Page 55 of For My Finale
The press. Always the press. There was no privacy, no letting things alone. Lilah’s stomach hurt and she thought she might be sick. This just wasn’t fair. Fine, when she was working, the press had a role to play. But she’d quit, retired, whatever. Wasn’t it time they left her alone?
It was just a rumor, though. Maybe she could get away with this.
THE NEXT MORNING, Lilah strode down the high street, the brisk air doing little to cool the heat that was simmering under her skin. She’d been upset, now she was just angry. This little rumor about her had taken root somewhere, and this morning she was going to find out just who had planted it.
She started at the village shop, pushing the door open to the sound of an old brass bell. Mrs. Wilkins, standing behind the counter, barely glanced up from where she was tallying numbers in a well-worn ledger.
“Morning,” Lilah said, adopting her most charming smile. She’d played a PI once in a movie, and charm seemed to be high on the list of skills a detective needed.
Mrs. Wilkins pursed her lips. “Morning. No eggs in yet, I’m afraid.”
“Ah,” said Lilah. She recovered herself. “That’s… that’s fine. I was just wondering if perhaps you might have heard any gossip lately?” She leaned casually on the counter, disturbing a display of women’s magazines. “Specifically about… well, about me?”
Mrs. Wilkins sighed through her nose. “I don’t pay any mind to gossip.”
“Not even when it concerns a certain famous leading lady now residing in your beautiful little village?” Lilah tried, almost batting her eyelashes.
Mrs. Wilkins frowned and then peered over her glasses atLilah’s face. “Are you saying that you’re an actress?” she asked doubtfully.
Lilah blinked. “Um, I’ve been coming in here nearly every day for almost a month now.”
“I’m not saying I don’t recognize you as a customer, dear. But as an actress… No.” She shook her head. “No, you’ve not quite got the right face shape, I think. No offense intended.”
“Right,” Lilah said faintly, standing up. “Ah, thank you then.”
Lilah felt slightly shaken as she left the shop. Mind you, Mrs. Wilkins was famously tight-lipped, she was quite sure that no one even knew her first name, let alone whether she’d heard any whispers about tabloids sniffing around. No, her first stop had not been a successful one.
She was walking down the street and wondering where to go next, when Daisy came pedaling along on her mail bike, her satchel bouncing against the frame. She skidded to a stop when she saw Lilah.
“Morning, Lilah,” she said, waving. “I’ve got nothing for you, I’m afraid. I keep waiting for a postcard from Brad Pitt or someone, but no luck so far.”
“Mmm, Brad’s not known for his interest in women over the age of thirty, I’m afraid,” Lilah said. It couldn’t be Daisy, could it? Not sweet Daisy. But she did like to gossip. “I’ve got a question.”
“Anything,” Daisy said, almost breathless with enthusiasm.
“Have you heard anything about, say, a tabloid looking for me? Anything like that?”
Daisy’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “Tabloids? Ugh. Nope.”
“That’s what I thought,” Lilah said. “Only, Arty told me last night that there’s a rumor floating around that I might be here.”
Daisy pressed the brakes on her bike over and over in thought, considering this, then she shook her head. “I mean, I’d tell you if I’d heard anything. But I really haven’t. If you ask me, anyone gossiping to the tabloids should be kicked into the canal.”
A small relief. It wasn’t Daisy. “There’s a canal?” Lilah asked, curious.
“Oh, yes,” said Daisy. “Not sure it’s deep enough for anyone todrown in. It’s green and stinky though, so being kicked into it wouldn’t be pleasant.”
“Good to know,” grinned Lilah. “I’ll let you get on with your rounds, then.”
Daisy rode off and Lilah got back to thinking. Who could it have been? She highly doubted that it was Arty. He was the one that had warned her in the first place. Which left… who?
As she walked toward the cafe, she tried to think of anyone who had enough to gain from selling her out. Most of the village barely knew who she was. She didn’t think anyone would outright betray her.
Then again, money could be a powerful motivator. And someone had clearly been motivated.
She turned onto Blossom’s street, her mind still ticking through the possibilities, and then she saw it.
Through the cafe’s large front window, glinting in the morning sun like an altar to betrayal, was a brand-new, top-of-the-line coffee machine.
