Christy-Lynn blinked at her. “You’re not . . . mad?”
“Oh, I’m mad,” Missy assured her. “But not for the reasons you think. I’m upset that you didn’t think you could trust us with the truth. But I guess I get why you were scared.”
“I’m sorry. Truly. Today when you came to the shop—”
“You were white as a sheet. I thought you were just tired, and then I saw the guy standing there holding that book, babbling on about your husband, and I didn’t know what to think. I hope you don’t mind, but I did a little snooping online after I left the store. I couldn’t believe it. Those hideous tabloid pictures. And then to be hounded like that.” She scowled as she reached for her glass. “Bastards.”
“Can’t you sue them or something?” Dar asked with uncharacteristic heat. “I don’t care how famous your husband was or who was in his car when it went off that bridge. There are just some things that aren’t anybody else’s business. Like you in your underwear, for Pete’s sake. They didn’t print that, did they?”
“I don’t think so. At least I never saw it. The morgue pictures were bad enough.”
Missy was shaking her head again. “How on earth did they get hold of them? Shouldn’t they have been . . . I don’t know . . . confidential or something? I mean, for pity’s sake, she wasn’t wearing a shirt. Who wants to see that?”
Dar pulled a face as she reached for a chip. “Are you kidding? People can’t get enough of that kind of trash. They don’t even care if it’s true as long as it’s juicy.”
Missy sat with arms folded, chin jutting peevishly. “Trash is exactly what it is.”
Christy-Lynn stared at them in disbelief. “You’re both being so nice. I thought you’d be furious. Not that you wouldn’t be justified. I lied to you.”
Missy gave her hand a pat. “Of course you did, honey. You were doing what you needed to. And who’s to say we wouldn’t have done exactly the same thing if we’d been in your shoes?”
Christy-Lynn’s throat tightened. “I don’t know what to say.”
Missy shot her a wink. “Say you see Marco around here somewhere. We’re supposed to be celebrating, and my glass is empty.”
The mood lightened considerably when the appetizers and a fresh round of drinks arrived at the table. The banter had nearly returned to normal when Missy looked up from her nachos, blotting her mouth with exaggerated daintiness. “All right, I think it’s time one of us asked what we’ve both been wondering since learning the truth about your dearly departed.”
Missy’s countenance was suddenly somber. Christy-Lynn put down her fork, bracing for whatever might be coming. “Okay.”
“How much did the bastard leave you?”
Dar covered her mouth, smothering a giggle while trying to look stern. “Missy! Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s impolite to ask someone how much money they have?”
“Oh, like you haven’t been dying to know!”
“That isn’t the point,” Dar barked, still fighting laughter as she turned to Christy-Lynn. “I’m sorry about her. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
But Christy-Lynn took no offense. “It’s all right, really, though the truth is I’m not entirely sure what it all added up to. Stephen always handled that end of things, and after he died, there was so much to take care of. Then I was trying to get the store open. There are still some accounts I have to sort out.”
“But you’re loaded, right?”
“Missy, that is none of our business!”
Christy-Lynn couldn’t help laughing. “Yes, I suppose I am.”
“I’m not going to lie,” Missy said, picking up her fork again. “I did wonder what kind of life insurance policy would pay for the store and a house. Now I’m wondering why you don’t just coast a little. There’s so much you could do with money like that.”
Christy-Lynn reached for her iced-tea glass, fiddling with the straw. “I know this is going to sound crazy, but I’ve actually been struggling with the idea of spending it at all. I have the store now and the bungalow, but that money came from the sale of our house in Clear Harbor. The rest of it, all the investments and the money Stephen earned from his books, is just sitting there piling up. I know it’s mine legally, but after everything that’s happened, I don’t know. Stephen had an opinion about everything. Where we lived. What we ate. Even how I wore my hair. Because I let him. I guess I just want this to be about me, about what I want.” She shrugged. “I want to do this myself, to build it from the ground up. Does that make sense?”
Missy smiled softly. “Of course it does. In fact, it’s why I bought the inn. Finding myself divorced with two little boys felt like standing at ground zero. I had no idea what my life was supposed to look like. I just knew I needed a plan, fast. So I bought the inn. It was my compass; a direction I could point myself in every day and say this is who I am now, this is what I do. The store is your compass. It’ll feel scary for a while, and you’ll just know you’re in over your head. And then one day when you aren’t paying attention, you’ll realize it’s going to be okay. That’s a pretty good day.”
Christy-Lynn found herself blinking back tears. She liked the idea of finding her compass, of it someday being okay. “Thank you—both of you—for being so supportive. I’m not sure I deserve it, but I’m grateful.”
“Oh, hush,” Dar shot back. “It’s what friends do. What I really want is to hear about the guy who came into the store. How do you know him?”
“His name is Wade Pierce. He was Stephen’s roommate in college. For a while, at least. They had a falling-out.”
“What over?”
“I don’t know. Stephen never wanted to talk about it, and when Stephen locked something in the vault, it stayed there. I always assumed it was a woman.”
“Well, I can certainly see that,” Missy said, batting her eyes coyly. “He was rather hunky. At least six three, with great shoulders. A nice face too, if you like them scruffy.”
Dar wrinkled her nose. “No thanks. I had a scruffy one once, used to give me beard burn. What does he do, Christy-Lynn?”
“He’s a reporter.”
Missy’s expression hardened. “No wonder you went white as a sheet when you saw him. If the press is still looking for you, he could be trouble.”
“Lucky for me, the public has a short attention span. For now at least, they seem to have moved on to greener pastures. And with any luck, it’ll stay that way. Besides, he claims he’s quit the news business. He’s supposedly working on a novel and living in a cabin up by the lake, apparently without television or Wi-Fi. He didn’t even know Stephen was dead until I told him.”
“You know,” Missy said, tapping her lower lip thoughtfully. “I think my father knew his grandfather. Grayson Pierce his name was, but he went by Grady. According to Daddy, he was a real craftsman. Built that cabin with his own two hands. He died a few years back. I didn’t know anyone was living up there. It’s in the middle of nowhere though, so I suppose it would be a good place to write. No neighbors and smack-dab on the lake.”
Christy-Lynn shrugged. “I don’t know anything about his family or the cabin, except that he brought Stephen there a few times to fish back when they were still friends.”
“Rotten luck having him turn up and spoil your big day.” Missy’s gaze narrowed suddenly. “You don’t think he’ll cause trouble, do you?”
“He could if he wanted to, but I’m hoping he doesn’t. He claims he’s through with that part of his life. He said he had to leave New York to get the taste of it out of his mouth.”
Missy grunted, clearly not convinced. “I’d still watch my back if I were you.”