Only when he pulled in front of Copper Creek Home did it dawn on him that her shop was closed on Mondays. But disappointment made way for hope. He mentally crossed his fingers that she was home. And maybe it was better that way. They could talk without the distractions inside the shop. She couldn’t use it as an excuse not to talk. He leaned forward to look toward the second-floor windows. Was she looking out at him now? It was wishful thinking, he knew. The shades were drawn and unmoving.
He knocked on the outside door, which led directly upstairs to her apartment, while he peered through the small, rectangular window. Inside, the lighting was dim. Her door at the top of the stairs was closed too. Brant knocked a second time, waiting for the sound of footsteps. Three minutes passed. Nothing.
“Hello!”
Brant jumped and glanced down the boardwalk.
Marybelle leaned out her door, clasping her sweater close to her neck.
He lifted a hand. “Hi, Marybelle.”
“I thought that was you.” She tilted her chin. “She’s not home. Took off in her car about an hour ago.”
Oh well. He suspected as much.
“Care to join me for coffee? I’ve taken some cookies out of the oven,” Marybelle offered.
He stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets and walked the length of the boardwalk to her front door. The scent of chocolate wafted through her open door.
“I can’t turn down fresh-baked cookies,” he said as she shut the door behind him.
Inside, her apartment was overly warm. She seemed to read his mind, though, and told him to take off his coat.
“My babies like the tropical climate in here. That, and my oven has been on since nine this morning.” She ran her hands over the fronds of a plant by the window. Several more plants sat on a cedar stand in the corner. Marybelle pointed to the floral stuffed armchair inside the door. “You can lay your coat there.”
He followed her into the kitchen. Her landline phone rang on the wall, but she waved at it like a pesky insect.
“Don’t have time for calls. I’ve got nine dozen cookies begging for my attention right now, and more on the way.”
Two card tables as well as the kitchen table were covered with cookies cooling on wire racks. There were at least six varieties from what Brant could tell.
“You’ve got quite the operation going here. What’s all this for?”
Marybelle shuffled over to the kitchen table and pulled out a chair for him. He sat and leaned over to smell what looked like peanut butter blossoms right under his nose.
“Cookie exchange. The ladies at church host one every year for the holidays. Ten dollars for two dozen.” She winked at him as she brought a napkin over for him and an empty mug. “But I won’t charge you.”
“I almost want one of each. What do you have here?”
Marybelle pointed at each variety as she recited the names. “Spritz, stained glass, lemon bonbons, Neapolitans, thumbprints, and peanut butter blossoms.” She picked up some recipe cards and waved them in the air. “And I have three more to go.”
He laughed, taking a cookie. “So how’s that bump on your head doing?”
She pushed the hair aside on her forehead to show him. “Just a little bruise now.”
“That’s good. You haven’t had any more spills?”
Marybelle busied herself with loading some of the cooled cookies into a plastic container. She made a face. “Nah.”
He wasn’t convinced it was the truth.
“My nephew wants to move me closer to him to keep a better eye on me. This is my home though. But I told him I’d think about it to quiet him down.”
“I understand. You’ve been here your whole life, right?”
“From Day One.” She popped the lid on one container then started filling another. “But you’re not here to talk about me.” She fixed on him an all-knowing look and without even saying a word, Marybelle conveyed to him she’d talked to Layla recently. Her expression was like an open book. “You came to seeher.”
“I did.”
