wish I could find a pill that would sweeten you up,” Ellie said, then looked at Sophie as though to say that was her job.

Sophie put her hands up, palms out, and took a step back. Roan had said that she was, well, helping Reede's bad temper, but it looked like it wasn't much.

“See you later.” Ellie disappeared behind the case.

Reede got a cart and they went to the produce section. Sophie didn't have a list with her but she knew what she needed to make about four big pots of soup—which should be enough for a day in a tiny town like Edilean.

“How bad are you?” she asked Reede as she put yellow onions in a bag.

“As a doctor? If the case is significant, I don't think I'm bad at all.”

“No, I mean your bedside manner.”

Reede scoffed. “I'm not willing to sit there and listen all day if that's what you mean. Do you need mushrooms?”

“Yes. Make sure the heads are closed. Why did the people have hives? From allergies? Three people in the same day? Were they related?”

Reede put mushrooms in a bag. “I can't really talk about individual patients.”

“Sure, I understand,” she said. “I just wondered because there have been a few times in my life when stress made me break into hives. When my mother died and I realized I couldn't leave town to take my sculpting job, my whole body was covered in ugly red patches. They went up my neck and into my hair. My doctor spent twenty minutes with me while I cried.”

“What did he give you for them?”

“I don't know,” Sophie said, “but he told me that every day I was to drink a glass of wine and laugh at least once.”

“And did you?” Reede asked.

“No. But I wish I had. Where's the dairy section?”

“That way,” Reede said and he was thoughtful as he followed her.

“I asked them why the hell they had hives.”

“Surely you didn't say it like that, did you?

“I did because I knew exactly what the problem was—or I thought I did. One woman had cat hairs all over her sweater. I've told her three times that she's allergic to cats and to stay away from them.”

“But she loves cats,” Sophie said.

“Yeah.”

“And the other woman?”

“Same, but with strawberries. She dips them in chocolate, eats them, then scratches. When it gets too bad she comes to me.”

“What about the last woman?”

Reede was silent for a moment. “She was different. When I asked her what was wrong she burst into tears.”

“At the way you asked her?”

“Yeah,” he said. “But there was method to my madness. Hives are an indication of something else. It might be something self-caused like playing with the neighbor's cats, or it might be from stress. If it's stress, sometimes they won't tell me unless . . . ” He looked at her.

“Unless you catch them off guard.”

“Right. She didn't have time to remember her lie.”

“What did you do?”

“I can't tell you the details of the case, but I sent Alice with her to a women's shelter in Richmond and I called the sheriff, Colin. He'll take care of the rest of it.”

“And you said you had a boring morning.”

“Tristan would have—”

She put her fingertips over his lips. “I think what
you
did worked very well.”

Somehow their conversation had turned serious and he wanted to lighten it. “Any plans for the third date? I've done some swinging from a cable out of a helicopter.”

Sophie didn't smile as she put cheeses in the cart. “I know that walking across beams and people pinned to
trees is important and it's very exciting, but sometimes it's nice to be quiet. It feels good to sit together and do nothing.”