The Girl I Used to Be by Heidi Hostetter (booksvooks .txt) 📗

for Jill. Both were so unusual in shape and color that they had to be handcrafted. The round base of the mug was designed to nestle into the palm of your hand, and the wide handle could be lifted easily, even with gloved or mittened fingers. Perfect for fall evenings beside a fire pit.

“Those are beautiful,” Jill commented.

“Our Brenda is very talented,” Betty said, as pleased as if she’d made them herself. “She made the entire set. I only bring it out for very special occasions.”

“Enough about my work.” Brenda swished her hand through the air, pressing for a change of topic. “Did you happen to bring examples of yours?” Her gaze flicked to Jill’s portfolio. “I know we said no experience necessary, but I’d be interested in seeing whatever you brought.”

“Yes, of course.” Jill retrieved her case and passed it to Brenda.

Jill watched Brenda unzip her portfolio and leaf through her photographs, holding her breath when Brenda slowed. Once or twice, Brenda paused to look at an image then murmur softly before turning the page. When she came to the final page, the bridal portrait taken in the Brooklyn warehouse, she stopped altogether. Lifting her gaze to meet Jill’s, her expression changed, to one that looked very much like surprise.

“Tell me about this one.” Brenda’s fingertips tapped the brickwork behind the bridal veil. “Have you ever shown it?”

“Shown it?”

“Formally.” Brenda passed the portfolio to Kaye, who also examined it. “I’m guessing from your reaction that the answer is no.”

“N-No, of course not,” Jill stuttered, unsure of what to say. “I… No.”

“Ladies, as far as I’m concerned, Ms. DiFiore has my vote for the job,” Betty interjected. “I was sure even before seeing these lovely photographs. This young lady dislikes The Monstrosity as much as we do.”

Mrs. Ivey looked up from Jill’s portfolio with a peculiar expression. “You don’t say.”

Jill hesitated, remembering what the real-estate agent had said about neighborhood goodwill. She wanted this job but needed to sell the house.

“It seems a bit out of proportion,” Jill said firmly, “so, no. I don’t like the house.”

“The Goodman palace? Nobody likes that thing.” Kaye frowned as she picked up the conversation. “Chase and I were invited to a party there this past August and we went, even though I knew we shouldn’t have.” Her frown deepened. “I’d made the mistake of hoping the invitation was a sign that the Goodmans had finally decided to mix with the rest of us—those who actually live here—but it wasn’t. I didn’t even meet the wife.”

“Mix with us? Fat chance,” Betty scoffed. “They’ve owned that house for years and I’ve never seen either of them in town. Not once. I hear they bring everything down from New York, even their weekly lawn maintenance crew. Pretty sure that’s what drove Gerta’s landscaping company out of business.”

“Anyway,” Kaye continued, clearly still annoyed about the party two months before. “No one from town was there, not even the Pellishes or the Murphys. Can you imagine throwing a party without inviting your next-door neighbors?”

Jill flinched as she realized that Kaye was Kaye Bennett, married to Chase Bennett, the man Marc had been hounding for years.

Chase had been a titan in the world of New York finance for almost thirty years. He’d founded a private consulting firm that was said to be the only honest voice in a maelstrom of opportunists. Presidents consulted him, newspapers cited his opinion as expert, and if a CEO was lucky enough to persuade Chase to sit on their board, the company was almost guaranteed success. His firm had a lengthy waiting list, and Marc had been trying to get on it for at least as long as he and Jill had been married, without success. Three years ago Chase had suffered a serious heart attack at his office and the doctors weren’t sure he would ever fully recover. Eight months ago, newspapers reported that Mr. Bennett had sold his company and retired to his family’s summer home in Dewberry Beach. Marc had been overjoyed at what he called a “perfect opportunity.” The clambake party was planned soon afterward and somehow Marc had arranged for Chase to be there. But the Bennetts had left the party early and honestly, Jill didn’t blame them. Marc could be relentless.

The good news was that Jill had never been formally introduced to either Kaye or Chase Bennett, so neither would be able to connect her to Marc’s house. Still, it was better to be careful.

“Maybe we should save that discussion for another time?” Brenda proposed gently.

“You’re right.” Kaye shuddered, as if physically shedding an unpleasant memory. “Sorry. I guess it’s still a sore subject.”

The tension in the air dissolved and Jill lifted her gaze. She happened to glance at Mrs. Ivey and noticed the woman staring at her with the same quizzical look. As if she’d made the connection and knew exactly who Jill was. But of course, that was ridiculous—Jill had never met Mrs. Ivey before tonight.

“Ladies, shall we continue?” Brenda directed the conversation back to the festival. “The online art auction will be held on Friday evening. It draws a substantial crowd and is our biggest fundraiser. We need photographs of Dewberry Beach that will make you feel as if you’re part of the community.”

“Maybe something like this?” Jill reached for her camera. She pulled up the images she’d taken that day and showed them to Brenda.

Brenda nodded, her smile widening as she flicked through. “Yes. These are exactly what we need. We have more than enough summer pictures but nothing from fall or winter. Nothing from the off-season.” She looked up, puzzled. “These are very good. Are they recent?”

“Yes. I’ve been in town for a bit and there’s a lot to see,” Jill explained. “I can transfer these pictures to an SD card if you want to use them.”

Kaye set her mug on the placemat with a gentle thump. “We might be getting ahead of ourselves. Maybe now would be a good time to explain