The Liar

by Nora Roberts

  “I do?”

  “Could do with a facial, too, but I’ll do that myself later in the week. A woman drives clear down from Philadelphia hauling a toddler’s earned a good massage. And Callie and I have plans this afternoon.”

  “You do?”

  “I’m taking her over to Suzannah’s. You remember my good friend Suzannah Lee? She couldn’t come yesterday as she had her sister’s girl’s wedding shower. That’s Scarlet? Scarlet Lee? You went to school with Scarlet.”

  “Sure. Scarlet’s engaged?”

  “Got a May wedding planned, to a nice boy she met in college. They’re getting married here as Scarlet’s people are here, then moving clear up to Boston, where he’s got a job in advertising. Scarlet got her teaching degree so that’s what she’ll be doing.”

  “A teacher?” Shelby had to laugh. “As I remember, Scarlet hated school like it was spinach soaked in arsenic.”

  “Goes to show. What it goes to show, I can’t say, but it goes to show. Anyway, I’m taking Callie over to Suzannah’s, show her off some, and Suzannah’s getting her granddaughter, Chelsea—she’s three, like Callie—that’s her son Robbie’s daughter who married Tracey Lynn Bowran. I don’t think you’ve met Tracey. Her people are from Pigeon Forge. She’s a nice girl, a potter. That’s one of her bowls there, with the lemons in it.”

  Shelby glanced at the rich brown bowl with its bold blue and green swirls. “It’s beautiful.”

  “She’s got herself a kiln, works out of her house. They carry some of her pieces in town, at The Artful Ridge, and up at the hotel gift shop, too. We’ll be giving you and Tracey a day off as Suzannah and Chelsea and Callie and me, we’re having us a playdate.”

  “She’ll love that.”

  “So will I. I’m going to be greedy with her for a while, so I expect you to indulge me. I’m taking her over about eleven. They’ll get acquainted, then we’ll have lunch. If the weather lets up, we’ll take them out awhile.”

  “Callie usually naps about an hour in the afternoon.”

  “Then they’ll have a nap. You can stop fretting about it, as I can see you are.” With her chin jutted up, Ada Mae fisted a hand on her hip. “I managed to raise you and two boys besides. I think I can handle a toddler.”

  “I know you can. It’s just . . . she hasn’t been out of my sight in . . . I can’t think how long. And fretting because she will be says more about me.”

  “You were always a bright girl. I wouldn’t have any other kind,” Ada Mae added as she came around the island, laid her hands on Shelby’s shoulders. “Sweet Jesus, girl, you’re nothing but knots. I booked you with Vonnie—you remember Vonnie, she’s a cousin on your daddy’s side.”

  Vaguely, Shelby thought, as cousins were legion in her family.

  “Vonnie Gates,” Ada Mae continued. “Your daddy’s cousin Jed’s middle girl. She’ll work these out of you.”

  Shelby reached her hand back, laid it over her mother’s. “You don’t have to feel you need to take care of me.”

  “Is that what you’d say to your daughter, under these circumstances?”

  Shelby sighed. “No. I’d tell her it was my job and my wish to take care.”

  “Well then. One bite more,” Ada Mae murmured, kissing the top of Shelby’s head.

  Shelby ate one bite more.

  “After today, you’ll clear your own dishes, but not today. What do you want to do this morning?”

  “Oh. I should unpack.”

  “I didn’t say should,” Ada Mae reminded her as she cleared Shelby’s plate. “I said want.”

  “It’s both. I’ll feel more settled once I get things put away.”

  “Callie and I’ll help you with that. When’s the rest of your stuff coming?”

  “I’ve got everything. I brought everything.”

  “Everything.” Ada Mae stopped and stared. “Honey, they only took up a couple of suitcases, well, and Callie’s things since you had those boxes marked. Clay Junior didn’t stack more than a half dozen boxes, if that, in the garage.”

  “What was I going to do with all those things, Mama? Even when I find a house—and I have to find a job first—I couldn’t use all those things. Did you know there are companies that come in, look things over and buy furniture all at once, right out of the house?”

  She said it conversationally, lightly, as she rose, bent to pick up Callie, who was dancing, holding her arms up. “The realtor helped me find them. She was such a help to me with that sort of thing. I should send her flowers when the sale’s all done, shouldn’t I?”

  The question didn’t distract her mother as Shelby had hoped.

  “All that furniture? Why, Shelby, there were seven bedrooms in that house, and that big office, and I don’t even know all the other rooms. It’s as close to a mansion as I’ve ever been in without paying for the tour. And so new.” Shock and worry clear on her face, Ada Mae rubbed the heel of her hand between her breasts. “Oh, I hope you got a good price for all that.”

  “I worked with a very reputable company, I promise. They’ve been in business over thirty years. I did a lot of research online on that kind of thing. I swear, I could get a job as a researcher with all I’ve done with it, if I didn’t think I’d want to shoot myself before the first week was done.

  “We’re going to unpack, Callie. You gonna help before you and Gamma go?”

  “I’ll help! I like helping Mama.”

  “Best helper ever. Let’s get started. Mama, do you know if Clay took up the box that had Callie’s little hangers? I can’t use regular ones for her things yet.”

  “He took up everything that had her name on it. I’ll just go out and look, be sure.”

  “Thanks, Mama. Oh, I’ll go out, change the car seat over to your car.”

  “I wasn’t born yesterday.” The edge in Ada Mae’s voice told Shelby her mother was still reeling from the idea of selling all that furniture.

  She didn’t know the half of it yet.

  “Your daddy and I got the same one you use,” Ada Mae added. “It’s all ready for her.”

  “Mama.” Shelby stepped over and with her free arm pulled her mother into a hug. “Callie, you have the best Gamma in the whole world.”

  “My Gamma.”

  And that distracted Ada Mae—enough, Callie thought as she knew her mother would chew over the idea of selling all the furniture in a near-to-ten-thousand-square-foot house in one fell swoop.

  • • •

  IT WAS ODD not having Callie underfoot or playing in her eye line, but she’d been so excited about the playdate. And it was true enough she’d be done with the unpacking and sorting in half the time without Callie “helping.”

  By noon, with everything put away, the beds made, she wondered what in the hell to do with herself.

  She glanced at her laptop with some dislike, but made herself boot it up. No notices from creditors—so that was good news. Nothing yet on the sale of the house, but she wasn’t expecting it. She did read a short e-mail from the consignment shop, letting her know they’d sold two of Richard’s leather jackets, his cashmere topcoat and two of her cocktail dresses.

  She replied with a thank-you, telling them yes, it was fine to wait until the first of the month to send a check to the address she’d left with them.

  With unpacking and business done, she showered, dressed. Still too early to go in for the massage—and wouldn’t that be heaven? So she’d take a walk. She could use a good walk.

  The thin drizzle persisted, a steady trickle of wet out of a sky soft and gray as smoke. But she liked walking in the rain. She pulled on a hoodie, short, soft leather boots, and reached for her big bag. Her Callie bag. And remembering she’d given it to her mother to take, pushed her wallet into the back pocket of her jeans.

  She felt so light, so unencumbered, she didn’t know what to do with her hands, so slipped them into the pockets of the hoodie, found the little pack of wet wipes she’d stuffed in there the last time she’d worn it—when she
hadn’t been so unencumbered.

  She drew in a deep breath of the cool, damp air when she stepped outside. Just stood breathing in with her fingers around Callie’s wet wipes and the empty afternoon stretching ahead of her.

  Everything was greening and sprouting and blooming with the misty rain turning the green, the color, more vibrant. All those scents—wet grass, wet earth, the tender sweetness of hyacinths dancing purple among the yellow of daffodils—drifted to her as she walked the long, familiar road.

  She could walk by the Lee house, just to check. It was getting on to nap time, and Callie wasn’t a hundred percent on the potty training in her sleep. About ninety-eight, but she’d be so embarrassed if she had an accident because her grandmother didn’t think to take her in to pee before her nap.

  She could just walk by, just a quick peek to . . .

  “Stop it. Just stop. She’s fine. Everything’s just fine.”

  She’d listen to her mother’s advice, take the day to do what she wanted. A walk in the rain, taking her time, time enough to study the mountains in their smoky blanket, to appreciate the spring flowers and the quiet.

  She glanced over at Emma Kate’s house, noted the handyman truck in the drive, and the bright red car behind it. She wondered how she’d approach Emma Kate now that they were both back in the Ridge.

  And her friend got out of the car.

  She wore a hoodie, too, in a bold candy-pink Callie would have loved. She’d changed her hair, Shelby thought as Emma Kate pulled two market bags out of the backseat. She’d hacked off the long nut-brown braid Shelby remembered, wore it all cute and shaggy, with bangs.

  She started to call out, then could think of nothing to say and felt stupid and awkward.

  As she swung the door closed, Emma Kate spotted her. Her eyebrows lifted under the warm brown fringe of bangs as she hauled one strap onto her shoulder.

  “Well, look who’s standing out in the rain like a wet cat.”

  “It’s just a drizzle.”

  “It’s still wet.” She stood hipshot a moment, bags hanging from her shoulders, her wide mouth unsmiling, her deep brown eyes critical even through the rain. “I heard you were back.”

  “I heard the same about you. I hope your daddy’s doing okay.”

  “He is.”

  Feeling more stupid just standing there, Shelby walked up the short driveway. “I like your hair.”

  “Granny talked me into it. I’m sorry about your husband.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Where’s your little girl?”

  “With Mama. They have a playdate with Miz Suzannah’s granddaughter.”

  “Chelsea. She’s a pistol. You got a destination, Shelby, or are you just out wandering in the wet?”

  “I’m going into Viola’s, but I have all this time on my hands with Callie off with Mama, so . . . I’m wandering first.”

  “Then you’d better come inside, say hello to my mother or I won’t hear the end of it. I’ve got to take her these groceries anyway.”

  “That’d be nice. Here, let me take one.”

  “I’ve got it.”

  Rebuffed, as she was meant to feel, Shelby hunched her shoulders as they walked to the door. “I . . . Forrest said you’re with someone, and living in town.”

  “I am. Matt Baker. We’ve been together about two years now. He’s at Viola’s right now, fixing one of the sinks.”

  “I thought this was his truck.”

  “They have two. This is his partner’s. Griffin Lott. Mama’s redoing the kitchen, and driving us all insane.”

  Emma Kate opened the door, glanced back at Shelby. “You’re the talk of Rendezvous Ridge, you know. That pretty Pomeroy girl who married rich, was widowed young, come back home again. What will she do?” Emma Kate smirked a little. “What will she do?” she said again, and walked inside with her market bags.

  6

  Griff considered himself a patient man. He didn’t fly off the handle as a rule. And when he did, all bets were off, but it took a lot of pushing to get him off the ground.

  But right at the moment he was seriously considering duct-taping Emma Kate’s pretty adorable mother’s mouth closed.

  He’d worked on getting the base cabinets in all morning, and she’d been peppering him with questions all morning.

  Breathing down his neck, hanging over his back, all but crawling up his ass.

  He knew damn well Matt had taken off to Miz Vi’s place to spare himself the headache of his girlfriend’s sweet, chatty—and let’s face it—ditzy mother.

  Worse, she was still dithering—“dithering” would be the word of the day—about the cabinets even as he installed them. And if he had to take them out because she changed her mind again, he might do worse than duct tape.

  He had bungee cords, and he knew how to use them.

  “Oh now, Griff honey, maybe I shouldn’t have gone with the white. They’re so plain, aren’t they? And white’s cold, it’s just a cold color, isn’t it? Kitchens ought to be a warm place. Maybe I should’ve gone with the cherrywood after all. It’s so hard to know before you see them right there where they’re going, isn’t it? How do you know what it’s going to look like until you see what it looks like?”

  “Clean and fresh,” he said, trying to sound cheerful when he wanted to grind his teeth. “Kitchens should be clean and fresh, and that’s what you’re going to have.”

  “Do you think so?” She stood, nearly at his elbow, twisted her linked fingers together. “Oh, I don’t know. Henry finally just threw up his hands and said he didn’t care either way. But he’ll care if it isn’t right.”

  “It’s going to look great, Miz Bitsy.” He felt like someone, possibly himself, was shooting a nail gun dead center of his forehead.

  He and Matt had dealt with fussy clients back in Baltimore. The control freaks, the whiners, the demanders and the ditherers, but Louisa “Bitsy” Addison was the undisputed queen of the ditherers.

  She made the previously reigning champs—John and Rhonda Turner, who’d had them tear out a wall in their row house in Baltimore, build it back in, then tear it out a second time—seem resolute, steady as a brick wall—in comparison.

  What they’d estimated as a three-week job—with a three-day contingency built in—was currently in week five. And God knew when it would end.

  “I don’t know,” she said for the millionth time, patting her hands together under her chin. “White’s kind of stark, isn’t it?”

  He set the cabinet, pulled out his level, shoved one hand through his mop of dark blond hair. “Wedding gowns are white.”

  “Now, that’s true, and . . .” Her already big brown eyes got bigger, and a giddy thrill shone out of them. “Wedding gowns? Oh now, Griffin Lott, do you know something I don’t? Has Matt popped the question?”

  He ought to throw his partner under the bus. He ought to throw him under, then back up and drive over him again. But . . . “I was just using an example, like . . .” He did a frantic mental search. “Magnolias, for instance. Or—” Sweet Jesus, give me one more. “Ah, baseballs.”

  Crap.

  “The hardware’s going to punch it all up,” he continued, just a little desperately. “And the countertop. That warm gray’s going to give you friendly and sophisticated at the same time.”

  “Maybe it’s the wall color that’s wrong. Maybe I should—”

  “Mama, you’re not having those walls repainted.” Emma Kate marched in.

  Griff could’ve kissed her, could have dropped down and kissed her feet. Then he lost track of her completely when the redhead stepped in behind her.

  He actually thought, Holy shit—and hoped he hadn’t said it out loud.

  She was beautiful. A man didn’t get to be just shy of his thirtieth birthday without seeing some beautiful women, even if it was just on a movie screen. But this one, in the flesh, was one quick wow.