Pint of No Return Page 2

  Noodles offered a hospitable tail wag. Juliette put down the bucket, crouched next to the old Lab and rubbed his ears. “Bet you would be a great watchdog. We could use one around here. More effective than the new padlocks I had installed, and way cuter, too.”

  The conversation sputtered again. Trinidad tried to think of something to say, but Juliette rose to her feet.

  “Let’s just clear the air here. This is strange, running into each other, but it shouldn’t be. It’s just…I thought you said during our talk at the trial that you didn’t want anything to do with Sprocket.”

  Trinidad went cold with shame. “The truth is I had to swallow my pride and take what Gabe deeded me.” She didn’t add more humiliating details, that her stenographer work had all but dried up and she could no longer make the rent for the Portland apartment she’d shared with Gabe. “It was move to Gabe’s hometown or return to my family home in Miami, and I really wanted to prove to myself that I could make it on my own.” It was more than she’d meant to say.

  Juliette’s expression softened, and she surprised Trinidad by gently touching her shoulder. “Hey, I get it, believe me. Same reason I moved here last year. I figured Gabe owed me something, and he had signed over his storage unit business to me, the rat.” She shrugged. “It was doing better than my hotel manager gig, so here I am. New life, fresh start, just like you.”

  Trinidad nodded. “And, besides, who wouldn’t want to move to a charming town called Sprocket?”

  Juliette blinked, then grinned, and the tension dissipated into the blaze of golden sunlight that edged over the rooftop. “Upper Sprocket.”

  “Is there a Lower Sprocket?”

  After a moment, Juliette let loose a silver peal of laughter. “Not that I know of. One Sprocket is enough.” She lifted a slender shoulder and tossed back her curtain of blond hair, which looked like it had not come from a bottle. Trinidad had always daydreamed about being a sleek blond, but her curly frizz of dark-brown hair, inherited from her Cuban father, would never be smooth, nor fair. She’d be content if it stayed brown for a while, though that was unlikely since she’d caught the glimmer of a silver strand in the bathroom mirror. Gray before forty? Another curveball.

  “The ice cream place is a bold idea. Good for you.”

  Bold or boneheaded? The doubts crept in again. Sprocket’s charms notwithstanding, would her wacky business idea fly in a town of less than three thousand people? A place where the locals specialized in raising goats and tending apple orchards, who rolled up the sidewalks promptly at six o’clock p.m.? But Sprocket was reinventing itself as a bona fide tourist stop for the hordes looking for their “alpine experience.” They’d even constructed a railrider excursion, pedal-powered carts that tourists used to ride on old train tracks as they took in the countryside. Sprocket was aiming to get its share of the tourist dollars, and Trinidad meant to do the same.

  “The funny thing is, I’ve never been much of a risk taker, but, after Gabe…” Trinidad trailed off. After Gabe, she’d felt snipped from her moorings, like she’d left her old self adrift in still water. The trouble was, she wasn’t sure who the new Trinidad Jones was supposed to be. And why was she sharing her innermost thoughts, anyway?

  “I understand. My life is sort of divided into B.G. and A.G., before and after Gabe.” Juliette tipped her chin up, mouth in a hard line. “No one should have that much power over our lives, Trinidad.” After a fortifying breath, she stuck out her palm. “Welcome to Sprocket. Hopefully this is the place where we will both find new beginnings.”

  Trinidad solemnly shook. “Here, here.”

  Juliette smiled. “I am glad to extend an official welcome. Come into the office for a minute. It’s already too hot out here, and I want to get the rest of your contact info. Vince was supposed to do that, but sometimes his head is in the academic clouds.” Juliette’s cell phone rang, and she stepped away to answer it.

  Trinidad gathered up her items and stowed them in the Pinto before she and Noodles made their way to the office. Juliette was still on the phone, standing with her back to her, tall and statuesque, like a dancer. Trinidad felt acutely aware of the extra pounds her doctor harped on as she noted Juliette’s willowy frame. She considered sneaking away. It seemed entirely too painful to extend her visit with the woman who had been her replacement. However, she felt a strong connection to this other wife who had been a stranger only moments before. Of all the zillions of people on planet Earth, no one else could possibly understand how she felt better than Juliette and, perhaps, Bonnie, if she ever should happen to meet her.

  Only eighteen months had elapsed since Gabe went to jail for embezzlement and assorted other frauds, but she was determined to make a way for herself in Sprocket, a life after Gabe. A.G., as Juliette put it.

  After another hesitant step forward, her shoe crunched on something. Juliette whirled, phone at her ear, and took in Trinidad as she inspected her foot. “Sorry. I was throwing something away, and I didn’t get time to clean up properly. Somebody’s feeble attempt at a peace offering.” Her eyes flashed with anger for a moment as she disconnected the call before summoning a smile. “The hours here are getting to me, and the storage unit business can be ugly. Can I get you some coffee?”

  “No, thank you. Why ugly?” Trinidad scraped the sticky bit from her shoe. She realized after the fact that her question had probably been nosy, but Juliette did not seem to take offense. Trinidad, a natural introvert, realized she didn’t have a whole lot of practice making chitchat, a problem she’d have to remedy living in Upper Sprocket.

  “We just auctioned off an unpaid storage unit Monday, and, now that everything’s gone, I need to clean it out before it can be rented again.” Juliette colored, a pink petal flush, not the blotchy scarlet Trinidad sported when embarrassed. The sin of comparison, her grandfather would have said. Juliette continued. “Between you and me, it’s really a shame. The previous owner passed away suddenly. Edward Lupin, I don’t suppose you met him, but he lived here in town and he was…well, he struggled some with reality, and he’d let the payments lapse. It was sad to see all his belongings auctioned off, but it’s all legal, I’m afraid.” She sighed. “I felt terrible about it.”

  Trinidad imagined her own tiny collection of possessions on display at an auction. It wouldn’t fetch twenty bucks, she estimated. Aside from the ice cream equipment, it was not more than a few paltry trinkets, representing an unremarkable life. She raised her chin. A new start, remember?

  “I startled someone skulking around the night before the auction,” Juliette said. “Weird, huh? In this kind of town? I had to change the locks out. I put in a camera, too, but it’s just one of those fake cameras; it doesn’t actually work. Real ones are too rich for my blood.”

  “That would be too much for mine, too.”

  Juliette grimaced at a stack of invoices piled on the counter, all stamped with a blue “Store Some More” logo. Her brow under her neat bangs creased. “Too bad Gabe didn’t own a quaint tea parlor or a posh hotel or something. I’m running a storage business, you’re opening an ice cream place, and Bonnie got a piece of property and an old train car she’s trying to turn into a bed-and-breakfast. We’re quite the trio.” Juliette gave her a sideways look. “Have you seen her yet?”

  “Bonnie? No. Haven’t had the time.” The idea terrified her, meeting the woman who had borne Gabe’s only child. The only one they knew of, anyway.

  Juliette observed her closely. “I know. I was reluctant to meet her, too, but we bumped into each other at Full of Beans. She recognized me from the trial. I didn’t want to talk to her, honestly, but she kept inviting me over for dinner until I finally relented. Bonnie is the kind of person you just have to open up to. She will be your best friend before you know it.”

  Trinidad could not think of a response.

  “I’ll arrange a meeting when she gets back from visiting her sister in Canada.
She’s a real sweet lady, in her own odd way. And her daughter Felice is darling.” She smiled at Trinidad and nodded her head thoughtfully. “We should all be friends. We have a weird bond, a sisterhood of exes or something.”

  Weird was an understatement. All three women with the same conniving ex-husband. What a sticky pot of glue that was. “I’ll pop in when I can.”

  In truth, Trinidad quaked at the idea of meeting Bonnie. She experienced an odd blend of emotions at hearing that Juliette, Bonnie, and little Felice were close. Here she was again, on the outside looking in. Juliette, the beautiful blond, Bonnie, the loving mother…and then there was Trinidad. She tried to shake off the self-pity as Juliette handed her a clipboard.

  “Anyway, go ahead and write down your particulars for me,” she said. “I really hope we can be friends. I haven’t found too many people in town—well, any really—to hang out with. Probably my fault, I come off as standoffish to some. I guess I’m not over-trusting after Gabe.” There was a catch in her voice that shot right to Trinidad’s heart.

  “Me neither.”

  Juliette flashed her a wobbly smile. “Sometimes I feel like damaged goods, like I have to pay a price forever just because I believed the wrong man.”

  Trinidad’s throat clogged. “But only if we let ourselves feel that way, right?”

  “I guess so.” Juliette sighed. “I think I’m going to be very glad I finally met you, Trinidad.”

  As much as she squirmed under the weight of their shared past, the offer of friendship sounded sweet and inviting to her. A new town, a new friend, a new adventure. A sisterhood of exes? Was that the blessing that would come out of her marriage disaster? “Ditto,” she heard herself say, surprised to find she really meant it.

  Juliette’s phone rang again. Trinidad wiggled her fingers in a goodbye and walked out with Noodles. As the heavy door of the office closed, Juliette’s voice rang shrill with anger, again with a catch that indicated she was near tears. “I’ve had enough. I won’t let you treat me like this.”

  Just before it shut completely, Trinidad caught the last phrase.

  “If you ever cross my path again, I’ll kill you.” The words were followed by the final bang of the door.

  Chapter Two

  Trinidad made a quick stop back at the store to drop off the cookie cutters and patio chairs and three cans of spray paint. The boys had gone for the day to join a family picnic by the lake, which was just as well, since she was in a pensive mood after her encounter with Juliette. She began to scrub the kitchen, the stainless steel sink, the bins where the freshly churned ice cream would be kept, and every part of the giant shake machine. Thoughts tumbled through her head. Juliette’s cell phone call bothered her. No, more the tone than what she’d said. There had been a glimmer of something wounded and wild in Juliette’s voice that echoed in Trinidad’s own soul.

  Sometimes I feel like damaged goods, like I have to pay a price forever just because I believed the wrong man. Trinidad got it. Completely. There was solace in being understood, she thought. She hoped Juliette felt the same way.

  In need of some comfort, she fixed herself a tiny shake for lunch with just one modest scoop of her homemade strawberry ice cream and supplied Noodles with a dog biscuit. The dog set about licking every square centimeter of the treat before eating it. They enjoyed their snack in the shady corner of the porch. It was quiet, save for the raucous squawk of a crow and the rumble of an occasional camper toting visitors along to Three Egg Lake.

  Interrupting the quiet, a motorcycle roared past. The noise made Noodles go stiff-eared. The driver was Kevin Heartly, owner and proprietor of the Popcorn Palace. Seated behind him was a petite woman with a fringe of blond hair poking out from under her helmet. It had taken Trinidad a moment to recognize him. She had only seen him sporting a smile before, not the scowl he wore now. Kevin had inherited the popcorn business from his father, he’d told her when she first moved into her shop. It was a bit of an institution in eastern Oregon. Immediately after she’d plastered the SHIMMY AND SHAKE SHOP COMING SOON sign on the window, he’d come over to introduce himself, and she quickly picked up that his charming, boyish demeanor masked a shrewd mind for business. He must have a keen eye on the dollar signs to support himself in the popcorn biz throughout the long snowy months of winter when the store was closed, though he had mentioned his online business was thriving. She’d had the sense he was checking out her shop to see if she presented competition.

  He must have decided ice cream wouldn’t distract his popcorn lovers, because, right after that first meeting, he suggested a partnership, and they’d been splitting deliveries ever since. In fact, Trinidad had made a deal with him to pick up an order of hazelnuts from a nearby farm, which she suddenly remembered was due to be ready today.

  Kevin parked the bike in a space in front of his corny palace and jammed the kickstand down. His passenger hopped off gracefully, removed her helmet, and gave him a cool kiss on the cheek. Trinidad hurried across the street to catch him. She wanted to collect his half of the payment before she retrieved the nuts, rather than add further debt to her already-smoking credit card.

  The duo paused when they spotted her approach, and Trinidad introduced herself to Kevin’s passenger.

  “Tanya Grant,” the woman said, extending a perfectly manicured hand. “Welcome to town. I’ll stop by your shop when you open. Now, I’ve got to run. Bye, Kev.”

  Kevin watched her walk briskly up the street, a quizzical expression on his face. When he turned back to Trinidad, his genial, easygoing charm was absent. His mouth was bracketed by hard lines, brows knitted together.

  “Did you need something?” His tone was polite, but far from warm.

  She kept up the smile. “I got a call from Logan’s this morning. I totally forgot until I saw you, but they said that our nuts should be ready today. I thought maybe one of us could pick them up.”

  “Great. I forgot about that, too. Appreciate it. It would be hard for me since my truck’s in the shop.” He jammed his hands into the pockets of his stylish jeans. A piece of caramel corn that had been stuck to his shirt fell to the ground.

  Kevin eyed it, muttering, “Waste of good product.”

  She had no idea how to run with that conversational segue. “About the nut pick up…”

  “Yeah. Thanks. Talk to you later.” He pushed open his door, closing it firmly behind him.

  “But…” Kevin was already gone. How rude. “Well, I guess I’m fronting the money after all,” she grumbled to herself. A smacking sound drew her attention, and she looked to find Noodles snarfing up Kevin’s cast-off popcorn.

  “Is it a good idea to eat popcorn? I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to be on a diet, too.” Noodles seemed to regard her with cool formality, implying that an animal who ate Chilly Dogs was not concerned one whit about extra calories. They returned to her time-ravaged Pinto.

  With the cooperation of her phone’s GPS, Trinidad made the trip along rambling country roads to Logan’s Nut Farm in under forty minutes. It almost gave her time to shake off the strange sense of unease that roiled in her gut. Was it meeting Juliette? Overhearing her angry phone call? Trinidad had certainly been angry enough with Gabe to wish him bodily harm, but never would she have contemplated killing him. Probably. Anger did funny things to human beings, and Juliette had been betrayed in the worst way. Did the person on the other end of the phone know that?

  And then there was Kevin Heartly’s foul mood that rivaled Juliette’s. Perhaps it had been a lover’s spat between him and the lovely Tanya who hadn’t spared a backward glance as she’d strode away from Kevin.

  Her own nosiness dismayed her. Why did it matter anyway? She had plenty of other problems to wrangle at the moment. She allowed the idyllic country lane to soothe her worries away as she parked at Logan’s Nut Farm. Neat rows of well-tended trees backed a tiny wood-sided office. The shade looked cool
and inviting as she wiped the sweat from her brow. A man rumbled into view driving a tractor that dragged a tire along behind to smooth the ground under the trees. When he saw her, he waved, cut the engine, and climbed off.

  She guessed him to be in his mid-forties with buzzed salt and pepper hair and eyes the startling blue of summer skies. There was a hole in the sleeve of his rumpled T-shirt, the fabric so faded she could not make out the logo. He was trim and athletic in a way that made her try to suck in her muffin top. A cellophane-wrapped pack of cigarettes stuck out of his back pocket.

  “Quinn Logan,” he said, extending a hand. His fingers were warm and calloused.

  “Trinidad Jones.”

  “I heard we had a newcomer in town. Going to have to change the population sign to add one more.”

  She laughed. “Maybe they should add me in pencil. If my business fails, I’ll need to pack up and pitch a tent somewhere else.”

  His gentle chuckle stirred something inside her. “Scuttlebutt is you’re opening an ice cream shop. It’ll be a huge hit; don’t you worry. My brother will be your best customer.” He beckoned her toward the office, Noodles following along, and he gestured to a tall, skinny man, likely a few years younger than himself, who was adding hazelnuts to a pile on the scale inside. “This is Doug.”

  Doug did not acknowledge his brother’s comment or look up from his task.

  “Say hi, Doug. Remember?”

  Doug glanced up for a split second, waved, and then promptly returned his attention to his work.

  “Nice to meet you both,” Trinidad said. “I’ll whip up a monster shake for you anytime.”

  “Doug only likes vanilla, but he’ll eat it no matter what the temperature or season. We have been known to have a scoop for breakfast when the grocery supply is running low.” He looked down at Noodles. “Who is this guy?”