Devlin's Light

by Mariah Stewart

  India slid the sketches back into the folder and replaced the elastic before carefully opening the next folder. Ry’s plans for the Light itself. Restored and opened for small tours, from spring through November. Another folder held his budget for the projects. Darla had not exaggerated. Ry was preparing to spend a lot of money on the restoration and to start up Darla’s business. India tapped her fingers on the table as she studied the figures. More than she had thought. Mentally she shrugged, knowing Darla was watching her face. It was Ry’s money, his portion of the trust. If that’s how he had wanted to spend it, that’s how it would be.

  “Was anyone working with Ry on this?” India asked Darla.

  “Just me.” Darla sat blotting soft tears from her face. “And sometimes Nick.”

  A flicker crossed India’s face at the mention of Nick’s name, a fact that was not lost upon Darla.

  “Maybe we should ask him to help us,” Darla suggested.

  “I think Nick has his own work to do.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. He likes a nice diversion now and again. And he’s been working on that thesis for quite some time, you know. He can’t spend all his time working. And besides, Ry trusted him. They were like two sides of the same coin sometimes,” Darla said softly, then smiled and added, “Sort of like the way you and I are, Indy. Nick and Ry were best friends in the truest sense. They liked and respected each other. They helped each other. I do not know what I would do without Nick, Indy.”

  India looked up at her friend, questioning without meaning to.

  “He just always seems to know when one of us is hurting. He stops at August’s several times a week, did you know? He has tea with her in the afternoon sometimes. He stops here to see if I need help getting my orders out. To see if Jack wants to throw a ball around or go down to the beach and talk. He never stays too long and he never asks anything from anyone. He’s just there and lends a hand and then goes about his business. Like he’s taken us all under his wing and watches out for us.”

  “He seems to be a very good man.” India measured her words carefully.

  “A very good man,” Darla repeated evenly, then after a moment’s silence between the two of them, she burst out laughing.

  “India, Nick Enright is a hunk. He is sexy, he is smart. He is thoughtful. He is fun to be around. You are probably the only woman in Devlin’s Light who has ever described him simply as a very good man. Now, I do not recall you ever having been totally blind as far as handsome men are concerned. So stop being so coy. Would you please admit that you are interested in the man as something more than a source of information?”

  “I’m interested in the man as something more than a source of information,” India repeated.

  “Why didn’t you say so?”

  “I guess I feel awkward,” India said, searching for words.

  “Why should you feel awkward?”

  “Well, on the one hand, it feels odd to be lusting after anyone at the same time that I still feel as if I’m grieving over Ry. And on the other hand, there just seems to be so much going on right now, and I don’t feel capable of handling it all.”

  “The lust and grief we’ll deal with in a minute.” Darla pushed the briefcase aside and sat back down at the table. “Right now I want you to tell me what you think you can’t handle.”

  “My job and Corrie. Paloma and Devlin’s Light. Ruthless prosecutor totally focused on her job and dedicated, parent figure-guardian to a darling little girl who needs and totally deserves a dedicated and loving parental figure.” India leaned back against her chair, turning her head partway in Darla’s direction. “It’s as if I have two separate lives and I don’t know how to make them work together.”

  “Maybe they can’t work together, not as things are now,” Darla said tentatively. “Maybe you need to make some changes if it’s all going to work.”

  “I can’t make any changes right now. I have cases to finish up. I have—”

  “I know, bad guys to put away, dragons to slay.” India had gotten up and was now pacing slightly. To Darla, she looked like a spring ready to pop out of control.

  “India, how many dragons before it’s all put to rest?” Darla asked softly.

  “Dar, please …”

  “Indy, you know and I know that the best thing, the most obvious solution is for you to come back to Devlin’s Light. You can raise Corri here and still work—you know you’ll be able to find a job without any problem at all.”

  “I keep thinking about everything I’ve done over the past few years. The cases I tried. The people I’ve worked with. The life I tried to make for myself away from Devlin’s Light.” India leaned back in her chair and fixed her gaze on a spot on the ceiling. “All I wanted to do was to be a really good prosecutor.”

  “And that’s exactly what you are, Indy. Everyone in Devlin’s Light has followed your career, and we’re all proud of you. If that is all you want from your life—to have done your job well—then you have already succeeded.” Darla stood up and rubbed India’s shoulders. “I just think that maybe you’ve had a taste of something else, and maybe just doing your job isn’t going to be enough for you now. Sorta like that old song: ‘How ya gonna keep ’em down on the farm, after they’ve seen Paree?’”

  India laughed.

  “You want to know what I think?” Darla asked.

  “I am not certain that I do, but I am certain that you will tell me.”

  “I think that in spite of yourself, in spite of everything that has happened over the years, I think your heart is in Devlin’s Light. And I think you’ll never be truly happy anywhere else.”

  India dismissed Darla’s comments with a wave of her hand. “What makes you think I’m not happy in Paloma?”

  “Oh, well, if working sixteen-hour days seven days a week makes you happy,” Darla said, folding her arms across her chest, “and if looking into the souls of the lowest, the sickest members of society makes you happy, then I guess you must be one happy girl. Can you tell me you are, in fact, one happy girl?”

  Before India could open her mouth, Darla said, “Don’t bother trying to con me, India, because I have known you too well for too long. And it might surprise you to know that your brother felt the same way I do.”

  “Well, he was wrong and so are you. I have a good life in Paloma.”

  “What do you do, besides work?”

  “I belong to a book-discussion group.”

  “When was the last time you went? What was the last book they discussed? Let me guess. It was something like The Barn Burners, right?” Darla named a bestseller from almost two years ago, and India laughed in spite of her best efforts not to.

  “Actually, it was. But it wasn’t that long ago.”

  “What else?” Darla gestured for India to continue.

  “Well, I still go to the gym and box.”

  “Last time?”

  “Two months ago.”

  “Well, that beats the book club.” Darla grinned, then leaned forward and asked slyly, “But when was your last really hot date?”

  “About six months ago,” India admitted.

  “Not that Ron guy, the guy from your office?” Darla’s eyes widened in horror.

  India nodded her head somewhat sheepishly.

  “Well, there you are!” Darla told her triumphantly. “You name one man you’ve met in Paloma who is, pound for pound, dollar for dollar, a better prospect than Nick En-right. And he’s right here, India. Right in your own back yard.”

  “You make it sound as if he’s pining away for me,” India scoffed.

  “Who’s to say he isn’t?”

  “This is silly. Nick doesn’t need to pine after any woman.” India stood up to put distance between herself and Darla. “He is handsome and sexy and smart and—”

  She stopped and looked at Darla.

  “And everything else you said he was. And no,” she said more softly, “there is no one in Paloma quite like Nick.”

  “I’ll bet the
re’s no one anywhere quite like Nick,” Darla said. “He’s one of a kind. Like Ry was. And I can tell you with absolute certainty that there will never be anyone quite like him again.”

  They shared a silence, deep but not uncomfortable, till Darla spoke up. “I really loved Ry with all my heart. I would give anything—anything—to have just a little more time with him. To hear his voice. Touch him. Laugh with him. It hurts me more than I can say to know that that whole part of my life is done forever.”

  “You don’t think you’ll ever find anyone else?”

  “Could anyone fill Ry’s shoes?” Darla smiled a crooked half smile. “No, sweetie, I can’t imagine that there could be anyone else. Ry was the love of my life. Anything else would just be pretending. I spent enough years pretending when I was married to Kenny. I have my kids, and I have my work. And I have my memories.”

  “Memories may not be enough as time passes. Ry’s only been gone a few months, Dar. Things can change.”

  “I don’t know that I can believe that things could ever change that much. But you,” she said, wagging a finger at India, “you have it all still ahead of you. If the chance is there for that kind of love, take it and cherish it for as long as you have it. If I’ve learned anything over the past few years, it’s that life can be very fickle. If you know what you want, India, go after it with everything you’ve got.”

  “Maybe I don’t know for sure what I want.”

  “Well, I sure hope that Nick is still around by the time you make up your mind, sweetie.” Darla shook her head slowly. “And before someone else comes along and swoops him up.”

  India tried to make light of it, but the thought of Nick kissing someone else—of him making her dessert, of him bringing her a birthday cake or mowing her lawn—taunted her all the way back to Darien Road.

  Darla’s Strawberry Cheesecake Muffins

  (makes 12 muffins)

  Preheat oven to 400°

  Generously butter muffin tin and set aside.

  Cheese filling:

  3 oz cream cheese, softened

  1 tablespoon sour cream

  2 tablespoons sugar

  1/8 teaspoon vanilla

  3 tablespoons best-quality strawberry jam

  Muffins:

  1 1/2 cups sifted all purpose flour

  2 tablespoons double-acting baking powder

  1/2 teaspoon salt

  1/2 cup sugar

  1 egg

  2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted

  1/2 cup milk

  1 tablespoon sugar for sprinkling over muffin tops.

  Beat together the first 4 ingredients of the cheese filling until smooth and creamy. Swirl in the jam and set aside.

  Sift together the flour, baking powder, sugar, salt and sugar in a large mixing bowl. In another mixing bowl, lightly beat the egg with a whisk or fork. Mix in melted butter, then milk. Stir in the cheese mixture just to combine. Add the liquid ingredients to the dry and fold with a rubber spatula just enough to moisten the flour mix.

  Spoon into the muffin pan, filling two-thirds full. Bake 25-30 minutes until golden brown. Cool in the pan for 2-3 minutes and remove from pan.

  Chapter 11

  “Can I put it on right now and see if Aunt August recognizes me?” Corrie whispered hopefully as she hopped out of India’s car, the bag holding her Halloween costume clutched tightly to her chest.

  “Absolutely.” India laughed, recalling a Halloween long ago when she had done that very thing. “Go in through the kitchen door and up the back steps. I’ll try to keep her occupied. Now, are you sure you can get into that costume all by yourself?”

  “Pretty sure.” Corri nodded confidently.

  “Oh, Corri, before I forget.” India closed her car door and stuck the keys in the pocket of her blazer. “The next time you take one of Ry’s records out to play, please try to remember to put it back, okay?”

  Corri looked at Indy blankly.

  “The record that you left on my bed last night fell off onto the floor,” Indy explained, “and I almost stepped on it. I’d hate to see any of them get broken. We’ve had them forever.”

  Corri took slow steps toward the back porch.

  “Corri?” India asked, puzzled at the lack of response.

  “I didn’t have any of Ry’s records last night, Indy.”

  “Honey, it’s okay.” Indy smoothed Corri’s hair as she fell in step with her. “I don’t mind that you play them. I would just like you to put them back so that they don’t get broken.”

  “Indy, I always put Ry’s records back. Always. Just like he showed me. But I didn’t have one out last night,” Corri insisted.

  “Maybe the night before then.”

  “No.” Corri shook her head.

  “Then how did one get on my bed?” India asked, wondering why Corri would hesitate to tell the truth about something like that.

  “I don’t know.” Corri shrugged. “Maybe the ghost put it there.”

  “Ghost?” India laughed. “Corri, there’s no such thing as ghosts. And there’re certainly no ghosts here.”

  Corri glanced over her shoulder as she went up the porch steps, still holding her precious bag tightly, an anxious look upon her face. India had thought she was about to say something, but instead she simply disappeared into the house.

  India stood at the end of the drive, wondering where Corri would get such fanciful ideas. Did she imagine that she saw Ry? Or perhaps it was another Devlin that Corri imagined, Indy mused, recalling how the many old photographs and family portraits throughout the house had once played tricks with India’s mind. Had these same images worked on Corri’s imagination too?

  Indy strolled to the front of the house, swinging her shoulder bag like a pendulum as she walked. The pines had grown tall and unwieldy over the past few years, giving the house a closed and sinister look. At least a young child might think it so. Had Corri’s classmates been teasing her about living in a haunted house?

  India stepped back to study the overall facade and decided they could live with a few less trees out front. She’d speak with Aunt August in the morning, before she left to go back to Paloma and what she was beginning to think of as her other life.

  “Aunt August,” India called from the hallway.

  “In here, dear,” came the response from the front sitting room.

  India hung up her blazer and crossed the hall to let her aunt know that Corri’s search for the perfect costume had come to a successful conclusion.

  The smell of burning logs struck just the right chord on this frosty night, she was thinking as she entered the room.

  “Umm, that smells good,” she told her aunt.

  “Thank Nick.” August gestured to the chair behind India.

  “Hi.” He stood up to greet her, his smile as warm and inviting as the fire.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, turning toward him, “I didn’t see you there.”

  “Nick brought me some firewood,” August explained.

  “That’s very thoughtful,” she noted.

  “Well, Ry helped me take a few trees down last spring,” he explained, “and I’d promised him half the wood. I thought with the chill in the air tonight, it might be a good time to bring a partial load over.”

  “Coffee, Indy?” Aunt August rose from the cozy wing-chair.

  “I’ll get it,” she said, but her aunt was already into the hallway, her heels clicking on the hardwood floors as she went.

  “So.” India pulled a large rectangular hassock covered in a green and oyster checkered fabric closer to the fire. It was as close to Nick as she felt she could trust herself tonight; he’d been too much on her mind.

  “So,” he replied, looking mildly amused.

  “I took Corri to get her Halloween costume today after school,” India mentioned.

  “So August said. What is she going to be?”

  “You’ll see. She’ll be down in a minute. She’s putting it on. She wants to see if she is recognizable
or not.”

  “The best costume I ever had was Rocky the Squirrel,” he told her. “I loved the goggles. It made the costume. My sister Zoey was Boris, and Georgia was Natasha. Mom was Bullwinkle the Moose. It was the best Halloween we ever had. What was yours?”

  “My favorite costume?” She frowned, trying to remember. “Umm, I guess the year that I had a hula costume and it was a balmy seventy-two degrees that night so I didn’t have to wear a jacket over it. I was so worried about that, that I’d have to cover up my costume with a coat and the entire effect would be lost.”

  “Why did you buy it, then?”

  “Because I liked the way the skirt rustled. And I wanted to play the ukulele.” She laughed, remembering. “Ry was a pirate that year.”

  “Oh, my, India, do you remember how mad he was when Mrs. Daley across the street wouldn’t let him borrow her parrot to ride on his shoulder?” Aunt August brought in a tray laden with coffee paraphernalia for three.

  India laughed again. “I do. He picked that costume with that very parrot in mind.”

  “He was just fit to be tied, that boy was.” August shook her head as she went back toward the kitchen. “I’ll just be but a minute.”

  “Halloween was a big thing when we were growing up.”

  “Us too. I used to take my sisters trick-or-treating. Of course, that was before the days when parents were afraid to send their children out for Halloween without an armed guard.”

  “It is sad, isn’t it?” India poured coffee for him, being careful not to touch his fingers when she handed him the cup.

  His eyes twinkled as if he knew that she was taking extraordinary pains to avoid touching him, and as if he knew why.

  “Indy?” Corri called from the top of the steps.

  “Do you need help?” India leaned forward, craning her neck to look up the stairs.

  “Umm, I think so,” Corri said softly. “My tail won’t stay on.”

  “Oh, dear.” August scooted into the room with a plate of homemade spice cookies and cast a solemn glance in Indy’s direction. “We certainly can’t have that.”