Page 39 of No More Secrets
“Hey.” Summer came in from the kitchen carrying her laptop. “Can I show you something?”
Carter hit the power button of his tablet to hide the screen. “Uh, sure.”
She sat cross-legged next to him on the couch. “Okay. So I noticed you didn’t have a graphic or logo for the farm and I thought maybe you could use one. Do some branding and merchandising.”
He blinked. “Merchandising?”
“You know like reusable totes or t-shirts for the riding school. That kind of thing. Plus it’s something we could run with the article.”
Carter nodded. It sounded like a smart idea.
“Anyway, here’s what I came up with.” She passed him her laptop.
On the screen was a vibrant red apple with an arrow through it. The words Pierce Acres rounded under the apple.
“That arrow?” He frowned and cocked his head. It looked familiar.
“It’s based on the weather vane on top of the little barn. On the surface, the apple is because your mom told me the orchard is a big producer. Everyone loves Pierce apples. But it also represents natural, organic produce.” She bit her lip. “What do you think?”
Carter peered at the screen and back at Summer. “This is really good. You did this?”
She grinned and nodded. “Do you really like it?”
“Yeah, I do. It looks like us. Thank you,” he said laying a warm hand on her knee. “What’s an artist like you charge for this?”
Summer laughed. “Got any ice cream in the house?”
CHAPTER TEN
It was delivery day for Carter in town, and rather than set tongues wagging by accompanying him, Summer wrangled a lunch invitation out of Beckett. It was the perfect opportunity for her to get a little more background for the story.
Carter dropped her off in front of a rambling Victorian. Unlike the home next door with its midnight blue siding and Pepto Bismal pink front door, Beckett’s was a stately gray with white trim.
“His office is on the side,” Carter called from the driver seat, pointing at the far end of the porch. “Be back in an hour.”
Summer waved him off and opened the wrought iron gate to the walkway. The Pierce men were certainly eclectic with their taste in homes, she mused.
She followed the flagstone path to the front porch and wandered around the side. The sign on the fanciful glass door politely asked her toPlease Come In. Summer stepped inside and found herself in a cheerful sunroom off the back of the house.
The girl behind the large mahogany desk was wearing a leather collar with metal spikes. Her black hair was combed into two neat pigtails. She smiled through her black-as-midnight lipstick. “Are you Summer?” she whispered.
“I am,” Summer replied in a hushed tone.
“I’m Ellery, Beckett’s paralegal. I’d like to say that he’ll be with you shortly, but he’s in there with the Buchanans.” She gestured to the closed door behind her. “Their mediations usually run a little long. You can have a seat. Can I get you something to drink?”
“I’m fine, thanks,” Summer said, taking a seat on the sun-faded sofa facing Ellery’s desk.
Within a few minutes, the paneled door behind her opened and Beckett emerged, wincing at the raised voices behind him. The sleeves of his button down were rolled up and his tie was loosened. He looked like he was sweating.
“Summer, I’ll be just a few minutes more,” he said, reaching for the glass of ice water that Ellery handed him.
“It’s no problem,” Summer assured him. “Take your time.”
He drank like a man in the desert, straightened his shoulders, and marched back into the room.
Within seconds the shouting dropped to a low roar and in less than five minutes it stopped completely.
The door opened again and this time a smiling couple in their fifties walked out. He was tall and lanky with eyes that crinkled when he smiled. She was a round little thing who modeled her wardrobe after Stevie Nicks.
