“Doubtful. I’ll ad-lib.”
It was a simple enough solution. She’d acted this script a depressing number of times. This was nothing but the latest rendition with another baker, in another economically challenged town. As for how to expand the role once she arrived in Ohio, Millicent intended to concoct new lines on the fly.
Vasily opened the refrigerator beneath the wet bar, rooted around. “So, you are still planning the reconnaissance.” He came back up with a soda. Ice clinked in a glass, and he feigned disinterest as he poured.
He was interested, all right. After she left for Ohio, he’d grow numb listening to complaints. The poor treatment on the horizon would undoubtedly give the handsome youth his first etching of crow’s feet.
She nearly pitied him.
Perhaps it would be wise to give him another raise before I leave for O’Hare.
Mulling over the amount of the raise, she said, “You can’t talk me out of the trip. The flight is booked. I finished packing this morning.”
“When do I ever attempt to talk you out of these mad forays? You’re wasting the most intellectually productive years of your retirement. Entirely your prerogative.” He lifted his soda in mock salute. “Someone else, however, will have a fit. I’m not looking forward to the fireworks.”
“You’ll survive. If Jada Brooks is the right woman, we’ll finally close the book on this.” The odds of turning up real information was negligible. Too many years had passed; the trail was cold. Bad odds, but Millicent was too stubborn to vanquish all hope. Which compelled her to add, “If our pastry chef is the Jada we’ve been seeking, I’ll know in a week or two. If we finally strike gold, plan on booking flights to Ohio. I’ll give you the dates and times later.”
“Flights, as in plural?”
“You’ll also have to come to Ohio. No one wheelchair bound likes to negotiate airports without assistance.”
With a frown, Vasily set down his glass. “Your better half will refuse to accompany me to Sweet Lake,” he said. “Or do you suggest I search online for a straightjacket?”
“You won’t need one.” At least she hoped he wouldn’t.
Her smartphone trilled. The sound nearly catapulted her heart from her chest. Behind the bar, Vasily lifted his brows in anticipation.
“Hello?” she managed.
“Ms. Earhardt? This is Jada, returning your call. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. I was with a friend when you called.”
Moving directly to informality was a nice touch. “Thank you for calling back. And please, call me Millicent.”
“Thank you.”
Vasily made a jabbing motion at the phone. Turn on the speaker so I can hear.
The urge to flip him the bird nearly caught Millicent unawares. An odd impulse: the last time she’d used vulgar hand signals was at a protest march in the 1970s.
She strode into the foyer, her footsteps echoing on the marble. “Jada, I’m sure you’re aware I’ve booked a suite at your establishment. Two weeks, confirmed.” A hasty glance up the stairwell sent relief spilling through her. The corridor above was empty. “If the trip proves enjoyable, I’ll extend my stay. None of which is why I’m reaching out to you tonight.”
“This isn’t about your reservation?”
Seeking privacy, she darted into the library. “I wanted to discuss another matter with you.” Through the windows, ribbons of snow whirled across the grounds.
“What is the reason for your call?”
“You, actually.” A dreadful opener, and the statement met with a stony silence. Rushing over the gaffe, she added, “I’ve always been fascinated by the culinary arts—by pastry chefs in particular. Such artistry goes into the work, and the results! When I spoke with your associate, she mentioned you’ve worked at the Wayfair for a long time.” Through the haze of nervous tension, Millicent searched for the name. “I believe her name is Cat Menendez.”
“Cat Mendoza.” A pause, then, “I’ve been with the Wayfair for close to a decade.”
Ten years.
Hope shimmered in Millicent’s heart.
Tamping it down, she cleared her throat. “Cat mentioned you’re a remarkable pastry chef.”
Appealing laughter carried across the line. “I’m not sure I’d describe my talents as remarkable,” Jada said.
“Ah, you’re also modest. A fine trait. But unnecessary—Cat raved about your abilities.”
“Cat handles our marketing. If she went overboard on the sales pitch, my apologies.”
“I’m sure she didn’t.”
“Are there desserts you’d like added to the menu during your stay?” Jada asked. “I’ll do my best to provide them.”
“I’ll enjoy whatever you prepare. You’re also on the management team, correct? I read the nice bio on the inn’s website. And you’re close with the owner of the Wayfair?” The clumsy fishing expedition trailed into an embarrassed silence.
“Her name is Linnie Wayfair, and we are close.” Jada’s tone became frosty. “Is it important?”
It was—exceedingly so. The scant profile Millicent had compiled indicated a close friendship between the mysterious pastry chef named Jada and the owner of the establishment where she worked.
Millicent searched her scattering thoughts, desperate to salvage the conversation. “I suppose not.” With horror, she heard herself say, “Have you and Linnie always been close? Say, since childhood?”
“Millicent, I don’t mean to be rude,” Jada replied as her voice turned to ice. “It’s late, and I need to get some rest. I’m not sure why you’re curious about my background, or friendships. If you have requests for dessert selections when you arrive, I’ll do my best to provide them.”
“How kind,” she croaked.
“Is there anything else?”
Millicent gave herself a mental kick in the keister. This was her worst performance ever.
Keep it up, and I’ll never wiggle my way back into the woman’s good graces.
Rallying, she got down to business. “There is one more item. A simple request. I hope you won’t view it as a major inconvenience.”
The remark was greeted with a thick silence. A request from an incoming guest—a guest the reluctant Jada Brooks had presumably concluded was unforgivably nosey.
Wary, she asked, “And what is the request?”
With the enthusiasm of a condemned felon, Cat tiptoed into the office.
Jada rocked faster in her chair. Anger rarely infected her even temperament, and the emotion whipping through her was dismaying. That morning, she’d already burned a cherry pie. Fifteen minutes later, she scorched a berry soufflé. She’d left the ruined desserts steaming on a counter. Let the kitchen staff discard them—she’d start over after she read Cat the riot act.
“I got your text,” Cat said. Gingerly, she took a seat. “First time you’ve sent a message in all caps. It sure felt like you were yelling at me.”
“Would you like me to start?” To punctuate her angst, Jada brought the chair to a stop. Then she resumed the furious rocking. “I’m happy to comply.”
“What did I do?”
“I have to spell it out?”
“I’m not sure.” Evidently Cat was the lucky recipient of morning nookie, because she padded her fingertips across her neck. The skin was refreshingly free of love bites. “It’s nine o’clock. I’m on time. I swear, I won’t go home at lunchtime to see Ryan. That’s why you’re upset, right?”
“Guess again.”
In the corridor, Linnie strode past. Something in the air came across as toxic. Like a train reversing on the track, she sidled backward toward the door. Curiosity rolled her forward on her tennis shoes.
“What’s going on?” Shutting the door, she took a long, hard look at Jada. “Wow. Your eyes are about to pop out of your skull. Definitely not your best look.”
“Carry on, Linnie. This doesn’t concern you.”
“Wait. Let me guess. You’re angry?”
“I passed t
hrough ‘angry’ ten states ago. I’m driving coast-to-coast, all the way to livid.”
“You are? I’m shocked. Mostly because nothing gets past your Zen.”
“Cat did,” Jada supplied. “Our brainless marketing director gave out personal details of my life. A retired historian probably isn’t a stalker, but I don’t approve of Chatty Cathy’s methods.”
“Cat dished with the woman coming in from Chicago? You were on the menu?”
“They enjoyed a nice long chat.”
“We only talked for a few minutes,” Cat protested. Embarrassment wove her arms across the clingy dress she’d worn today. Cupping her shoulders in the silly pose, she looked exactly like her fourth-grade self on the day the teachers caught her trading kisses with a boy at recess. “I already told you—I’ll bet Millicent is doing research on minority women in business. It didn’t seem like a big deal to give her background info on you.”
“Cat, did she come out and say she’s working on research? Or is this your imagination talking?”
“Well, no. But I thought . . .”
Linnie sank into the other chair before the desk. “Someone bring me up to speed. Why does an incoming guest care about Jada?”
Absently, Jada flicked at the tight curls tickling her cheek. For once, she’d risen early enough to give her hair the full-on treatment. There wasn’t a strand of frizz on her head. The dark curls gleamed from the Moroccan argan oil she’d applied. She’d also put on mascara and a swipe of lipstick. Irritation at Cat, along with anxiety regarding the historian’s visit, had made sleep difficult.
At least she’d arrived at work well groomed.
She told Linnie, “Contrary to what Cat will have you believe, Millicent Earhardt doesn’t have an interest in me because of research for a book. When we spoke last night, it was like she was rattling off items on a list. How long I’ve worked at the Wayfair. How long I’ve been friends with you. She was hunting for something, but I have no idea what.”
“That’s weird,” Linnie said.
Jada halted her frenetic rocking. “Here’s something weirder. Her name is familiar. I’m sure I’ve heard it before.”
“Like, where?”
“I don’t know,” Jada admitted. Her inability to recall seemed critical. “I’ve spent a sleepless night trying to remember. I almost have the feeling . . .”
Linnie scooted to the edge of her chair “What?” Cat did the same, leaning toward the desk with rapt attention.
Worried, Jada licked her parched lips. In the last days, too many unusual events had occurred to mark it all down to coincidence. The gift of the sachet from the Sirens. The anniversary of Bodi’s death. Fancy acting out at school, and beginning to sense the grief ushered in each year with the month of March. At what point did a logical person detect signs and symbols beneath life’s normal currents? Usually Jada wasn’t superstitious. Now, too many seemingly connected events left her rattled.
Did an underlying thread connect the events? The notion made no sense. Yet she couldn’t dispel it.
From her desk, she withdrew the rosemary sachet. It was foolish to believe a gift from the Sirens lent protection, or a means to make peace with the past—perhaps even to make peace with her guilt over the mistakes she’d made with Philip’s late wife. You won’t escape the burden until a stranger brings news from the past. Is this what Penelope meant? Was Millicent the stranger destined to bring news?
Adrift on the unanswerable questions, Jada fingered the sachet’s soft cloth.
At length, she told Linnie and Cat, “I have a hunch Bodi knew the historian coming in from Chicago.” She paused, and they waited with breathless anticipation. Collecting her thoughts, she added, “I think I recall Bodi mentioning the name.”
Cat’s jaw loosened. “Hold on. You’re saying Philip’s late wife is connected to the retired historian? You remember Bodi talking about her?”
“Millicent Earhardt isn’t a common name. It’s the sort of name anyone would remember. I can’t recall exactly when Bodi mentioned her.”
Slowly, Cat unwound her arms. “This is spooky.” She flopped her hands into her lap.
“Unnerving is more like it,” Jada decided. Apprehension fluttered through her as she added, “A guest is flying in from Chicago, and I’m convinced she’s coming to see me.”
Linnie scooted her chair close to the desk. She looked ready to do battle. “I don’t like this,” she muttered. For a woman incapable of making decisions without assistance, she wasn’t indecisive about protecting her friends. “Jada, if you believe there’s a connection between Millicent and Bodi, that isn’t good news. Bodi didn’t have family, at least not one that cared about her. We all caught the inferences she made—her parents were abusive. Which sure explains why Bodi didn’t have much in the way of ethics.”
“A lousy childhood would give anyone bad instincts,” Jada said, rising to an automatic defense. “If Bodi hurt people, it was only because she’d known so much cruelty.”
“I’ll wager she hurt a lot of people,” Linnie said. “For all we know, she bilked Millicent out of cash.”
Cat rubbed her arms, as if banishing a chill. “Let’s not forget how Penelope first met her in Columbus.” Discussing Bodi’s life and unfortunate death was never easy for her. “She tried to snatch Penelope’s purse. I’ll wager Bodi scammed lots of people during her short life of crime.”
“Which doesn’t explain why the nasty historian is bothering Jada.”
“Millicent isn’t nasty.” Jada set the sachet beneath her desk lamp. “She’s pushy, sure. When she put me through twenty questions on the phone, she seemed hopeful. Like I was giving the right answers, and she had trouble containing her excitement.”
Linnie said, “I hope Bodi rests with the angels, I really do. Now I’m wondering if we should hold everything she told us as suspect, though.”
“How so?”
“We may be looking at this the wrong way. Jada, you were close to her—as close as anyone got, including Philip. She looked up to you, even when she lifted cash from your wallet and burned through your trust.”
“What’s your point?”
“You remember hearing Millicent’s name. What if Bodi mentioned you to Millicent? Might explain the woman’s curiosity about you.”
Cat, trying to keep up, leaned closer. “Why would Bodi mention Jada to someone else she scammed?”
“Cat, think. Even if no one in Bodi’s immediate family cared about her, who’s to say Millicent isn’t a long-lost aunt? Or her grandmother? If I had a grandchild who deserved coal in her stocking every Christmas, I’d still want to know she’s okay.”
Jada weighed the theory with misgiving. “You’re suggesting she’s looking for Bodi after all these years?” she asked Linnie.
“Wouldn’t you?”
The answer came immediately. If someone in her family went missing, Jada knew she’d never stop looking. She’d continue to search in hopes of reuniting with a loved one. No one dedicated to their family would do less.
“Say you’re right. What am I supposed to do? If Millicent is Bodi’s grandmother, I can only give her devastating news. Bodi isn’t okay. She’s gone.”
Given the way she’d treated people in Sweet Lake, Bodi’s grave at Walnut Grove Memorial Gardens seldom received visitors. Only Jada went out, to bring a simple bouquet of daisies, or brush the leaves off the headstone before bowing her head in prayer. Twice, she’d brought Fancy. Not recently—the child’s interest in the mother she’d never known was almost nonexistent.
They hadn’t stayed long at Walnut Grove either time. Jada capped off each visit by taking Fancy out for a banana split afterward.
Linnie gave her a look rife with sympathy. “I don’t have good advice. We’re dealing with a lot of conjecture. If Millicent is related to Bodi, you’ll have to lay out the facts.”
The suggestion put bile in Jada’s throat. Her emotions regarding Bodi were still complicated. She’d been the only one in town to see
the teen’s better angels. Explaining about the girl’s death to one of her relatives would prove an awful task.
“Linnie, what are you proposing?” she demanded. “Should I describe how Bodi died? Mention she was threatening suicide for months?”
“Skip the bad stuff. Just fill in the missing bits. You aren’t obligated to go into enough detail to break the woman’s heart.”
“What about Philip? If we’re right about this, he won’t welcome news that Fancy has relatives on what he considers the wrong side of the family. He never met Bodi’s family when she was alive—he won’t want to start now. He’ll assume Millicent is bad news, and steer clear.”
“Philip doesn’t need this,” Cat said. “Bodi took a wrecking ball to his life. He’s finally coming out of his shell. Anything having to do with her will set him back.”
“Let’s keep this between the three of us,” Jada decided.
Cat nodded. Linnie said, “We’ll handle this however you want.”
“Good. We’re keeping our mouths shut.” Jada didn’t relish sharing the rest of her news. The way it corroborated their theories made her apprehensive. “On a related note, Millicent asked for a favor during our chat. She wants private baking lessons during her stay.”
Air whooshed from Linnie’s mouth. “She does want to get to know you better.”
“I intended to turn her down. All things considered, taking her up on the offer makes sense. The faster we become acquainted, the quicker I’ll understand her motives.”
“She’s paying you for baking lessons?”
“Oh yeah.”
“What did she offer?”
“Too much.”
Cat, sold on the grandmother theory, said, “Use the money on Fancy. Look at this as an indirect way for Grandma to buy new dresses for her pipsqueak shopaholic.”
“Get your facts straight. We don’t know how Millicent is connected to Bodi, and you are the shopaholic.” Jada chuckled. Cat’s suggestion lent an amusing note to an otherwise somber discussion. “Good thing you married well. Or do you hide the Mastercard receipts from Ryan?”
“Only sometimes.” Cat shrugged defensively. Then she switched tracks. “Speaking of marriage, what’s the story with the flower girl dress? I heard a nasty rumor. Did Fancy turn her nose up at the dress Linnie picked out?”
The Season of Silver Linings Page 7
