Chapter 28
Hugo
“We meet again.”
I look up from my computer to find Tessa Androtti standing in front of my desk.
Getting to my feet, I reach over to shake her hand.
“So it seems.” I grin at her. “Good to have you on board.”
“Glad to be here, although if you believed my children, you’d think I dragged them into the bowels of hell.”
I remember she’d mentioned having a couple of teenage boys when she helped out on an investigation last year.
“They’ll adjust. Lots to do here for them with summer right around the corner,” I inform her. “Lots of outdoor stuff.”
She snorts. “Right now, their main concern is how slow the internet is out here. I’ll be lucky to be able to get them out of the house at all.”
“How old are they again?”
“Remi just turned fifteen and Linc is seventeen.”
“Yeah, I have a seventeen-year-old kid too. He loves his gaming as well but, luckily, he also has an interest in the outdoors. He’s even taken up fishing recently, I bet he could motivate them.”
“Well, they’re a little old to set up a playdate, but maybe we could get together for a burger or something at some point. I’ve found food is an excellent motivator for my boys.”
Shoot. I hope we’re just talking about introducing our kids, but there is something about the way she looks at me that makes me wonder.
“You know what? Let me talk to Bess. We have a wedding to attend this weekend, but maybe we can do a cookout at our place the weekend after. We could invite a few more people and properly welcome you and your boys to Silence. The house is up in the mountains and we have a creek, brimming with fish, right in our backyard. I’m sure the boys will get a kick out of it. ”
“Oh, I don’t think I met your wife last time I was in town,” she returns, a little taken aback.
“Are you sure? I think you may have met Bess, she owns the coffee shop, Strange Brew. But she’s not my wife. At least not yet.”
Technically, the house isn’t ours yet either, but just last night Phil agreed to sell it to us, provided she can keep her music equipment stored over the garage.
At least until the old barn on the farm she has had her eye on has been transformed into her new art and music studio, with added guest suite.
A project that, apparently, she’d been toying with for a while already, wanting her studio closer to home.
It was funny to see how easily Brant acquiesced, since I’ve always known him to be allergic to change. But marrying Phil has really mellowed him out. Where before Phil he had to be forced into retirement kicking and screaming, now he seems to have settled into a different routine with his new wife.
It’s a good example for me to draw from, because my story is not that different from Brant’s. We’re both workaholics, we both lost our wives to cancer, and we both thought marriage was something of the past and not part of our future.
I haven’t asked Bess yet. I decided to wait until after Savvy and Nate tie the knot this coming weekend.
I’m sure when I do, Bess will come up with a litany of imagined roadblocks—top of the list will, undoubtedly, be it’s too soon for us to take that step—but I’ll patiently knock each of her objections out of the way, one by one.
“I do remember her, actually. Nice woman, and the best lemon blueberry scones I’ve ever tasted,” Tessa returns with a smile. “Anyway, I should get back to the files the sheriff gave me to look at, but I’m game for a meet and greet any time.”
“We’ll set something up.”
My desk phone rings just as I sit back down. I just started back last Thursday and am already so bored with desk work, a phone call is a welcome change of pace.
“Alexander.”
“Chief Deputy Alexander, it’s Connie Dixon.
I’m terribly sorry to disturb you, but I find myself in a bit of a pickle.
I ordered some flowers for the reopening party at Strange Brew this afternoon, since I won’t be able to attend.
Unfortunately, I accidentally had them delivered here, instead of the coffee shop.
Now, I assume you plan to be in attendance, and was wondering if you would mind swinging by to pick them up. ”
I glance at my watch and notice it’s creeping up on 2 p.m. already.
Aside from doing a lot of the planning for Savvy and Nate’s wedding, Bess and Phil have hit the ground running on Phil’s community fund idea. Strange Brew has been open since last week, but it had taken those two another few days to pull together what they need to plan the gallery.
Being a Monday, the coffee shop is closed to the public, but Bess had an early start this morning nonetheless.
She’s there now with Phil and Lola, placing all the artwork for the official grand opening of the Silence Community Gallery.
The project has been very hush-hush, which is why everyone was told this was a sort of welcome back celebration.
I’d better hustle if I want to pick up the flowers and be there in time for the doors to open at two thirty.
“Too bad you can’t be there, Mrs. Dixon. Are you not feeling well?” I ask as I quickly sign off my computer.
“Oh, I’m fine. It’s just that I don’t venture out too much anymore. I’m getting older, you know.”
She is in her late eighties, but she’s always been at the front of the line for any community events. This is unusual for her and part of me wonders if the experience with Chance Tanek in her kitchen left her shaken more than she might be willing to admit.
“I’m on my way over, and we’ll talk then, okay?”
“You’re a good boy, Hugo.”
I grin as I hang up. Mrs. Dixon is the only person who can call me a good boy and get away with it.
Except for Bess, of course, but with her it has an entirely different meaning.
I’m smiling as I walk out of the office, waving goodbye to Brenda in passing.
“You’re in a good mood,” she calls after me.
I just lift a thumbs-up over my shoulder.
Bess
“You’re late.”
I regret my comment the moment it leaves my mouth.
I’ve just been running around like a madwoman this morning, putting up all the artwork, while also creating copious trays of bite-sized appetizers we plan to serve.
There won’t be any pastries or specialty coffees this afternoon, but I was able to obtain a one-day permit to serve alcohol, and Phil rented glassware and ordered a few crates of champagne.
That’s all we’ll be serving, along with a non-alcoholic punch Lola put together.
I haven’t even had a chance to change or do my hair—I’m a mess with a ratty mop constantly falling in my face—when Hugo walks in the side door, with Mrs. Dixon in his wake, which I saw too late.
“My fault entirely, my dear,” she replies, shaming me even further. “I’m afraid I held Hugo up, gave him too hard of a time when he was kind enough to offer me a ride. I take full blame.”
“No, Mrs. Dixon, I’m the one who should be apologizing. I have no excuse for my ungrateful comment, other than it’s been a crazy day already, and I should’ve had a stiff drink instead of opening my mouth.”
I hear Hugo’s soft chuckle and throw him my best apologetic smile. He’s been nothing but supportive and accommodating.
“Why don’t you go ahead inside and have a look around, Mrs. Dixon,” he urges her, gently coaxing her toward the coffee shop. “Bess and I will join you in a moment.”
I see Phil take charge of the old woman and aiming a wink at me. The next moment, Hugo is stalking toward me, forcing me to retreat into the kitchen where he unceremoniously picks me up and sits me down on the counter, still covered in flour.
“Talk to me,” he orders, wedging himself between my legs as he cages me in with his arms braced on either side of me.
“I’m sorry.”
“Not what I’m asking for, Bess. Just talk to me.”
Like he often does when we’re discussing something important, he leans his forehead against mine, creating a little bubble of intimacy where anything is open for discussion and honesty is a requirement.
“I think I’ve been pushing too hard,” I confess, letting my body slump. “I’ve run out of steam and we haven’t even opened the doors yet.”
“Hey, it’s been a bit of a crazy month, and even before that I don’t think you ever took a break. Maybe it’s time you did, cut yourself a little slack.”
“I can’t now, I have the appetizers to get ready, arrange them on trays, set them out on the buffet table we have set up. Then I have to change and try and make myself presentable.” I glance up at the kitchen clock. “And I have less than five minutes to do it.”
He stops me when I try to launch myself off the counter, and frames my face with his large hands.
“Go change, do whatever you think you need to do to clear your mind and get yourself ready. You can be fashionably late. I’ll take care of the appetizers and if I need help, I’ll ask Lola. You have a crew of people here who can cover for you.”
He presses a hard kiss to my mouth, as I’m about to launch a protest, before he releases me.
“You need to take care of yourself or you won’t even make the wedding this weekend.”
Oh God, the wedding.
My knees almost buckle at the thought of the list of things I still have to do to make sure my best friend’s day is perfect.
His final point hits home; if I don’t take a breath, I’ll burn out before the weekend.
Hopping down from the counter, I start pointing out what appetizers go on what tray, but it seems Hugo’s losing his patience with me.
“They want your food, they don’t care what damn tray it’s served on,” he grumbles. “You’re wasting time.”
He’s right, I am. With one last glance around the disaster zone that is my kitchen, I grab the bag I brought this morning and dart down the hall and up the stairs to use my old bathroom.
In large part the apartment is unchanged, except for a few things that pop out at me.
An unfamiliar book upside down on the coffee table, waiting to be picked up again.
A sweater hanging off the dining room chair.
A footstool I don’t recognize by the couch.
But what stands out more than anything else, are the plants.
Lush greenery invaded every available sunny spot in the room.
It almost looks like a greenhouse in here. I love it. This is what I always envisioned with these beautiful old windows letting in all that light, but sadly, I do not possess a green thumb. I’ve effectively killed every plant I ever bought. But Lola obviously has a gift.
Standing in the middle of my old apartment, I try to gauge whether I feel any regret, but I don’t. I’ve loved this place, but I wouldn’t want to come back. It’s crystal clear to me Lola belongs here now.
As Hugo suggested, I’m fashionably late when I walk into the coffee shop—moderately presentable—fifteen minutes later.
I could hear the buzz of voices in the hallway but did not expect the crowd of people I find inside.
It looks like every single table is occupied and, in addition, people are walking around, checking out all the artwork on the walls.
It looks like they are as impressed as I was when Phil first showed me her beautiful paintings.
They are as colorful and unpredictable as the artist herself, using an eclectic blend of art mediums—watercolor, charcoal, ink, oil, pastels, acrylics—to create amazingly realistic pieces.
Buildings, landscapes, people, objects, nature, it seems she finds inspiration everywhere.
“There she is!”
To my shock, Mayor Merrick makes a beeline for me through the crowd. I’m tempted to look over my shoulder to see if someone else entered behind me, because this would be the first time the man’s ever acknowledged my existence.
Phil walks up behind him, making a face I have a hard time not laughing at. I don’t think the mayor is anyone’s favorite person.
“I am delighted to see you’ve decided to elevate the decor with these stunning pieces by our resident celebrity,” he gushes, pumping my hand in his clammy one. I make a mental note to scrub my hands after. “This will surely bring in a higher standard of clientele.”
Higher standard? Should I be insulted? After all, we already had everyone in this small town dropping in on the regular, so I’m not exactly sure who he’s talking about. But before I can question him on the subject, he’s already rambling on.
“Had I known, I would’ve been happy to contribute to this worthy endeavor. I still could.”
Phil claps a casual hand on his shoulder, which seems to startle him.
“You know, Don, as I said to you before, I’m pretty sure Bess and I have things covered, but we sure do appreciate the gesture.”
That seems to take the wind out of his sails, and with a mumbled excuse of needing a word with someone, he slinks off, his tail between his legs.
“What was that all about?” I ask Phil.
“Oh, he just doesn’t like the attention on anything other than himself, that’s all,” she explains.
“In fact, he suggested changing the name of the coffee shop to give it a bit more cachet.” She makes a face and adds, “His words, not mine. I think he secretly wants his name connected to the community fund, so he can go down in history as the town’s great benefactor. ”
That wouldn’t surprise me.
“So other than that, how has the response been so far?”
“Already sold a painting.”
I turn to her with my mouth wide open. “Are you kidding me?”
She grins wide.
“Nope. The big triptych of Silence.”
The triptych she’s referring to is technically three paintings that together form a panoramic view of the town and the entire valley. It’s a large piece, which is why we put it up on the long wall.
“Who bought it?”
She looks around. “He seems to have disappeared. It was an older gentleman. I can’t recall ever seeing him in town before, but he said his name is Peter Abel. Lola took his payment and said he told her he’d be back in the morning to pick it up.”
“That’s amazing. That deserves a toast,” I announce.
“What are we toasting to?” Hugo asks as he approaches.
“Phil sold a painting.”
She bumps my shoulder. “We sold a painting,” she corrects me. “The first clank of coins hitting the bottom of our Silence Community Fund.”
Hugo reaches over, plucks a couple of glasses of champagne off the table, and hands them to us, before grabbing one for himself. Then he lifts his glass to us.
“Well, that certainly deserves congratulations.”