Free Engaged to Die by Carolyn Hart

in return. How wonderful to be able to look across a table without guile or caution or reserve. How wonderful to be loved. Annie reached out, grabbed his hand. “Oh, Max.” And she burst into tears.
    In an instant, he was around the table and beside her in the booth, his arm warm on her shoulders. “It’s okay, honey. Mrs. Foster’s okay now.”
    â€œMax,” tears edged down her cheeks, “it was hideous. She was terrified, sick with fear. It was awful.”
    Max’s arm tightened. “You got rid of Brown. He’s out of there. The locks are being changed right now. Stephanie Hammond’s not taking any chances. And all because of you.” He pulled out his handkerchief, gently wiped away the tears. “Come on, Annie”—he looked to his right—“Ben’s here and he’s got the best chili in the world.”
    She sniffed, took the handkerchief, scrubbed her eyes. “Outside of Texas.”
    As Max returned to his place, Ben slid the bowls across the planks, murmured to Max, “The missus under the weather?”
    Annie scooted out of the booth, hugged a startled Ben. “I’m fine, Ben. Coming here is the best tonic in the world.”
    â€œAlways glad to have you.” Ben refilled Annie’s iced tea, which southerners drink all year round, and looked at Max’s tall frosted glass. “Another Bud Light?”
    â€œSure.” Max added a dollop of hot sauce to the stew.
    Annie slid back into her seat and stirred the topping of grated cheese and steamed corn kernels into her chili.
    â€œPeace and quiet,” she said indistinctly through a big mouthful of chili. “That’s what I need. And happy faces. I’ve had enough drama to last me all year.” She brightened. “Rachel will be home pretty soon. I can’t believe how much I’ve missed her.” Annie’s teenage stepsister was in Florida with a friend and her family. “And Pudge gets back next week.” Annie’s father was making the island his home but he was often off island for a pleasure trip. His latest was a jaunt to Rio. “We’ll have a party. As far as I’m concerned, no more winter blahs.”
    Max laughed. “Annie, it’s only January.”
    â€œI’m not kidding.” Her tone was determined. “No more misery. When we get home, I’m going to read the latest Mary Daheim and laugh my head off and take a hot bath—”
    â€œAnd sundry other pleasures,” he murmured. He nodded thanks to Ben for the cold beer. Ben started to turn away.
    â€œâ€”and I’m not going to let anything upset me. Or anybody.” She banged the table for emphasis and Ben swung back.
    â€œBut if someone called, like Denise—” Max suddenly frowned, broke off.
    â€œNo way, José. I’m going to have a happy afternoon and go to a champagne gala tonight in a beautiful new dress—oh, Max, you’ll love it—it doesn’t have a back—and I am going to have fun, fun, fun. No more angst.” Annie held up both hands, palms forward.
    Ben peered at them, shrugged, moved away.
    Annie picked up another muffin. “Poor Ben. I have him thoroughly confused.”
    â€œCalls,” Max muttered. He began to pat his pockets.
    â€œDamn, where’d I put it?”
    Annie’s knife was poised above the butter. “What’s wrong?”
    Max found a crumpled note in the inner pocket of his jacket, pulled it out. “I forgot to tell you about the phone calls from Chloe.”
    â€œChloe? Speaking of angst”—Annie said wearily—
    â€œwhat now?”
    Max unfolded the sheet. “Three calls. In the first one, she apologizes for shutting down the store—”
    Annie’s head jerked up. On Friday afternoon? She looked around the big, sparsely occupied café. Okay, it was January. No big deal. Henny Brawley wouldn’t be pleased to find the