“Well, tell Grace to take it easy on me when we meet. I’m moving the rest of my stuff in this weekend, so I’ll be sure to see you around, all right?”
“That’s definitely all right,” she said just as Shane opened his door. His eyes caught hers for a moment, and then he tossed Walker a quick frown before stepping forward to shake his hand.
“Walker,” Shane said. “You all moved in?”
Merry left them with a wave, but she could’ve sworn she felt Shane’s eyes on her as she left. Wishful thinking, probably, but as she strolled down the sidewalk, she had a bounce in her step that had nothing to do with the beautiful evening.
The Jackson Museum was almost a mile away, but at this time of night there were so many tourists out looking for dinner that it was almost quicker to walk than drive. Plus, she loved the town. The wooden walkways and Old West charm had completely seduced her with her very first glimpse.
She loved it even more now, because whenever she walked through the town square with its strange arches made of thousands of elk antlers, she thought to herself I live here. I actually live here. Jackson felt like hers, in the same way Providence felt like hers. A silly feeling, though. She was only a subrenter in both places. But hell, what did she care? It was a beautiful night, Merry was on her way to her favorite kind of party, and a really cute guy had flirted with her. Oh, and she’d been upgraded to possible friend with benefits. Life could be worse. In fact, it had been just a few weeks before.
So Merry breezed into the Jackson Museum with a big smile and a hopeful outlook. It didn’t last long.
“I’m still not convinced he didn’t do it,” Kristen Bishop said with a sigh that made clear she’d been suffering. “I feel so vulnerable out there all by myself.”
“I never said he didn’t do it,” Jeanine snapped. “And if you’re so terrified out there, just sell the house and move to town. It was always a bit too much for you to care for, anyway.”
Kristen forgot her suffering pout and stood straight in outrage. “I’ve always loved the house, and I’ve always taken good care of it.”
“I’d hardly call five years ‘always.’”
Merry had hoped to edge past Mrs. Bishops numbers two and three, but Jeanine looked up and caught her eye. “I had the most upsetting encounter,” she said. “I ran into Gideon’s grandson coming out of the office of that awful lawyer, and he was so nasty to me. And ungrateful. If he were my grandson, I’d have made sure he had manners.”
“I’m sorry,” Merry said. “Did he mention the lawsuit?”
“Not per se. But he did say he knew we’d hir
ed a curator. I’m not surprised. This is a small town and he probably knew the moment we hired you, but it does confirm the possibility that he vandalized that mailbox in retaliation.”
Merry’s stomach turned with guilt. She couldn’t shift the blame to that young man, whoever he was. “If there haven’t been any other instances, I’m sure it was nothing. Heck, maybe it just fell over. Maybe the, uh, gophers got at it or something.”
Gophers and their damned reckless driving.
Merry smiled. “So has Levi talked to you about maybe releasing more funds for—”
“Oh, honey, I’m too upset to talk shop tonight. Maybe at the next meeting.”
Kristen nodded frantically. “I’m too upset, as well. This has all been so much to handle only months after my husband’s death.”
Jeanine shot her rival a look that could have frozen water, but Merry just pointed her smile at the two women. “Would it be possible to call an earlier meeting? I’d really love to show all of you the brochure I’ve come up with.”
“Oh, an emergency meeting?” Kristen gasped. “I’m sure those should only be called in the case of an actual emergency. For example, if something more happens out at the house. What a nightmare this has all been.”
Merry was starting to feel a little less guilty about the damned mailbox.
She escaped the orbit of self-absorbed pity and made her way toward a woman she recognized as a guide at the museum, then discovered an elderly man who was a descendant of the Smiths, one of the founding families of Providence. Merry quickly forgot her frustrations and settled into a chair in the corner of the room to listen to Wilfred Smith tell his oral history.
An hour later, Merry had regained all her enthusiasm for Providence, and she’d found new determination that had nothing to do with her own personal goals. Providence had meant something once. It had been important to people, and she wanted it to be important again.
By the end of the evening, she had a plan.
* * *
COME TO THE SALOON.
Well, it was Friday night, and she was wearing dangly earrings, so Merry obeyed the note Grace had taped to their door and headed to the saloon. Now she could get her fix of olden days’ stories and still tell herself she was young and hip. Or as young and hip as one could get at a saloon.
Perfect.