Lilah Read online

  Danny shook his head and Nick stepped out into the chilly morning, not knowing how accurate his first impression of the lovely Lilah would be.

  A painter’s truck had pulled up outside the deserted store. Not a local outfit. It had a Bemidji address on the side. Two or three guys were unloading paint cans and ladders and stacking them on the doorstep. She hadn’t wasted any time getting renovations started, but it was too early to make a surprise appearance at her place and he didn’t want to be the awkward guy in the way of the contractors, so he figured maybe he’d stop in with coffee and bagels later. When the painters were gone.

  After an hour spent trying to focus, he couldn’t get one word out. He couldn’t even find yesterday’s mail. The office was a disaster but there was still money in the budget, so he made a mental note to hire a cleaner. He might be a slob, but he was pretty tight with money and his little paper was one of the most profitable in the entire Archway Media Publications’ empire.

  In an effort to get something going he checked out the list of activities for the annual lead up to Christmas, which was a big deal in Silver Narrows. Then he sat back in his swivel chair, tugging at his gelled hair. Mayor Tracy Ross, with all the bright-eyed enthusiasm of a newly elected politician, had decided on a fresh approach to the holidays, so he couldn’t just pull out last year’s file. This year he had to actually go and report on every damn event.

  He thought briefly about hiring one of the local high school kids for an internship opportunity, but when he remembered all the revisions and corrections he had to do last time, he shelved that brainwave in favor of another more attractive one. It would be the perfect opportunity to introduce Lilah to everything Silver Narrows had to offer in the way of small town seasonal entertainment, and he would be her gallant escort through the Christmas giddiness that engulfed the town in November and December. He’d even endure the endless soundtrack of pumped-in, saccharin Christmas standards that played in stores and halls and even along the High Street.

  He checked the situation at her store three or four times that morning, but the painters were still holed up in there and some big sign-painting truck had arrived as well. It was useless to speculate about what kind of business she was opening, because whatever it was, she had six months tops before the big box stores at the mall squeezed her out. Violet Olson only survived because she actually undercut the prices at Target by selling second hand books.

  He was basically squirming in his seat like a crazy man with hemorrhoids by lunchtime. All he’d squeezed out was a tired report on the Annual Seniors’ Fall Fowl Supper. The headline always brought a chuckle to his lips. The possibilities could have been endless if he wanted to get a cheap laugh, but he couldn’t afford to make any enemies. The town was far too small to burn any bridges.

  He was sitting there with a massive smirk on his face wondering whether to change Fall Fowl Supper to Fowl Fall Supper, when he almost tipped his chair backwards. She was there. Standing outside the window looking right at him through the space between the Lost Cat and Have You Seen This Dog notices plastered on his office window. He flipped forward just in time, tipping the grungy dregs of coffee over some notes and bashing his ankle against the leg of his metal desk as she strode right in. Without the cover of the fur lined hood, her hair was long, wavy and black. One side pinned behind her ear with a beaded clip.

  “I’m not interrupting anything?” she said, glancing around.

  “Since I’m the only employee here, the only thing you’d be interfering with is me talking to myself,” he said, trying to mop up the river of coffee before it trickled onto the carpet. “You settling in okay?”

  “Just doing some renos,” she said, those green eyes scanning the dumpy decor. “Want me to send the painters over?”

  “I know. Mustard yellow tends to induce nausea,” he said, realizing he’d become immune to it after six years.

  “I got some nice blues and purples,” she said. “Probably have some left over when they’re done.”

  She was deadly serious. “Well I guess it wouldn’t hurt,” he heard himself saying, though he was really imagining what she’d look like in the summer wearing a white, floaty sleeveless dress.

  “Terrific,” she said, that brilliant smile flickering at the corners of her mouth. “But I really wanted to ask about advertising space.”

  “You want to buy some?” he said, sounding like a kid at a lemonade stand.

  “I do. I’ll get an ad together and – shall I email it to you?”

  “Oh – yeah – or you can bring it on a USB.”

  “Do you have a business card?”

  He tore himself away from gazing at her and scanned the muddle on his desk. “Somewhere in this pile,” he said, diving in and coming up with a card with one coffee-soaked corner. He held it out, hoping he wasn’t grinning too sheepishly.

  “Great - I’ll have something ready by four,” she said, and was gone as quickly as she’d arrived, leaving a faint scent of flowers behind her.

  He sat back, aware that he was breathless again. That his palms were actually sweating.

  A call from Tracy Ross jangled like an out-of-tune bell into his hazy dreamland. Apparently the Winter Hayride was scheduled for the following Saturday, as long as the snow co-operated, and she wanted Nick to run a feature on it.

  “It’s gonna be way more sparkly than usual,” she said with the kind of nervy persuasion that got her elected. “Bring a bit of pre-Christmas magic to the place.”

  Now his heart really started to race. Christmas magic with Lilah. It was perfect. The image was enough to set him working like a demon for the next few hours, ignoring the hungry grumbling in his gut. He was actually on a roll, coasting on his own personal wave of motivation, when the message came in. He clicked on the inbox and her name appeared. All lower case - lilah. No surname. Holding his breath, he opened the attachment. He didn’t know what to expect. Something unusual. Maybe a palm reader – a hypnotist – some kind of exotic aroma therapist.

  The screen opened onto an ad enclosed in a border of tiny beadwork flowers with the headline, Lilah’s Aesthetics. Perfect your natural beauty. Hairstyling, facials, manicure, pedicure, massage.

  A line drawing of a woman’s profile, the address, phone number, website, completed it, and at the bottom corner her name. Lilah Beaumarche. He couldn’t resist the urge and entered the name in a web search. It came up empty. No Facebook, no Instagram, no Linked-In, no Twitter. Just the website for the store. But somehow he’d known that would be the case. It had been a gut feeling, and he’d act on a lot more of those in the next few months.

  3

  At five o’clock that evening, the snow was falling in a steady curtain and Rusty’s Bar and Grill was already buzzing with speculation about Silver Narrows’ newest arrival.

  Rusty MacReady, the namesake and owner of Silver Narrows’ most popular watering hole was bustling around behind the bar like a red-haired rabbit, darting from one end to the other. Rumor had it that Rusty arrived in town at least forty years ago, running from trouble in a tough Boston neighborhood. Freckle-faced and garrulous, with the flattened nose of a boxer, he was born to tend bar.

  “Hear you met the mystery lady,” he said, pushing a sweating Corona at Nick. “I’ll give you a complimentary wedge of lime if you tell me all about the gorgeous goddess.”

  “Not much to tell. She’s called Lilah and she’s opening a beauty salon. That’s it.” Nick shrugged and took a welcome chug of beer. He was starving and put in an order for one of Rusty’s famous Fatburgers with a side of beer-battered onion rings.

  “Jake Hardy says he reckons she come from Canada,” he said, handing over Nick’s change.

  “And how would he know?” said Nick, cracking open a bag of jalapeno chips to hold him over.

  “She filled up that fancy black Mercedes at his place this morning. He took a quick look at the dash when she went inside to get milk. Said the speedo was in kilometers.”

  “She has Mi
nnesota plates.”

  He shrugged. “You tell me. Looks like she wants to fit in here. No questions asked, huh.”

  He winked and went on to the next customer, leaving Nick to take a look around to see who was out drinking already. Rosie Bradley, his most recent ex, was cozied up with Brad Brenner, the local cop. She waved absently, then dove right back into her conversation. No room for rejects at that table. Art Ross, the mayor’s farmer husband sat in the far corner with some of the other local agricultural crowd, chewing over the price of cattle feed. At the big center table Ike Dewar, one of Silver Narrows’ resident assholes, held court with a bunch of feed merchants and farm machine suppliers. Ike was sixtyish, with an iron grey brush cut, and a massive acreage outside town, where he lived with his wife, Madge, a tiny, long suffering waiflike woman.

  The other local asshole, Ray Gorman, local real estate magnate, was jammed into the corner seat at the same table. Ray was mid-fifties, divorced, and with a penchant for the younger ladies. He spent enough money on his hairpieces to furnish an entire apartment block, and they still looked like Halloween wigs. Nick said a silent prayer to his dad whenever he saw Ray, acknowledging the complex, but tender relationship between a man and his hairline.

  So the obnoxiousness scale was registering way too high for Nick to sit with that crowd, which left only the pool tables. A couple of teachers from the local high school were just starting a game with the painters from Lilah’s store. Nick shoved his way round the tables, dodging Ray Gorman, the eternal class clown who whistled and yelled Nick-ee at the top of his lungs. Ike Dewar smirked and held up his glass for another round. Nick always gave Ike a wide berth. Ever since he twisted Nick’s right nipple through his shirt at a football game. He claimed he was just joshing, but it stung like hell. It was weird the way he did it, grinning and gritting his teeth at the same time. Jolting Nick back to hidden memories of his murky Peewee hockey days. Days he’d blocked from his consciousness.

  After a couple of quiet pool games, the teachers took off back home for dinner. Nick gazed after them, feeling a tug at his heart. There was nobody back at his place waiting for him. No chilled bottle of wine, tossed salad or fresh pasta. But the painter guys were getting in another round, so he joined them and paid the bill. Settling in at their table, a million questions swarmed on the tip of his tongue.

  “You guys come from Bemidji?”

  “Close by,” said the older one whose name was Matt.

  “Work here much?”

  “Nah – first time here,” he said. The younger guy, who looked like his son, didn’t say much.

  “Cute girl, huh?”

  Matt looked puzzled.

  “The girl at the store. Lilah,” Nick said, taking a slug of beer.

  Recognition dawned on his face. “Oh – yeah – she’s a real nice lady. Paid cash up front. No fooling around either. Gave me the full rate, and a tip for Andy here.”

  “Really,” said Nick, thinking she was just too good to be true.

  “She gave me tickets for the Minnesota Wild game. Box seats too,” said Andy, sipping on his beer. “Gonna take my girlfriend. Maybe book in at one of those fancy theme hotels at the Mall of America.”

  “Sweet,” said Nick, trying to imagine Andy’s girl. Probably small and blonde with poker straight hair, false eyelashes and an attitude.

  “Is Lilah from Canada?” asked Nick, trying to sound casual.

  “Didn’t say much,” said Matt, “But she mentioned something about hockey.”

  Andy perked up. “Said she used to live with a pro hockey player.”

  “You know who?”

  “Nah – I ran out of paint and I had to go to the truck,” said Andy.

  They played a few more games of pool, and were just about to get another round of beers in when the door opened and Lilah stepped in. A swirl of snowflakes fluttered around her. The door swung shut and, just as if someone flicked a switch, all conversation stopped and all eyes fixed on her. She stood for a moment, scanning the crowd. Ray Gorman was virtually salivating and Ike Dewar’s eyeballs were pretty much bursting from their sockets. Incredibly, her eyes fell on Nick, standing with his pool cue in hand. That radiant smile spread across her face and she made a beeline straight for him. Everyone in the room followed her. Nick couldn’t believe it. He was suddenly the geeky loser nerd when the prom queen asks him to dance. She picked me out of all the others. She picked me, he told himself.

  “Nick,” she said, ignoring the guys who’d been working at her place all day. “Mind if I join you?”

  For a moment he was tongue tied. He had the strangest feeling she’d actually come looking for him. Like he was a part of her day’s plan. It was just another one of those gut feelings. But he was happy to go along with it, and pulled out a chair next to his.

  “Hey – welcome to Silver Narrows’ premier hangout,” he said, helping her off with her coat. He tried hard not to check her out too blatantly. She had one of those supple, curvy figures, and in her slim jeans and soft, black sweater she exuded the kind of casual, expensive elegance rarely seen in Silver Narrows. She asked for gin and club soda. Rusty had to get right to the back of the cooler to find a can of club soda. Coke, root beer and Seven Up were the soft drinks of choice here.

  Waiting for the drink, Nick leaned back against the bar and watched her chatting with the painters. That nervous, jumpy feeling was back again. Like a kid on a first date. He hadn’t felt this way since ninth grade. The whole situation seemed unreal. She’d been so nice and friendly and yet he felt as if he was standing on the edge of a precipice, powerless to resist the call to take one more step into the unknown.

  The painters were putting their coats on when he got back with the drinks. “Got a long drive,” said Matt. “And the deer are pretty bad on the highway.”

  “Thanks for everything, Matt,” said Lilah. “I didn’t give you much notice about the job.”

  “Any time,” said Matt, turning to go. “You got my number.”

  Nick sat down beside her and studied her face. Some people have awkward chins and jutting brows, but she had a sweet profile with smooth, sloping lines and gentle curves.

  “So what’s your first impression of our little town?” he asked, feeling a small lurch of apprehension.

  “Quiet, homey, pretty. I think I’m gonna like it here,” she said, sipping the drink.

  “It’s way busier in the summer. Lots of fishing and hunting. Water sports too.”

  “I do a bit of fishing myself,” she said. “Ever do ice fishing here?”

  “I tried it,” he said, remembering his last disastrous attempt when he almost froze the toes off his left foot.

  “You’ll have to show me the best spots.”

  The familiar beer buzz was just beginning to boost his confidence “For sure, but I gotta ask what made you want to settle here in Silver Narrows?”

  Her eyelids fluttered and she studied the bubbles in her drink. “It seems like a good place to think. I went through some bad stuff recently and I needed somewhere quiet so I can take time to get myself together.”

  “Point taken. I won’t pry any more,” he said. “But I’m a good listener, so anytime you wanna talk.”

  She smiled and nodded. They clinked glasses and Nick told her his story, minus the string of girlfriends part. She was a focused listener, those cool, greenish eyes following his, her head tilted in concentration as if his trivial excuse for a life was the most absorbing story she’d heard in years.

  All she told Nick about herself was that she was born in Montana, then her folks moved up to Alberta. Near the Canadian oil patch. Later she’d lived in Calgary. Her story ended right there. She didn’t offer any more information, and he didn’t feel inclined to snoop.

  A couple of gins later, Nick was basking in the golden glow of her attention, and the envious eyes of all the guys in the room. She tipped back her head and emptied the last drops of her drink. Then she clinked the ice around a bit and looked at him with a search
ing kind of look. “Promise you won’t think I’m morbid, but you want to know how I first heard about Silver Narrows?”

  “I’m all ears.”

  She put both elbows on the table and leaned forward. Nick shuffled his chair so close that, even in the beer soaked atmosphere of Rusty’s Place, the faint scent of flowers seemed to emanate from her. Her eyes widened as she spoke. “A couple of years ago I saw one of those Unsolved Mysteries shows about some disappearances that happened here a few years back.”

  Nick had a foggy memory of Rosie mentioning them. “That was before my time here.”

  “Usually I change the channel on shows like that, but there was something that drew me to the story. When they started interviewing people in the community, there was such a sense of loss. Like the whole town was just one big family and someone had just burst right in and torn the heart from it. There was such sorrow and distress, such a desire to mend the wounds. At the time I was living in a soulless, hollow place. There’s an old song called “Town Without Pity”. That pretty much summed up the town I lived in. So I never forgot Silver Narrows. I know it sounds cheesy, but it shone like a beacon of hope in my life. And when I had some trouble of my own, it was the first place I thought of running to. I guess over the two years I’d built up quite a fantasy about Silver Narrows. I read the Mayor’s events calendar. I even kept up with your newspaper online. I studied maps of the place and looked at pictures of properties here until it almost felt like I was part of it. Now here I am.”

  “You knew me before I even met you,” Nick said, sitting back. A slight thrill tickled the back of his neck. She’d been studying his little newspaper for two years.

  “That’s why you don’t seem like a stranger to me, Nick,” she said, grabbing his empty glass. “Another one?”

  Dumbstruck, he nodded and leaned back to watch her as she walked to the bar, oblivious to the heads that swiveled her way like drunken chickens. Ray Gorman, who was already far gone, flapped his hand and gave Nick a thumbs up, trying to wink at the same time.