Marta Perry - Where Secrets Sleep

It seemed a simplistic method of keeping track of stock in the twenty-first century, but maybe that was what Sarah was comfortable with. “They are beautiful.” Genuine admiration filled Allison’s voice. “Works of art.” She stroked the detailed quilting on the border, each stitch put in perfectly by hand.

“You have that in common with your grandmother, then,” Sarah said. “Even though she didn’t do much in the shop, she really loved the quilts.”

Somehow she was surprised that they’d had anything at all in common. “How did the two of you become partners?”

Sarah’s smile became reminiscent. “I worked for Mrs. Standish when I was a teenager—cleaning the house and such. When I didn’t marry...” She shrugged. “Well, most Amish are pairing off by the time they hit their twenties. Evelyn was...” Again she hesitated. “Evelyn asked me what I wanted to do, and I told her my hope was to start a shop to sell the things Amish quilters made.” Sarah lost her hesitancy, her blue eyes sparkling. “Women like my mamm , who didn’t have a gut place to market their quilts. And she offered me this.” A sweep of her arm encompassed the shop.

“So you became partners.” That argued a generosity on the part of her grandmother that surprised her. Evelyn Standish might have been more complicated than Allison’s impression of her.

“She put up the money to get started, and I paid her back out of the profits.” Sarah sounded more knowledgeable than Allison would have expected. “I have my copies of our agreements if you want to see them, but I’m sure Evelyn’s will be in her office upstairs.”

Allison nodded. “The attorney mentioned the office to me. I suppose I’ll have to go through it before I can make any decisions.”

“Decisions,” Sarah repeated. “But didn’t you say that you can’t sell for a year?”

“Meaning there’s no decision to make?” Allison shrugged. “I can always walk away. Go back to my life in Philadelphia and let Blackburn House go to Brenda Conner.”

Sarah actually looked disappointed. She’d have thought the woman would be only too happy to see the last of her.

“I hope you don’t. I’ve always wanted to have an active partner in the business.”

“Me? I don’t know anything about quilts.”

“You appreciate them,” Sarah said. “I saw your expression when you touched them.” She smiled. “It’s like mine.”

“I know what goes into them. I’m an interior designer by profession, so naturally I have an appreciation. But—” Before she could add that she had no desire to spend the next year of her life in Laurel Ridge, they were interrupted.

“Hey, Sarah, do me a favor, will you?” Nick stood in the doorway, holding a large dog of indeterminate breed by a piece of rope that looked inadequate. Even as Allison watched, the dog made a dive for the nearest display rack, which was hung with an assortment of baby crib quilts.

“No!” Allison’s instinctive cry was echoed by Nick, and he hauled the dog back by the rope. The animal didn’t seem to show any resentment of the handling. It sat on Nick’s foot and looked up at him with an adoring doggie expression, tongue lolling.

“Is this bring-your-dog-to-work day?” she asked tartly.

“Not my dog,” Nick replied, his face relaxing in a grin that invited her to share his amusement. “A beauty, isn’t he?”

Her expression must have spoken for her, because he chuckled.

Sarah hurried to interpose herself between them with the air of one who was used to being a buffer between fractious personalities. “I see Ruffy showed up again. Mr. Sheldon must have let him slip out of the house.”

“Who is Mr. Sheldon, and why is his dog here?” Surely, as what she supposed was provisional owner of the building, she had the right to ask.

“Randall Sheldon had an office upstairs before he retired,” Nick said.

“And Ruffy used to come to work with him every day,” Sarah contributed. “Ruffy doesn’t seem to understand retirement. He keeps trying to come to work.”

By this time the dog was sniffing at Allison’s boots, probably smelling Hector on them. She stepped back. “Wouldn’t it be a good idea to call this Mr. Sheldon to pick him up?”

“No need.” Nick hauled the animal to him, forestalling an effort to pursue Allison and the interesting smell of cat. “I’ll take him home. Sarah, I’m expecting Mr. and Mrs. Pierce in to look at cabinets. Will you tell them to start looking around? I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Of course,” Sarah said. “Give my best to Mr. Sheldon.”

Nick nodded. “Heel, Ruffy.” The dog promptly sat down. “Come. Walk.” No response. Nick finally had to drag the animal across the polished marble to the front door.

Sarah had already turned back into the shop, and Allison followed her, unable to resist a comment.

“With that casual attitude toward his customers, I’m surprised Whiting has any business at all. Why didn’t he make the owner come and get the dog?”

Sarah seemed surprised. “Because that’s not the kind of person Nick is. He knows Mr. Sheldon regrets retiring, and he doesn’t want him to have to come in for the dog.” She smiled a little. “You might not know it to look at him, but Nick has a tender heart.”

Allison felt as if she’d been put in the wrong, no matter how gently. And the incident just emphasized her feeling that she’d wandered into a world she didn’t understand.

“Still, you wouldn’t leave your shop unattended, would you?”

Sarah seemed to consider. “Well, usually there would be someone else around. Sometimes my mother is here, sometimes members of the quilting group. But if I had to, I could trust Nick to keep an eye on things.”

It was a different attitude—that was all she could think. She would no more walk off and leave a shop full of valuable merchandise than she’d take flight.

“Of course, if I had a partner here, it wouldn’t be a problem.” Sarah’s smile teased her.

“I...I’m not sure that’s possible,” Allison muttered, feeling ill-equipped to cope. She’d assumed knowing more would help her decision become clear. Instead, everything she learned just seemed to make it more difficult.

CHAPTER THREE

SHE REALLY OUGHT to go through the building and introduce herself to the other renters, but Allison decided she needed a break from other people’s expectations. Lunch and a little time to decompress—that was the solution.

Telling Sarah goodbye and trying to ignore the trace of disappointment in her blue eyes, Allison headed across the street toward the café she’d noticed the previous night.

The Buttercup Café lived up to its name, painted inside with a yellow so sunny it made Allison blink. In that instant, she realized something else. The room had fallen completely silent at her entrance, and every single person in the café, with the exception of a toddler banging on a high chair tray, stared at her.

Feeling her cheeks warm, Allison moved forward. The middle-aged woman behind the counter, seeming to rouse herself, hurried to greet her. Amish, Allison noted. Like Sarah. There must be a lot of them in the area.

“Table for one, Ms. Standish? Right over here.” Somehow Allison wasn’t surprised that the woman knew her. Apparently, from what she’d heard so far, anonymity wasn’t an option in Laurel Ridge.

At Allison’s nod, the woman gestured to an open table and then pulled the chair out, her ample cheeks bunching with her smile. Her eyes seemed to take in every detail of Allison’s appearance from behind the wire-rimmed glasses she wore. With her white hair, rosy cheeks and round figure, she reminded Allison of a china figure of Mrs. Santa she’d once had. But the woman’s gaze was both curious and cautious, unlike the loving expression of her Mrs. Santa.