The Other Woman. Brenda Novak

kids off to school for me.”

      “No problem.” Trailing her to the shop, he waited as she unlocked the door. Then he followed her inside to find the gutted remains of a retail establishment, which he knew from the conversation the night before, had previously been a barbershop. He eyed the well-worn floor, the freshly patched wall, the wheelbarrow in the corner. A door at the back led to what appeared to be another room. “Storage?” he asked, waving toward it.

      “It used to be a small apartment, which the previous owner leased out. When we’re done it’ll be my kitchen and pantry.”

      He rubbed his chin. “So we’re starting from scratch.”

      “Basically.”

      “What’s the goal here? With the improvements, I mean?”

      She unrolled her plans on the lone display case and let Carter take a look. “Have you ever seen the movie Chocolat?”

      “Never heard of it.”

      She stared at him. “It was nominated for several Academy Awards, including best picture.”

      He was busy already noting what would have to be done, trying to estimate how long the work might take him. “When?”

      “I don’t know exactly. Several years ago.”

      The biggest part of the job would be the kitchen. The showroom needed little more than flooring and paint and the placement of some additional display cases and shelving. “Does this movie have any karate fights?”

      “No.”

      He glanced up at her. “Explosions?”

      She scowled. “It’s not that kind of movie.”

      “Then I probably didn’t waste my money on it,” he said, a shrug in his voice.

      He was teasing, but if she understood that she didn’t crack a smile. “Your loss,” she said, sounding slightly offended. “It’s fabulous. Almost as good as the book.”

      Having studied the plans, Carter crossed the floor to make sure Keith’s patched wall was dry enough to paint. “I’m guessing there’s a tie-in?”

      She put down her purse on top of the plans, to keep the paper from rolling back into a scroll. “There is. I’m trying to re-create the atmosphere of the shop in that movie.”

      “Which was a choco-later-ie?”

      “That was a poor attempt even for a Yankee,” she said, making a face. “It’s pronounced chocolaterie. The movie is set in a provincial French town.”

      He’d slaughtered the word on purpose, but he didn’t bother to point that out. “Just like this small western one, huh?”

      At last she seemed to realize he was baiting her. Her mouth twitched as if she might smile, but she frowned instead. “I can only do so much. Anyway, Vianne, who owns the chocolate shop in the movie, has traveled widely and brings a bit of her mother’s Mayan heritage along with her. I want to decorate this shop the same way.”

      “I’m not familiar with Mayan decor,” he said, facing her.

      “Think decadent and sensually appealing, with a South American flavor.”

      Carter hadn’t found anything sensually appealing in a long time, regardless of the “flavor,” but he pretended otherwise. “It’s starting to sound good.”

      Too caught up in her vision to be interrupted, she ignored him. “You see, Vianne is serving more than chocolate to the locals—”

      “And now it’s getting even better.”

      She spread her hands in exasperation. “Would you quit?”

      Satisfied he’d already made himself look like enough of an ass, he became more serious. “Okay, so what’s she serving?”

      “Love, acceptance, change—a rebirth. I find the whole concept incredibly…uplifting.”

      As much as he’d decided he wouldn’t let himself like Liz—nor let her like him—he couldn’t poke fun at that. Her sincere words seemed to echo around the hollow space inside him, making him crave those very things.

      “Are you actually making the chocolate?”

      “No, Vianne crushed cocoa beans and made her own chocolate. But there’s no need for me to do the same. Generally, only really large companies do that. I buy my chocolate from San Francisco.”

      “Ghirardelli?”

      “No, Guittard. For some of my truffles, I also incorporate European chocolate to produce my own unique flavor.”

      “So they ship it to you from California?”

      “Exactly. It comes in boxes of five ten-pound bars, which I temper and then use to create various decadent candies.”

      “Temper?”

      “Melt in a particular way, to keep it shiny and smooth.”

      “What kind of candies?”

      “Candies made with pretzels, Oreos, marshmallows…Strawberries, bananas and raisins dipped in chocolate. I also make fudge and truffles, even cakes and frosted brownies. But like Vianne, my signature is going to be rich hot chocolate.”

      The passion and excitement in her voice again summoned memories of Laurel. Turning away, Carter pretended to examine the walls, making note of the nicks and gouges that remained. “We should really patch a few more spots.”

      “Probably,” she said. “Old LeRoy wasn’t much for maintenance or housekeeping. The dirt and grime in this place was unbelievable when I got here.”

      No longer interested in conversation, Carter let her comment go. “Do you have the supplies we’ll need?”

      Her eyebrows inched up a notch at his brisk tone, but she responded at once to the question. “I should. Keith brought over a lot of stuff last night. It’s all in the back room. If we need anything else, there’s always the hardware store down the street. And the good news is that we finally have a sink that works, which should help with rinsing out trays and so forth. I just had the plumber install it yesterday.”

      Carter glanced in the direction Liz had pointed. The bathroom door was only partially open. He couldn’t see the sink well—but it didn’t look right. Walking over to the doorway, he poked his head inside. “Did you say he already installed it or he’s going to?”

      Liz came up behind him. She didn’t answer; she didn’t need to. The shock on her face, when she saw that the sink had been torn from the wall, said everything.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      LIZ STOOD AT THE BACK of the hardware store, trying to keep her voice low enough that Keith’s boss, Ollie Weston, wouldn’t hear them arguing.

      “It had to be you,” she said vehemently.

      Keith stepped closer, looming over her. His anger and indignation etched a deep V between his eyebrows and almost made Liz retract the accusation. He didn’t look guilty. But he’d been the last one to leave her shop the night before. Who else would have had the time or opportunity to cause the damage she’d found?

      “Why would I do that?” he demanded, his voice rising. “I spent three hours there last night trying to help you!”

      Ollie glanced at them from the cash register in front, and Liz felt her cheeks grow warm. When she’d first come to Dundee, she’d caused a huge scandal simply by virtue of being the Other Woman. Because Reenie had grown up here and was a popular figure, folks had felt protective of her, and they’d whispered about Liz, even stared at her, as though she’d purposely destroyed Reenie’s marriage.

      A private person to begin with, Liz didn’t want to draw attention to herself now that she was feeling comfortable