Grant moaned. “You can’t be serious. Well, now I know for sure who’s behind all the vandalism.”

  “Who?”

  “That kid, Danny.”

  “Don’t even go there. No one from my crew would ever do something so sickening, especially Danny.”

  “You told me he’s in a gang. He even showed me his tattoo,” he said.

  “Was. He was in a gang. He’s saving his money to get the tattoo removed. Can’t you see he’s working hard to turn his life around?”

  She had to defend Danny. Monica knew in her heart the teen wasn’t capable of this crime. In fact, ever since she’d given him a job, he’d done his best to achieve. She’d been helping him complete the requirements to get his GED, and he’d even been talking about college.

  “Let’s just say I’m not so optimistic as you are about Danny having changed.”

  Did Grant say she was optimistic? He’d never said that before. In fact, she often saw the negative side of a situation, rather than the good. It seemed she was changing. And Danny was helping her do it.

  “Listen. Stay put. I’m coming right over. I’ve got to see the damage for myself,” he told her.

  Within ten minutes, Grant was at the Dupre Building, examining the graffiti on the freshly painted walls. “These aren’t gang symbols.”

  Monica’s brows rose. “They’re not?”

  “Nope. Whoever sprayed on these symbols tried to make it look like a gang did it, but something’s off. This scene is staged. Someone’s trying to direct suspicion away from themselves.”

  “I told you it wasn’t Danny. Why didn’t you believe me?”

  “I wanted to. I guess I jumped to conclusions.”

  “I guess so.”

  “Hey, you hungry? How ‘bout we grab some food?” Grant asked.

  “Weren’t you listening? I’m way behind on your job now. I’ve got to get my crew in here pronto to redo all this work.”

  “Okay. While you contact your team, I’ll go pick up something to eat for all of us, even Danny.”

  “Particularly, for Danny.”

  “I want you to read the coffee grounds and tell me who’s behind the vandalism at the job site,” Monica told Sibyl the next day at her kitchen counter.

  “Reading the grounds won’t answer a question directly. They can tell you about your past, present and future, but in a general way,” Sibyl replied.

  “Let’s try it anyway. I sure hope there won’t be more destruction ahead. I don’t know how much more of it I can take.”

  As she did before, Sibyl prepared the black Turkish coffee and poured it into Monica’s cup. “You remember the drill. Take three separate sips and then turn your cup over on its saucer. I’ll do the rest.”

  She nodded. Sibyl made the process sound so simple, but there was nothing simple about all the damage that had occurred. Monica wanted the vandalism to stop. She had to find the culprit and reveal who was sabotaging her work and trying to hurt Grant. She wanted to protect him. He didn’t deserve what he’d been getting. Maybe Sibyl could shed some light on who was behind all the evil doing.

  Sibyl went through all the steps as she had in the past. “This is odd.”

  “What?”

  “The cup and the saucer won’t separate.”

  “Can’t we force them apart?” Monica asked.

  “No forcing. This is called the Bernoulli’s Effect. If a cup and saucer won’t separate due to suction, then that means the cup shouldn’t be read.”

  “I’ve never heard of this before,” Monica said.

  “Well, I have, and I’m not going to read the cup. This circumstance is very auspicious and favors the drinker’s intent.”

  “Well, that must mean we’ll find out soon who is behind the vandalism.”

  “I think so,” Sibyl replied.

  Monica crossed her fingers, hoping all would be revealed soon.

  12

  Monica adjusted the single strap of her gown and hurried toward the stage to participate in the final round of judging to name Pinevale Valley’s newest Lady Liberty. She doubted the honor would go to her. Like she’d told Grant, she hadn’t won anything in her life. She’d been a bridesmaid seven times and had never ever caught a bridal bouquet. Not once. Still, to represent the town in the parade tomorrow was something she could do easily enough. All she’d have to do is ride in the back of an open convertible and wave. The exposure may even help garner a few more clients for her business.

  Monica stood beside the other three contestants on stage, each dressed in white gowns like she was, but theirs had more sequins. No matter.

  After the hostess read each candidate’s bio, the room erupted in applause.

  Tension mounted as floral bouquets were handed out to the two runners-up, who were subsequently escorted off the stage. Monica could hardly believe that she was still in the running to be Lady Liberty.

  She faced the only other candidate left on the stage. “Good luck,” she told Sandra Rodgers, the raven-haired beauty who stood beside her.

  “You too,” her competitor replied.

  Waldo stepped close to the microphone. “Now, if for any reason, our chosen Lady Liberty is unable to complete her annual tour of service, then the first runner-up will perform all duties required of the winner.”

  Last year’s Lady Liberty made her final walk across the stage in a royal blue sequined ankle-length gown and silver crown to canned music in the background. She waved to the audience, then stood beside Waldo at the podium.

  “The envelope, please,” Waldo said.

  Grace Culmer crossed the stage carrying a white envelope and handed it to Waldo.

  “And the winner is …” Waldo retrieved the card from the envelope.

  “Drum roll, please,” Grace requested.

  A loud thrumming resounded through the hall from the attendees as they slapped their hands against their laps.

  “The winner is Miss Monica Hoover, our newly-elected Lady Liberty. Congratulations!” Waldo announced.

  A cluster of red, white, and blue balloons dropped from the ceiling and hung in mid-air, their attached ribbons floating below them.

  Monica almost fainted when she heard her name called as the winner. Maybe Waldo had made a mistake and read the wrong name. Sandra rushed to give Monica a hug.

  When the former Lady Liberty placed the bejeweled silver crown atop Monica’s head, she knew she’d won. Grace reappeared and handed her a large red rose bouquet.

  “Now it’s your turn to take a victory walk,” Grace whispered.

  Monica adjusted her crown with one hand and grasped her bouquet with the other. She walked across the stage, waving to tonight’s attendees who cheered and applauded.

  She noticed one person in particular who was cheering her on. In the front row, near a table with Travis and his girlfriend, Grant stood with a wide smile on his face, applauding. He made a heart shape with his hands, joining his index fingers and thumbs, then pointed back toward her as if sending her his love. Those love vibes filtered through the crowd and showered her with sprinklings of happiness. They uplifted her. She waved back at him.

  Giving and receiving love felt better than anything else in the world.

  Even better than being crowned this year’s Lady Liberty.

  Grant honked the horn twice as he pulled the rented ’57 red-and-white Ford T-bird convertible, its top down, to the curb in front of Monica’s dad’s house, and waited behind the wheel.

  Monica, dressed as Lady Liberty, leaned toward him. “What’re you doing here?”

  “Get in,” he called, adjusting his red-and-white striped tie. He wore a powder blue tuxedo for today’s parade.

  “No way. Pedro is supposed to be my driver in the July Fourth parade.”

  “Sorry, Pedro got sick. Either I drive you, or the parade goes on without Lady Liberty, so if you don’t want to disappoint the townsfolk, hop in.”

  “I’d rather wait for Pedro.”

  Grant shook his head. “I told you Pedro’s not coming. Either I drive you, or you’ll have to walk all the way. What do you say?”

  “Okay. I’ll let you drive me, but come help me into the car to position myself, so I can wave at all the spectators as we drive by.”

  “I’ll be right there.” He turned off the ignition, jumped out, and rounded the car to meet her. He opened the passenger door. “Just scoot in and I’ll help you sit on top of the rear seat.”

  “Easy for you to say.” Monica lifted the hem of her skirt and took his hand as she stepped into the rear of the car.

  “Be careful you don’t snag your dress,” he warned.

  “My dress? It’s Sibyl’s, remember?”

  He did, but unlike Sibyl, Monica looked like a million bucks in it. And she had the million-dollar smile to match.

  She scooted in and sat on the rear seat. “Now, if you’ll give me a boost, I can position myself on the top of the back seat.”

  Oh, he could give her a boost all right. Grant would be happy to get up close and personal to cradle her slender shape in his arms. No problem. “At your service . . . Lady.”

  He squeezed inside the rear seat and placed his hands around her waist, encompassing the folds of her toga. There. He’d found exactly the right spot where her torso curved inward, just above her firm hips. Then he lifted her upward and onto the leather ledge at the top of the rear seat.

  “You feel as light as a dandelion puff before making a wish and blowing it into the wind,” he said.

  “Thanks for the compliment.”

  He wished they’d have the time of their lives today. Then he retreated and stood beside the car. “There. You’re in position. How do you feel?”

  “Like a beauty queen.”

  “You sure look like one. Now, practice your wave and smile.”

  She smiled and swayed her gloved hand in slow motion, as if she were a participant in New York City’s St. Patrick’s Day Parade.

  “Oh, I almost forgot. I have something for you.” From the front passenger seat, he retrieved a large fresh bouquet of red roses. Red was her favorite color. He handed her the flowers, hoping she’d soak up all the sunshine and good vibes the town could offer as she rode in style.

  “Let’s go, Liberty. We’ve got a parade to start.” He closed the passenger door, returned to the driver’s seat, and aimed the convertible toward the center of town, humming all the way. He had a precious cargo on board. Lovely Lady Liberty.

  Maybe she’d agree to attend the post-parade party with him. He hoped she wouldn’t turn him down. He’d never gone to a party accompanied by such a statuesque, graceful date.

  Minutes later, Grant drove Lady Liberty toward the vehicles and floats. Maneuvering into position for the parade, he slowed to make the turn. He followed those directing traffic and pulled his car up into the second position, behind the open-aired Jeep carrying Waldo Mason, the Grand Marshall. When the parade began to move forward, he followed the Jeep and turned onto Main Street to a crowd of well-wishers.

  Grant spotted Mrs. Kisselton waving a patriotic flag, and if he weren’t mistaken, that was Samuel Trueblood Haight beside her cheering, his hair blowing in the breeze.

  Grace Culmer was there, too. She smiled as they passed by.

  A half hour later, after driving the entire parade route, Grant followed the Jeep to park in a grassy lot a few blocks from the Kisselton Inn. Overflow parking was to head beyond that, toward the other side of the lake.

  He parked the car and helped Monica from the back seat. “Everyone’s going to celebrate at the Inn. Are you up for a good time?”

  “What would a July Fourth party be without Lady Liberty in attendance?”

  He offered her his arm. “Exactly.”

  As they strolled down the sidewalk and neared the Inn, Grant suddenly realized his cell phone was still tucked under the driver’s seat in the car. “Drat! I left my phone in the car. I’ll walk back and get it while you wait here.”

  Monica settled onto a bench nearby. “Good. I don’t think I could walk all the way back there in these very high heels.”

  Grant raised his eyebrows, admiring the toeless silver heels that peeked from beneath the hem of her gown, revealing her red polished toe nails. “If I had to wear those, I’d feel the same way. Anyway, it shouldn’t take me long.”

  When he finally found where he’d parked, he spotted a figure dressed like Uncle Sam in a red, white, and blue striped suit and matching top hat crouched beside the rear tire of his rented car.

  Did Uncle Sam just slash his tire?

  “Hey you! Stop that!” Grant ran toward the car.

  Uncle Sam, wearing a fake white beard, wig, and a mask, rose and took off running.

  “Come back here!” Grant yelled. His heart pounded as he ran after him.

  Uncle Sam made a quick turn down a side street losing his top hat, but Grant stayed in pursuit, until he finally caught up with him, grabbing him by his satiny red lapels. Grant reached upward and pulled down Sam’s mask. “Rochelle? What’s going on?”

  She exploded in a wicked laugh. “I’m making you pay.”

  He relaxed his grip on her. “Pay for what?”

  “For stealing the Dupre Building from me. You’re not the only person in town whose family history is here. I loved that place and wanted it for my own.”

  “So, you slashed that tire to get even with me?”

  Rochelle smiled like she’d accomplished something noble. “The front tires too. And all the rest of the stuff that happened at the Dupre.”

  “You’re behind the vandalism?”

  She laughed. “Darned right I am! Stealing the air conditioner coils, the graffiti on the painted walls, and—oh, yeah—even the chandelier falling. I did it all. And I had a blast!”

  “All along, I thought Danny did it,” Grant mumbled.

  “Danny? Heavens, no. From what I know of him, he’s a good kid.”

  Monica had been right all along in believing in Danny. He wasn’t the culprit. Rochelle was.

  “Well, you’ll have to tell the authorities all about it, just as soon as I get my hands on my phone,” Grant said.

  “Gladly. You deserved it all.”

  He should’ve given Danny a chance. Grant hoped there’d still be time to change things with Danny. And Monica.

  He sure had some apologizing to do.

  When Grant reclaimed his phone and Sam’s top hat, he called the sheriff’s office and requested an officer be sent to his location to record the tire slashing incident. He planned to file a criminal report against Rochelle. Later, he managed to seat her in the rear of the convertible, where he tied her ankles with jumper cables and her wrists with his candy-cane colored tie, so she wouldn’t escape.

  Grant phoned Monica. “You’re never going to believe what happened.”

  “It’s about time I heard from you. I went to the party when you didn’t answer your cell for the fourth time,” she said.

  “Having fun?”

  “I’d have a better time if you were here.”

  “I hope I can still make it.”

  “Were you kidnapped?”

  He laughed. “No, but when I got back to the car, I caught Uncle Sam slashing my tires.”

  “You sound delusional,” she said.

  “Guess who the culprit was?”

  “You told me: Uncle Sam.”

  “No. The slasher was dressed like Uncle Sam, but it was Rochelle in disguise, wearing a mask. She copped to slashing the car’s tires and committing all the vandalism at the Dupre. She told me it was payback for my buying the building.”

  “Uh huh. So, the culprit wasn’t Danny. Just like I told you.”

  Grant spotted a police car approaching. “You were right all along. Danny’s innocent. I’m sorry for doubting you. And him.”

  “I told you he’s a good kid, but it took some screwball thing like this to happen for you to finally believe me.”

  “Can you ever forgive me?” he asked as the police car pulled up and parked in the lot.

  “I’ll think about it. But the person who really deserves an apology is Danny. A-S-A-P.”

  “He’s next on my list, right after I convince the officer he should arrest Rochelle.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got your hands full.”

  “See you tonight?” he asked.

  “If I’m not too tired after partying all afternoon.”

  “I sure hope you won’t be. I can’t wait to see you.”

  Grant wanted to talk to her about everything he’d just gone through. After being so mistaken about Danny, he was beginning to question everything about himself. He wanted to re-evaluate all his decisions, especially his life choices. He may’ve been way off-kilter on those too.

  “Officer, we’ve got a problem,” Grant said to the man in blue, who approached with a slow stride.

  “What’s that?”

  “You’re going to have to arrest Uncle Sam.”

  After the July Fourth fiasco finished, and the officer took Rochelle away to the police station, Grant phoned Monica to let her know he was headed over to talk with Danny. Grant climbed the stairs of the Dupre Building until he reached the top floor and entered the ballroom. He was sure the teen had been living here for some time. That’s why Grant had left the groceries in the butler’s pantry. The kid really had no parents to speak of, had dropped out of school, and Grant felt sorry for him.

  He came face-to-face with Danny in a corner of the ballroom. A small desk was set up beside a cot. “I thought I’d find you here.”

  “Mr. Dupre? What’re you doing here?” Danny’s eyes darted from him to the furniture and belongings stashed against a wall.

  “I own this place, remember?”

  Danny’s face turned beet red. “I mean, I thought you were out with Monica.”

  “Things didn’t work out quite like we planned, but I’ll see her later.”

  The teen hung his head. “Hey, I’m sorry, man. I mean, I never asked your permission, but I’ve been camping out here for a couple of months, trying to get my life figured out.”

  “I think they call that trespassing,” Grant said dryly.

 

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