The Comfort of Secrets (A Sweet Lake Novel Book 2)

by Christine Nolfi

  He wrapped her in a bear hug, then held her at arm’s length. “How is my little flower today?”

  “I’m tired, Papa.” She peered at the top of his head, which was bald as an egg and covered with angry red blotches. Tufts of salt-and-pepper hair surrounded the sunburned skin. “Were you gardening without a hat again?” His culinary abilities were matched only by his green thumb.

  “The little kisses from the sun? I hardly feel them.”

  “You’re getting as silly as Mami.” Cat was forever dropping off bottles of suntan lotion her mother rarely used. “If you’re spending the afternoon outdoors, wear a hat.”

  “Ah, you worry too much.” He flicked the colorful earring swinging from her ear.

  “Is Val coming for dinner?” Cat’s older sister, Valentina, was the social studies teacher at Sweet Lake High. In a lucky coincidence, she’d applied for the position the year Marco decided forty years of teaching social studies was long enough.

  “Val’s busy. Waiting for a furniture delivery.”

  “She bought that new couch for her apartment?” Val had been mulling over the purchase for weeks.

  “And a coffee table—made a snap decision.” Marco peeked inside the oven. “Never thought my oldest child would do something impulsive like mi florecita.”

  Not exactly high praise. With the exception of Cat, the Mendozas rarely made snap decisions that went awry—not her parents, Val, or her younger brother, Alberto. Too often Cat’s impulsive streak brought trouble or unintended consequences. Even the failure of her event-planning business seven years ago was due mostly to a desire to sprint off without first questioning if she’d run straight into a wall.

  After Grandma Maria died, all three of the Mendoza children received money they were unaware their grandparents had squirreled away. Val promptly used her inheritance to pay off the last of her college loans. Alberto tucked his away into a retirement account.

  Cat, newly graduated from Ohio U, where she’d majored in dating and having a good time, struck upon the perfect career. Since she’d always possessed a romantic streak, why not organize weddings? Helping brides select flowers, vendors, and music for the special day seemed the perfect career.

  Naturally her parents advised against the hasty plan. Her nonexistent organizational skills, combined with a lack of business acumen, sank Dream Weddings & Events in one year flat.

  Brushing away the humiliating memory, she told her father, “I’m glad Val did something impulsive. She ought to loosen up.”

  The testy comment drew Marco’s attention. “You seem down. Bad day at work?”

  “Several of the Sirens stopped by first thing.”

  “I heard. Your mother would’ve gone with them if she’d had the time.”

  “Why didn’t she?”

  “Too busy helping Frances with this year’s tokens.” Frances Dufour was her mother’s closest friend. “They’re taking the stuff to the cemetery tomorrow.” Ruefully Marco shook his head. “I’ll never get why Frances makes such a big deal over a dead pet. If she went overboard memorializing Archie’s death date, it would make more sense.”

  Cat went to the sink and looked out the window. “You’re assuming Frances’s September ritual is for Demeter.” Two goldfinches swooped between the trees, sending flashes of yellow across the yard. “She’s been making those special trinkets for a whole lot longer than Demeter’s been gone. There must be another reason.”

  “We’ll never know, will we? Your mother and Frances have enough secrets to fill a treasure chest.”

  They also shared a treasure trove of ideas about the sacred feminine power and ideals worthy enough to guide a woman’s life. Kindness. Self-confidence. A respect for nature, and a nurturing love for family, friends, and the greater world. Cat admired their high-minded thinking, even if she wasn’t yet a master of the Sweet Lake Sirens’ code. Self-confidence in particular was difficult to attain. Most days found her mired in self-doubt.

  Her father removed a casserole from the oven, and she asked, “What’s for dinner?”

  “Enchiladas with green sauce.”

  One of her favorites. “Should I set the table?”

  “Your mother took care of it. We’re eating in the dining room.”

  Cat accepted the news with sinking spirits. Eating in the dining room was reserved for special occasions—or times when her parents felt the need to intervene in their children’s lives. The advice they bestowed always came with affection. But after the long day preparing for Miri’s visit tomorrow, she wasn’t in the mood for even a gentle interrogation.

  “Where is Mami?”

  He pointed a wooden spoon due south. “In the sunroom. Why don’t you tell her dinner’s ready in ten?”

  Rising nerves accompanied Cat out of the kitchen. She wandered through the living room, decorated in vibrant yellow and terra-cotta hues, to the equally bright sunroom. In a nod to the Sirens’ meetings often held there, three walls featured built-in benches. The seat cushions wore a rainbow of colors. They matched the runner trailing down the middle of the long oak table that dominated the center of the room.

  Working intently, her mother threaded twine through pretty stones hollowed out with a jewelry drill bit. The stones glimmered with a variety of blue paint colors.

  Silvia paused in her work. “Cat!”

  She took a seat, leaned in for a kiss. “They’re pretty. You’re making them for Frances?”

  “You just missed her. We’ve been working since I left the office. Put in a good two hours on our little craft project.”

  Cat fingered the tiny pile of azure feathers placed beside the stones. “You’re going to the cemetery tomorrow?”

  “Might as well. Frances is as ready as she’ll ever be.”

  The temptation to ask for details nearly drove Cat to pry, but she shrugged it off. Her father was correct—the secrets her mother and Frances shared were guarded vigilantly.

  Instead she got straight to the point. “Why are we having my favorite meal in the dining room? I’d guess you’re buttering me up, but I get the feeling you’re not.”

  Her mother finished threading the stones, then set them aside. “Wouldn’t you rather wait for the three of us to talk?” She punctuated the question by smoothing a hand down Cat’s flowing brown hair.

  “Not really.”

  “Fine.” Her mother didn’t have much in the way of patience and appeared happy to explain. “I want to help you put together the marketing budget for the Wayfair. I’m a CPA, and you don’t have much love for numbers. I’d ask if you’ve learned how to balance your checkbook, but I can’t bear the truth. Linnie’s given you control of more money than you’re used to handling. You need my input to ensure every dime is well spent.”

  The suggestion seemed overdue. Since receiving the promotion, Cat had been waiting for her mother to drop a hint, or—more in keeping with her bold personality—draw up a typewritten list of reasons why her involvement was necessary. At least she wasn’t offering a home-cooked meal to chat about the Sirens’ goofy ideas for seminars at the inn, a conversation Cat would gladly put off until forever.

  “Well?” Her mother smiled encouragingly. “Will you accept my help?”

  The question stirred the doubts Cat never fully escaped. “Mami, I appreciate the offer—I really do. But I want to do this on my own. I’ve been researching other inns to see how they bring in business. I’ve put together everything for the concert we’re holding on the beach in October without once asking Linnie or Jada for help. I’ve also met with Miri in Cincinnati to discuss options for the fall and spring ad campaigns.”

  “You drove to Adworks?”

  “Twice. If I run into problems, she’ll help.”

  “Just because you roomed together back in college doesn’t mean she’s willing to spend hours on the Wayfair’s marketing budget. She’s done enough already. Isn’t Miri giving you a discount on her services?”

  “She is—and she’ll have more than enough tim
e to help. She’s coming to stay for a week.”

  Silvia patted her cheek with the pained, motherly affection that indicated Cat was missing something obvious. “Miri may wish to help, but don’t send your expectations to the sky. A woman juggling pregnancy and thirty employees doesn’t have the energy to give extended lessons in marketing.”

  “She said she’s willing to help, and I believe her.” The idea of wading through spreadsheets without Miri lending advice was an intimidating prospect. Not that relying on parental guidance appealed either. “Besides, if I get in over my head, I’ll ask Jada to check the numbers. I won’t drop thousands of dollars on radio ads or new brochures without a second set of eyes looking over my decisions.”

  “You’ll foist this on Jada? Her responsibilities have increased, just like yours. Isn’t she now splitting management duties with Linnie?”

  “You know Linnie promoted us on the same day.”

  “Then you see how relying on Jada is an imposition.”

  “Mami, I don’t want your help. This time is different. Linnie’s put me in charge of the marketing, and I want to prove to her—and myself—that I can do a great job on my own.” The hurt in her mother’s eyes hastened Cat to add, “Don’t get me wrong. I love how you and Papa look out for me. Lots of people grow up without loving parents. I’ve never taken your protection for granted.”

  “We had to protect you, dearest heart.”

  The catch in her mother’s voice made Cat’s eyes dampen. Florecita, the little flower her parents nearly lost. It was a miracle her brother and sister didn’t view her as spoiled, but they too understood. They’d sheltered Cat with equal vigilance, long after the monthly visits to the pediatrician had ended. When a child has a difficult start to life, those struggles change the fabric of a family.

  From the dining room, her father called them in to dinner.

  “If I run into problems, I won’t hesitate to ask for your help,” she said to soothe her mother’s bruised ego.

  The familiar heat filtered through Silvia’s features. “This isn’t like the last time when you rushed in too fast and lost a business you’d opened,” she warned. “Linnie has worked long and hard to keep the Wayfair from failing. The inn has been part of her family legacy for generations. Don’t rush ahead blindly, Cat. If you do, you’ll risk her one good chance to succeed.”

  Chapter 2

  “Heard a rumor you were ambushed yesterday.”

  From the doorway of Cat’s office, Linnie Wayfair made no effort to hide her amusement. Shorter than Cat and with a pleasingly curvy figure, she wore brown tights and a thigh-length sweater of burnt orange. Her thick tawny hair tumbled around her shoulders.

  From the looks of the plaster dusting her clothes, she’d been trooping around the premises with the construction crew. By early October, the squadron of workers would finish the simpler renovations in the main inn: refinishing floors in some of the rooms, repainting others, and making minor improvements in the lobby area. Come November, the crews would begin tackling the bigger issues plaguing the south wing, where Cat and Jada Brooks—the inn’s baker and the third member of the Wayfair’s management team—each kept a personal suite. Cat wasn’t looking forward to moving out at the end of October and losing the free digs she’d enjoyed for the last seven years.

  She pushed the keyboard away. “Ask about the Sirens later,” she said. “I have tons of work to finish before Miri arrives.”

  “She’s driving in from Cincinnati?”

  “And staying for a week in your old suite.” Last summer Linnie had moved out of the south wing and into her boyfriend’s house in town. “I’ve told you about Miri’s visit a dozen times.”

  An apology flashed through Linnie’s hazel eyes. “I forgot.”

  “She’s interviewing staff members for the new brochure and steering me on ad buys for the fall and next spring. Plus she’s getting a feel for the inn. Where and what to photograph, the best time of day to capture the Wayfair in its prime—she’ll send a photographer and videographer for the concert in October. We’ll post some of the material on the new website, use other images for print and digital.”

  “And you thought you didn’t have the chops to handle our advertising.”

  Cat still wasn’t optimistic—even less so after her mother’s warning last night. “I can’t do this without Miri’s help,” she admitted. Given all the decisions required, overseeing the marketing was a more intimidating task than she had first envisioned when Linnie handed over the reins.

  “Nice how she gave us a discount on her services.”

  “Adworks usually handles big corporate accounts. She said this job’ll be a breeze.”

  “I’m looking forward to thanking her in person.”

  “Guess she’s running late.” It bothered her that Miri hadn’t returned her calls. Running the agency kept her old acquaintance in constant motion.

  Still, how much trouble was it to send a text from the road?

  “If she’s late, you have time to spare.” Linnie shut the door. “Tell me about the preparations for the concert.”

  “I’ve still got a ton of work.”

  “One month and counting.”

  “I wish I had longer to finish the preparations. Unfortunately I’ve hit a few speed bumps.”

  The Sweet Lake Fall Concert, slated for the second weekend in October, was to be the first event for the general public held by the Wayfair in a decade. Contrary to her mother’s doubts, Cat was sweating the tiniest details. Even if she didn’t have natural management skills, she planned to leave nothing to chance.

  With Linnie’s blessing, she’d hired a specialty events company, a lighting professional, and a boy band with a large following in Ohio. She’d even worked with Jada and the kitchen staff on a Sunday buffet to draw back people who’d attend the Saturday night concert but weren’t able to secure rooms at the inn. Thanks to advance marketing, the Wayfair was booked solid for the weekend of the concert.

  Linnie dropped into the old tapestry chair Cat had commandeered from the relics stored in the Wayfair’s basement. “There’s a problem with the arrangements?” she asked.

  “Splendid Events reneged on the dance floor. An investment firm has their employee picnic the same day. They tried to talk me into a smaller floor.” Cat wanted ample space on the beach for guests to get their groove on. “So I fired them. I found another company. They have two smaller floors we’ll bolt together.”

  “Don’t let them set up too close to the water. We don’t need drunken revelers falling in.”

  “We’ll put the dance floor twenty feet from the lake.” She’d already mapped out the section of the beach to use, although she’d misplaced the notes on her paper-strewn desk.

  “What about Midnight Boyz? Still giving you headaches?”

  The popular Cleveland band, whose oldest member looked too young to vote, had bombarded Cat with demands she’d had no choice but to grant. A corner suite for two days prior to the performance. Use of the ballroom each afternoon for practice. A detailed menu for the lead vocalist, who avoided gluten, and another for the drummer, whose carnivorous tendencies were sure to blow out his arteries one day. The curly-haired brat demanded porterhouse steaks with every meal.

  “I’d love to fire them too.” The option wasn’t realistic, given the constraints of her budget and the band’s rising star in the Ohio music scene. “Success and puberty at the same time does not bring out the best in people. It’s a miracle they didn’t ask for a masseuse, or a private chef on call 24/7.”

  “They did win a competition in Cleveland. They’re worth the trouble.”

  “Two competitions, actually. There’s a rumor they’ll sign a recording deal before Christmas. We’re lucky to get the brats before they hit the big time.”

  Letting the topic go, Linnie asked, “So how many of the Sirens showed up yesterday?”

  “Four of their more insistent members. And before you ask, my mother didn’t lead the charge.”
Silvia shared co-leadership with the elegant Frances Dufour.

  “What about Frances?” Since gaining majority control of the inn last summer, Linnie had struck up a friendship with the Sirens’ oldest member.

  “Also MIA. They’re out at Walnut Grove this morning—a secret vigil they hold every September.” Her mother didn’t usually traipse off with Frances during business hours, but she did make exceptions. “Papa thinks they’re holding a memorial for Demeter.”

  “They’re holding a memorial for a Greek goddess?”

  She laughed. “Don’t you remember the huge cat Frances used to walk on a leash? Must’ve weighed twenty pounds.”

  “The Persian masquerading as a dog—how could I forget?” Linnie cocked her head to the side. “Should I touch base with Frances to make sure she’s okay?”

  “Don’t worry. They battle constantly, but my mother always has her back.”

  “Seeing how you share everything with your mother, I’m sure you’ll get to the bottom of it.”

  An exaggeration, but Cat did cherish their special bond. “I don’t share everything with her.”

  “Yeah. Right. If you were deep in a romance, you’d serve up the juicy tidbits to your mother before throwing a bone to me or Jada.”

  “Guess I’ll keep her on a diet, since there’s nothing juicy to share.” Though she was loath to admit it, she harbored the teeniest bit of jealousy about Linnie’s dry streak ending. Her relationship with Daniel Kettering was sure to lead to marriage, assuming Sweet Lake’s only attorney got the careful Linnie to the altar. “Between marketing tasks and work for the concert, I don’t have time to date.”

  “Do I detect a hint of pessimism from my favorite optimist? When you least expect it, the right guy will come along.”

  The comment gave Cat a boost. “I believe you. Mostly because I am an optimist.”

  “One of your best qualities.” Linnie twirled a finger through her hair. “So, what did the Sirens want?”