Eli was surprised. He’d had Russ pegged as something of a nice-guy, without all the creepy stuff. Or the aversion to taking showers.
“Don’t judge me,” Connie warned. “Or Russ.”
“I’m not,” Eli replied, raising one hand, as if to swear an oath.
“He’s really smart, you know. He’s designed an app that would blow your mind, and he’s negotiating a deal to sell it.”
He had all that fancy equipment, and he’d mentioned coding.
No word of a girlfriend, though.
“So you’re after his money?” Eli teased.
“We’ve been seeing each other for weeks,” Connie said. “I fell for Russ before he told me about the app.”
“It must have been hard for you when we were questioning him about Tiffany Ulbridge,” he ventured.
“It was,” she admitted. “But I knew he was innocent. Russ has been depressed for years—who wouldn’t be, with the upbringing he had?—but he’d never murder anyone. Especially not a blood relative.”
“I’m happy for you, Connie,” Eli said. “I really am.”
“I know. And I’d like to be happy for you, but you seem to have your head up your butt where a certain woman is concerned.”
Eli raised both hands. “I meant it when I said I wasn’t going to talk about Brynne. It’s personal.”
Connie smiled. “No problem. I’ll just keep an eye on the old thought bubble, see if you come to your senses.”
“Why is it,” Eli asked pointedly, “that everybody in this town seems to think my love life is in the public domain?”
“So you do have a love life. Hallelujah!”
“Connie.”
“All right, all right. I get it. You’re the strong, silent type, keeping your own counsel.”
“My business is just that—my business. Not yours. Not the town’s.”
“Got it,” Connie said, sounding just a touch too perky for Eli’s taste.
Behind him, the coffee machine chortled, releasing a delicious fragrance.
Eli said no more. He retreated to his office and closed the door.
Spent the next twenty minutes rereading the printouts, scouring every email, every post.
Something nibbled at the edge of his mind, just out of reach.
What was it?
What was he missing?
He finally gave up, went back to the front office, poured himself a cup of coffee.
“Why the frown?” Connie asked.
He told her.
There was something there, in the Freddie-Tiffany situation, that he couldn’t get hold of.
“Relax,” Connie said. “Let it come to you.”
That was good advice, Eli supposed.
If only he could follow it.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE ART FRENZY lasted until after dark, when Waldo eased through the partially open bedroom door and, purring, curled himself around Brynne’s ankles as if peeling an orange in reverse. His whiskers tickled her bare feet.
He was definitely hungry.
Brynne glanced at her phone, propped on the dresser top, and realized two things—time had definitely gotten away from her, and several texts had come in while she was working.
Quitting time.
She dropped her brushes into a plastic coffee container filled with water and reserved for the purpose, letting them soak until she could clean them properly. Unlike watercolors, acrylic paints couldn’t be washed away in the sink without catastrophic damage to the plumbing.
Making her way toward the kitchen, careful not to trip over a still-winding cat, Brynne cleaned her hands with disposable wipes, then washed them under running water.
She fed Waldo and refilled his water bowl, then returned to her improvised studio to reclaim her phone with clean hands.
While deciding what she wanted for dinner, she thumbed open the texts and read them in order.
From Clay: Brynne, I’m sorry for dropping in unexpectedly the way I did. I just wanted to see for myself if you were open to giving things a second try. Clearly, you aren’t, and I’ll respect your wishes. Again, I apologize for intruding in your life.
From Sara: If you need to talk, I’m here.
From Davey: Dad says he came to visit you and you weren’t happy to see him so he’s going to leave you alone from here on out. Will you still be happy to see Maddie and me, if we come to spend part of spring vacation with you?
Finally, from Eli: I was wrong, and I’m sorry.
Tears burned behind Brynne’s eyes, and she pressed her lips together to keep from breaking down again.
She brewed a cup of tea, plunked herself down at the table, and pressed the buttons that would connect her with Clay.
He sounded confused when he answered, “Brynne?”
“You’re right,” she said, not unkindly. “It’s over between us. I appreciate your apology, but I think I need to say sorry, too. You caught me off guard, and I reacted like a crazy person.”
Clay was quiet for a long time. “The kids are worried that you’ll uninvite them, come spring.”
“I know,” Brynne said. “I’m calling them next. They are definitely still welcome here. In fact, I can barely wait to pick them up at the airport.”
Clay expelled a long, relieved breath. “Their aunt Elle—Heather’s sister—is a flight attendant. She’ll arrange to escort them as far as Kalispell. That way, you won’t have to deal with their fool of a father.”
“You’ve made mistakes. So have I. Let’s agree to wish each other well and move on with our lives.”
You talk a good game, Brynne Bailey, scoffed a voice in her mind, but can you go after what you really want, or are you going to keep on camping out in the past like you’ve been doing since you left Boston?
Do you even know what you want?
Brynne sighed, looked down at her clothes and smiled. She looked as though she’d covered the studio/guest room floor in gallons of paint, then rolled in it.
Yeah, she knew what—and whom—she wanted.
But did she have the courage to move beyond her fears and doubts and go for it?
Fortunately, she didn’t have to decide tonight. Or tomorrow. Or next week.
There was no rush.
“Thanks, Brynne. For getting back to me, I mean. I’ve been kicking myself ever since I left Painted Pony Creek.” Clay paused, cleared his throat. “It’s a beautiful place, by the way.”