“Why don’t you bring Oliver over Sunday afternoon so you won’t have that to do Monday morning?” she suggested to the older woman, putting her lofty future plans aside for the moment.
Martha patted her mouth with a paper napkin. “Would you mind too terribly coming to our house Sunday afternoon to pick him up? I’m afraid Arthur and I will be so very busy Sunday that we really won’t have time to drive all the way out here in the country.”
Oh, now that was just too much. Not only did the Godwins want her to take care of their geriatric poodle for a week, they wanted her to come get the little mutt. And Martha didn’t even seem to have an inkling of how presumptuous she was being.
“All right,” was all Emily said. “What time should I come by?”
You’re such a doormat, Emily McBride. But that, too, was going to stop when she finally took off on her own, she promised herself.
“Anytime between one and three will be fine. Oh, dear, look at the time. I really must go. I want to stop by the police station on my way home.”
“The police station?” Emily repeated curiously.
Martha nodded her carefully frosted head. “I want to remind Chief Davenport that I’ll be out of town next week. I’ve asked him to send extra patrols around our place several times a night, but I’m afraid he’ll forget. To be honest, Emily, there are times when I wonder if our new chief of police is very bright.”
“I haven’t met him,” Emily admitted, “but I read in the Honoria Gazette that he came highly recommended from his last position. I understand he was the mayor’s first choice after Chief Powell resigned.”
“That may be, but I certainly haven’t been very impressed so far. In the short time he’s been here, I’ve never seen him move any faster than a stroll, nor does he seem capable of standing without leaning against something. Arthur says you could set the man’s hair afire and it would take him an hour to get around to putting it out.”
Emily chuckled. “Still, he must be good at his job or Mayor McQuade would never have appointed him.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Martha smiled. “It isn’t as if there’s ever any real crime in Honoria. Teenagers getting out of hand, Joe Wimble getting drunk and making noise every Saturday night, the occasional petty theft. There hasn’t been a serious crime here since...since...”
Since Roger Jennings was murdered fifteen years ago. Martha didn’t have to finish the sentence. Emily knew exactly what crime the other woman had been about to mention. After all, it had been Emily’s brother who’d unfairly taken the blame for it.
Martha didn’t stay much longer. She’d gotten what she wanted, and was in a hurry to be off so she could impose on others.
Emily closed the door behind her visitor, sighed, and ran a hand through her blond curls. She turned away from the door and spotted the corner of a glossy, brightly colored travel brochure sticking out from beneath a stack of bills on the antique desk. She smiled.
Three more months, and she would be free. The idea was as exhilarating as it was terrifying.
“EMILY, ARE YOU absolutely sure you want to do this?” Mary Kay Evans asked solemnly, extending a pen in Emily’s direction.
Emily took the pen firmly in her hand and carefully signed her name at the bottom of the contract in front of her. Only then did she look up at the woman across the desk. “I’m sure, Mary Kay. This is something I’ve been planning for a very long time.”
“But your home...you’ve lived there all your life. It’s all you have left of your family. You really want to sell it?”
Emily’s smile felt strained. “Mary Kay, why are you suddenly trying to talk me out of this? You’ve already told me you expect to get a nice commission from selling my place. Do you want the listing or not?”
“I want it. If, that is, you’re absolutely certain you’re doing the right thing.”
Trying to look as confident as she sounded, Emily replied, “I’m absolutely certain. A four-bedroom house on twenty acres of land is more than I need. And there’s nothing holding me here now that Dad’s gone, so I’ll have a chance to do some traveling. Do you really blame me?”
“I guess not,” Mary Kay replied. She had spent four years at a college in the east before returning to Honoria to marry her high-school sweetheart. “It’s just that...well, I never thought you would leave,” she admitted. “I know all your cousins have moved away, but I thought your roots were deeper. I thought you would always stay in Honoria.”
Had Mary Kay honestly believed that Emily would be content to live the rest of her life alone in the house that every member of her dysfunctional family had abandoned one by one—either by choice or, in her father’s case, by death? Maybe the other woman thought Emily would marry eventually. But even if Emily hadn’t been so restless and ready to leave, the prospects in Honoria were decidedly limited.
Emily reached for her purse. “It’s not as if I’ll never come back to visit. My aunt and uncle still live here, and always will, I suppose. And I’ll want to see all my old friends again. But this is what I want to do now. What I need to do.”
Mary Kay nodded briskly. “In that case,” she said, s
tacking the paperwork neatly in front of her, “you’ve come to the right place. As a matter of fact, I have someone in mind already who just might be interested in your house.”
Emily felt a sudden hollowness somewhere deep inside her. “Already?” she asked in surprise.
“Yes. He came in yesterday and I mentioned that I might have a place coming available today. He’s a widower with a young son, and your house is very much like what he’s looking for. I wouldn’t be surprised if he makes an offer as soon as he sees it.”
“Oh.” Emily moistened her lips, which suddenly felt dry. “Well, that would be...great,” she said rather lamely.