“Are you girls ready for a break?”
At the distinctive sound of Agnes Bell Wolcott’s deep voice, all three of them turned toward the door where she stood, decked out in designer couture from her snow-white, exquisitely coiffed hair to her expensively shod feet. They’d met Miss A. at an event at Ava’s house two years ago and shortly afterward, she’d invited them for tea at the infamously ugly Wolcott mansion as a thank-you for spending time with an eccentric old woman known in certain circles for her adventurous travels, beautiful wardrobe and exquisite collections. She’d given them their first diaries at that tea and it was then that they’d started referring to themselves as the Sisterhood, after Miss Agnes said their connection to each other reminded her of such. They’d been coming for tea at least once a month ever since, and often dropped by—either as a group or individually—simply to talk to her in between times.
When Poppy had Miss Agnes to herself, conversation often turned to philanthropic endeavors. The older lady’s enthusiasm for “giving back” left an impression on Poppy. There was just something about Miss A. that made you think about things in ways you’d never done before, and Poppy wouldn’t be surprised if she was sporting the same fatuous, pleased-to-see-her smile now that she saw on Jane’s and Ava’s faces. To make up for it—conscious as she was about her dignity these days—she said sternly, “If you’re going to be in here, you need to put on a smock.” She nodded toward the pile that her parents had supplied. “I will not be responsible for ruining that outfit.”
“And I will not ruin the beautiful lines of my Chanel with a paint-spattered lab coat,” Miss A. said crisply, stepping outside the doorway so she was safe from wet paint but still in their line of vision.
Poppy grinned at the old lady’s acerbic tone. One of the things she adored about Miss A. was that she never insulted their intelligence by pulling her punches. “There’s a plate of homemade oatmeal-chocolate-chip-walnut-raisin cookies for you on the sideboard in the dining room,” she said. “Mom said since I was no doubt my usual pain-in-the-patootie self trying to get you to agree to painting this room, the least she could do was supply a little sugar to sweeten the deal.”
“How lovely of her. She obviously knows you well.” The latter sentiment was offered in a dry tone, yet accompanied by a fond smile. “I’ll tell Evelyn to add some to our dessert platter. Speaking of which, are you ready to break for lunch or would you prefer to finish your wall first?” She studied the completed one that was a deeper, more dramatic shade of the pale melon that Poppy and Ava were applying to the adjacent wall and nodded approvingly. “Divine color, by the way. It’s going to look amazing with the draperies. You do have a wonderful eye for this sort of thing, don’t you?”
“She’s got the best eye,” Ava agreed. “And if you don’t mind, Miss A., we’ll finish this wall first.”
Slipping a foot from the ladder rung, Poppy gave her friend an affectionate nudge with her toe. For she knew how much Ava loved Miss A.’s luncheons; knew, too, that she was sacrificing the immediate gratification of sitting down to one for her. She looked back at the older woman. “It shouldn’t take more than ten or fifteen minutes, if that’s okay.”
“Darling, I’m getting free labor and beautiful new walls. You take all the time you want. I’ll just go tell Evelyn.”
She disappeared down the hallway and Poppy turned back to her painting with renewed energy. She knew the old lady was indulging her by letting them paint the room when she could afford to have it done professionally every month of the year if she wanted. That was the thing, though. Agnes didn’t want the bother of it; she cared about the beauty of her collections, not the rooms they went in.
Even so, Poppy couldn’t prevent the satisfied smile curling her lips. “I’m gonna talk her into letting me paint the parlor next.”
“Good luck with that,” Jane said from her position in front of the baseboard where it angled around the corner. She rose from painting the trim and stretched out her back. “That’s where nine-tenths of Miss A.’s collections are kept. It would be a killer undertaking just to move everything.”
“Still. I’m gonna do it. I’ll wear her down—just wait and see. Dad says that’s what I do best. And once I do?” She smiled dreamily. “We’re going to paint it a lovely creamy yellow.”
Jane and Ava exchanged glances. “We,” Jane said. “Well, lucky us.”
“Yeah,” Ava agreed. “Sometimes there’s a definite downside to this Sisterhood business.”
But her two best friends picked up their painting tools and went back to work.
Chapter One
Of all the rooms in all the field houses in all the parks in Seattle, he had to walk into this one?
WHAT THE HELL IS he doing here?
Poppy did her best to continue her conversation with the manager of the Ace hardware store. But the man had a tendency to drone on at the best of times and with the new arrival striding through the milling crowd of business owners as if he owned the joint, it was difficult to focus her attention. Her gaze kept wanting to follow his progress. That was de Sanges, right?
She just barely swallowed the self-derisive snort that tickled the back of her throat. Because, please. This might be the last place she expected to see him, but of course it was.
Considering their one and only encounter, however, she didn’t feel a burning need to beat herself up for allowing her mind to shy away from the admission.
Still, the truth was, it had taken no more than a glimpse to recognize the tall, lean, muscular body she’d seen only once before. She’d documented the prominent bony nose, those sharp cheekbones and that black-as-a-crow’s-feather hair. Was familiar with those long, white-nailed fingers and the dark olive skin that she had a feeling owed more to genetics than exposure to the sun.
And
Oh
My
God
Really remembered those dark, chilly eyes. Which she’d watched go hot for a few insane minutes last fall as they’d stood toe-to-toe in Miss A.’s parlor.
Whoa. She firmly corralled her wayward thoughts. Don’t even go there, girl. Okay, so it was Detective Sheik, as Janie insisted on calling him. Big deal. But her face went hot and her mouth went dry, and she had to fight like hell not to squirm at the memory of Ava saying that for a minute there she’d feared Poppy and de Sanges—a man none of them had even met until that afternoon—might start going at it hot and heavy in the middle of the parlor.
Because her friend had been right. Poppy had never experienced anything quite so visceral as what she’d felt that day with the tall, dark cop.
“Everyone seems to be here,” Garret Johnson, the president of the Merchants’ Association, said over the babble of conversation in the Park Department’s field house conference room. “Let’s take our seats and get this meeting under way.”
Eking out a breath of relief at having the plug yanked on that particular memory, she watched de Sanges from the corner of her eye until he pulled out a chair at the rectangular table. Then she took a seat at the opposite end.
It would have been even better if she could’ve nabbed one on the same side. That way she wouldn’t be able to see him at all without making a concerted effort. But Penny, the owner of Slice of Heaven Pies, beat her to the last chair on de Sanges’s side. Oh, well—too bad, so sad for her. Taking a seat across from the other woman, she exchanged idle chitchat for a few moments until the president rapped his knuckles on the wooden tabletop to call the meeting to order.
“Okay, as everyone knows,” he said the instant the last holdout conversation fizzled into silence, “we’re here today to decide what to do about the three boys who were