“At least your boy alerted us to the letter’s arrival. Kind of him to wait until today to make delivery.” Frances had requested the delay, allowing the Sirens to gather before the letter reached Linnie’s hands.
“What does it matter? Linnie refused our help.”
“She may have a change of heart.”
“Don’t hold your breath. She’s awfully mad.” Penelope sniffled. “How can we help if she’s angry at us?”
“She’ll calm down. Then we’ll see.” The reassurance didn’t stop a tear from escaping the corner of Penelope’s eye. Her distress brought Frances to a decision, and she quickly added, “Rest assured, she’s already receiving help. Silvia and I are seeing to it.”
Penelope brushed the tear away. “You are? How?”
Silvia, eavesdropping from the water’s edge, sent an impatient look. “Frances, we agreed to keep our plans secret. Why blab to the others?”
“We made no such agreement.”
“We did!”
“Be sensible. How does one keep a party under wraps?”
“Stop hedging. I’m referring to the deposit for the party and you know it.”
The disclosure sent a rustle of discontent through the group. The women followed their valiant leaders without question, but they didn’t like being out of the loop. Silvia was typically spouting off without thought of their feelings.
Determined to smooth their ruffled feathers, Frances motioned the women closer. “We’ve talked Linnie into opening the ballroom for Silvia and Marco’s anniversary party,” she explained. “Remember all the lovely events held there years ago?”
Tilda Lyons, a petite woman with cinnamon-colored hair, shimmied her shoulders with glee. “I loved the autumn dance Linnie’s parents used to hold. The most romantic affair of the year.”
Penelope nodded in agreement. “Me too.”
The waltz down memory lane brought a glower from Ruth Kenefsky. Petite like Tilda, the retired police dispatcher wore her stark white hair in braids around her weathered face. “I didn’t care for the dance,” she remarked in a voice as gravelly as a man’s. “Too many drunks wandering the streets afterward and couples carrying on in Sweet Lake Circle. If you’re gonna have sex, you ought to do it indoors.”
“Useful advice,” Frances murmured, needing to steer the conversation back to high ground. “Perhaps we’ll see the dance reinstated. After we made a deposit for the anniversary party, Linnie hired a painter. He’s already finished in the ballroom. I hear the new paint is quite pretty—an ivory shade with a hint of pink.”
Tilda caught the gaffe. “You contributed to the deposit?” The fortyish realtor had a deplorable habit of ferreting out uncomfortable facts. “Awfully nice of you.”
The comment brought Silvia near. “Yes, Tilda. She paid half of the deposit for my party. I didn’t want her money.”
The allusion to her wealth brought Frances discomfort. She thought of the Sirens as her sisters—or, more precisely, her sister warriors in the defense of goodness and beauty. If the group also secretly dispensed charity and brought lonely hearts together on the sly, all the better. Most of all, she strived to keep the Sirens in harmony. Nothing spawned division more quickly than a conversation about personal wealth.
Smoothing over the impasse, she informed Tilda, “I insisted on pitching in. Silvia and Marco weren’t planning a large party—certainly not one large enough to fill the ballroom. They were kind to agree with my plan.”
Tilda caught on fast. “You’re hoping to encourage Linnie to hold other events?”
“If she does, she’ll gain the confidence to restore the Wayfair completely. Sometimes we must take the smallest step before finding the courage to leap.”
“Frances, you do more to help Sweet Lake than anyone else. If you get Linnie to fix up the inn, you’ll become an absolute miracle worker.”
An overstatement, but the remark pleased Frances. She did feel a special responsibility. Aiding the struggling town was the best way to honor her late husband’s memory and to show gratitude for all the material blessings she’d received in her long and mostly happy life.
Silvia frowned. “If you want to help Linnie, you should’ve let me steam open the letter. I’m not saying the party is a bad idea, but the girl has bigger problems.”
“Honestly. How would you react if we read your mail?”
“If I’d received a missive from a scoundrel, I wouldn’t care.”
They’d argued the finer points of mail tampering a dozen times. If left to her own devices, Silvia would’ve strong-armed Penelope’s son into letting her slip inside the post office after hours. She would’ve pried into half the incoming mail before the younger Sirens wrestled her to the ground.
Shuddering at the thought, Frances said, “We’re Sirens, not petty criminals. We don’t break into buildings, public or private. Or commit mail fraud.”
“You and your unbending rules.” Silvia stomped her foot. “We had a good reason for sneaking into the post office. We didn’t, and now Linnie faces danger without a hint of what she’s up against.”
“Must you resort to high drama? Even if you had steamed open the letter, then what?”
“We’d know why he’s bothering Linnie!”
“We’ll know soon enough.”
Unfortunately, there was no telling if Freddie intended to disrupt the world Linnie was intent on saving. Success wasn’t guaranteed, and she didn’t need more upsets.
Masking her concern, Frances slid the feather crown from her head. Wayfair ingenuity had created the town she loved. A Wayfair had opened the first trading post clear back in 1822. The first lumber mill and the streets carved from the dense forest, the first mayor and the mansion that became one of Ohio’s most historic inns—the ambition of Linnie’s forebears had molded each success. Yet contrary to popular opinion, Frances believed the family had experienced more bitterness than sweet.
If more bitterness lay on the horizon, Linnie deserved better. The only Wayfair left in town, she wore her family’s tattered fame with grace.
On the hill above the lake, her tawny hair swirled in the breeze. Reaching the inn, she ascended the steps of the veranda. Soon the mail would arrive on her doorstep. Would she read the letter with rage or calm?
Frances prayed for the latter.
Chapter 2
Cat stormed into the ballroom with hell’s fury in her eyes.
On a ladder beneath the chandelier, Linnie fought for balance. The mail had arrived at the front desk, allowing her high-strung friend to pluck out the most unsavory letter. Another bill from the plumber? A shockingly high estimate to sand and varnish the neglected flooring in the Sunshine Room?
Why even think about reopening more guest rooms or the mothballed south wing? Dreams were for suckers. It would serve her right if the Wayfair’s hospitality manager held something awful in her fist.
Perspiration beaded on Linnie’s cheeks. More love letters from the IRS she didn’t need.
The ladder joggled, and she let out a shriek. Down below, Jada let go of the rails.
She planted her hands over her eyes. “Girl, I’m asking you nicely to go away.” She peered at Cat between two fingers. “I’m in no mood for Greek tragedy.”
“This can’t wait.” Cat’s wavy brown hair swished across her back as she waved the letter madly. “Of all the despicable, detestable . . . I’m so angry I could scream.”
“Keep your anger to yourself. Upset Linnie and she’ll crawl back into her hole. Let’s wait until lunchtime to read the mail. I have marble-toffee cheesecake chilling in the fridge.”
“I’m all for self-medicating with sugar during a normal tragedy. Won’t work. This is bad.”
Feigning calm, Linnie climbed down the ladder. “Cat, take a chill pill.” Then she regarded Jada, nervously plucking at the tight curls crowning her head. Cat’s suggestion of doom was getting to her. “What do you mean, I’ll crawl back into my hole?”
“She means you’re gutle
ss,” Cat offered. “Nothing like your distinguished ancestors. They carved this town right out of the Ohio wilderness.”
“They were fortified by whiskey. Not really a fair comparison.” Her treacherous friends exchanged an amused glance, and Linnie thrust her palm out. “Give me the letter. Whatever the problem, I’ll deal with it.”
Jada was faster. Air whooshed from her lips as she snatched the envelope. “No wonder the Sirens wanted to protect you. It’s from your brother,” she growled. “How dare he!”
“Freddie sent the letter?” A nasty bucket of fear poured into Linnie’s belly. “How did Frances and the others . . .”
She stopped in midsentence. Ozzie Riddle. Penelope’s son worked the mail route that included the Wayfair. Did the dutiful son clue his mother in?
She was trying to work it out as Cat said, “I knew we were in for bad luck. Last week I dreamt Sweet Lake was built on quicksand and sinking fast. Then last night I dreamt the town had sunk clear down. Nothing was left, not even a rooftop sticking out of the mud. There was a pig standing in Sweet Lake Circle and it looked mean. I woke up screaming.”
For precisely four seconds, Jada stared at her. She asked, “Have you been eating barbecue?”
“No, I haven’t been eating barbecue!”
“Tamales at bedtime, anything like that?”
Cat threw her arms in the air. “A devilish pig has nothing to do with food. Can’t you see a premonition staring you in the face? I dreamt about the pig, and now look what’s in the mail. We’re staring at doom.”
“An evil pig represents doom? You’re a fruitcake.”
A squabble about the evil pig ensued. Linnie pulled a rag from the pocket of her coveralls to swab her perspiring cheeks. Several deep breaths didn’t manage to slow her pulse.
Noting her distress, Jada stopped arguing with Cat. “Take a few more breaths.” She understood how much Linnie hated surprises.
“Make her sit down,” Cat suggested.
“I don’t want to sit down. Give me some space, both of you.”
Ignoring the command, Jada slung an arm across Linnie’s shoulder. Cat also moved in. Together they held the letter at arm’s length.
Linnie’s attention landed on the return address. San Fernando, California. The gravity beneath her feet loosened.
Jada tightened her hold. “Should we call your parents?”
Shrugging free, Linnie slumped to the floor. “Absolutely not.” Conversations with her parents were stilted at best. More importantly, she hated to upset them. “Look what Freddie’s last caper did to my father. He’s never fully recovered from the stroke. I’m not putting his health at risk.”
“We leave them in the dark? Sure that’s a good idea?”
“Until we know what this is about.”
“Open the letter and we’ll know.”
“Give me a sec, okay?”
“Do the yogic breathing.” Jada demonstrated, her lips pursing. “Hmmm.”
A wheezing gasp popped from Linnie’s throat. “Nope. Not working.” What if Freddie showed up in Sweet Lake? She’d removed his name from the bank accounts, but he did have rights. “How ’bout this? Later I’ll see what my brother wants.” Like in the next century.
Cat muttered, “Gutless.”
Elbowing her in the ribs, Jada said, “I hate how badly your family was hurt. Why is Freddie bothering you after all this time? You’ve been through enough.”
“Not just me—the whole town.”
They’d all paid dearly. Sweet Lake was a mere shadow of the vibrant tourist center that once drew visitors from throughout the Midwest to enjoy the mineral-fed lake and lush forests. Once the Wayfair shuttered half of the rooms and tourism dwindled, local business closures followed—including the bakery Jada had built singlehandedly and the special events company Cat had opened with a small inheritance from her grandparents. Next? The gift shop closed. Then the Eggs Up diner and the sports equipment store turned out the lights. Half of Sweet Lake Circle now stood empty, the buildings growing moss and the windows streaked with grime. If not for the few remaining establishments, like the law office and the landscape firm owned by the determined Kettering brothers, the circle would resemble a ghost town.
The tragedy in Linnie’s family had led directly to all the suffering. Although she battled overwhelming guilt, she refused to give up. She didn’t possess her father’s bold personality or her grandfather’s insatiable drive, but she was a Wayfair. Even if she never healed from the betrayal, she’d keep moving forward—for her own good and the town’s. If it took a lifetime, she’d return Sweet Lake to prosperity.
Breaking the gloomy silence, Jada said, “Maybe we’re overreacting. What if you’re holding an apology note? Seven years too late, but maybe Freddie sent one. You don’t have to reply.”
“I don’t intend to.” Pinpricks of pain scattered across her heart. Fighting off the depressing emotion, she added, “He’s dead to me. There’s nothing he can say to mend our relationship.”
Cat shifted from foot to foot. “Jada, you don’t think he’s coming here, do you?”
“To risk a public flogging? He wouldn’t dare.”
Linnie looked up sharply. “Most of the town has forgotten my brother exists. They don’t have the facts on why the inn lost business. My father kept a lid on the specifics.” He’d especially worried about the inn’s staff learning the truth and a blow to morale worsening the situation.
“Your closest friends have all the details,” Jada pointed out. “Don’t forget, taking the money wasn’t his only bad move.”
“She’s right,” Cat agreed. “Freddie never had any sense. If he shows up now, we’re the least of his worries. Unlikely he’ll figure it out. Does whatever he wants without thought of the consequences.”
Jada grunted. “That’s putting it mildly.”
Rising, Linnie stuffed the letter in her pocket. With pride she regarded the ballroom. If Freddie’s note contained nothing but bad news, she’d survive.
Sure, her friends regarded her with worry, but she wasn’t as fainthearted as they imagined. Hadn’t she found the courage to begin refurbishing the ballroom? Silvia wanted to host her anniversary party here, and the deposit she’d made was incentive enough to proceed. Still, the gamble took every shred of Linnie’s thin optimism.
She’d checked and rechecked the P&L statements, taking care not to make a rash decision. The Wayfair didn’t merely support her and a scaled-down staff. Thanks to the stream of checks mailed to Florida every month, her parents were also doing fine in Tampa. Although her relationship with them was strained, there wasn’t a decision she made without taking their welfare into consideration.
The sharp scent of paint spiked the air. Next week the parquet flooring would receive a thorough cleaning. Despite her naturally reticent nature, Linnie had managed to ruthlessly negotiate an affordable price from a floor cleaning service in Columbus.
Well, she’d signed the contract. Jada had negotiated the price.
Pulling herself together, she reached for the bucket of sudsy water. She went back up the ladder trailing bubbles from the rag she’d neglected to squeeze out.
Jada’s brows hit her hairline. “You’re back on the cleaning spree? Aren’t you curious what Freddie has to say?”
“At the moment, no. We have work to do.” Reaching for a crystal teardrop dangling from the chandelier, Linnie expelled an impatient sigh. “Are you helping or not?”
Nodding to his secretary, Daniel Kettering strode out of his law office swinging his brown-bag lunch.
The balmy June temperatures were too much of a lure to consider dining indoors. The maple trees dotting Sweet Lake Circle rustled pleasantly in the breeze, and the traffic around the circle was light. Dashing across to one of the many picnic tables, he did a second take.
His younger brother and niece occupied a table. Crumbs framed their mouths. PB&Js, Daniel surmised, noticing the dab of peanut butter on the frothy tutu that was part of Fancy’s s
ummer garb. The five-year-old was frilly in the extreme, with a bedroom chock-full of baby dolls and a closet crammed full with dress-up clothes. Princess outfits were a favorite.
Beyond the pair, his dog raced across the grass. Puddles leapt skyward to make a perfect catch. Trotting back, the mutt dropped the Frisbee in Philip’s lap.
Tossing the toy aside, Philip said, “Don’t blame me. Fancy insisted on bringing your mongrel with us. We’ll take him back to your house in a while.”
“Good. I have back-to-back meetings until six.” As the only legal counsel in a thirty-mile radius, Daniel handled everything from estate planning to divorce proceedings.
Fancy hopped up and threw herself into his arms. “We had to save Puddles,” she informed him in her faint, singsong voice. “He gets lonely when you go to the low office.”
“Law office, buttercup.”
“Okay.” Her cornflower-blue eyes grew serious. “Do you have brownies? Daddy promised to bring some of Jada’s. He doesn’t have any.”
The comment put Daniel on alert. It wasn’t like Jada to send his brother from the inn without a box of her delectable baked goods. Which meant Philip hadn’t gone to the inn as planned.
Masking his unease, he held up his sack lunch for Fancy’s inspection. “I have a ham-and-swiss and an apple. Want some?”
“What else do you have?”
“That’s it.”
She wrinkled her nose, and her father said, “Honey, why don’t you play with Puddles? I need to talk to Uncle Daniel.”
“Me first.” She pulled on Daniel’s pant leg, urging him to bend down. When they were eye to eye, she whispered, “Can I look to be sure?”
He opened the bag. “Where’s the trust? Honest, no brownies.” At her disappointment, he added, “If I had one, I wouldn’t even ask you to split it with me.”
“Okay.”
She ran off with her lemon-colored hair snapping in the breeze. Puddles, which Daniel suspected was the curious offspring of a standard poodle and Chewbacca from Star Wars, sprinted to meet her in the center of the grass.
Sweet Lake (Sweet Lake #1) Page 2
