Читать книгу Secrets Of The Tulip Sisters - Сьюзен Мэллери, Susan Mallery - Страница 13

8

Olivia tidied the kitchen after her sister left, not that there was much to do. Kelly had only eaten toast and coffee and Jeff had left her a note that during the week, he ate at a local diner. The scrawled PS offered to take her along, but the “I leave at 5:30” had her shuddering. Um, no thanks.

They all had lives, she thought as she poured her second cup of coffee and leaned against the counter. They had their routines, time had moved on. While she knew that in her head, she was still surprised. Part of her had expected life in Tulpen Crossing to be exactly as she had remembered it, with no one changing but her. How silly.

The back door opened and her dad walked in.

“Hey, sweetie.”

“Hi, Dad. How was breakfast?”

“Good, as always. Did you sleep well?”

“Uh-huh. The bed’s still comfortable.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

He poured himself a mug of coffee and smiled at her.

Her dad looked good—trim and fit, with only a few wrinkles around his eyes. While Marilee held back the hands of time with Botox and fillers, her dad could pass for a decade younger than his age all on his own. The product of great genes and clean living, she supposed.

“Kelly already gone?” he asked.

Olivia nodded.

He flashed a grin. “She got a little drunk last night, so I would guess she’s not feeling her best today.”

A hangover? “Does she get drunk a lot?” Kelly didn’t seem the type.

“Not usually. I brought her home. I was going to help her get her truck, but unless she walked to the farm, someone took care of that for her.”

“Her truck was here this morning.”

“What are you going to do with your day?” her dad asked.

“I thought I’d explore the town—see what’s changed. I’m excited that it’s not already ninety degrees.”

“How do you stand the heat?”

“You get used to it.” Although in the middle of summer, no one enjoyed 108 degrees with a low of 95.

“I’m glad to have you home.” Jeff kissed her cheek. “You let me know if you need anything.”

“I will, Dad. Thanks.”

There hadn’t been a lot of fanfare, but that was okay. Olivia trusted her father’s steady acceptance more than any parade. Marilee had been welcoming at first, but lately that had changed and Kelly had no idea why. Nor did she know why she’d lied about how much she saw her mother. Instinct, maybe. Being sent away had taught her that the only person she could trust was herself.

She rinsed her mug and set it in the sink, then went back to her room to check email. She’d been in touch with her clients before she left, but wanted to make sure they were all okay.

By ten she’d finished with email, had played three games of Solitaire and was wondering how on earth she was going to get through a whole summer with nothing to do. Her dad had long since left for work. Everyone had somewhere to be but her. She grabbed her bag and walked out to her car. The air was cool, the sky cloudy. She had a feeling it might actually rain. Up here that wasn’t anything but ordinary. If she stayed long enough maybe she would start to take the rain for granted, just like everyone else.

She drove to the end of the street, then merged onto the main road. The town had grown just enough to be slightly unfamiliar, as if it had somehow shifted out of focus. She saw a few new stores. The library had been refurbished. What had been an old grocery store was now a bowling alley and some kind of music school. She kept driving until she reached the edge of a huge field, then pulled to the side of the road.

For as far as the eye could see was flat, groomed earth. She wasn’t sure how many acres her family owned, but it was a lot. Murphy Tulips were sought after all over the country. They were known for quality blooms, delivered on time. The main crop was traditional tulips in a variety of colors, but the company also had a small but growing exotic collection. If you wanted Russian Princess tulips for a dinner party, Murphy Tulips was the one to call.

Even though she’d never been interested in the family business as a kid, she couldn’t help learning a few things by virtue of where she’d grown up. She knew that every fall bulbs were planted in the fields and come spring they would grow and blossom into beautiful flowers. Once they were harvested, the bulbs were dug up and sorted. Those deemed healthy and hearty could be reused, a process different from hothouse tulips.

Olivia pulled onto the road and drove back toward the highway and turned into what looked like a big antiques mall. They had a couple similar malls in Phoenix and she’d always found them a great place to shop for staging projects. She could often find unusual pieces at a great price.

She parked in front. Despite the fact that The Dutch Bunch had been open for a couple of hours, there was only one other car in the lot. That wasn’t good for business, she thought.

She walked inside and was immediately overwhelmed by several large, busy displays with too much information. There were notices about activities, posters for a couple of local hotels and restaurants and a corkboard covered with business cards. Flanking the disarray were mock room settings filled with ugly furniture and too many decorations in a tulip theme. There were tulip pictures and tulips slipcovers. Wooden tulips on a table covered in a tulip-print tablecloth. A tulip rug, tulip stenciled bassinette. Even someone who loved tulips would find it all overwhelming. No wonder there weren’t a lot of customers—Olivia imagined most of them had turned and run in terror.

She walked past the horrible tableau and went down one of the main aisles. Here things were more like she expected. Different booths featuring different items for sale. Some were craft-based while others were antiques and a few had nothing but junk.

She stopped in front of a booth filled with quilts. The work was lovely—beautiful and well-made, but the display was terrible. Only two quilts were hanging. The rest were stacked, with only a bit of the design showing. Olivia would guess the owner wanted to display as much of her work as possible, but nothing about this was working. She should hang three or four quilts, then have a binder with high-quality pictures of her inventory. A pretty chest could hold several dozen of them, so a customer had choices.

She continued wandering the aisles only to find herself forced to make a sharp right turn that ended in a blank wall. She went back the way she’d come and realized she’d missed several rows of booths. The flow of the mall was all wrong, she thought. There would be booths and vendors that no one would see. There had to be a better way. She wondered if there was someone she could—

“Don’t bother,” she murmured to herself as she headed back to the front of the building. As her mother had told her countless times, no one cared what she thought. They never had.

* * *

The scent of blueberries and sugar and something baking filled the café. Helen’s stomach growled, despite the fact that she’d managed to grab a salad at eleven, before the big lunch rush. Still, it had been small and dressing-free and whatever was happening in the kitchen needed to be tasted.

“What are you doing, taunting me like that?” she asked as she walked in back.

Delja stood at the stove with Sven by her side. They were each stirring a large pot. Here the delicious smell was intense to the point of being heady but what really caught her attention was the contrast between the two friends.

Sven topped Delja by at least a foot. He was broad-shouldered and chiseled, some from his job and some from working out. Delja was short and round. He was blond-haired and blue-eyed. Delja had dark hair and eyes. He was Nordic, she was Russian, but they came together over their love of cooking.

Sven had shown up in the diner’s kitchen shortly after he’d moved to town and asked if he could use the large stove. He’d been so charming, no one had thought to tell him no. Every few weeks he would arrive with interesting ingredients. Together he and Delja would create something amazing for the following day’s special.

“You’re killing me,” Helen said as she peered into the pots and saw early blueberries simmering in a thick sauce.

“She’s on another diet,” Delja said, rolling her eyes.

Ack! Did her friend have to choose this moment to start speaking in more than single words?

“Sven doesn’t need to know that,” Helen said quickly, hoping she didn’t blush. After all, Sven was the poster boy for physical perfection.

“You’re beautiful,” Delja told her. “Don’t change.”

“I agree.” Sven held out a spoon coated in thick, dark purple sauce. “Try this.”

She hesitated for a second before taking the spoon and putting it to her lips. The explosions of flavors—sweet blueberries, something tart and a hint of butter and brown sugar had her groaning.

“You’re the devil.”

“So I’ve been told,” Sven said with a grin. “Tomorrow you’ll have blintzes and crepes on the menu.”

Helen held in a whimper. How was she supposed to exist on plain salad while surrounded by blintzes?

“I have a meeting at JML,” she said. “You two will lock up when you’re done?”

Delja nodded. She motioned for Helen to move close, then hugged her tight.

“Beautiful girl.”

“Thanks. You’re always good to me.”

Delja smiled.

“Come here, you,” Sven said, surprising her by pulling her into his embrace.

Helen didn’t have time to wonder if Sven had decided to see her as more than a friend. Before she could gather any thoughts at all, he’d squeezed all the air out of her and then ruffled her hair.

“You’re fine. Stop trying to change.”

“Thanks,” she said between clenched teeth. “Great advice.”

Ruffled her hair? What, was she five? Apparently no one saw her as a sexual being. It was incredibly disappointing. Not that she wanted Sven but still.

She drove to JML and walked inside. It was too early for lessons, so the building was blissfully silent—except for the occasional smack of a bowling ball hitting pins. But when compared to the indignities the untrained could inflict on an innocent guitar, the sound was almost welcome.

She found Isaak in his office. She waved as she plopped down in one of the visitor chairs.

“Let me guess,” she said with a grin. “You have a new group that wants to learn every song from the Foo Fighters.”

“I wish, but no. I’m hosting a showcase.”

“You’re always hosting a showcase. I heard the one last night was particularly challenging for those attending.”

He groaned. “Tell me about it. You were lucky you didn’t have to be there. But this is different. There are a couple of other music schools that do what we do. We’ve been talking about organizing something together. It’s going to be up here at Petal Pushers.”

“They changed the name. It’s The Dutch Bunch now.”

“Whatever. I can’t keep up. Anyway, the venue is great and we’re each going to bring our best bands and players. I thought you and Jeff could do a duet.”

Naked, she thought dreamily. That was the duet she was most interested in. Naked Jeff and naked her. Not onstage, though. In her bedroom. Yup, that would be fantastic. Just their bodies touching and rubbing and—

“Helen?”

“What? Oh, sorry. That would be great. We can do our usual.”

Isaak sighed. “Not everyone likes Billy Joel.”

“Everyone should. He’s an icon and my personal piano hero.”

“I thought you could try something different.” He passed over sheet music.

She picked it up and glanced at the title. As she didn’t know if she should laugh or scream, the sound that escaped had a snortlike quality to it.

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. You’d be great.”

“It’s not a duet.”

“It could be.”

Helen briefly closed her eyes. “‘Wrecking Ball’? I doubt Jeff knows who Miley Cyrus is and I know he’s never heard the song. It’s not his style.”

“Neither is Billy Joel but Jeff does it for you. I think ‘Wrecking Ball’ has potential.” Isaak winked. “Plus, he’ll love the video.”

Helen winced. No offense to anyone, but having Jeff watch that particular video was not going to get him in the mood to have sex with her. Miley was too beautiful, too perfect, too everything. Ordinary, plump women wouldn’t stand a chance.

“I’ll talk to him,” she said.

“Your lack of enthusiasm is inspiring.”

“I still think we should stick with what works.”

“No Billy Joel.”

She took the music and stood. “I’m going to tell Billy you said that and he’s going to come beat the crap out of you, so there.”

Isaak laughed. “I’m willing to take the chance.”