September Canvas (2 page)

She carried her two sport bags that doubled as suitcases to the deck. Nellie had arranged to have a set of keys mailed to Faythe’s condo earlier in the week, and now she opened the door, expecting the house to smell musty. Instead it smelled fresh and polished, which was exactly what it was, she discovered as she switched the light on. Every surface was clean and so were the curtains, the kitchen towels on the rack, and everything else. The service Aunt Nellie employed had done a good job.

The rustic pieces in Nellie’s cabin were both durable and attractive.

As Faythe walked from room to room, every memory that surfaced soothed her. The tautly wound spring inside her slowly uncoiled, and she yawned as she returned to the car for her briefcase. She’d brought only her cell phone and her laptop, and purged every work document from both of them before she packed.

Faythe wasn’t hungry but still looked longingly into the empty refrigerator. She would have to go into Grantville and stock up in the morning. Right now the instant decaffeinated coffee her aunt kept in the pantry would do. Faythe made herself a large mug of steaming brew and found some powdered creamer to mellow it. It was six months past its use-by date, but as long as it didn’t look weird when she stirred it into the coffee, she’d be all right.

Faythe decided to use the main bedroom, where her aunt usually slept. It had the biggest, softest bed in the house, which was too tempting. Nellie kept the bed linen in the hallway, and the familiar scent of lavender filled Faythe’s nostrils as she pulled out sheets, pillowcases, and blankets. After making the bed, she curled up under the covers, clutching the coffee mug, and merely sat there in the dark, watching distant lights on the other side of the lake. Faythe thought again about the woman next door, how she’d slammed her fists into the railing and cried out. Had that been fury in her voice, or despair? Maybe both, Faythe mused, and sipped her coffee. She had done her fair share of fist-slamming into desks lately, and only when that no longer alleviated the stress did she realize she had to do something radical.

Suzy, her agent, wasn’t thrilled. In fact, she had blurted out, “God Almighty, are you stark raving mad?” raising her voice with every word. “Your contract is up for renewal, and you’re in a position to ask for a substantial raise. And you quit?”

“I’m not quitting. I’m taking a break.”

“Same thing in this business,” Suzy said, then downed the last of her Scotch. The waiter showed up to take their orders, but backed off when Suzy glared at him and shook her head.

“I don’t care.” Faythe spoke slowly, knowing that Suzy was like a petulant child when she threw a temper tantrum like this. “I’m twenty-nine, and I’ve worked more or less nonstop since I was twenty-two. Seven years and zero vacation.”

“Seven successful years
because
of that.”

“And my life is passing me by. Don’t complain, Suzy. I’m not ungrateful. You’ve been fantastic, but you’ve also made a lot of money as my agent. If I were to sign on for another season for the network, I’m sure you’d make an even bigger chunk, but…I can’t let your commission determine my decision. I need a break. I need to figure out what I want to do next.”

“Next?” Suzy looked at Faythe as if her prize possession was melting. “You always wanted to work in the media.”

“I always wanted to be a good reporter. And someday, a
great
journalist. And I’m nothing but a glorified co-host of a morning show who introduces everything from earthquakes to dancing lima beans.”

“You’re so popular. A household name.” Suzy gestured impatiently with a flick of her wrist. “The money’s not bad either.”

“There has to be more to a job than that.” Frustrated with her agent, but not surprised, Faythe knew no matter how she tried to explain, her words wouldn’t sink in. Like Faythe’s mother, Suzy was very much about appearances, and on the surface Faythe’s life was perfect. “I don’t mind the hours, but the days are rushing by me. I have friends and live in a great area, but no time to enjoy it, no one to come home to. I sacrifice a lot for a job that doesn’t seem worth it.” Suzy kept trying to convince Faythe to reconsider, but she didn’t budge. The next day she called Nellie and arranged to stay at the lake.

Faythe settled against the pillows, her mind drifting back to the woman next door. She wondered what had annoyed or frustrated her enough to pound the railing. After her outburst she stood there in the fading light like an obsidian statue, black hair the only thing moving in the breeze.

Faythe padded over to the bathroom and brushed her teeth. She could hardly remember when she had thought so much about another woman. She wiped her mouth and made a wry face at her reflection.

She was
not
going to count how many months had passed since she had been on a date, or even had time and energy to think about it. At least she could admit that it was far too long ago and that it was time for a change.

* * *

Deanna moved the pencil in long sweeping strokes across the paper, annoyed that her mental image refused to translate to the sheet on the table before her. She tried to wrap her mind around the loose idea, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to get it out of her head until she put it on paper. She had managed to outline a female figure, but the woman in her picture was faceless. When she squinted, Deanna could almost see the person she was trying to depict.

It wasn’t hard to figure out what distracted her. Her dinner sat uneaten on the kitchen counter, and though she tried to ignore the voices of the women in the bookstore earlier that day, they pierced her thoughts. Deanna was well aware of Gloria Henderson’s leading position in Grantville. She lived with her husband and daughter in a colonial mansion and chaired several charities with absolute power.

Gloria’s daughter, Savannah, had ruled Grantville High School much the same way. She’d held court with her peers in the hallways or the cafeteria, and was the undisputed queen bee among the girls.

Deanna jerked at a sharp sound and stared at the broken pencil that had perforated the sheet of paper before her. The shattered remainder had stabbed the sketchy woman in the heart.

Faythe drew a deep breath, then several more as she stretched her calf muscles to warm up for her run. She pulled her short ponytail tight and took off along the path that led down to the water.

She kept an even rhythm, paying attention to roots and rocks that might send her flying if she tripped on them. She smiled widely, suddenly feeling free.

What a difference it was to run on honest-to-God forest paths, rather than on a treadmill at the gym. There people always appeared to inspect and judge her, which was certainly one of the downsides of being a household name. And the paparazzi sometimes seemed to live on her doorstep, especially after her interview with the glamorous Hollywood starlet Isabella Talbert. Nobody, especially Faythe, had anticipated the little vixen would reveal such sordid details on an eight a.m. morning show.

What began as a common interview, designed to plug Isabella’s debut movie, had turned into something entirely different when she broke down, sobbing and throwing herself into Faythe’s arms. Isabella confessed to a romance with the director, who was married to a very rich and powerful Hollywood mogul’s daughter. It hadn’t been quite clear if Isabella was crying because he broke up with her, or because she feared his wife would kill Isabella’s budding career. The director was at least thirty years older than Isabella, which the tabloids found titillating, and Isabella quickly developed a crush on a reluctant Faythe, which put her in the limelight too. Faythe kept her distance. She wasn’t interested in having a fling before the telephoto lenses of the paparazzi.

Faythe jogged around a broken section of old wooden fencing and gulped the crisp September air. She should have done this long ago.

Manhattan was not only expensive, but it was never quiet and didn’t have fresh air. One of her colleagues tried to get Faythe to move to the suburbs, but the only thing worse than the noise and the city air was being stuck in traffic several hours a day. She already worked around the clock. No way was she was going to spend the remaining hours among honking, cursing drivers.

Faythe returned to the Isabella mess. Even if she could laugh at it now, more than a year afterward, at the time she’d been ready to shoot the girl. But once the paparazzi found her scent,
all
potential relationships were suddenly in the public eye. Isabella wasn’t her type.

“I haven’t been out with anyone in so long now, I may not have a type anymore. I probably wouldn’t recognize my type even if I stumbled over her.”

“Excuse me?”

Faythe stopped so quickly at the sound of the pleasant alto voice that she nearly toppled over. She waved her arms to regain her balance and looked up at a tall, black-haired woman propped against a tree by the water. It took her a few moments to recognize her neighbor, the woman she’d seen last evening.

“Oh. Hi.” Faythe glanced around. “I’m not trespassing, am I?”

“Technically, yes.”

“I’m so sorry.” Faythe was confused. “I used to run here years ago when I visited my aunt. It was never a problem.”

“I didn’t say it was. You asked if you were trespassing.”

“I see. So it’s okay?” Faythe kept jogging in place, careful not to get cold.

“Yes.”

“Thanks. I’m Faythe.” She extended a hand.

The woman looked at it, then raised her gaze to meet Faythe’s.

Her eyes were dark blue with black rims, and her long black eyelashes cast shadows on her pale cheeks. Faythe had never seen anyone so pale with such blue-black hair.

“Deanna.” The woman shook Faythe’s hand and quickly let go.

“Nice to meet you, Deanna. Guess we’ll be neighbors this fall.” An unexpected butterfly took up residence just below Faythe’s ribs at the brief touch. Taken aback, she smiled broadly to cover up her reaction.

“So it would seem.” Deanna pushed away from the tree. She sounded completely indifferent. She obviously wasn’t the neighbor you popped over to for coffee or to borrow a cup of sugar. “Be careful running down by the Mahoney place. They’re doing construction work on their dock.”

Faythe had been ready to write Deanna off as being annoyingly aloof when her thoughtful words changed her mind. “Thanks. Which one is the Mahoney place?”

“Fourth house down. You can’t miss it. They have two illuminated plastic flamingoes in their yard.”

“Still?” Faythe laughed, remembering. “I never knew their name, but they had those when I was a kid.” She shook her head and laughed again.Deanna looked as if she meant to say something more, but instead she merely nodded. “Bye.” She strode up the path to her cabin.

The abrupt departure intrigued Faythe. She was good at reading people; it was part of her job as an interviewer. Deanna had undoubtedly begun to relax and immediately regretted it. She hadn’t allowed the hint of amusement to develop into a smile. Instead, Deanna, tall, dark, and mysterious, had slammed down a mask of politeness and made good use of those long denim-clad legs. Deanna’s gray sweater hinted at a very slender body, which Faythe found thoroughly sexy. She looked down her own body, knowing she was far from voluptuous either.
Wonder if
she appreciates a B-cup?
Faythe snorted at herself and resumed her jog. For all she knew, Deanna was as straight as they came and couldn’t care less about Faythe’s breasts.

Faythe completed her run in forty-five minutes, making sure she didn’t fall over the construction workers at the Mahoneys’ dock. The three men whistled appreciatively and she waved at them. She didn’t think they recognized the sweaty jogger as Faythe Hamilton, so-called glamorous TV personality, which was refreshing. She glanced through the trees toward Deanna’s cabin when she passed it, but caught no sign of her, then sprinted the last of the way once she reached Nellie’s property.

* * *

When Faythe jogged past Deanna’s cabin a second time, she told herself she merely wanted to make sure her new neighbor was all right after she passed the construction workers. Faythe seemed to look her way, but she wasn’t sure. She easily pictured Faythe tossing her head back and laughing at the thought of the stupid flamingoes. Her laughter, musical and slightly husky, had tugged at the corners of Deanna’s mouth. She couldn’t remember when she’d smiled last, or laughed so freely. Faythe was a stunningly beautiful woman, but the way her eyes sparkled lingered with Deanna more than her physical beauty. The mere fact that it did linger worried her. She had to ignore this response and focus on what mattered, like she normally did. The townspeople would soon tell Faythe what kind of person Deanna was.

Deanna’s cell phone rang, and she jumped and checked the display.

The words “Miranda’s School” made her frown and she answered quickly. “Deanna Moore speaking.”

“Deanna, this is Irene Costa.”

“Irene! Is something wrong?”

“No, no. Miranda is doing fine. I just wanted to tell you that you can’t visit her this evening.”

Deanna knew what Irene would say. “My mother is visiting when she’s not supposed to.” Squeezing her eyes closed, Deanna tried to suppress the anger that rose inside her. “It’s Saturday.”

“And she normally comes on Sundays. She called the floor and told us she’d be here today instead.”

“It will mess with Miranda’s head. She doesn’t do too well with last-minute changes. Mother
knows
that.”

“We just have to work around it. Should I tell Miranda you’ll see her tomorrow instead?”

“No, don’t do that. Miranda knows I come on Mondays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. If I change days so soon after our mother, she’ll be all screwed up.” Over the last two years Miranda had become completely dependent on having set routines on certain weekdays. “Tell her that I will see her on Monday, since Mother is coming today. Perhaps she’ll buy it.”

“Good thinking. She just might. Miranda’s doing so well. It would be a shame for her to have a setback because of this.” Irene’s voice softened. “Why don’t you put your free Saturday evening to good use?” Deanna bristled, but Irene meant well. The middle-aged woman had taken care of Miranda ever since their mother enrolled her at the Tremayne Foundation and School nine years ago, when she was seven.