“Yes, it was. This chicken isn’t half bad. Do you want to go to a black-tie function on Friday?” I could swing the arts dinner at a hundred dollars per plate using Catherine’s egg money, and feel pretty good about it since I thought she’d approve.
“Would it be a date? Or another covert ops mission?”
“Yes.” I looked at him over the rim of my glass as he tried to figure out which question I’d answered. “But I’ll be going as myself this time.”
He leaned back in his chair, rested one arm on the table, and looked—I swear—right into me. “And who are you now?”
“Telling you,” I said, waving my fork at him, “wouldn’t be nearly as much fun as letting you figure it out on your own, now, would it?” Not long after my return to Mooselick River, Jacy chided me for not being the audacious woman she remembered, but when Drew laughed, that woman wakened inside me.
“Black tie, huh? Okay, I’m in.”
“It’s a date.” Did those words come out of my mouth? Yeah, they did. “So how much of this little caper did you figure out on your own?”
“Enough to know you’re mixed up in murder.”
I waited for him to try and talk me out of pursuing any course of action that he might consider dangerous. He had to give it a shot, right? Or else hand in his alpha male card.
“I have my reasons,” I said.
“I gathered as much.” Since I wasn’t eating it, Drew took my dinner roll, used it to mop up the last of the garlic sauce on his plate. “Tell me the parts of the story that weren’t media fodder.”
Before I did, I took a moment to weigh my options. If my life was a movie of the week, then Drew would be the too-good-to-be-true guy who shows up and gains the heroine’s trust only to betray her in the end.
Oh wait, I’d already married that guy. What were the odds there’d be two of them?
Could I trust this man, though?
He saw my struggle.
“I’m not him,” he said quietly and took the wind right out of my sails.
“No,” I replied, “I guess you’re not.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
I STRIPPED OFF the wig, tossed it on the passenger’s seat, and pulled my phone out of my purse. I’d left the ringer off while Drew and I had finished dinner, and I was a little bit surprised by the number of missed calls and messages. Most were from Jacy or Patrea, but it was the photo message from Alicia that held my attention.
In it, Albert was propped up in bed, smiling lopsidedly, and giving the thumbs up. Alicia had captioned it with a series of heart emojis.
—Is he cleared for visitors? I asked. The response came back in seconds.
—Anytime tomorrow afternoon.
—I’ll see you then.
I smiled all the way home and kept smiling even when I had to squeeze my car in past Jacy’s and Patrea’s. I even smiled when Molly growled at the wig in my hand as if she thought it might come to life and mount an attack.
“Hush, you silly girl.” I stashed the wig out of sight and followed the sound of voices to the kitchen.
“Neena gave us the Bill story, now it’s your turn.”
“I’m sure she covered everything.” I pretended to misunderstand and then had to duck a barrage of popcorn.
“I had dinner with Drew. It’s not that big a deal, certainly not popcorn-worthy.”
“We’ll be the judge of that.” Jacy picked up her bowl. “In the living room, though. I need to prop up my feet.”
We spent the rest of the evening hashing over whether it had been a good idea for me to tell Drew my sordid story and if we’d really learned anything useful from Bill. And eating popcorn, naturally.
On Saturday morning, I called David and asked him to handle tenant calls for the evening, then spent another hour searching for the missing envelope before heading to the hospital to visit Albert.
Alicia met me at the elevators, her eyes misty over a wide smile. “How’s he doing?”
She all but fell into my arms. “Good. It’s good.”
All I could do was hold her and babble some soothing nonsense as the sobs wracked her body. I am, by the way, a sympathy crier. By the time she’d let it all out, we were both blubbering.
Once the spate passed, we sat on the bench at the end of the hall.
“I thought everything would be easier when he woke up, but it’s so much harder. He’s trying so hard, but he gets agitated and says things that aren’t nice when he can’t find the right words.”
I took her hand, gave it a squeeze.
“Dr. Maron prepared me for what to expect, and if anything, Dad’s doing better than we hoped.” Alicia twisted the hem of her sweatshirt while she talked. “But I feel like I can’t breathe. Like my insides are being yanked out and twisted into pretzels. My dad is my rock. He’s the one who has been there when I needed love or comfort, and now he doesn’t always remember my name.”
The pain in her voice pierced right through me. So did her bravery. I put an arm around shoulders too slight for the burden they’d had to bear.
“I'm being stupid,” she said. “Dr. Maron calls my dad the Miracle Man because he’s improving so rapidly, and I’m stupid for feeling crushed that he didn’t wake up and jump out of bed like nothing happened.”
“Don’t downplay your response. I think the emotional roller-coaster is probably natural, given the situation. Have you talked to your aunt? She seems like a supportive person.”
“She totally is. She dropped everything to come here and be with me. I can’t begin to repay her kindness, so I try not to be a burden. She wasn’t here when he woke up because she sold her house in St. Louis. She says since her kids are grown and spread all over the country, they can visit her here just as well as there.”
“That’s wonderful news.” And it meant Alicia wouldn’t be alone no matter what happened with Albert.
“It is.” Alicia smiled. “Thank you, Everly. This helped a lot. Once you’ve had your whole life ripped out from under you, it’s harder to trust that good things can still happen.”
No wonder she’d needed a good cry. “If you ever need to vent, or just to talk, you can call me. Night or day.” I hugged her again.
“He’s going to be fine. Dr. Maron says if he keeps improving at this rate, there’s no reason he can’t make a full recovery. I know he’s going to be fine.”
“He’ll heal much faster when he knows you believe in him. The Albert I know would move heaven and earth for you.”
She looked lighter, closer to her age than she had when I’d arrived.
“Do you want to see him? He can have visitors as long as you only stay a few minutes and don’t tire him out.”
“Of course.”
Alicia kept hold of my hand as we walked down the hall to his room. “He’s getting transferred to a different floor tomorrow.” She raised her voice as we walked closer to the bed. “Old lazybones here is going to the rehab wing to get his butt whipped back into shape. Hey dad, look who I found out in the hall.”
“Hello, Albert.”
“I remember you. Sweet Miss Everly.” Speaking in partial sentences, Albert worked hard at getting the words out. “Always asked about my Alicia.”
“She’s a lovely girl, Albert, and you were right to be proud of her.”
“Good girl. Going to college. Good school.”
Lopsided as it might be, his smile made my heart sing. “She deserves it. Aced the SATS, didn’t she?”
Albert’s expression went from slightly dazed but cheerful to sharp and perfectly lucid. He had something to say if he could get his body to cooperate with his mind.
“775 reading, 782 math. Important. Don’t forget.” With what looked like an enormous effort, Albert lifted his head off the pillow, his eyes bored into mine. “775 reading, 782 math. Promise you’ll remember.”
Giving his hand a pat, I repeated, “775 reading, 782 math. I’ll write it down so I won’t forget.”
“No. Don’t write. Just remember.”
&nbs
p; I could tell Alicia thought I should leave, and I totally agreed with her.
“Okay, I won’t write it down. Now, you need to rest so you can get well faster. I’ll come back another time.”
Alicia didn’t leave her father to follow me out, so I filed away her SAT scores in the recesses of my mind, and spent the drive back to Mooselick River thinking about the fragility of life.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“YOU DON’T BELONG here. You never did.” Winston’s ghost echoed my own misgivings, and with Drew standing next to me, I couldn’t argue the point. For the first few months of my marriage, attending these functions felt like a child’s game of dress-up. Fun and exciting.
Eventually, having the same polite conversations with the same people three times a month got old, and I came to dread them unless I’d had a hand in the event. The planning and execution process allowed me a buffer, a degree of separation from the guests.
Tonight would probably be worse than tedious. Winston was right. I didn’t belong there.
And yet, Winston could bite me. I was here to help him, so I tucked my hand through Drew’s arm and swung through the doors with barely a moment’s hesitation.
“Everly Hastings. You are the very last person I expected to see here tonight. I heard you’d run off to join the circus or something.”
“Hello, Lenore.”
It would be my luck to run into the snob queen of the society circuit before my feet made the transition from carpeted foyer to the parquet of the banquet room.
A lifetime of caloric deprivation hadn’t kept Lenore Cavendish from aging, nor did the way the light teased a burgundy sheen out of her artificially darkened, used-to-be brunette hair. Nose in the air, dress hanging off her scarecrow-thin frame, she spread joy and sunshine wherever she went … NOT.
“I’d like you to meet Andrew Parker, who has kindly agreed to be my plus-one for the evening. Lenore has been supporting the arts in our area ever since … well, long before we were born.”
Because Paul had asked it of me, I’d let Lenore get her little digs in at every opportunity, but his opinion no longer mattered, and those days were over. “If you’ll excuse me, I see someone else I’d rather talk to.”
“Meow,” Drew whispered in my ear.
“I edited myself,” I assured him.
Drew snorted.
“I did,” I said. “If I hadn’t, I might have mentioned the fact that if she had one more facelift, her ears would meet in the back.” Drew coughed to cover a laugh.
“Do you know she had the nerve to show up at an event to help the homeless I was running and squawk about how she’d give money because it looked good on her tax return, but the bums really should do something to help themselves? She’s a heartless snob, and from the back, she looks like a frog walking on two legs.”
“That is the most accurate observation I’ve heard all night.” Patrea had come up behind us. “Some wild stories are going around about Winston. He’s become sinner to Paul’s saint.”
“What does that make me? Jezebel?”
“With this one on your arm, absolutely.” Patrea watched the crowd shrewdly. “Emily Ballentine is here, and I can almost guarantee she called Tippy Hastings the minute she saw you here with a date. Speaking of, I don’t believe we’ve met.” She gave Drew a head-to-toe perusal. “Patrea Heard. I’m Everly’s attorney, and you are?”
“Drew Parker. I’m Everly’s buffer for the night.”
The pair of them sized each other up until Patrea finally nodded and grinned. “Okay, then. Nice to meet you.”
“Well, at least you didn’t pee on me to mark your territory.”
The comment was meant for Patrea, and I’ll admit my nerves were already a little frayed, but Drew answered. “I like to consider myself house-trained.”
Patrea laughed. I rolled my eyes but allowed a hint of a smile. “Have you seen Honor anywhere? I think I’d better talk to her and sneak out before the last tray of hors d’oeuvres makes the rounds.”
Drew laid his hand on my lower back, gave it a gentle rub. “Or you could stay and show them what you’re made of.”
“What would that be?” I turned to him. “Vinegar and battery acid?” I felt a hint of remorse for being rude to Lenore.
“Maybe, but there’s fire and courage in facing the people who didn’t stand with you.”
The warmth of a blush tickled across my cheeks, and I couldn’t look at him anymore, so I turned to Patrea. “Where’s Chris?”
“Over there.” Patrea gestured toward a group of men who appeared to be in the middle of a heated debate. “Talking sports with the trophy husbands. He’s keeping an eye on the door in case Honor decides to leave. She’s at the bar—big shock—doing her level best to drink her weight in gin.”
“Then I’d better get to her before she passes out in the coat closet again.”
“I’d hurry if I were you. If she’s blond and wearing a dress that’s shinier than a disco ball, she just went that way,” Drew pointed toward the restrooms.
“That’d be her,” Patrea affirmed. “I’ll stay here and pump Drew for personal information—I mean keep Drew company so you can catch up with Honor while she’s still on her feet.”
Fancy-pants venues are required to have fancy-pants restrooms. It’s a rule or something. This one had its own sitting room attached with sofas at one end and a bank of lighted makeup mirrors at the other. The toilets were tastefully enclosed in a separate room through a door at the back.
“Men are jerks.” In a skin-tight silver beaded number, Honor did look a bit like a disco ball but didn’t seem to be as drunk as Patrea thought she was. I didn’t have any trouble getting her to talk. Basically, I said hello, and then she went off like a champagne cork.
“It’s like it’s hard coded in their DNA to cheat and lie.”
I wanted to disagree because I knew some fine men, I just hadn’t married one of the them. But I needed information, and she needed a sister solidarity moment, so I put on my cranky voice. “Mine slept with my closest friend, and then threw me out of our house like I was the one who did something wrong. What did yours do?”
Okay, maybe I wasn’t entirely over what Paul had done because I didn’t have to work too hard for the cranky voice.
“He did my neighbor’s dog walker, that’s what. Barely eighteen, perky boobs, and legs long enough to wrap around him twice.”
“Jerk,” I said. “Who did your divorce? Someone good, I hope.”
Forgetting she held a glass, Honor waved her hand and splashed gin on herself. Maybe she was as drunk as Patrea thought she was. “Sure did. I’ll be driving around in Andre’s Ferrari with the top down this summer. Winston Durham looks harmless, but he’s a shark. Best divorce lawyer in town. Or he was.”
Maybe I should have hunted down Andre instead of Honor.
“Too bad what happened to him, isn’t it? I wonder who killed him.”
About a half-inch of gin remained in her glass, and Honor downed that solemnly, then made an air toast.
“To poor, dead Winston. May he litigate his way through the pearly gates.”
I’d have chosen a much more fiery climate to wish him into, but Honor didn’t need to know that. When pressed, she denied any shady dealings during her divorce but offered up another tidbit.
“Winnie was good with the legal stuff, but I wouldn’t trust him to manage my money.”
Ping.
Studying her glass as if wondering why it was empty, Honor elaborated but only after a gentle, verbal nudge.
“Consider the source, but Lenore Cavendish told me she let him manage some of her money, and he did some shady things with it, or maybe he lost it all. Or was it Hilly Cartwright? You know what? I can’t remember. And that means I need another drink.”
Another drink probably wouldn’t improve her memory, but one might improve my mood. Winston hadn’t played fast and loose with Honor’s prenup, but he might be the reason Paul had to sell his house.
/> Even before I crossed the room to rejoin Patrea, she caught my eye, and I shook my head to let her know the news wasn’t as good as I’d hoped.
I could leave now or sit through four tedious courses followed by speeches and pleas for more money in the hope of mending fences with Lenore. What could be worse?
As soon as I asked myself, my brain began supplying a list. I hadn’t reached Drew and Patrea or decided what to do when a hush fell over the room.
My former in-laws had arrived.
Two things happened at once—out of the corner of my eye, I saw Patrea shove Drew in my direction, and my feet failed to respond to my mental order to stop.
These were people who had treated me reasonably well during my marriage, and yet, they were also the people who had raised the kind of man who would cheat, lie, and possibly murder to get what he wanted.
It seemed like the rest of the room took a collective step back and went silent, so whether I moved forward or not, it looked like I did. To leave, I’d have to walk past them, to stay meant a confrontation, or I’d back down and swallow the angry words that burned on my tongue. Either way, I was in for an evening of being the subject of much attention.
Tippy—and how they got Tippy from Madeleine, I’ll never know—glared daggers at me, elbowing her husband Thurston in the ribs. The look on his face when he saw me was about what you’d expect on someone who’d just stepped in a steaming dog pile.
I didn’t even need to hear Grammie Dupree’s voice in my head to decide I would stick around for the rest of the evening. And when I met Tippy’s murderous look with a cocked eyebrow and a nod, the rush of confidence that welled up inside me was icing on the cake.
Wisely, Drew stayed back and let me carry on a silent conversation with my former in-laws that let them know I would not run or hide. Not this time. When Tippy’s gaze finally dropped, I turned away. The hushed moment turned to a buzz of scandalized whispers when I joined Drew and let him wrap an arm around my waist.
“I take it we’re staying.”
Walking away from my former family without a backward glance, I assured him, “Wild horses couldn’t drag me out of here.”
Ghost Haste Page 14
