Free Meant to Be by Terri Osburn

black-and-white patterned vase, larger than the purple one she’d purchased the day before. This one would be perfect for her living room, while the purple one would go nicely in her kitchen. According to Lola, both vases had been handblown by an artist up in Nags Head. The work was exquisite.
    The second treasure was a pencil sketch of the Anchor Lighthouse. Beth had yet to see the landmark in person, but the sketch wove such light and shade into the image, she could almost hear the gulls above and the waves in the distance. She had to have it.
    Her island booty, as Lola called it, wrapped and tucked safely behind the counter, Beth turned her attention to thelarge selection of gems and beads laid out in the far corner of the store. Worktables dotted the area so tourists could gather the pieces of their choosing and assemble them into their own unique designs.
    Beth had dabbled in jewelry making during high school, but her grandmother discouraged anything that detracted from her studies. She’d surreptitiously managed to get her art supplies into her dorm room in college, but endless papers and pressure to maintain a high GPA stole her attention. Slackers didn’t get accepted to law school, or so her grandmother warned often enough. She never did make another piece.
    A spattering of tourists wandered around the artwork as Beth occupied a small workstation in the back corner, which afforded her a view of the entire shop. She’d chosen to make a bracelet using various shapes and sizes of beads. Shades of blue slid together, broken by the occasional silver faux pearl. As she assembled the clasp, she realized one of the stones matched the same powerful blue as Joe’s eyes.
    The memory of his smile filled her mind, followed closely by the steady dose of sparks his touch ignited in her system. Had she subconsciously chosen that blue on purpose?
    The notes from the wind chime hanging off the front door saved Beth from pondering the question. A blonde draped in an expensive-looking black-and-white dress, espadrilles, and large Jackie O sunglasses entered the shop. Her hair was short and stylish, her nails white-tipped perfection, and Beth knew the clutch tucked beneath the customer’s right arm cost more than Beth’s car payment.
    A sense of familiarity lingered, as if Beth had seen her somewhere before.
    “Can I help you?” she said, as the woman stopped just inside the door.
    “I’m looking for Lola LeBlanc.” The pinched voice contained the lilt of money with the typical lack of generosity. Beth knew this kind well. They were usually married to one of the partners at the law firm.
    “Lola had to step out, but she’ll be back shortly. Is there something I can do for you, or would you like to wait?”
    Beth slid behind the counter while doing her best impression of a servant ready to serve. The blonde glanced at her watch, and Beth noticed a ring of diamonds surrounding the tiny glass. The term
high maintenance
came to mind.
    “When will she be back? I have an appointment in twenty minutes.”
    She’d set aside a whole twenty minutes for Lola. Must be important. Perhaps her next appointment was kidnapping puppies. “Are you here to pick up an item? If you’ll give me your name, I can see if there’s something in the back room for you.”
    “My name is Cassandra Wheeler, and what I need is to talk to Ms. LeBlanc.”
    Wheeler. Wheeler Development. In an instant Beth remembered where she’d seen this woman before. At the firm.
    Coming out of Lucas’s office.
    “I—”
    “Here’s my card. Tell Ms. LeBlanc to call me at the hotel number written on the back. Assure her it will be worth her time to make the call.”
    Before Beth could say another word, Cruella left the store, subtle chimes and a touch of Chanel lingering in her wake.
    Beth pursed her lips. What business could Lucas have with Cassandra Wheeler? She’d assumed the woman to be just another client on the two occasions she could remember seeing her