Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
All the talk about ice cream the night before had Taylor craving a cone. The instant she stepped into Scoop-tastic the next day, she spotted Jameson and Glenna.
She might have been able to turn around and slip out before they saw her…except for the bells. The bright, jingling sound was so loud and obnoxious that it felt like everyone in the shop stopped whatever they were doing to look to see who’d arrived.
Seated at a small round table, Glenna and Jameson were no exception. As soon as he spotted her, Jameson motioned her over.
When she reached the table, he stood, looking ruggedly handsome despite the scruff on his cheeks and the lines of fatigue edging his eyes. “This is a nice surprise,” he said.
“Join us.” Glenna motioned to the empty chair.
Sensing she was interrupting some sort of celebration, Taylor made no move to sit. “I didn’t expect to see you two here.”
It was an inane comment. Why shouldn’t they be here?
Appearing in high spirits, Glenna giggled as if Taylor had made a joke. “You just never know where we’ll show up.”
“It’s Glenna’s birthday.” With his gaze still on Taylor, Jameson gestured to the ice cream cake roll in the middle of the table. “We have more than enough.”
Taylor found herself seized by a nearly overwhelming urge to sit and share everything she’d learned about the coat and the notes. Only the knowledge that this was Glenna’s birthday celebration had her shaking her head. “While I appreciate the invitation, I?—”
She stopped when Glenna reached over and grasped her hand. “Even if you can only stay for a few minutes, please sit and help me celebrate.”
“If you’re sure I’m not intruding.”
Before Taylor finished speaking, Jameson had pulled out a chair.
As soon as she was seated, Jameson picked up a plastic knife and hovered it over the cake. “Big or small piece?”
“Small is fine.”
“Big, it is.” The response, coupled with a wink, had her chuckling.
Feeling suddenly lighthearted, Taylor turned to Glenna. “I hope you’ve had a wonderful day so far.”
“It’s early, but it started off great.” Glenna smiled at Jameson. “This guy brought me flowers, and now this…” Her gaze lingered on the cake.
“It’s a gorgeous cake roll.” Taylor studied the large slice that Jameson set before her.
“Lemon cake with creamy vanilla ice cream is my favorite.” Glenna gestured with her fork toward the piece in front of her. “This cake roll isn’t just pretty. It’s delicious.”
Taylor forked off a bite of cake and brought it to her lips. She chewed for a moment, loving how the flavors blended on her tongue. The zesty brightness of lemon cake, combined with the smooth, comforting sweetness of the creamy vanilla ice cream, created a delightful contrast of flavors and textures. “I’m surprised you had an extra plate and fork for me. ”
As if a light had been switched off, Glenna’s smile disappeared.
“Glenna, Bob and I, well, this is our go-to spot for birthday celebrations.” Jameson’s voice remained easy, but Taylor saw the sorrow in his brown depths. “The owner only knows that when we order a cake, three of us come in to celebrate.”
Taylor turned to Glenna. The words I’m sorry nearly slipped past her lips. She swallowed them, realizing that focusing on the sad would only drag down a birthday celebration that was off to a stellar start.
“What a wonderful tradition.” Turn the pain into a positive, Taylor reminded herself. “My dad loved birthdays. Did he ever tell you about the time he got it in his head that he would bake a cake for me for my birthday?”
Glenna and Jameson looked at each other and shook their heads.
“Bob bake?” Jameson lifted his hands, palms out. “No way, not him. The man was allergic to the kitchen.”
Truer words, Taylor thought. She recalled her shock when she’d arrived home from school to see her dad wearing an apron, flour all over the counter and floor.
“I’m probably venturing into dangerous territory here, but I’ll ask anyway. How was it?” Glenna’s hesitant tone told Taylor that Jameson wasn’t the only one aware of her father’s culinary deficits.
“Well…” Taylor brought a finger to her lips and played to her two-person audience. “Tell me what comes to mind when you hear that someone used too much baking powder?”
Glenna brought a hand to her throat and gasped melodramatically. “Oh no.”
“What does it mean?” Jameson asked, appearing confused.
“Bitter.” Taylor laughed. “It tasted so bad we couldn’t even eat it, and both of us love cake. ”
“Bet that was the last one he baked.” Jameson stabbed the last bite of cake roll on his plate.
“You got that right,” Taylor told him. “Nothing but store-bought from then on.”
“Well, I’ll tell you right now, you will never get a bitter cake from here or Cozy Crumb.” Glenna punctuated the pronouncement with an emphatic nod.
Jameson had another piece, and the conversation flowed easily until Glenna announced it was time for her to return to the office.
The clerk boxed up the rest of the cake roll for her, and Glenna left the shop with a spring in her step, offering Jameson and Taylor a jaunty wave good-bye.
Instead of leaving with Glenna, Jameson remained seated and took a long sip of coffee. “How do you like being back in GraceTown?”
As the question was very similar to what Emily had asked her last night, Taylor decided it must be one of those go-to questions people asked when they weren’t sure what else to say.
“It’s going well. I—” Taylor stopped when the phone she’d placed facedown on the table buzzed. “Excuse me for a second. Mr. Blount’s admin promised to text me when he was back in the office so we could schedule our meeting.”
One glance at the screen told her the text wasn’t from the attorney. Taylor returned the phone to the table without reading the entire message. Why bother? She already knew what it would say.
Do you have any idea when the memorial service will be? I want to come and be there for you.
It was as if Lynda had set a reminder on her phone to text Taylor every twenty-four hours and ask the same question each time but in different words.
“I take it the message wasn’t from Blount. ”
Lost in her thoughts, it took Taylor a moment to realize Jameson was speaking to her.
“No.” Taylor waved an airy hand. “Just the daily text from my mother. She wants to come and be here for me.”
Though she thought she’d kept all emotion from her voice and face, something must have crept through.
Jameson studied her for a long moment. “Bob mentioned the two of you aren’t close.”
“We’re not.” Appetite gone, Taylor pushed aside the plate containing the last few bites of cake roll. “Her desire to be a part of my life now is…surprising.”
“Your dad mentioned she had some sort of high-powered job and was gone a lot when you were growing up.”
“Her last position kept her on the road most of the time. The weeks she was home had ended up being as difficult for her as they were for me and my dad.”
“How so?”
Taylor hesitated. She rarely spoke of her mother, and when she did, it was only in the most general of terms. Even with Angi, whom she considered her best friend, she kept it simple, saying only that her parents had divorced when she was fourteen, her mother had left the state, and they rarely saw each other. “It isn’t important.”
A crackle in the coat pocket had Taylor going on high alert.
“What’s wrong?” Jameson’s razor-sharp gaze narrowed on her face.
“It’s a-another note.” Ignoring her hammering heart, Taylor slid her hand into the pocket. For a second, it seemed the pocket was empty. She wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed. Then her fingers brushed a scrap of paper.
Grasping the note between her finger and thumb, Taylor eased it from her pocket. Knowing that this was her dad communicating with her had everything inside her shaking .
As if sensing her rioting emotions, Jameson rested his hand against her arm. “Take a breath.”
Taylor had a feeling Jameson wouldn’t be quite so calm once he understood that this message came straight from her father.
“What does it say?” he asked a few seconds later.
Dropping her gaze to the paper, Taylor read it aloud. “‘ Share your story.’” Confused, she read it again and then looked up at Jameson. “I don’t know what this means.”
Jameson grinned. “I have an idea.”
“I’d appreciate it if you’d tell me.”
“Little backstory. Glenna loves to listen to Brené Brown podcasts.” Jameson paused. “Do you know who that is?”
“I’ve heard of her.”
“Well, one of her podcasts must have struck a chord with Glenna because, and this was about a month ago, she talked nonstop about it, especially the ‘share your story’ part.”
Taylor straightened in her chair. As it sounded as if they were on the right track to decoding the message, she made a please-continue motion with her hand.
“Your dad and I heard more about Glenna’s life that week than we ever wanted to know.” Jameson chuckled, and then a soft look filled his eyes. “I don’t mean to make light of her struggles. The woman has been through a lot and came out strong.”
“I’m still not sure how that relates to me.” The one thing Taylor did know was these notes were her dad’s way of being her compass, of steering her in the right direction.
“I only know what Glenna told us: When you share your story, it creates connections and fosters mutual understanding and support.”
Her dad wanted her to share her story with Jameson, Taylor realized. That had to be it. Nothing else made sense. Though she wasn’t sure why her dad felt that was important, she would comply.
With Jameson’s warm brown eyes on her, she found herself giving details. “During my mom’s time away, Dad and I developed our own routines and ways of doing things. Then she would return and try to make changes. When the household was in upheaval, it was time for her to leave again.”
“That had to be difficult for everyone.”
“What surprised me most was how long it took for them to finally call it quits. Whenever I complained about my mom, my dad would defend her, saying that her job was demanding and that she was trying her best.” Once she started sharing—er, talking—Taylor couldn’t seem to stop. “He’d always add that living with a cop wasn’t easy either. They finally divorced when I was a freshman in high school. She moved to California. I stayed here.”
“Did she not want you to go with her?”
She was lost in memories, so it took a moment for his question to register. She blinked. “She begged me to go with her. I said no. Then she asked if I’d spend summers and holidays with her. I told her no.”
“You were angry. You didn’t want anything to do with her.”
“I didn’t. Not at first, anyway. Now it’s too late. Too much water under the bridge.” Taylor met Jameson’s gaze. “Why would my dad want me to tell you these things?”
“You’re still convinced these notes are from Bob, then? No chance anyone else could be slipping them in your pocket unnoticed? No way you could have missed them when you first bought it?”
“They’re from him,” Taylor insisted. “I can prove it.”
Curiosity sparked in his brown depths. “I’d like to hear what proof you have.”
“Do you have time now?” Taylor glanced around the empty shop. Lunchtime had come and gone.
Jameson glanced at his watch. “I have some business at the fairgrounds that I need to attend to. If you come with me, we can either talk on the way or when we get there. ”
The comment piqued her curiosity. “What kind of business?”
“You’re probably aware that Autumnfest is in full swing.”
Taylor gave a nod. The fall festival was an October staple in GraceTown.
“Well, the carnival manager, Vernon Dunfey, contacted me. This is his operation’s first year handling the midway and games of chance. He’s heard rumors that one of his employees is participating in fraud at a prize booth, and he hired me to check it out.”
Taylor frowned. “Doesn’t the state gaming commission handle that kind of thing?”
“They do, but Vern doesn’t want to get dinged on a compliance check and then have the powers that be here in GraceTown think he runs a shoddy operation. He’d prefer to handle it himself before it gets to that point. If I discover an employee is doing something wrong, Vern will give him the boot.”
“It’s been a long time since I attended Autumnfest.” Images of going to the annual festival with her parents brought a smile to her lips.
“So, you’ll come with me?”
Taylor nodded. “It’ll give me a chance to see your investigative skills in action.”
He laughed. “I hope I don’t disappoint.”
When his eyes met hers, and a tingle traveled up her spine, Taylor reminded herself this was business. He would investigate a potential crooked carnival worker, and she would tell him how her father was speaking to her from beyond the grave.
Who said taking care of business couldn’t be fun?
On the way to where he was parked, Taylor glanced at Jameson. “Ready to hear what I discovered about the coat?”
Though he was eager to hear all about Bob’s jacket, she was walking past his car .
“Hold up.” Jameson touched her arm. When she came to an abrupt stop, he gestured to the dark sedan. “This is mine.”
When she gaped, he emitted a halfhearted chuckle.
“Sorry about the dirt. I was on surveillance last night, and much of the evening was spent on country roads. I?—”
“This is your car.” Taylor emphasized each word. “The black Chevrolet.”
Though it appeared to be more comment than question, Jameson nodded. “I admit it’s not much to look at, but it’s all mine.”
“You were parked on my street that first night.” Her tone turned accusatory. “Watching me. Watching the house.”
Jameson realized he’d been made and hadn’t even known it at the time. Opening the passenger door for her, he responded in a droll tone, “Don’t forget watching you take out the garbage.”
Her brown eyes pinned him. “Why were you lurking in the shadows?”
Though he wanted to laugh at the description, it was clear his presence that night had upset her, so he stuck to the facts. “I had a neighbor watching the house for vandals. He called and said someone was in the home. I stopped by to assess the situation.”
“You frightened me.”
“I am sorry. That certainly wasn’t my intent.” Jameson couldn’t believe she’d spotted him. “I left as soon as I figured out who you were.”
“How could you make that determination? You didn’t even approach me.”
“I didn’t need to. I don’t know many criminals who’d wheel a trash can to the end of a driveway for pickup. You were also the right age for his daughter, and I expected you to show up eventually.”
“Hoo-kay. That makes sense.” Taylor expelled a breath and got into the car. “Apology accepted.”
Jameson liked that once Taylor had the opportunity to make her feelings clear and was satisfied with the answers she received, she was able to let the subject drop and move on. Her dad had been like that, too.
He expected she’d bring up the coat or the notes on the drive to the edge of town. Instead, they talked about ice cream.
“I was at my friend Polly’s house last night, and her kids were talking about an upcoming ice cream creation competition that Scoop-tastic is sponsoring.” Taylor laughed. “The boys came up with the craziest combinations, though I bet they’ll taste good.”
She went on to describe the strange concoctions the kids had in mind. Jameson had to admit that the one with the dinosaur gummies sounded like something he’d order.
As he turned onto the road leading to the fairgrounds, Jameson noticed Taylor’s keen attention to detail wasn’t confined to a car parked in shadows on a dark street, but to the world around her.
Her head swiveled from side to side as she took in everything from scarecrows positioned along the road dressed in fall attire to the vintage trucks and tractors decorated with pumpkins and hay bales.
Once they reached the fairgrounds entrance, they were greeted by a pyramid of pumpkins and a glittery sign proclaiming “Pumpkin Nights and Fall Lights.”
Jameson turned to Taylor and smiled. “Ready to check out the midway?”
“Absolutely.”
“Well, let’s get walking.” It seemed only natural to take her arm. “On the way, you can tell me everything you’ve discovered.”