Page 21 of The Promise in Poppies
“Should we see if the clue’s even in there?” Luke stood and carefully lifted the clock from the wall.
They all watched with bated breath as Luke gently laid it facedown on the table. Taking out his pocket knife, he removed the tiny screws keeping the protective backing in place. An astonished hush settled around the room as he retrieved a small slip of paper.
“Well, I’ll be,” Maggie breathed.
“Am I the only one who finds this a little stalkery?” Colt asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
“Shh,” Penny quieted her husband with a wave of her hand, then asked, “What does it say?”
Luke unfolded the note and cleared his throat. “‘Roses are red, violets are blue. But sometimes it’s nice to mix the two.’” He looked up, baffled. “Does that mean anything to any of you?”
“Not to me,” Penny confessed.
“Me, either,” Cassie admitted. “But I know someone who might be able to help.”
CHAPTER12
DONNA
Donna tightened her grip on the steering wheel as her car rattled down the dilapidated dirt road, lurching violently at every pothole and protruding rock and root. What was she doing here? Maybe she should’ve accepted Cassie’s invitation to dinner at Maggie’s. After all, wasn’t it time she overcame her issues with Luke’s mother?
The last few days in Poppy Creek had been an exhausting exercise in avoidance. She constantly looked over her shoulder, afraid of who she might find. How much longer could she live like this? That much anxiety couldn’t be healthy. And the desire to drink, to escape and forget, weighed more heavily each day. She needed a meeting now more than ever.
When she reached the end of the road, she nudged the gear shift into park and sat motionless, too stunned to even unbuckle her seat belt. She should have suspected the enigmatic bartender lived somewhere unusual when Jack’s directions consisted of a left turn off Old Highway onto Quail Road, followed by another left past the hollow log, then a precarious ramble down an unpaved road until she reached the big boulder. But she’d expected to find a small cabin, maybe even a yurt, notthis.
The edge of the river hugged the grassy bank, framed by cattails swaying in the breeze. A striking figure stood by the water’s edge, fishing rod in hand, his lean frame highlighted by the burnished glow of the setting sun. A few yards away, a vintage Airstream—with more scrapes and dents than her decrepit Corolla—sparkled in the soft golden hue. A long strand of string lights stretched between the awning and two pine trees, creating a twinkling canopy over a pair of battered camping chairs neatly patched with duct tape. Smoke curled from a simple charcoal grill, and Johnny Cash’s gravelly baritone rippled through the reeds.
To some, the scene might evoke a sad, almost pitying sentiment. On the surface, the man had very little to call his own. But to Donna, the serene simplicity beckoned to her soul, conjuring emotions she hadn’t felt in a long time.
The man responsible for the idyllic setting turned, his face registering surprise, then delight when he spotted her. He reeled in his line, and Donna gathered a breath, summoning the courage to exit the car.
“Are you stalking me?” His voice held a teasing quality, but she supposed tracking him down and showing up at his house unannounced did seem a little strange. She really needed to start thinking before she acted.
“I asked for you at the diner, and Jack sent me here.” She cringed then quickly added, “I didn’t askforyou. I asked to speak with you. And Jack gave me directions. I hope you don’t mind.” Why did she suddenly sound like a nervous schoolgirl? When it came to men, she usually held all the cards. Whatever this feeling was—the flustered, discombobulated, falling-through-the-air-without-a-parachute feeling—she wasn’t a fan.
“I don’t mind at all.” He grinned, and she couldn’t tell if it was merely friendly or flirtatious. “Are you hungry?”
“Oh, um…” The savory smell of grilled fish filled the air, and Donna’s stomach released a loud growl.The traitor.
He chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Her cheeks heated. She’d planned to eat at The Westerly again since Kat had insisted she stay, claiming the room would sit empty otherwise. And once again, Kat had refused her offer to pay, asking for yoga lessons instead. It hardly seemed like fair compensation, especially since she actually enjoyed her company.
“I don’t want to intrude on your dinner,” Donna told him. She’d simply say what she came to say, then take off. “I would’ve called first, but Jack said you don’t get reception out here.”
“You wouldn’t be intruding. Especially if you have to catch your own meal.” His eyes held a mischievous glint as he offered her the rod. “You know how to fish?”
She accepted his challenge with a smile. More at ease with the foam grip in her hand, she strode to the water’s edge. Fixing her gaze upstream, she swept the rod over her right shoulder, then, with a swift, fluid motion, flicked it forward, releasing the line. The lure sailed through the air, effortlessly hitting her target.
He whistled. “I’m going to go out on a limb and say you’ve done this before.”
“I’ve been casting reels since I could walk. My dad taught me.” Her chest tightened at the unwelcome flood of memories.
“Think he’d give me a lesson?”
“He… died.” It had been over three decades, yet the words still lodged in her throat.
“Sorry to hear that.” His tone bore the soft edges of someone who’d experienced a similar loss.
