No Place to Hide

by Susan Lewis

  “Of course it’s all right with me. I love nothing more than pottering about out there, in spite of it being a wreck as it stands.”

  Minutes later they were in Justine’s car heading down South Main Street, with Cheryl taking everything in as they passed.

  “You must tell me what you’re doing now,” Justine insisted, “where you’re living. Perhaps you’re still at the retreat?”

  Cheryl laughed. “No, I left a couple of months ago. I’ve been staying with my dad and stepmum since then. Luckily I’m not too badly off for money now the house has sold, so I can take my time deciding how I’m going to use my new skill.”

  “New skill?”

  With dancing eyes, Cheryl said, “I design and make jewelry. Mostly silver and semiprecious stones, and believe it or not, I already have some customers.”

  “That’s fantastic.” Justine was genuinely thrilled for her. “Do you have a shop?”

  “I rent a stall at a market near my dad’s every first and third Sunday in the month, and the rest of the time I sell online. I have gifts for you and Lula—and for Sallie Jo and Hazel, whom I’m longing to meet.”

  “Matt obviously told you about them?”

  “He did. So it seems you found some angels of your own.”

  Justine threw her a quick glance. Yes, that was an accurate way of describing Sallie Jo and her family.

  Cheryl smiled and winked, and a moment later Justine found herself wondering if she might be thinking the same crazy thoughts that were crowding into her own mind right now. They’d often come up with ideas, even outlandish ones, at the exact same time, so maybe that uncanny connection was still there.

  “It’s definitely worth considering,” Cheryl told her.

  Justine blinked. “You’re kidding me,” she cried, realizing they actually were reading each other’s mind.

  Cheryl laughed.

  “I think it’s the most wonderful idea,” Justine declared rashly. “You can stay with us until you find a place of your own, and there’s definitely room for a jeweler a few doors down from my gallery. I think there’s even space for a workshop at the back. We can check it out. Oh, God, Cheryl, I can hardly believe this is happening.”

  Smiling, and gazing at the Culver Bible Church they were passing, Cheryl said, “It would be wonderful if it could, but there will be an immigration issue to overcome…”

  “We’ll put you in touch with the lawyer Matt’s using. It’s a bit different for him, as a writer, because he qualifies as being what they call ‘outstanding in his field,’ and of course he’s married to an American, but I’m sure this guy can work something out for you. It might mean you having to leave the country every three months for a while…”

  “Which would be fine. I can visit my dad and maybe do some traveling in search of inspiration.”

  Reaching for her hand, Justine said, “Please tell me I’m not dreaming.”

  Laughing, Cheryl said, “You’re not dreaming. I’m really here, and from the little I’ve seen of it so far I think I could feel very comfortable in these parts.”

  “Oh, you don’t need to worry about that,” Justine told her drily, “this is a community of around twelve hundred people with no less than ten churches to choose from—all Christian, I believe—so you should feel very at home.”

  “Such heaven,” Cheryl sighed humorously. “Do you ever go to any of them?”

  “No, I’m afraid we don’t, but that’s not to say we won’t. Everything is up for discussion…Now, if you look to the right, do you see the house at the end of the track, kind of hiding behind the tall hedges? That’s ours, but I’ll take you there later. I just wanted you to see where we are in relation to town, and to May’s Cottage, which is what we’re going to call it, officially.”

  “Perfect. I’m sure she’d thoroughly approve.”

  “I hope so. Honest to God, I sometimes feel that she’s here, guiding me or watching over me. I even think she had something to do with bringing me here in the first place, like she willed it or something.”

  “I don’t see any reason why that shouldn’t be true,” Cheryl responded.

  Justine wondered if she was going to expand on that, but she didn’t seem inclined to, so they simply drove on along the south shore, chatting about what they were seeing as they passed the Venetian Village, turned by the wetlands conservation area, took a left at Mystic Hills, and eventually arrived on East Shore Drive.

  Apart from a car and a truck, there was no sign of Matt and the builder when they arrived at the cottage, which was still masked from the road—this time by lavishly blossoming trees.

  “Wow, this is truly special,” Cheryl murmured, gazing up at the welcoming facade as they stepped onto the crumbling patio with its patchwork of leftover snow and assortment of budding wild flowers. “And the view…It’s so close to the lake. Are you going to live here when it’s done?”

  “We’re not sure yet,” Justine replied, going first into the hall, where Al had helped Matt to lay temporary timbers to make the floor more secure. “It’s quite cut off in winter, with most of the properties around only being used in summer, which would be OK for me and Matt, but not for Lula. So we’re thinking we might try to buy the house we’re renting at the moment, as we’ve become so fond of it, and do the same as our East Shore neighbors and come over here from around May to September, except we won’t have as far to travel. It’s an extravagance, but if we can persuade our families to spend time here during the summer there’ll be plenty of room for everyone to stay. Including you.”

  “You can count me in,” Cheryl said with a twinkle. “I’m loving it already. Look at this kitchen, it’s so hilariously seventies…Are you going to keep it?”

  “Alas no, the floors will have to come up for heating and plumbing to go in, and given its condition, it’s likely to fall apart as soon as we start moving it. We’re taking plenty of photos, though, because I don’t want to forget how it was for May.”

  After showing Cheryl the sitting room with the magnificent fireplace that was still, apart from mold, bird droppings, and dust, more or less intact, and the furniture a group of Amish craftsmen had already inspected for restoration, Justine said, “Sounds like Matt’s in the cellar with the builder, so let’s go upstairs. I haven’t properly been through Phillip’s or May’s bedrooms yet. Do you know about my uncle Phillip and what happened?”

  Cheryl nodded. “Matt told me. It’s so tragic, but as we know, your grandma wasn’t the only one running scared of AIDS and the stigma back then. Thank God times have changed.”

  Agreeing, Justine said, “My mother wants to go through his room when she comes at Easter, so I’m left to sort out May’s. I’m not sure why, but up till now I’ve been a bit hesitant about starting, but with you here…Weirdly, it feels like this is the right time.”

  Apparently amused, Cheryl followed her up to the first landing and all the way to the end, where the master room was still largely under wraps, apart from the bed with its corroded iron frame and rotting linens. A couple of ladders were propped against one wall, left by Al and Matt, who’d had to use them when removing the shutters.

  “It’s like a little mystery tour,” Cheryl murmured as she helped Justine remove the covers from a formerly pink, now putrid chaise longue. “This was obviously exquisite once. Will the craftsmen be able to do anything with it?”

  “I won’t know until they’ve seen it, but let’s hope so. I think that must be a tallboy over there. Do you want to check it out while I do the nightstands?”

  Apparently entranced, Cheryl went to drag off the heavy dust sheet and found a bookcase full of classic novels and biographies. “She was obviously a big fan of Henry James,” she commented, counting as many as ten of his titles on the top shelf.

  “There’s one here,” Justine said, finding a damp and curled copy of The Wings of the Dove beneath some rosary beads in a bedside drawer. Seeing there was a bookmark, she opened it to the page it was saving, and was saying, “
She must have been reading it before she died,” when her eye was caught by the back of a wooden frame propped against the wall beside the bed. Lifting it carefully, she checked the handwritten inscription in the bottom right-hand corner, wondering if she was about to discover yet another Impressionist masterpiece.

  What she read was, Done by May Cantrell, August 1976.

  She turned it over and saw that behind the moldy glass was a beautifully embroidered quotation.

  Frowning as she looked round, Cheryl said, “Can you smell oranges? Or is it roses?”

  Justine nodded, because she could; in fact she felt surrounded by the scent, and when she realized what she was reading she understood why.

  Hope is the thing with feathers

  That perches in the soul,

  And sings the tune without the words,

  And never stops at all

  To Dorry and Channing Mitzell

  with love

  Acknowledgments

  So many enormous thank-yous to the people of Culver:

  First of all to Susie Mahler, owner of Café Max on Main Street. Thank you, Susie, for being there every step of the way, answering my emails so quickly and so informatively, and allowing me to use the café as a location.

  To Sallie Jo Tardy Mitzell for an amazing tour of Lake Maxinkuckee and of her family’s beautiful lakeside cottage. Thank you too, Sallie Jo, for letting me use your name for one of the main characters.

  To Craig Mitzell for adding so much color and character to the story.

  To Jeff Kenney of the Culver Citizen for yet more color and so many insights.

  To Chief Wayne Bean of the Culver Police Department.

  To Sheryl at the Child Care Ministry.

  To Marcia Adams for generously sharing her historic knowledge of Culver.

  To Dorry Mitzell for the wonderful coffee cake.

  —

  Also to my dear and treasured friend Chip (Mitzell) Mitchell for introducing me to Culver.

  And to my US editor, Kate Miciak, for the story about the rabbits and introducing me to the Pennsylvania Impressionists.

  By Susan Lewis

  Fiction

  A Class Apart • Dance While You Can

  Stolen Beginnings • Darkest Longings

  Obsession • Vengeance • Summer Madness

  Last Resort • Wildfire • Chasing Dreams

  Taking Chances • Cruel Venus • Strange Allure

  Silent Truths • Wicked Beauty • Intimate Strangers

  The Hornbeam Tree • The Mill House

  A French Affair • Missing • Out of the Shadows

  Lost Innocence • The Choice • Forgotten

  Stolen • No Turning Back • Losing You

  The Truth About You • Never Say Goodbye

  No Child of Mine • Don’t Let Me Go

  Behind Closed Doors • No Place to Hide

  Memoir

  Just One More Day • One Day at a Time

  PHOTO: © COLIN THOMAS

  SUSAN LEWIS is the internationally bestselling author of thirty-three novels. She is also the author of Just One More Day and One Day at a Time, the deeply moving and often hilarious memoirs of her childhood in Bristol. She lives in Gloucestershire, United Kingdom.

  susanlewis.com

  Facebook.com/​SusanLewisBooks

  @susandlewis

  Dear Reader,

  The question I’ve been asked most frequently since I began the research for this book, and throughout the writing of it, is, “How on earth did you, a Brit, come to choose Culver, Indiana, for a setting?”

  It’s a good question, given that my experience of living in the States has, to date, all been in Los Angeles, and the US cities I’ve visited are all major centers in their own ways.

  However, I never seem to tire of reading about smaller towns and communities in the States, particularly those in the Midwest, when I get a real sense of who and what America is really all about. As I’m British, it would be hard for me to do full justice to that without going to live in a small town for a considerable period of time, so in this instance I enlisted the help of a dear friend in LA, Chip Mitchell, to set me on the right road.

  It took no time at all, for when I asked Chip if he could recommend a small town in the Midwest to set my story, he immediately put me in touch with his aunt and uncle, Dorry and Channing Mitzell, who have a long history with the Culver Academies and continue to live in Culver. I had no idea at that time what an absolute jewel of a place he was connecting me with, how unusual and inspirational it would turn out to be, or how enthusiastically his family and their many friends in Culver were going to embrace the story. Actually, I shouldn’t really have been so surprised, as I’ve met many Americans during my travels around the world, and so have much experience of just how engaged and even gallant they can be. (I’ve been rescued from many a tight corner by an American, from Morocco to Manila, but that’s for another time!)

  So I traveled to Culver, hoping and praying that I was doing the right thing. After all, I’m not American, and the way of life in the Midwest was surely going to be very different from anything I’d experienced in the States to date. I needed to have no fear. Within minutes of arriving I found myself standing on a secluded beach at the top end of town, gazing out at the mesmerizing waters of Lake Maxincuckee toward the glittering, multimillion-dollar homes on the far shore. (If you’ve already read the book, you will know that it is from this spot that I chose to begin the story). It was impossible not to be moved by such a peaceful and yet intriguingly different setting from the one I’d envisaged in my mind’s eye. There was already something about this place that was getting to me.

  Within a very short time I found myself, thanks to the Mitzells, actually meeting characters I’d already devised in my head: Susie Mahler, owner of Café Max and real estate agent; Jeff Kenney, editor of the Culver Citizen; Wayne Bean, chief of police; Marcia Adams, writer and longtime resident of Culver; and Sallie Jo Tardy Mitzell, who so generously took time from her busy schedule in Indianapolis to cruise us around the lake in her boat and introduce us to her family’s dreamy cottage on the South Shore.

  Among the many experiences and enlightening conversations I enjoyed during my stay, there are two that stand out as firsts for me: giving a talk to a creative writing group from the Culver Girls Academy, wonderful students, an absolute privilege to spend time with. And the invitation to be part of an exercise that would never happen in Britain, and one can only feel sad that it does in the United States: shooter training at the local elementary and high schools. That really was a surreal experience.

  Another surreal but totally divine experience was Dorry Channing’s coffee cake, so good that it has a mention in the book, and I can only hope she bakes again the next time I’m in Culver.

  Though many of my earlier books have whole chapters set in various parts of the States, this is the first time I’ve located so much of a book in a place I didn’t know before. I’d love to write more set in America, so I’m very interested to know how well, or not, you feel I have portrayed this small town and the mainly fictional people I’ve used to bring it to life.

  A very warm thank-you for reading this one, and I hope it’s left you interested enough to explore some more of my books.

  Questions and Topics for Discussion

  1. The subject of violence among children is central to the plot of this novel. Discuss violence in schools. What causes it? How can it be stopped?

  2. How well do you feel Susan Lewis captured life in America? How does her experience living in Britain color her view of American life? Does her “outsider” status afford her unique insight, or are there elements of midwestern life that must be lived to be understood?

  3. What do you think of Justine’s decision to leave England? Would you have done the same in her position?

  4. Who surprised you most in this novel? Why?

  5. Justine’s memories of England and of summers spent with her grandmother in Indiana a
re driving forces in this novel. Describe the function of memory and the past. How do Justine’s memories influence her decisions?

  6. Both Justine and Grandma May kept carefully guarded secrets. Compare and contrast their secrets and their motivations for hiding them. In what ways are Justine and her grandmother similar? How are they different? Are there any parallels between their experiences?

  7. Discuss Justine and Matt’s relationship. What were its primary strengths? Weaknesses?

  8. Discuss the themes of prejudice and bullying among schoolchildren that come into play in this novel. What, if anything, could have changed in order for Ben’s experience to be different?

  9. How would you describe Justine as a mother? How is her relationship with Tallulah different from her relationship with Ben? How is it similar? Did Justine inherit any parenting styles from her own mother?

  10. What is the community in Culver like? How do Justine’s friends in America differ from her friends in England? Are there any particular qualities they have in common?

  11. The theme of escaping the past is prominent in this novel. Can we ever truly escape the past? Is it possible to have a fresh start, or do we always carry our emotional baggage with us?

  If you enjoyed No Place to Hide by Susan Lewis

  read on for an exciting preview of

  Too Close to Home

  Coming in December 2015

  Nothing was happening.

  Everything was completely still, motionless, not a single rustle in the atmosphere, no stirrings within.

  The only sounds, muted by closed windows, were the cries of white-bellied gulls as they soared around the neutral sky.

  Jenna Moore, petite, dark-haired, and emerald-eyed, was sitting at the cluttered dining room table staring out at the winter-bleak garden. Looking at her, no one would have guessed she was the mother of four, the eldest being fifteen. Her smooth, playfully freckled features and girlish frame made her appear far closer to thirty than the forty she actually was.