Seeker's Curse. Alex Archer

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      CHAPTER TWO

      JUDE SWALLOWED HIS last delicious mouthful of Marianne Donovan’s prime rib, dropped a ketchup-bottle cap onto the café table with a flourish, then tilted his chair on its back legs, though Marianne, who owned the café, would kill him if she saw him.

      “And there you go—that’s nine in a row. You might as well go home, grandpa. It’s not your night.”

      Old Grayson Harper snorted, glaring at the tic-tac-toe grid they’d made out of straws and the ketchup caps from every bottle on the adjoining tables. He knew Jude had beaten him, but was, as usual, refusing to admit defeat gracefully.

      He lifted his piercing blue eyes and tried to impale Jude with them. “You’re cheating, you young skunk, and if I could prove it, I’d have you arrested.”

      Jude smiled, then yawned loudly. He hadn’t slept again last night and didn’t have the energy for the customary verbal sparring that Harper loved so much.

      “Yeah,” he said, scratching at his chin. He’d forgotten to shave this morning, though he’d showered twice, right before and right after the baby barfed on his shirt. “I’m cheating at tic-tac-toe. Hey, look. Dallas is sitting right over there. Tell him.”

      “I ought to.”

      “Sheriff!” He called loudly enough to be heard where Dallas and his deputy were sitting, though it elicited a scowl from Esther Fillmore, who sat with Alton, her mousy husband, in the corner booth. “I’m a tic-tac-toe desperado. I’d like to turn myself in.”

      “Shut up, Jude.” Dallas rolled his eyes. He’d known Jude too well and too long to pay any attention, so he went back to his own steak dinner. “No one cares.”

      Jude chuckled, and winked at Esther to annoy her. He brought his chair back onto all fours, finished his tea, then wiped his mouth one last time.

      “I’ve gotta head home,” he said with a sigh. It had started to snow, and he’d rather just lean his head against the café’s green wall and take a nap. “Half the time, Molly forgets to eat unless I stand over her.”

      Harper’s gaze softened. “She’s no better?”

      Jude shrugged and reached for his coat. He didn’t gossip much about his little sister’s depression, but everyone knew it was a problem. “Physically, yeah, I think she’s improving. But emotionally...”

      “Hey, don’t you even think about leaving before I fix up some chicken soup for Molly.” Marianne appeared at the edge of their table, her red curls piled up in a big, adorable mess on her head and topped with a sprig of holly and a couple of silver bells. With Christmas a couple of days away, the Kelly green of the restaurant needed only a few red ribbons to be fully decorated.

      “Besides,” Marianne said, grinning as she made her bells ring, “I want to hear about the new hire at the spa. I heard from Barton that the wheels are coming off over there. Word is Chelsea ran off to get married, and Devon’s leaving, and Ashley can’t take over as the director because she’s getting her master’s, so Ro might offer the position to the new gal, who thought she was just applying for a part-time job and is staying at the motel over at the west end. He said Ro said you said she’s good, and she’s going mostly on your word alone.” She rested her hip against the table. “So, come on. Tell me everything about her.”

      Jude held up his palms, trying not to laugh. He said Ro said you said...

      “Mari, there is clearly nothing about Silverdell or its inhabitants that anyone could tell you. I’m not actually one of the family out there, you know. I hadn’t even heard Chelsea was leaving.”

      “The heck you’re not family. Give me a break.” She waved her hand impatiently. “Forget about Chelsea. I want to know about the new one...Jess? That her name?”

      “Tess.”

      “Right, Tess. So? What’s she like? Is she pretty? Is she nice? Is she going to fit in?”

      “How would I know that?”

      “Oh, don’t be such a male.” Marianne clicked her tongue against her teeth impatiently. “Barton didn’t even lay eyes on her. But you should know. She gave you a massage, right?”

      “Right.”

      “Well? You couldn’t tell anything about her?”

      He exchanged a resigned glance with Harper, who looked sympathetic but shook his head, as if to say Jude was on his own. Harper was already pulling out his wallet.

      Jude turned his gaze to Marianne. “I could tell she was a good massage therapist,” he said slowly. “But I get the feeling that’s not what you’re asking.”

      Marianne drummed her Christmas pencil against her order pad. “Oh, just forget it. I’ll call Ro later. But don’t you move an inch until I bring that soup, you hear?”

      “Yes, ma’am.” Jude resisted the urge to salute.

      Harper seized his chance and jumped up in Marianne’s wake, dropping a ten on the table and making his way to the checkout station to pay his bill. Jude didn’t blame him. No one ought to get dominated in tic-tac-toe and interrogated by Marianne Donovan in the same night.

      Not that Marianne was your typical small-town gossip. Actually, she didn’t have a nasty bone in her body. She just had an insatiable curiosity and a deep love for their little town. Maybe it was some kind of thwarted affection or something, though Jude wasn’t big on psychoanalysis. Still, she’d been left a tragically young widow last winter, and had no kids.

      Whatever the reason, she represented everything Jude loved about Silverdell. And the opposite of everything he hated about Los Angeles.

      As the door opened, the four beginning notes of “Danny Boy” rang out. On the first day, at the first meal served at the grand opening, when the door chimes sounded, the customers had spontaneously joined together to finish the line by singing out, “The pipes, the pipes are calling!”

      It had been the birth of a beloved tradition. Mari had tried in vain to break the habit, which could really be annoying during the dinner rush. She’d even threatened to disable the entry alert. But the truth was, everyone loved the instant camaraderie those few notes created, and no one could imagine Donovan’s Dream without it.

      She’d considered changing the tune to “Jingle Bells” during the holidays, but the customers had threatened a boycott, so she left it alone.

      Many customers didn’t even look up as they sang, it had become so automatic. But for some reason Jude did glance toward the door, as the gust of snowy wind blew in. Tess Spencer stood there, looking bewildered by the musical greeting.

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