Now You See Me

“No idea,” Lyddie said, but Tracy was practically dancing with excitement.

“You mean you haven’t heard? You’ll never guess who’s back.”

“Is Bill Shatner here again?” Nadine asked. “He owes me money.”

Tracy laughed and pulled black curls back from the breeze. “Better. J. T. Delaney.”

For only the second or third time in their years together, Lyddie had the immense pleasure of seeing Nadine struck silent. She hoped it wouldn’t last long. Tracy was obviously dying to spill, and Nadine could weasel out any forgotten tidbits Tracy might forget. Lyddie needed to get home soon—there were three children waiting to dump a day’s worth of living on her—but after years of hearing stories about the legendary bad boy of Comeback Cove, she was dying to know more. She leaned against her van and waited for Nadine to regain her powers of speech.

“J.T. is back?”

Tracy nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I saw him myself, late this afternoon, driving Iris’s little Honda up Main Street. At first I didn’t think it was her car because it was in the middle of the road instead of the middle of the sidewalk. That woman really needs to stop driving, you know? Then I saw who it was and I almost went off the road myself. And I was walking!”

“How’s he look?” Nadine leaned forward in her favorite you-can-tell-me-anything pose. Tracy grinned and fanned herself.

“Still?”

Tracy nodded. “Just like that picture in the yearbook where he was voted most likely to deflower a nun.”

Lyddie nudged a pointy bit of gravel away from her tired feet. “So what exactly did this guy do? I mean, I know he started that fire. But there was more than that, right?”

Nadine’s words came slow. “He wasn’t bad, really. Just a little wild. The long hair, the leather jacket... All those things that make a boy look suspicious.”

“Don’t forget when he reset all the clocks on the village square to different time zones. Or the time he stuffed the cannon in the square with dead fish, so when they set it off for Canada Day it rained fish guts on everyone.”

Nadine’s nose wrinkled. “He had his moments, I won’t deny it. But I don’t recall him ever hurting anyone.”

Tracy snorted. “Except when he broke Ted McFarlane’s nose.”

Nadine waved Tracy’s words away. “That was Ted’s fault, and you know it. Still, J.T. would have been okay if not for the fire.”

This part, Lyddie knew. No one could live in Comeback Cove for long without hearing about the Big Burn, in which the town’s primary draw of the time—a reconstructed historic village—was destroyed in a few blazing hours. The resulting drop in tourist business had left many on the edge of bankruptcy. It had taken years for Comeback Cove to recover.

“They never proved he started it, did they?” Lyddie asked.

“Not enough to press charges. But he was spotted running from the fire, then he took off that night and never came back. Except for his dad’s funeral, of course.”

Lyddie couldn’t blame him for leaving. In a town where public opinion was king, J.T. wouldn’t have needed anything as mundane as a trial. If he’d stayed, he would have lived a never-ending prison sentence every time he went out in public.

“Twenty-five years,” Nadine said, staring at the river. “What finally brought him back?”

For the first time, Tracy looked uncomfortable. “It’s getting late. I should head home.”

Uh-oh. Lyddie was no expert on body language, but even she knew that Tracy’s averted eyes and sudden lunge for her purse were not good signs.

Nadine latched a bony hand on the would-be escapee’s arm. “Tracy Potter, I have known you since before you were born. You can’t con me. Tell us why J.T. is back.”

“Well, nothing’s certain yet—” translation: Tracy had heard something from two sources but had to receive definitive proof “—but word is he’s home for Iris.”

“She’s okay, isn’t she?” Lyddie asked. “I saw her yesterday and she looked fine. I know she was sick in the winter, but—”

Tracy shook her head. “No, nothing like that. Look, Lyddie, I know Iris is your landlady and all, so I hate to be the one to tell you. But what I heard is that he’s here to finish up his father’s estate.”

Lyddie’s gut did an unhealthy lurch. “What does that mean?”

Tracy sighed and sent a pleading look toward Nadine. It only made Lyddie’s suspicions shoot higher.

“Now, Tracy.”

“Iris is moving, Lyddie. Probably to Tucson with J.T., though nobody’s sure about that. He’s here to sell all the buildings his father owned.” She jerked her head back toward River Joe’s. “Including this one.”

CHAPTER TWO

J.T. STOOD IN THE cramped upstairs bathroom of his mother’s home bright and early the next morning, carefully peeling the backing from the temporary tattoo he’d applied to his arm.

“There,” he said to the lumpy mutt lying half in the bathroom, half in the hall. “It’s not a heart that says Mom, but it should do the trick.”

Charlie—the latest in a string of mongrels—yawned, obviously not impressed with the way the morning sun gleamed off the stylized maple leaf now adorning J.T.’s biceps. J.T. shrugged, wadded up the paper and tossed it toward the trash, congratulating himself when he hit it the first time. Courage bolstered, he turned to the mirror to see if he passed muster.

Good. He looked only half as idiotic as he felt.

He’d left his hair uncombed, both to increase the rumpled look and to hide the gray that had started taking hold. A day’s worth of stubble paraded across his jaw. The bags under his eyes were a by-product of flying across time zones, but they added to the seedy appearance. An earring would have been a nice touch, but he had his limits.

Black biking shorts and an electric blue muscle shirt completed the mugger-in-training look. All he needed was a motorcycle. But he’d spent years learning caution and common sense since leaving town, and he wasn’t about to abandon them completely. He’d settle for Rollerblades and hope they were enough to cause a stir.

Satisfied that he looked vaguely reminiscent of the delinquent teen he’d once been, he stepped over Charlie and crept down the stairs, hoping he could make his escape without his mother hearing. She would have to see him like this in time, but he didn’t want to ruin her breakfast.

“J.T.?”

He should have known. The minute he walked into town, his luck turned tail and hopped the next flight out.

He nearly tripped over the damned stealthy dog and steeled himself for the worst.

Iris Delaney stood in the hall, thinner than she’d ever been in his life, snug in a white housecoat festooned with the flowers she’d been named for. She had a mug cradled in her hands and an expression of sheer horror on her face.

Wait for it....

She opened and closed her mouth. Raised one hand to her lips. Lowered it again.

At last she spoke.

“Make me a happy woman. Tell me you’re going jogging and then you’ll shower and get dressed for real.”

“Sorry, Ma. What you see is what you get.”

“Do I dare ask why?”

She could ask, but he wasn’t sure he could explain. He knew that when he left town, he’d broken her heart. Her hurt was compounded when she realized that no matter what he did—graduating from university, getting his PhD, moving to Tucson to teach high school and the occasional university class—no one wanted to hear about it. She’d been deprived of both her son and her bragging rights. She didn’t need to know that he’d already been tried and condemned on his first day back.

“Let’s say I’m giving the people exactly what they want to see.” He kissed the top of her head and swiped her mug with every intention of helping himself. One whiff of the contents made him hand it back, fast.

“What the he—heck is that?”

Iris rolled her eyes. “Please. You’re leaving here dressed like a hoodlum but you won’t say hell in front of your mother?”

“I figured you’d wash my mouth out with soap. What is it?”

“Astragalus tea. Strengthens immunity and enhances body energy and defenses.”

So she was trying to build herself back up. Good.

“When was your last doctor’s appointment?”

“About three weeks ago. Maybe longer.” When he started to speak, she shushed him with a shake of her head. “Don’t fuss. I’m fine now.”

“You’ve said that before.”

“Mothers don’t like to worry their children.” She stared into her tea. He tipped her chin up so he could look her straight in the eye.

“And children don’t like being kept in the dark, Ma.”

“I’m not hiding anything.” She paused, before adding, “Not from you, I promise. Not anymore.”

He could live with that. If Iris wanted to keep the rest of the town from knowing the truth about her ongoing fight with seasonal affective disorder, well, that was her right. As long as she didn’t try to hide it from him. He never wanted to get another phone call like the one he’d received last winter—the call in which an artificially calm voice informed him that his mother had tried to kill herself.

But she was doing better now. She was gradually adjusting to life without his father. And it was summer, when the long light-filled days held her depression at bay. As long as he got her out of Comeback Cove before fall, she would be fine.

The trouble was that while Iris said she was ready to move, he had the feeling she was really hoping for some sort of reprieve. Something, perhaps, like convincing him to move back.

“So.” He sniffed the tea again, turned up his nose. “Where can I get a cup of real coffee these days?”

“The same place you always could. River Joe’s.” She looked him up and down. “You know it’s going to be crowded this time of day.”

It was a gentle hint that he might want to change. Little did she know that there was no way he was going to reveal the depths of his changes to this town. He could handle them rejecting the kid he’d been. The man he’d become, though—that was off-limits.

Besides, it was fun to put on the old ways and tweak folks a bit. He kind of missed letting his inner daredevil have his day.

“River Joe’s, huh?” A picture of the woman he’d spotted the previous evening flashed through his mind. Maybe the answer to her identity was closer than he’d expected.

He snagged his Rollerblades from beside the deacon’s bench in the front hall, then sat down and wriggled the first foot in. Keeping his voice casual, he asked, “Who’s running it these days?”

“Lydia Brewster.”

“Who’s she?”

“Buddy Brewster’s daughter-in-law.”

J.T. wound the laces around his hands, tugged and looked up. “Glenn’s wife? How did she end up with the shop?”

“Glenn’s widow, yes. She moved here with her children after Glenn and Buddy died.”

Memories raced through J.T.’s mind, outtakes from the one and only time Comeback Cove had gained national attention. There had been a tanker on the seaway—a common enough occurrence. But this tanker had been targeted by a nutcase with a statement to make and enough explosives to make sure he was heard. Buddy and Glenn had been out deer hunting when they stumbled across the man. They stopped him. But in the process they lost their own lives.

J.T. tied a quick bow and moved on to the next foot. “Must have been tough for her.”

“It was. I’m sure it still is.”

The slight catch in his mother’s voice was proof that she understood Lydia Brewster’s pain better than he ever would. He hunted for something to say that would keep them on even emotional ground. “What made her come here?”

“You say that like it’s a life sentence.”

“You mean it isn’t?”

“Maybe when you’re a child. But adults usually enjoy it.”

Any minute now, she’d start a commercial on the joys of life in Comeback Cove. “Lydia Brewster?” he prompted.

Iris sighed. “Well, she and Ruth were both hurting, as you can imagine. Ruth was all alone in that big house, and Lydia’s children were so small—the youngest was little more than a baby. She brought them here, and Ruth helped with the kids while Lyddie ran the store. It was good for both of them.”

It made sense. But he still couldn’t see how moving to the Cove could be in anyone’s best interests.

“This is her home now,” Iris continued, “and people are glad to have her. Losing Buddy and Glenn was terrible. It helps to have her and the children here, like a part of them is still with us. And Lyddie is so sweet and brave that everyone wants to help.”

J.T. could only imagine. From what he remembered, if the nutcase had succeeded, the resulting explosion could have destroyed the town far more completely than he ever had. Lydia Brewster must be the next thing to a saint around here.

If she were indeed the woman he’d seen, it explained the ease with which she’d been accepted into town. Even the Cove couldn’t keep a hero’s widow at arm’s length.

He gave the laces a tug vicious enough to risk snapping them. He hoped to hell that this Brewster woman either wanted to close the shop or had enough money tucked away to buy her building from him. Because even with skates on, he doubted he could outrun the wave of condemnation that would crash over him if he had to sell Lydia Brewster’s business out from under her.

* * *

THE WEDNESDAY-MORNING RUSH was in full gear, leaving Lyddie little time to worry about Tracy’s revelation of the night before. Good. If she let herself think too long about this, she could come up with a dozen possible outcomes, each one scarier than the last. She was all too aware that the worst-case scenario really could happen in a life.

She could lose her business. Have to start over in another location. Worst of all, she would have to say goodbye to another piece of her children’s history—the shop their grandfather started, the place where their father carved his initials into the kitchen wall.

But all that had to wait. Right now she had to draw a hazelnut roast for Jillian.

“Leave it black, please,” Jillian called, as though this were a new request. Every morning she ordered the same thing. Nadine and Lyddie were getting on in years, but even they could remember a medium hazelnut, no cream, no sugar.

On the other hand, Jillian hadn’t attained the office of mayor—and every other title in town, from Little Miss Fall Festival on up—by leaving anything to chance. Maybe Lyddie should take a lesson from her. Jillian would never find herself breathless and foundering while her building was sold out from beneath her, that was for sure.

“How about a blueberry muffin, Your Worship?” Nadine was in fine form. “Mmm, look at that brown sugar streusel.”

Jillian, queen of the Thighmaster, shuddered visibly. “No. Just coffee. No food.”

On the other hand, there had to be a more positive role model than an anorexic power slut.

“I need music,” Lyddie announced, and scooted around the counter to reach the long-outdated CD player. Usually she didn’t start the tunes until the morning rush had cleared and conversation had dwindled. But today she needed all the distraction she could get.

She thumbed through the CDs and shook her head. Gregorian chants, harp music, the sounds of relaxation... None of those felt right. She needed in-your-face vocals that would give her a socially acceptable outlet for the frustration perking inside her. She needed—

“Oh, yeah.”

Bonnie Raitt’s greatest hits slid into place. In a moment, assertive guitar chords punctured the atmosphere, mingling with the warm smell of coffee and the casual ambience. It was almost enough to make her relax.

She boogied her way behind the counter where Nadine waited with her arms crossed and eyes rolling.

“Lydia, it’s bad enough you make me work at this hour. Force me to listen to that and I’ll report you to the labor board.”

“Stop. This is good. People like it.”

“It has a beat, I’ll give you that.” Nadine scanned the room, pausing briefly at the opening door. “But I think you need to try something... Oh, my God.”

“What?” Lyddie looked up, more worried by the sudden drop in Nadine’s volume than her words. Then she realized that the entire room had gone suddenly, eerily still. If it hadn’t been for Bonnie belting from the CD, asking if she was ready for the thing called love, there would have been dead silence.

“Nadine?”

A nod toward the door was the only answer.

Lyddie glanced in the direction indicated and saw that a man had entered the shop. Dark hair. Slightest hint of stubble on the chin. Electric blue T-shirt over black biker shorts. The most remarkable thing about him was the Rollerblades on his feet, and even Comeback Cove had progressed enough to handle those.

On closer inspection, this guy didn’t need anything remarkable to stand out. He wasn’t what she’d call drop-dead gorgeous, though he certainly was making the second look worth the effort. It was something about the way he held himself. The set of his shoulders, the slight quirk at the corner of his mouth, the calm and purposeful way he scanned the room sent a clear message that this was a man who knew exactly who and what he was, and nothing would change him.

So why did she get the feeling he was braced for attack?

“It’s him,” Nadine whispered. “J. T. Delaney.”

Ooooooooh.

The quirk spread into a cocky grin. “Nice to see I still know how to make an entrance.”

The room echoed with the sound of about a dozen throats being cleared.

His gaze settled on Lyddie. Something like recognition flashed in his eyes, confusing her. “Okay to wear these in here?” he called over the coughing and harrumphing.

“Uh...” Somewhere in her brain she understood he was referring to the skates. She wanted to toss off a casual reply, but something—anger?—had started curling low in her belly, interfering with her thought process.

It wasn’t fair. She hadn’t had time to think, no chance to determine her plan of attack. Why was he here already?

And why did he have to look so...interesting? Despite what Nadine and Tracy had said, Lyddie had expected a middle-aged version of his late father: sober and responsible, slightly balding, wearing sensible loafers and madras plaid shirts. That kind of man she could handle. What was she supposed to do with James Dean the Second?

His grin widened. “If you’d rather I didn’t, could we pretend this is a drive-through?”

From the corner of her eye she saw a flash of red. Oh, no. Jillian was moving in for the kill.

“Well, well, well. So much for that line about being adults.” Jillian crossed her arms and looked him up and down with—in Lyddie’s opinion—a bit too much interest. If Ted heard about this, there would be hell to pay. “You’re still as crazy as ever.”

“Only when I’m here, Jelly.”

Behind Lyddie, Nadine snickered back to life. “Jelly?”

Lyddie had much the same thought. She’d never met anyone who could put Her Worship in place with five little words. When the mayor clamped her lips together and hustled out the door, Lyddie had to remind herself that this was the potential bad guy in front of her.

But bad guy or not, she couldn’t leave him standing in the doorway. She waved to let him know the blades were acceptable but couldn’t keep from adding, “After all, it’s your place, Mr. Delaney.”

The soft whir of wheels across slate marked his progress. That and the swiveling of every head in the room. He moved slowly, as if making sure everyone had a chance to size him up.

“Morning, Mrs. Krupnick.”

“Morning, J.T.” Nadine spoke far more cautiously than Lyddie would have expected. “What can I get for you?”

“A cup of French roast.” There was a slight pause before he added, “Please.”

Lyddie stifled a groan. Just what she needed. A landlord with a God’s-greatest-gift complex.

She had to meet him eventually, so she straightened her shoulders and prayed that she would come off as an efficient businesswoman instead of the brain-dead twit she was currently channeling. Though how she was supposed to do that when he’d dropped in on her out of the blue like this...

“Hi.” She thrust out a hand, well aware that it was more challenge than greeting. “Welcome to River Joe’s. I’m Lydia Brewster.”

“J. T. Delaney.” He took her hand, palms meshing in a perfect fit. An unanticipated fog rolled through her brain. All she could think was that he sure didn’t look like a landlord. Nor, to be honest, did he resemble her idea of a wild arsonist. She wasn’t sure why. He certainly had the “wild” part down. Maybe it was his teeth. They seemed far too straight and white for someone with a juvenile past.

Nadine slid a full mug in his direction. He lifted it and inhaled like a drowning man who’d just found an oxygen tank.

“God, that smells good.”

Okay, he appreciated good coffee. That was a plus. But looking at him made something bubble inside Lyddie. She couldn’t put a finger on it. She was irritated and intrigued and frustrated and fascinated, all at the same time, but none of those emotions seemed to capture exactly what she was feeling.

All that was certain was that she needed to know the truth—not through a rumor, but from him.

She gave him a moment to swallow before saying, as casually as possible, “I hear you’re selling the building.”

The room echoed with a dozen sudden inhalations.

J.T., however, showed no reaction other than a slight quirk of an eyebrow. “Word travels fast as ever, I see.”

She nodded. Crossed her arms. Settled her hip against the corner of the counter so he’d know she was in no hurry.

A slow smile spread across his face. No surprise. It was the brief hint of some other emotion flashing in his eyes that made her pay attention. Was that guilt she spied?

But his next words laid to rest her brief hope that J. T. Delaney was having second thoughts.

“That’s right.” He spoke clearly, slowly. She had the impression he wanted to make sure everyone in the room caught every word. “I’m selling this and every other building my father owned. I want it done quickly and easily so I can leave at the end of summer. The sooner I can get back to Tucson, the better.”

A chorus of whispers filled the room. Lyddie was glad for the solid wood against her hip. It compensated for the weakness in her knees.

He looked straight at her, but again the words were meant for the crowd. “This is prime waterfront property, Mrs. Brewster. I won’t have any trouble selling.” He fished in his pocket, tossed money on the counter. “I’ll stop by at closing time to discuss the details.”

He saluted her with his mug and took another long swallow before setting it on the counter with what looked like regret. Without another word, he skated out the door.

Silence filled the shop.

“Damn that boy.” Nadine’s words were soft but heartfelt.

“Ditto.” It was the only word Lyddie could manage. Too many thoughts vied for attention in her head, pushing her toward panic mode. The rumors were true. Could she buy? Would she get a new landlord? Was her rent going to jump? Would she have to move? Would he—

“He never was any good at math.” Nadine whisked the coins off the counter, shaking her head, and Lyddie finally clued in.

Not only had J. T. Delaney stolen her piece of mind and upset her business for the morning, but he’d also shorted her on the price of the coffee.

* * *

WELL, THAT HAD definitely not been one of his finer moments.

J.T. sauntered down Main Street that afternoon on his way back to River Joe’s, hoping no one could see that beneath the outer confidence, he was beating himself up. He kept a practiced, slightly patronizing smile in place as he observed the street, never once letting on that he was actually impressed with what he saw.

Last night he’d been so intent on searching out familiar landmarks that he hadn’t noticed the changes. How was that for irony? He had locked up his perception of the town just the way the town had frozen its opinion of him.

But today, after cursing himself for the way he’d behaved in the coffee shop, he could see the bigger picture. The Cove was still no crowded tourist hotspot, but it had grown and even thrived over the years. He remembered a sad downtown in which there were three empty storefronts for every one business clinging to life. Now there wasn’t an empty space to be seen. Pizza and doughnuts, T-shirts and antiques, even a natural food and vitamin shop—all seemed to be bustling between the standard grocery, post office and hardware store.