“This place isn’t as bad as it looks.” He pushed the crate to the side. “It needs a new roof, and there’s water damage, but the structure’s basically sound. Tallulah was right. Someone should restore it.”

“Don’t look at me. I can’t even afford to get the dent taken out of my fender.”

“Why don’t you talk to Winnie about the depot? The planning council should at least consider it.”

“I’m the last person the planning council would listen to.”

“Restoring it would take serious money, that’s for certain.”

“It’s a mess.” But even as the words left her mouth, a picture sprang into her mind of a children’s bookstore, complete with a miniature caboose, model trains, signal lights, and a trunkful of dress-up costumes. She sighed.

“What’s wrong?”

“I wish Jewel cared more about selling kids’ books. Wouldn’t this make a fantastic children’s bookstore? Not that she could afford to renovate it even if she were interested.”

“It’s a great location. But it has more square footage than a specialty bookstore needs.”

“Not with a coffee shop next door.” She didn’t know where the idea had come from, and his eyebrows rose as he studied her more closely. She turned away and headed for the back. Some things were too impractical even for daydreams.

Colin tapped walls, investigated storage areas, and took every opportunity to snarl at her. Eventually, he announced that he was going up into the loft.

“I didn’t know there was one.”

“Exactly what did you think was above the ceiling?” he inquired with the same scathing tone she remembered from high school. “Did you imagine you would absorb this information through osmosis, Miss Carey, or could you open your text?”

She followed him into the ticket office, where he climbed up on the old desk and pushed aside a splintery access panel above his head. As she watched how effortlessly he pulled himself through the opening, a rush of desire swept through her. First his chest disappeared, then the rest of him, all in one effortless motion. She wanted to feel that strength pressed against her once more, inside her. She stepped away.

He reemerged five minutes later, looking dirtier and more withdrawn. “Nothing. Let’s get out of here.”

She’d hoped Winnie would be at the carriage house to act as a buffer while they searched its rooms, but only Gordon greeted them at the door. Colin continued to snap her head off, and by the time they reached the studio, she’d lost patience with him. “Forget it! I’ll do the rest myself.”

“Right. Since you’ve done so well already.” He pulled away the plastic. She gritted her teeth and watched. He moved the ladder to the side, looked under the drop cloth, and studied a pair of paint-splattered cracked leather boots she’d found during an earlier exploration.

“He wouldn’t have left them here if he hadn’t planned to come back,” she said.

“Who knows?”

As he returned the boots to their place under the workbench, Sugar Beth thought of Tallulah and the bitterness that came over women who defined their lives only through their relationships with men.

Finally, there was no place left to look, nothing to do but lock up. “I’m sorry, Sugar Beth.”

She’d been counting on his sarcasm to sustain her, and now she had to fight to keep her composure. “C’est la vie, I guess.”

“Give me a couple of days,” he said, more softly. “I’ll think of something.”

“It’s my problem, not yours.”

“Nevertheless.”

She didn’t hang around any longer. Instead, she left him standing on the path and made her way back into the house. As she shut the door, she reminded herself that finding the painting today had always been a long shot. She shouldn’t have let herself hope.

Barely five minutes passed before Winnie appeared, her arms full of grocery bags. Gordon snarled at her as she sidestepped him. “Is that dog dangerous?”

Sugar Beth mustered the energy to reply. “So far, you and I are the only ones he doesn’t like.”

“Why would you keep an animal like that around?”

“A lesson in humility.”

Winnie glared down at Gordon, who was still growling. “Stop it right now.”

He backed away just far enough to block the doorway to the kitchen so that she had to climb over him. “I picked up some groceries,” she said. “I told Gigi to come over for lunch. I hope that’s all right.”

“Sure. I like Gigi.”

The implication didn’t bother Winnie one bit. She hummed as she began unpacking the groceries. Sugar Beth surveyed what she’d bought. All that green stuff and not a carton of mint chocolate chip in sight. She emptied the wastebasket, then lined it with a new trash bag.

“You look upset,” Winnie said.

“Broken fingernail.”

“It’s the painting, isn’t it? Colin said he was going to help you look for it today. You must not have found anything.”

“Not unless you count spiders.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“I don’t know. Talk to Tallulah’s canasta club again, maybe. Try to figure out if she had any other confidantes.”

“Not that I know of. She was so critical most people avoided her. I can’t believe someone like Lincoln Ash could have fallen in love with such a sourpuss.”

“I don’t think she was always like that. My father said she was funny when she was a girl.”

“Our father. Just once, Sugar Beth, I’d like to hear you say it.”

“Maybe you’d better check the weather report. Last time I looked, hell hadn’t frozen over.”

“Doesn’t being a bitch get exhausting after a while?”

“You tell me.”

“I believe in deferring to the experts.”

They continued like that for a while, trading insults and, in general, keeping themselves entertained, which was a welcome distraction after Sugar Beth’s dismal morning. So many years of being a respectable, law-abiding citizen made Winnie’s jabs clumsier than Sugar Beth’s, but she compensated by delivering them with the zeal of the newly converted. Eventually, however, she calmed down and concentrated on her salad.

Sugar Beth went upstairs to wash off the dirt and phone Delilah. Afterward she gazed over at Frenchman’s Bride. Colin had said he intended to write today, but he was outside working on his wall.

When she returned downstairs, she heard the humming of a happy little kitchen elf. “Orzo.” Winnie gazed cheerfully into Tallulah’s spongeware bowl. “Hard-boiled eggs, tomatoes, pine nuts, an avocado coming up. Gigi’s going to love this salad.”

Sugar Beth decided to distract herself by picking another fight. “It wouldn’t kill you to thank me for what I did last night. If I hadn’t gone that extra mile, you’d still think your husband was nuts about me.”

But Winnie chose her own battle turf and struck back with a zinger. “You’re sleeping with Colin, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly the kind of information I’m gonna share with my worst enemy.”

“I knew there was something going on between the two of you the night of the cocktail party. But you’ve met your match. Colin is one man who has his head screwed on straight.”

“Right now, mine is screwed on a lot straighter than his.”

“I sincerely doubt that.” Winnie stabbed a tomato. “No matter how you try to manipulate him, he’ll never marry you.”

“I don’t want him to.”

“If that man dangled a diamond in front of you, you’d rip his arm off to get to it.”

Sugar Beth shrugged. “Whatever you want to believe.”

By turning serious, she seemed to have taken the fun out of the game. Winnie set down the tomato, wiped her hands on a paper towel, and leaned against the counter. “You mean it, don’t you?”

She nodded.

But if she’d expected Winnie to back off, she was mistaken because real anger flashed in her eyes. “You’re trying to collect another scalp. You don’t care about hurting him. You just want to add him to your collection. And he’s so smitten he doesn’t see what’s coming.”

“He sees it, all right. I’ve been trying to dump him since Tuesday night, but he won’t stay dumped.”

That threw Winnie off stride. “I don’t believe you. Why would you want to dump him? He’s rich, successful… brilliant. He owns Frenchman’s Bride. And except for Ryan, he’s the sexiest man in Parrish. Colin Byrne has more character than all of your ex-husbands put together.”

“Two of them, anyway. When did you say Gigi would be getting here?”

“Don’t try to tell me you’re not attracted to him. I’ve seen the way the two of you behave when you’re together.”

“Just drop it, okay.”

“My, my. Have I hit a tender spot?”

All Sugar Beth could do was nod.

That gave Winnie something to think about, and she turned away to concentrate on the salad. Sugar Beth took a sip of cold coffee. A minute ticked by, and then another. Finally, Winnie set down her knife. “I got pregnant with Gigi on purpose.”

Sugar Beth nearly choked on her coffee. “That’s definitely not something you should share with your worst enemy.”

“Probably not.” She cracked a hard-boiled egg against the side of the bowl. “I spent fourteen years trying to make it up to him. I didn’t think he knew, but he did. And he never said anything. He just let his resentment eat away.” A piece of eggshell fell to the floor, but she didn’t notice. “What a pair we’ve been. He suffered in noble silence, and I fed my guilt by overcompensating. Then I blamed you for everything that was wrong in our marriage. So when it comes to you and me, Sugar Beth, which one of us is the biggest sinner?”

“Beats me. I’m not good at making moral judgments.”

“You seem to have made a few about yourself.”

“Yeah, but that’s easy.”

Winnie fished a piece of eggshell from the bowl, a distant expression on her face. “Gigi would say that I gave up my power.”

“You’re doing one heck of a job getting it back.”

Winnie smiled. “Ryan asked me out to dinner tonight.”

“Just because a boy buys you a steak doesn’t mean you have to put out for him.”

“I’ll remember that.”

Gordon began to bark as Gigi arrived. This time she wore jeans and an Ole Miss T-shirt. “Dad’s really mad at Sugar Beth again. He didn’t want me to come down here. What’d you do?”

“Come see what I’ve got in the salad,” Winnie said before Sugar Beth could reply.

Gigi patted Gordon, who was worshiping at her feet, then walked over to examine the salad. “Orzo! That’s so cool. And avocado. Don’t put any chicken in, okay.” She plucked out a piece of tomato with dog-slobber fingers and nearly gave Winnie apoplexy.

Sugar Beth rinsed out her coffee mug. “I’ll leave the two of you to your own devices.”

“Don’t go,” Gigi said.

“I have things to do.” She was trying to give them some time alone together, but Winnie got her snippy look.

“Now you can see exactly how inconsiderate your aunt really is, Gigi. I’ve made a nice lunch for us, but does she care? No, she doesn’t.”

Sugar Beth didn’t want Winnie to guess how good it felt to be included. “Okay, but I’m going to switch plates at the last minute, so don’t try any funny stuff with food poisoning.”

“You guys act so weird.”

Ten minutes later they were settled at the drop-leaf cherry table in the living room with the salad, rolls, and Tallulah’s pressed-glass tumblers filled with sweet tea.

“Did you decide what you’re going to wear on your date tonight?” Gigi asked her mother.

“It’s not a date. Your father and I are having dinner together, that’s all.”

“I think you should borrow something from Sugar Beth.”

“I’m not meeting your father in Sugar Beth’s clothes!”

“Just a blouse or something. He won’t know. Hers are sexier than yours.”

“Good idea,” Sugar Beth said. “I’ll trade you a slinky little number I bought at Target last winter for that Neiman’s cashmere sweater set I saw you in last week.”

“She’s trying to get you upset again, Mom.”

Sugar Beth hid a smile. “If you keep spoiling my fun, kid, you’re out of here.”

Gigi leaned closer. “He’s picking her up at seven. Do her makeup, Sugar Beth.”

“I’ll do my own makeup,” Winnie retorted.

“Sugar Beth does better eyes.”

“That’s true. I do know my eyes.” She gazed at Gigi. “Hair, too. What do you say I even up your new do a little?”

“I guess.”

Their conversation moved on to other things, and without planning it, Sugar Beth found herself telling them about Delilah, leaving out only the financial troubles her stepdaughter was causing.

Gigi wrinkled her nose. “It’s sort of gross, isn’t it? Having a stepdaughter that old?”

Winnie smiled and touched the back of her daughter’s hand. “Love’s a strange thing, Gigi. You never quite know exactly when it’s going to hit or how hard it’ll strike.”