Dammit, she was babbling again. It was quickly becoming a bad habit. But the quiet … It filled the room so completely. And those looks she kept feeling the grocer give her. Curious and full of implied innuendo. She had to say something just to hear something besides her own thoughts. Although the subsequent look Alex shot her made her wish she’d reconsidered.
“Bigger order’ll cost you extra,” commented the grocer shortly.
“Kelsey will be buying her groceries separately.”
“Right,” she said. After all, she was on her own for meals. Why would they do something as simple as combine grocery orders? “I’m Kelsey Albertelli, by the way. Mr. Markoff’s new assistant. I’m here to help while his arm’s broken. Are you Farley?”
The lack of denial suggested he was. “Need three days’ notice for delivery. You want your food sooner, you have to pick up your order yourself. Special orders take longer. And if I don’t have the brand, I’ll substitute. No complaining.”
Was everyone in Berkshire County this brusque? At least Farley’s silence felt different. Gruff though he was, he lacked the anger and wary defensiveness that surrounded her new boss. “Got order forms in the truck,” he said when the last grocery item had been put away. They were the first words anyone had said in a few minutes. “You want some, follow me.”
She did, feeling Alex’s stare on her all the way to the drive. “Normal delivery’s every ten days,” the old man was telling her. “First four bags are free, after that you pay.”
“I’ll bear that in mind.” Kelsey took the stack of tri-colored forms he handed her. “You been delivering to Nuttingwood long?” she asked.
“Long enough”
“And that’s been …?”
“Three, four, five years. I don’t keep a calendar.”
She would have liked to have been surprised by the vague answer, but deep down she suspected that’s all she’d get. Still, it was worth a shot. “Thanks again for the forms,” she said, waving them in the air. “I’ll see you soon.”
Farley muttered something about having nothing better to do than drive around all day and shut the door. Kelsey stifled a smile. The answer was so grumpy and so over the top, she actually found it funny.
She waited until the truck disappeared round the tree-covered bend, then returned to the house. Where, she discovered, Alex hadn’t moved. He stood flush against the kitchen sink, his eyes glued to the space beyond the window.
“Interesting character,” she said, shutting the door. “Is that grumpy old man act for real?” As opposed to yours, which I can’t for the life of me understand?
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Ever been to his store? The, uh,” she looked at the forms in her hand, “Leafy Bean?”
“Once or twice.”
“It as colorful as him?”
“The pastries are decent.”
Coming from him, that was nothing short of a glowing recommendation. She made her way to the kitchen table where a few grocery items, mostly fresh produce, remained. Maybe she was imagining things, but Alex seemed pretty annoyed she’d crossed paths with Farley. Then again, surely he didn’t expect, because he was apparently an antisocial hermit, that she avoid human contact too? Did he think she’d spend all summer alone with no one but him and a stray cat for company?
A strange, warm shiver ran down her spine at the notion.
Alex had switched his attention from outside the window to her. Eyes dark and murky, the scrutiny ignited another set of shivers. Aw, hell. Why not come right out and ask the question? “You don’t like him knowing I’m here, do you?”
“I don’t like people knowing my business.”
“I hardly think you having a temporary assistant will be big news in town. If they even find out. Farley doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who talks about anything let alone gossip.”
“Everybody talks eventually, Miss Albertelli. I don’t have to help them out.” He pushed himself away from the counter. “And neither do you.”
Everyone talks eventually.
She didn’t know it at the time, but Alex’s parting remark was the last she heard from him for two days. He disappeared Lord knows where shortly after, leaving her to wander Nuttingwood alone.
“I see you more often,” she said to Puddin’ the cat when he made his daily appearance on the terrace. “He’s like a ghost, only showing up at night.” She knew he showed up then because she could hear him pacing the floor. Pacing and pacing.
“Maybe if he wrote something upbeat he’d be able to sleep.” What pages she’d deciphered so far were darker than the man himself. Bitter too. Brilliant but bitter. About as far removed from Chase the Moon as you could get. “Like they were written by two different people,” she told Puddin’. Maybe in a way they were.
With each passing hour she kicked herself a little harder for her lack of due diligence before taking this job. Instead of asking questions, she had let herself get distracted by the size of her impending paycheck. Sure the money was a priority, but why didn’t she think to get a little more information about her boss? She’d really like to know what his story was. Why he seemed so angry at the world.
“I know, I know,” she said to Puddin’, “keep your head low and mind your business.” That was the rule. “But if I knew why, then maybe I’d know if this disappearing act was going to play all summer.”
It still wasn’t too late to find out. Wasn’t that what the Internet was for? Without giving it another thought, she rose from her seat, moving so fast Puddin’ jumped too. Farley said he’d been delivering groceries between three and five years. Chase the Moon came out about six years ago. Surely in six years there would have been some kind of news article written about Alex Markoff, right?
A dozen keystrokes later, she had her answer. The Actress and the Author: It’s Love! screamed the tabloid headline.
Alex Markoff, in love with a movie star? Seemed incongruous if you asked her. But there was proof. A photo of Alex and a familiar blonde cozying up to each other over a cup of coffee. An odd kind of irritation settled over her as she read about their courtship. Apparently the starlet, Alyssa Davenport, met Alex at a book signing. A whirlwind romance followed and much to everyone’s surprise the couple married and settled in Los Angeles where one of Alex’s short stories was being made into a film. Alex’s fame and her looks made them a favorite for the camera. A click of the mouse found dozens of photos. At fund-raisers. At movie premieres. On a producer’s yacht. Of Alyssa’s platinum-blond hair and perfectly formed features. In every photo Mrs. Markoff appeared lovingly perched on her husband’s arm, her smile a glowing complement to Alex’s somber, almost reluctant expression. Even living a fairy tale, he didn’t smile.
Another click and the story changed. “What Went Wrong?” asked the headline superimposed over Alyssa’s face. Other stories promised to reveal “Markoff’s Dark Secrets.”
Everyone talks eventually. And talk they did. Friends, acquaintances, even employees offered lurid “insider” details of the marriage, the breakup and the couple’s intimate life.
“Did everyone who knew him give an interview?” she asked aloud.
“Short answer, yes.”
Kelsey’s stomach dropped. Slowly, she raised her eyes from the screen, coming face to face with Alex. Fury darkened his