“Uh-oh,” Nadine whispered. Lyddie agreed.
Jillian set her briefcase on the floor, dropped into her chair and smacked a handful of papers against the table.
“Good evening, folks. Let’s get moving.”
And with that, the Discover Downtown meeting was launched. Jillian led them through the agenda at breakneck speed, slowing only when Tracy Potter, the local postmistress, tried to slip in unnoticed fifteen minutes late. Jillian glared at Tracy with such righteous indignation that it was all Lyddie could do to keep from bursting into laughter.
Honestly, the things she endured for this town...
By Lyddie’s standards, it was a reasonably successful night. Jillian seemed too distracted to try to rope anyone into extra duties, and the rest of the committee members actually spoke up on their own a couple of times instead of waiting for Lyddie to speak first and then echoing her thoughts. The final report was given, and the meeting railroaded to a close. Lyddie, Tracy and Nadine walked together into the coolness of the night, chatting as they rambled toward Lyddie’s van.
As soon as they were out of earshot of the other committee members, Nadine broached the subject that had kept Lyddie entertained throughout the meeting.
“What bug crawled up Jillian’s arse and bit her tonight?”
“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