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  “Well, dagumit!”

  Ginger jumped at the unexpected voice.

  The crotchety plumber pushed a broom across the library’s sawdust-covered floor, his face pinched in disgust. “Those fancy plumbers from Raleigh may have gotten the job done quick, but they sure left a mess,” he muttered, seemingly to himself. He’d been vocal in his disgust over Gavin hiring a restoration crew from across the state to complete the overhaul of Dresden House’s plumbing. But the amount of work that needed to be done would have taken the old man and his crew of two assistants nearly three times as long as it had taken the more skilled team. Diesel had insisted that the crusty caricature be used as the face of the plumbers during filming, however, asserting that he added a little “down-home character” to the show.

  Ginger quietly edged away from the doorframe so the crazy man wouldn’t catch sight of her and begin another tirade about her exploits as Destiny Upchurch, but she wasn’t quick enough. His beady eyes narrowed when he spied her from under his dilapidated ball cap. She froze in midstride, not wanting to appear rude.

  “You know how to work a broom, Destiny?” he asked. She was fairly certain she’d told him her name was Ginger at least a dozen times already, so she didn’t bother correcting him now. Nothing in her job description said she had to sweep, but since Diesel was making things up as he went along, she figured it was best to just keep quiet and help out. Besides, the old man might be able to help her find Cassidy.

  The teenager usually arrived long before this time in the afternoon, but today she’d been conspicuously absent. Ginger knew better than to believe Gavin that the girl would forget their argument from the day before, and Ginger couldn’t help herself; she wanted to make it right. Not only that, but she felt some sixth sense of dread where Cassidy was concerned.

  Laying her messenger bag on the floor, she grabbed the second broom from where it stood against the wall. “You haven’t seen Cassidy this afternoon, have you, sir?” she asked as she began pushing sawdust into the pile the plumber had already created in the center of the room.

  “Nope.”

  So much for that idea.

  “It’s just that no one’s heard from her today and—”

  “Cassidy can take care of herself,” he said, his eyes softening briefly as he contemplated her. “If something were amiss, Patricia would already know it. Don’t you worry your pretty head about it.”

  They swept in silence and Ginger felt like she’d won a small triumph when the old man called her “pretty.” Perhaps people in Chances Inlet might be warming up to her after all.

  “Pretty swell of ya to get Savannah Rich here for the parade. Folks around town are gettin’ excited.” He eyed her shrewdly over the handle of his broom. “I don’t reckon you’re doing it to cause trouble for Savannah, are you? The last thing we need is one of your little conniption fits ruining our Founders’ Day.”

  Or not.

  Ginger turned away so the old bugger wouldn’t see her roll her eyes. “Of course not,” she said as she swept sawdust from along the tiger-oak baseboard. She didn’t bother to add “because Savannah Rich wouldn’t be caught dead in your backwater town’s parade.” As entertaining as it would be to unleash Marissa on Chances Inlet, there was no way Ginger was going to humiliate herself with the insane amount of groveling it would take to get the soap star there. There wasn’t any need to let the old curmudgeon, or anyone else in town, for that matter, know that yet. Not when everyone was at least being polite to her now that they thought she was their link to Saintly Savannah. Ginger figured she could string them along a few weeks longer.

  “All the same, I’ve got my eye on you, little missy. You best mind your Ps and Qs while you’re a guest in our town, ya hear?”

  Kind of hard not to with all of you crazy people commenting on everything I do, she thought. “Yes, sir,” was all she said.

  An hour later, Ginger walked back to the inn, Diesel having left her to head to Shallote to “check on the stained glass windows.”

  “Stained glass windows, my ass,” Ginger mumbled to herself as she strolled up the long drive. His trip to see Yasmine, the artist, had booty call written all over it and Ginger found herself becoming more annoyed at her friend’s double standard. If she had to stay focused on their job, so did Diesel.

  She heard a bark and braced herself for the inevitable attack by Gavin’s mischievous dog, her heart racing even faster at the possibility of seeing Gavin again. It wasn’t Midas romping on the inn’s lawn, though. Instead, Tessa, the beautiful Australian shepherd belonging to the inn’s cook/maid, Lori, chased a ball across the grass. And the ball was being hurled by none other than the MIA Cassidy.

  “Oh, Ginger! There you are!” The blue-haired lady, Bernice, waved from the veranda. Once again impeccably dressed in a flowing shirt and a bright sweater, Gavin’s office manager sat on the porch swing with Patricia McAlister. The two were surrounded by a group of other women Ginger didn’t recognize. Ginger gave them a jaunty wave before heading in Cassidy’s direction.

  “How are you?” she asked the girl, relieved that her Spidey sense was way off today and Cassidy was fine.

  Cassidy gave her a saucy smile. “Still unpopular.”

  Argh! Why was she even bothering to be nice? Ginger had had all she could take. “I am so done with you people,” she mumbled while stomping toward the back of the inn in an effort to avoid the ladies enjoying afternoon tea on the porch.

  “Ginger!” Patricia McAlister called, stopping her in her tracks. Ginger spun around, her arms defiantly crossed over her chest. If Gavin’s mother thought she was going to take another dressing-down again today, she was sadly mistaken. Something in her stance must have tipped the innkeeper off, because Patricia halted on the middle step. “We were just discussing Founders’ Day and we were wondering if you’d heard anything from Savannah Rich yet?”

  “Marissa,” Ginger pushed out through gritted teeth. “Her name is Marissa. Marissa Ryder.”

  A look of chagrin settled onto Patricia’s face. “Oh, yes. Of course.”

  The three other ladies seated on the veranda seemed to hold their collective breaths. “Has . . . Marissa agreed to come?” she asked again.

  “I haven’t heard back from her yet,” Ginger lied.

  Patricia’s eyes narrowed briefly and Ginger jerked her chin up. “I’ll be sure and let you know as soon as she gets back to me,” Ginger said before turning on her heel and charging into the inn, nearly bowling over Lori as she did so.

  The inn’s cook/maid stood frozen in the entryway, a tray of freshly baked cookies and cupcakes in her hand, the scent of them nearly driving Ginger to dive into the tray face-

  first.

  “You’re not really going to bring that woman here, are you?” she asked quietly. Something flickered in her pale eyes: concern or fear; Ginger was uncertain which.

  In the week that Ginger had been staying in the inn, Lori had made every effort to blend in to the woodwork. Using oversized flannel shirts and cargo pants to camouflage her slim body, she wore her lackluster dark hair down, almost as a shield hiding her face. It was obvious she was hiding from something or someone, but Ginger couldn’t for the life of her figure out why she’d be troubled with a soap opera actress. She gave Lori a shrug. “I doubt she’ll come.”

  Lori still looked apprehensive. “She won’t come if you don’t ask her.” Ginger wasn’t sure, but it sounded almost like a command. Or a threat.

  Cheese and crackers, the people in this town are crazy!

  “You’ve got nothing to worry about,” she said, quickly climbing the stairs to her room to grab her dance clothes.

  “Seventy-nine more days,” she mumbled to herself.

  * * *

  Patricia stood on the step contemplating the young woman who’d just escaped into the inn. She’d made a vow to Lamar and to herself last night to be nicer to Ginger. She was a guest in her inn, after all. Something told Patricia that the girl wasn’t going to make
it easy for her. Or anyone else.

  “My, my,” her best friend, Annabeth, said from the chair where she was rocking her young grandson, Owen. “I never did watch that silly soap opera. Was she as ungracious on the show as she seems in real life?”

  Annabeth’s comment about the soap opera being silly drew astonished looks from Bernice and the mayor of Chances Inlet, Judith Skelley, but neither of them commented.

  Patricia sighed as she took her seat again. “She’s actually been a very congenial guest,” she had to admit. After thinking about it, she couldn’t even fault Ginger for wanting to prepare her own food. Three months of eating every meal out would wreck havoc on any woman’s diet, much less that of an actress.

  “Perhaps she’s just a little jealous at you all asking this Marissa woman to ride with Miles in the parade instead of her,” Annabeth suggested.

  “Pfff,” Bernice scoffed. “Nobody wants to see Destiny Upchurch as the queen of the Founders’ Day parade.”

  “Still,” Patricia said. “I think we ought to have a backup plan in case Savannah—I mean Marissa—can’t come.” After all, they had only Ginger’s word that she’d take care of asking her.

  “There’s always Miss Coastal Carolina,” the mayor suggested.

  “We get her every year,” Bernice groaned.

  “Yes, but it’s always good to have someone in the wings. The parade is a little over two months away,” Patricia said. “Let’s agree that if Ginger hasn’t gotten a response in two weeks, we’ll go with plan B.”

  Bernice didn’t want to agree to any such thing; Patricia could see it from her expression, but Gavin’s office manager let it go.

  “Then let’s move on,” said the mayor. “I want the governor to make the formal declaration of Dresden House as a National Historical Landmark on Founders’ Day. I’ve already contacted his office to work out the details. It helps to have Miles working for the governor,” she said to Patricia with a wink, and Patricia felt the familiar burst of pride for her son.

  “I still need the deed, though, Bernice,” the mayor continued. “Can you see if you can find it and bring it by my office next week?”

  Bernice made a note in her prehistoric binder. “I asked Gavin about that the other day. The deed wasn’t in the file with the rest of them. He said the auditors must have filed it in the wrong folder, but he’d find it for me.”

  “Gavin’s been a little bit harried this week,” Patricia said.

  “I’ll find it myself if I have to tear the whole office apart,” Bernice said. “Let’s move on to the next item on the agenda—”

  “Afternoon, ladies.” The rich tone of Lamar’s voice caressed the back of Patricia’s neck, nearly making her openly shiver with need. He deftly removed his wide-brimmed campaign hat as he climbed the wooden steps. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

  “Not at all,” said the mayor. “All’s well in town, I assume?”

  “Nothing unusual,” he answered, but Patricia could sense the tension behind his polite smile. “It’s nice and calm before the tourists begin to descend on us next month.” He turned to level his gaze at her, a slow smile forming on his face. “Would you mind if I borrowed this beautiful lady for a moment?” He was already reaching down a hand to help her to her feet when Annabeth shot her a cheeky grin behind his back.

  “Excuse me,” she said as Lamar guided her out of earshot of the others.

  “Is Cassidy around?” he asked quietly, his long fingers fiddling with the brim of his hat.

  Patricia glanced over her shoulder at the yard, a flicker of unease forming in her belly. “She was out playing with Tessa a minute ago. Perhaps she’s in the kitchen with Lori?”

  Lamar nodded before pulling open the screen door for Patricia, and they both entered the cool foyer.

  “What is it?” she asked quietly.

  Lamar ran a hand through his hair. “Mona was picked up for solicitation during a drug bust in a Wilmington hotel this morning.”

  A sharp intake of breath alerted them that they were not alone. They both looked up to where Ginger stood on the landing of the staircase, a gym bag in her hand. Lamar glanced from Ginger to Patricia before sighing. “I’ll need to talk to Cassidy.”

  “You’re not taking her to jail, are you?” Ginger demanded as she descended the stairs.

  “Of course not!” Patricia said, but her chest grew tight at Lamar’s stoic silence. “She didn’t do anything.”

  “She’s a minor, Tricia.”

  Panic flared in her stomach. “That doesn’t mean she belongs in jail!”

  “I’m not taking her to jail.” Lamar stroked his hand down her back. “But she has no other relatives in town, so Social Services will have to step in.”

  “I thought you took care of your own in this town,” Ginger challenged.

  Patricia wasn’t sure whether Ginger was actually sticking up for Cassidy or seizing the opportunity to make Patricia look bad. It was certainly something her soap opera alter ego would have done to Savannah Rich. But Cassidy was all that mattered right now.

  “It’s Friday evening, Lamar. Surely Social Services won’t get her case until Monday at the earliest?”

  Lamar rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. “Mona won’t get arraigned until late tonight so no one will be looking for Cassidy until Monday. By then, Mona may have found a way to post bail.”

  “Thank you,” she said, wishing Ginger wasn’t around so she could kiss him.

  “But just to be on the safe side, she shouldn’t stay at the trailer park. That way if Social Services ask, I can still truthfully say she was being supervised.”

  “The room across the hall from mine is unoccupied,” Ginger said. “The show has a contingency fund. Since Cassidy is working for the production company, I’m sure we can foot the bill for her to stay here.”

  Patricia bristled at Ginger’s words. Of course Cassidy would stay here at the inn, but Patricia would be happy to eat the cost. She couldn’t figure out what Ginger was up to, but she wasn’t letting her take the reins. “That won’t be necessary. As you pointed out, this town does take care of its own, Ginger, and I’m happy to do my part.”

  Lamar gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze as if to say, “Lighten up.” He arched an eyebrow at her, but like most men, he was clearly oblivious to this girl’s potential for duplicity.

  “Glad to hear it.” Ginger pushed the strap of her bag onto her shoulder and stepped around them both, heading out the front door.

  “Sweet of her to be concerned,” Lamar said.

  “Oh, she’s being sweet, all right,” Patricia said. “It just remains to be seen if it’s because she’s actually concerned about anyone other than herself.”

  “Tricia.” Lamar sighed in disappointment.

  But Patricia charged down the hall away from him. She didn’t want to hear Lamar’s lecture on giving Ginger the benefit of the doubt. Not now when she needed to break the news to Cassidy about her mother.

  EIGHT

  Ginger told herself she was not going to the ballet studio with the hope that she’d run into Gavin. She was going strictly to exercise. Since her accident, she’d tried to stay diligent with her diet and other aspects of her regimen with the exception of dancing every day. Until now, she hadn’t known how much she’d missed it. Not only that, but the hour of dancing yesterday had done wonders to reduce the tension in her body. Of course, the passionate kiss she’d shared with Gavin might have helped, too.

  Today, she just wanted a familiar place to escape the crazy people of this town. She didn’t care anymore whether a single inhabitant of Chances Inlet ever liked her. Certainly Cassidy didn’t deserve her worry. But Ginger’s Pollyanna compulsion was hard to quash and she was convinced that the girl’s bravado was all for show. She was certain that Patricia would have stepped up to help Cassidy, but it had been cathartic to force the innkeeper’s hand a little. Apparently, she’d learned a thing or two playing Destiny Upchurch.

  After an hour an
d a half of strenuous stretching and dancing, Ginger showered and changed. There was still no sign of Gavin and his pesky dog. Startled by the depth of her disappointment, Ginger wandered toward the studio’s foyer. A group of young girls sat, forlornly, along the larger studio’s wall as a crowd—presumably their mothers—pushed its way into Audra’s office.

  Ginger could hear Audra’s voice above the din. “I’m very sorry about this, but it can’t be helped. Shayla’s doctor has put her on bed rest for the remainder of her pregnancy. I certainly am not in any position to teach beginners right now, so until I find someone to take over their class, I’m afraid we’ll have to take a little break.”

  “But what about our fees?”

  “What about the recital for Founders’ Day? Hannah wants to be a butterfly!”

  “The girls will be so disappointed.”

  “I have some interviews lined up for next week,” Audra practically shouted over them. “And I’ll certainly prorate the class. Please just give me until then to work something out. Your girls will have their recital.”

  The mob of mothers grumbled as they filed out of Audra’s office and collected their children. Ginger watched as the girls left the studio. A few had long faces, but the rest skipped out the door merrily chatting about a birthday party they were going to the next day. Following their lead, Ginger attempted to slip past Audra’s office.

  “Ginger!” Audra called and she winced. “You are the answer to my prayers!”

  Which was exactly what Ginger was afraid the dance studio owner would say. “No way, Audra,” Ginger said, handing over the key, surprised at the reluctance with which it left her fingers. “I knew there had to be an ulterior motive for you giving me this key. Now I know what it is.”

  “Ah, come on, you’d be perfect. They’re eight adorable preschoolers who meet twice a week for an hour. All you’d have to do is teach them a little play with some ballet movement for their recital. I’ll pay you whatever you want.”