The Liar

Now Shelby looked down at the old dog who snored at the foot of the bed. “And how do you think Clancy would feel about that?”

“He could play with the kitty. My kitty’s name’s Fiona, like Shrek. Can I have a kitty, please, Mama? And a puppy. I want a puppy most.”

“I tell you what, when we get a house of our own, we’ll see about getting a kitty.”

“And a puppy, too! The puppy’s name is Donkey, like Shrek.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Richard had had a no-pet policy. Well, when she had a house for Callie, they’d have a dog and a cat.

“And a pony!”

“Now you’re pushing it, Callie Rose.” But she scooped her up, spun her around. “Is Mama really pretty today? I want to look my best today.”

“Mama’s beautiful.”

She pressed her cheek to her daughter’s. “Callie, you’re my best thing in the world.”

“Is it time to go to Chelsea’s house?”

“Just about. You dress those dolls, then we can put them in the Callie bag and take them to Chelsea’s house.”

Once she’d dropped Callie off, chatted with Tracey, she headed straight into town.

She was capable, she told herself. She was smart enough to learn. She even knew a little about art, and she knew—or had known—some of the local artists and craftspeople. It made perfect sense to try to wrangle a part-time job at The Artful Ridge.

After she parked, she sat for a moment, gathering herself.

Don’t act desperate. If worse comes to worst, buy something. She could do this.

Fixing a smile on her face, ignoring the churning in her belly, she got out of the car, strolled down the sidewalk, and into The Artful Ridge.

Oh, it was pretty—she’d love to spend time here. It smelled of scented candles and glowed with natural light. She saw half a dozen things at a glance she’d be happy to have in her own home, once she got one.

Wrought-iron candlesticks, pale blue blown-glass wineglasses, a painting of a mountain stream on a misty morning, a long, sinuous jar the color of top cream polished like glass.

Tracey’s pottery, too—and she loved the tulip-shaped stacking bowls.

Glass shelves sparkled, and while the old wood floor creaked a little, it held a subtle gleam.

The girl who came around the counter couldn’t have been more than twenty and wore a half dozen colorful studs around the curve of her ear.

Not in charge, Shelby thought, but maybe a gateway.

“Good morning. Anything I can help you with today?”

“It’s just beautiful in here.”

“Thank you! We carry local artists and artisans. There are so many talented people in the area.”

“I know it. Oh, that’s one of my cousin’s paintings. A set of them.” She stepped over to a grouping of four small watercolors.

“You’re a cousin to Jesslyn Pomeroy?”

“I am, on my daddy’s side. I’m Shelby Pomeroy. Foxworth now.”

Who your people were mattered, Shelby knew, and could be another gateway. “She’s my uncle Bartlet’s middle daughter. We’re all so proud of her.”

“We sold one of her paintings just last Saturday to a man from Washington, D.C.”

“Isn’t that wonderful? Cousin Jessie’s art on somebody’s wall in Washington, D.C.”

“Are you visiting the Ridge?”

“I was born and raised here, and while I’ve been away a few years, I’ve moved back home. Just a few days ago, actually. I’ve been settling in. The fact is, I’d like to find some part-time work. It would be just lovely to work in a shop like this, with my cousin’s art right there.

“And Tracey Lee’s,” she added, as it never hurt to know people. “Her little girl and mine have become best friends already.”

“We can’t keep Tracey’s coffee mugs on the shelf. They just fly out of here. My sister Tate’s married to Robbie’s—that’s Tracey’s husband—to Robbie’s cousin Woody. They’re living up in Knoxville.”

“Would that be Tate Brown?”

“That’s right. It’s Bradshaw now, but that’s my sister. You know Tate?”

“I do. She dated my brother Clay for a time when they were in high school. So she’s married and living in Knoxville?”

Gateways, Shelby thought, as they chatted about family connections.

“We’re just starting to look for some extra help, for the season. Would you like to talk to the manager about it?”

“I would, thank you.”

“Just give me a minute. Browse around if you like.”

“I will.” In fact, as soon as the girl was out of sight, Shelby checked the price on the tall jar. Winced a little. A fair price, she imagined, but a little out of her reach right now.

She’d make it a goal.

When the girl came back moments later, the friendly had drained out of her eyes, and her tone was cool.

“You can go on up to the office. I’ll show you.”

“Thank you. It must be nice,” Shelby continued as they walked to the back of the shop. Here rustic wooden cases and shelves held pottery and textiles. “Working around all these pretty things.”

“You go right up the stairs here, it’s the first door you come to. It’s open.”

“Thanks again.”

She went up the sturdy stairs, turned into a room backed with three narrow windows that opened up to a view of the Ridge and the rise of the hills.