Read Online Crushed Velvet by Diane Vallere - Free Book Online Page A

is something I’ve been working on for Genevieve for a while. I wasn’t going to tell her until it was done, but in light of everything, I think it makes for good timing. If you’re not busy, I could use some help.”
    Vaughn followed me inside. Without the scent of brewing tea and pastries baking, the café lacked the warmth I’d come to expect from the usually cozy interior. The lights were off, and the mismatched faded floral curtains blocked most of the natural light. Dust had settled on the chairs that were upside down on the tables scattered around at random. I flipped the pass-through up and walked behind the counter, pushed aside the floor-to-ceiling curtains that separated the counter from the kitchen/office, and unlocked the back door. I transferred the pile of fabrics from my car into a woodencrate and carried it inside. When I reentered the kitchen, Vaughn stood by the desk with a glass of tea in his hand.
    â€œDon’t drink that!” I dropped the crate and rushed across the kitchen. I slapped the glass out of his hand, and it crashed to the floor and shattered into a thousand tiny, wet glass shards.
    â€œWhat did you do that for?” he asked.
    â€œI’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” I turned around and looked for a broom and dustpan. I expected Vaughn to press me to explain my odd behavior. He didn’t. He stooped down and picked up a few of the bigger pieces of glass and tossed them into a plastic trash bag, then mopped the spill up with a wad of paper towels and threw that into the plastic bag as well. He carried the bag out to the trash while I swept up the floor. His face was drawn into confusion, like he was trying to rationalize my actions but, short of declaring me unstable, couldn’t explain why I’d done what I’d done.
    When he returned, I was in the front of the café taking the curtain rods down from the walls. Another couple walked up to the front door and tried to open it. The woman pressed her face up to the glass and cupped her hands around her eyes. I climbed down from the bunker where I’d been standing and walked over to the door. I tapped on the glass behind the sign and said, “Renovations.” She said something to the man she was with and they left.
    â€œI don’t want to tell you how to do what you’re doing, but if you want the renovations to be a surprise, maybe you should block out the windows so people can’t see inside.”
    â€œBlock them out with what? I only brought the fabric I’m going to use. Once the curtains are up, people are going to see them.”
    â€œI can get you a roll of butcher paper from the hardware store and help you hang it. It’ll take most of the morning, but it’ll give you a bigger reveal once you’re done.”
    I studied Vaughn’s face. As far as renovations went, he had a point. And blocking out the windows might not be a bad idea if anybody came snooping around the shop looking for Genevieve. Win-win.
    â€œThanks. Do you want some money?” I asked before remembering Vaughn’s wealth.
    â€œThat’s the nicest thing you’ve ever asked me,” he said. “But no, thanks. I think I can cover it.”
    He left out the back door. I didn’t know how long it would take him to return, so I had to act quickly.
    I went to the back office. Genevieve’s inbox was overflowing with invoices. I flipped past half a dozen and got distracted by a flyer announcing a party at the Waverly House.
    The Waverly House was a restored Victorian mansion that housed an exhibit of photos and local memorabilia from the town’s early days as a citrus supplier. The staff held a monthly murder mystery party and boasted one of the best restaurants around. Vaughn McMichael’s seventy-year-old mother, Adelaide, ran the landmark-turned-museum.
    Below the flyer were shopping lists and recipes. The piece of paper Kim had dropped