Delaney's Shadow by Ingrid Weaver

Author:Ingrid Weaver
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Berkley Sensation
Published: 2011-08-02T04:00:00+00:00

EIGHTEEN

THE RAIN THAT HAD BEGUN ON FRIDAY CONTINUED OFF and on throughout the first weekend of Willowbank’s annual Waterfront Festival. Although there were a good number of visitors, it wasn’t the crowd the organizers would have hoped for. Only a few dozen music fans clad in plastic rain ponchos braved the drizzle on Sunday afternoon to gather on the benches in front of the band shell. Undeterred, a group of folk musicians were taking their turn onstage, scraping out a tune on their mandolins and fiddles. The rides of the midway that had been set up near the lakeshore twinkled with more lights than customers. Most people had gravitated to the central food tent and the open-sided beer tent.

“They can plan for everything except the weather,” Helen muttered. She closed her umbrella, put the tip on the ground, and twirled it back and forth to knock off the water. “Hardly anyone’s here.”

Delaney shook out her compact umbrella and collapsed it. They had paused at the entrance to the arts and crafts tent, which had been pitched between the food tent and the band shell. The smell of mustard and hot grease wafted through the rain, blending with the pungent odor of damp canvas. She glanced back to the roped-off area of the lawn where she’d left her car. Normally there were so many visitors that the closer parking spots were packed solid by this time of the day. “True, but it was easy to find a parking space.”

Helen tsked. “We should have parked on the gravel lot and done the walk. The grass is going to be a mud bog by the time we leave.”

“Sorry.”

“Oh, don’t mind me. The rain makes my joints ache, so I’m a bit grumpy today.”

“Only a bit?”

Helen laughed and pointed her umbrella at her. “Cheeky girl. I’m off to see Ada’s quilt.”

Delaney slipped the strap of her umbrella over her wrist and trailed behind Helen. The large, wooden racks that held the quilts had been set up in rows along the back wall of the tent. Several local artisans had erected booths along the center aisle. One table held a collection of waterbirds carved from wood; another had an array of framed collages of pressed wildflowers. Quirky, feathers-and-beads jewelry was displayed next to hand-painted glazed pottery that wouldn’t have been out of place in an art gallery.

Delaney stopped to admire a table of stained glass ornaments. A miniature blue butterfly caught her eye.

The middle-aged woman behind the table smiled. “That’s one of my favorites,” she said. “Although, I shouldn’t admit that. It’s like saying I have a favorite child.”

“It’s lovely.” She leaned down to take a closer look at the ornament. “And so delicate.”

“Go ahead and pick it up.”

“Are you sure?”

She laughed. “The floor’s grass, isn’t it? You’d have to try hard to break it.”

Delaney set the butterfly on her palm. It was heavier than it appeared. Sturdier, too. For some reason that disappointed her. Had she been expecting it to be as weightless as

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