by Leslie Kelly
The question remained: what had the sour-faced man been doing there? If he’d just come to visit, why hadn’t he parked in the driveway like any good, decent neighbor? And why had he run away before Mortimer had even come into sight of the house?
Not that she considered King good and decent, no, sir. That man had dark secrets—and he’d been right generous in paying to keep them that way. Secret.
If it had been anyone else, she might not have gotten so worked up. Worked up enough that she’d had to get up during the night and sip a few glasses of bourbon to help her fall back to sleep.
The only thing that had given her any bit of comfort in the midnight hours—as she’d finished off her bottle—was sitting in her living room staring at her coffee table, thinking of how she’d fixed Ivy but good this time. From now on when her sister tried to hold on to Daddy’s Sears, Roebuck urn longer than she was supposed to, Ida Mae would have the last laugh. Oh, yes, she would.
Her smile over that quickly faded as her thoughts returned to today’s dilemma. “Tom King was a nasty little boy who picked his nose and wet his bed until he was in secondary school,” Ida Mae whispered as she dropped the curtain back down over her front window. She’d been standing there, gazing up the hill over the trees, at the roof of Mortimer Potts’s house, barely visible from here. “But even nasty little bed-wetting boys can grow up to be dangerous men and thieves.”
Tom’s past certainly proved that.
Though she hated to think of sharing anything with her sister, she knew Ivy was the one person who would understand—and maybe even come up with an idea of what they should do. Ivy did have some good ideas—she was sneaky that way. Ida Mae had, therefore, called her sister a few minutes ago and asked her to come over to tea.
Ivy had immediately asked if she was spicing one of Mama’s specially flavored teas. Almond for Abusers, Coriander for Cheaters, Orange for Overnighters—they’d learned the lessons at their mother’s apron strings.
Ida Mae had fantasized about it for a moment, then agreed not to. She’d play nice this morning, even though it galled her. Especially considering just yesterday Ivy had stabbed her with a hatpin, causing an ugly cut that Ida Mae had considered going to have stitched up.
She hadn’t. Because doing so would have required a trip to the walk-in clinic in Weldon, which was open on Sundays. Ida Mae was not about to let Ivy out of her sight for that long—not when Mortimer Potts was sitting in his house, just like a lamb to the slaughter.
“He is a lamb to the slaughter,” she muttered as she filled a kettle and put it on for tea.
Only, not just their lamb. She and Ivy might be the shepherds, but she had the feeling a bad wolf was out there circling their flock.
And while the shepherds might quite enjoy a plate of juicy spring lamb with mint jelly, under absolutely no circumstances would they allow anyone else to harm a hair on their sheep’s head.
“I CAN’T BELIEVE we’re going to have to stay with Norman Bates.”
Sabrina sat in the expansive driveway of Seaton House, an old hulk of a hotel hovering near the edge of a cliff, right above the town of Trouble. It was about as welcoming as a terrorist camp. Unlike Mortimer’s house, which had a certain charm despite its strangeness, this place looked straight out of a horror movie.
Though she’d put the rental car in park a full minute ago, she hadn’t cut off the engine. Instead, she sat inside, wondering why she didn’t turn around, get on the highway and drive back to Philadelphia. There seemed no point in staying. Her so-called mission had already misfired even before her pregnant sister had shown up, attack-poodle in tow.
Allie, who sat next to her in the passenger seat, was probably also wondering why they weren’t heading out of town. But she hadn’t said it. Sabrina had the feeling Allie was remaining silent out of fear that if she started talking, Sabrina would start talking back.
Good call. Because, oh, did she have a lot to say to her sister. Especially after learning a bit more about Allie’s travels. She’d heard the words bus and nice lady and her nephew offered me a ride and had instantly seen red. It was as if her sister was so sheltered she’d never even thought about the danger she might have put herself in by taking off without a word to anyone. She could have been kidnapped, hurt, and no one would even have known where she’d gone.
So, yes, she definitely had some things to say.
Not now. Her questions had to wait. She couldn’t have that conversation while she was still so upset about not only Allie’s recklessness, but also the trouble her arrival had caused.
Trouble like Sabrina being kicked out of the Dewdrop Inn.
Because as Al Fitzweather was being carried off by the paramedics, he’d spied Sabrina holding Giorgio—who’d let go of his prize only after Allie had offered him a Slim Jim. Her former landlord had screamed for Sabrina and her “hound from hell” to be out of his house by the time he returned.
Poor Giorgio. She really needed to find a pet store around here and get some kind of doggie mouth sanitizer.
“Do you honestly think we should stay here?” Allie asked in a loud whisper. Her sister was staring out the windshield, her eyes wide, her lower lip disappearing between her teeth. Instead of looking merely guilty and uncomfortable—as she had since Sabrina had stormed into the inn, packed her bags and marched back out—she now looked a little afraid.
Sabrina couldn’t blame her. The former hotel was gothic. In her job at Liberty Books, Sabrina had seen a few gothic novels come across her desk. This looked like just the kind of place where a young, virginal governess would arrive to care for the estate owner’s children. Finding his mad, murderous wife locked in the attic, and bodies of her victims hidden in the crumbling walls, she’d run along the stormy cliffs only to fall into the arms of the handsome, mysterious owner. Wife buys it. Happiness ensues. Fade to black.
Hmm, Sabrina didn’t like the fade-to-black part. If she was going to read a juicy romance, she darn well wanted to see the action in all its blazing glory.
Then again, this place wasn’t exactly happily-ever-after material. She couldn’t imagine any woman being happy in this setting, no matter how hot the fictional hero might be, and she definitely couldn’t see any sexy love-nest potential.
Even the grounds were bare and stark. Bleak. Though it was August and the weather had been lovely for days, most of the grass was dead. Only a few scraggly puffs of green emerged through the dirt here and there.
The massive oak trees closest to the house were fully clothed with summer leaves. But they hadn’t been pruned in so long, the branches grew in all directions, creating strange shapes like great green snakes writhing toward the sky. Many of the other trees had died long ago, remaining as mere skeletons to complete the message that practically screamed in neon: Go back!
A voice in her head replied, O-kay!
But she couldn’t do it. Couldn’t put the car in drive and pull out of here because there was nowhere else in town to stay. And she wasn’t leaving Trouble. Not when so much was still left undiscovered about Max Taylor.
Even though the reason for her initial desperation to push Grace Wellington’s memoir through to print was sitting right beside her in the car, Sabrina couldn’t fool herself that her job—or the book—had anything to do with her desire to stay.
She wanted to stay because of him. Period.
Not merely because of her intense attraction to the man, but also because she now had a deep, insatiable curiosity about who Max really was.
She’d already decided he was not the bad-ass, heartless playboy Grace had made him out to be. Sure, he’d kissed her, flirted with her, but not until after they’d spent a good bit of time together—shared some serious moments as well as some light ones. Thinking of the old ladies fighting, she had to add weird ones to the list.
But he hadn’t crossed the line. In fact, he’d behaved like any other guy in the world.
Only, he was more attractive to her than any other guy in the world. And t
hat, at the end of the day, was why she wasn’t going anywhere. Not until she found out whether that attraction—connection—they shared was something unique and special. Or, to him at least, merely a fling.
“Sabrina? I thought that hot guy at the B&B said this place wasn’t even open.”
“That’s what the locals say. But before I came here, I did an Internet search and the Seaton House still had a Web site.” Of course, the pictures on that site had inspired her to decide immediately to stay at the Dewdrop Inn, instead. But that was no longer an option.
“Elvis still has a Web site,” Allie retorted.
“Look, it’s at least possible they are open and the residents in town don’t like the new owner of this place so they try to discourage people from coming here.”
Just as Max had when she’d been about to drive away from the Dewdrop Inn an hour ago.
He’d remained calm and in control during the whole Butch-sic-kiwis crisis. Racing inside to call 911, he’d emerged with an armful of towels for Mr. Fitzweather to hold against himself. He’d kept calm and focused, in charge during the frenzy.
But when Max had seen Sabrina pack up her car to leave, he’d look almost panicked. Which had been kind of nice, even though it was possible he was more concerned about losing a potential investor than he was about not seeing her anymore.
She preferred to think it was the latter.
When she’d told him she was going to take her chances at Seaton House, he’d tried to talk her out of it. But he’d offered no alternative.
One possible thought about where she could stay had flashed through Sabrina’s mind like a wicked fantasy masquerading as possibility: Max’s place.
Of course, she hadn’t told him that, but she’d certainly thought about it for about half a second. Until she’d chickened out, figuring staying with an alleged murderer was safer than sleeping next door to a man she wanted to jump on and ride like one of those horses on the carousel he’d been fixing up.
She shifted in her seat as a hot barrage of images rolled through her mind. Knowing, however, that she couldn’t do it, she snuffed the images out. Because she wasn’t going to act on this attraction again. She couldn’t—not until she knew for sure who he was and what she was going to do about it.
If he was just a nice guy who’d been wronged by a woman he’d scorned a few years back—which, knowing Grace, was possible—Sabrina also knew she’d have some damage control to do. Starting with salvaging Max’s reputation.
No matter what he was—who he was—Sabrina couldn’t hide from the truth. She was getting to know him under false pretenses. And sleeping with him while she was still on the fence about whether or not she was going to let the man be crucified in print went against every one of Sabrina’s principles.
Making out with him…well, she’d give herself a break on that. What woman would have been able to resist at least a little sin?
But no more. That was the end of it until she’d made her decision about him, one way or the other.
“You researched this place before you came. So just how long have you been planning this trip?” Allie asked.
Seeing an expression of angry confusion on her sister’s face, Sabrina told her the truth. “A couple of weeks.” Since the minute her boss, Nancy, had used her sources to find out where Max Taylor was hiding out while his lawyer threatened lawsuits.
“And you couldn’t be honest about where you were going?”
“I told you I was going away on business.”
“To a book expo. I didn’t see any books at that inn.” Allie’s voice grew louder. “Plus, look at your clothes, not to mention this expensive car, which I assume is a rental. What do they have to do with a book expo?”
Sabrina took a deep breath, trying to stay calm and reasonable when she really wanted to yell at her sister. Not for sabotaging Sabrina’s “mission” but for getting on a bus while heavily pregnant, telling no one where she was going and trusting complete strangers to drive her to the inn.
Had Sabrina ever been that young and trusting? If so, she certainly wasn’t anymore.
“Well?” Allie prompted.
“It’s complicated.”
“So explain it.”
Sabrina was tired of explaining things to people. As much as she loved Allie, there were moments when she really longed for her life to return to what it had been a year ago. When she’d been a hardworking single woman with a job she loved. When she’d lived in the city in her own pretty little apartment where she could walk around naked if she wanted to and never have to explain herself to anyone.
Your fault. It’s your fault.
She swallowed the resentment, knowing if it weren’t for her, neither of them would be in this position. Her bad judgment had led her to date Peter even though he was a colleague—that was before she’d realized he was also a pig. Yes, her good judgment had also led her to break up with him when she’d really gotten to know him. But the damage had been done. She’d invited a serpent into their lives and he’d bitten her sister. Hard.
“Look,” she finally said, trying to figure out what to say without hurting Allie’s feelings. “This is a really strange job I’m doing. I can’t explain it except that I needed to present myself a certain way.”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it, you had to look like a rich woman. Something to do with that hunky pilot you were hiding in the bushes with when I showed up?”
Wow, she did get it. And not just the job, but Sabrina’s obviously physical relationship with Max.
“I figure maybe your company’s competing for his book or something. But why couldn’t you tell me?”
She didn’t correct Allie’s mistaken assumption. “Maybe because I knew if you found out the whole story you’d harass me into bringing you along.”
Allie’s brow shot up in indignance. “I wouldn’t have—”
“You’re here, aren’t you?”
“That’s different. I’m here to tell you something.”
“And if I’d told you everything up front,” Sabrina added, not even pausing, “you wouldn’t have begged and pleaded to come with me because you’re so bored and so lonely and so can’t stand to be on your own for a few days?”
Her sister’s pretty face fell and Sabrina instantly regretted the words. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
Drawing in a deep breath, Allie slowly nodded. “Yes, you should have,” she replied. “Because you’re right. I guess there’s a part of me that would have come after you, anyway, even if I didn’t have something important to talk to you about.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “To tell you the truth, the closer it gets to the big day, the more convinced I am that I can’t deal with this.”
Sabrina grabbed her sister’s hand. “You can. We can. There is no way I’d let you go through it alone, you know that.”
“I know. In my brain I know.” Allie paused. “But my heart isn’t always so sure.”
Allie’s heart—the one that had been trampled on. First by Peter, then by their family. Their grandfather, who’d declared her immoral and unfit to know. And their mother, who hadn’t told her father to go to hell and come to stand beside her daughter.
“Look,” Sabrina said, remembering, finally, what was most important in her life, “we can go back to Philadelphia if you want. We’ll leave now.”
It hurt to say the words, to think of leaving, not knowing…always regretting.
No. Max was a fantasy. She should end that fantasy now and be done with it. Go back to work, call Grace and question her thoroughly to see just how much fiction she’d inserted into her “memoir.” That certainly wouldn’t be a first—something to which Oprah’s book club could attest.
And if Grace had used a lot of authorial license, Sabrina would tell her to start revising. The book could still proceed, though the watered-down version might not be as attention-getting as the scandalously sexy original. But on the bright side, removing the stuff about Max should at least ensure it wouldn’
t get shelved in the erotica section of the bookstore.
Then Sabrina could move on. And wonder. Always wonder…
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. Maybe staying away isn’t a bad thing,” Allie said.
There was that note of trepidation in her sister’s voice again, and this time Sabrina zoned in on it. “What, exactly, did you come here to talk to me about?” When Allie looked down at her hands, clenched tightly in her lap, Sabrina added, “Come on, I’m not really mad—just scared-mad.” Laughing softly, she added, “Like Mom was the first time you and I ran away from Grandpa’s.”
Allie immediately remembered. “I was seven.”
“And I was twelve.”
“We got as far as the bus station that time, too.”
“I asked for two tickets to New York.”
Allie’s eyes grew bright. “And I asked for two to heaven so we could see Daddy.”
Then someone who knew their grandfather had called him and he’d dragged them back. Their mother had been frantic—angry because of her fear, but so relieved she’d kept kissing them over and over. At least until their grandfather had put a stop to it, demanding to oversee their punishment.
They’d been on their knees repenting for eight hours, until poor little Allie’s legs had given out and Sabrina had tried to rub them back to life.
“Tell me what’s going on so we can deal with it together,” she murmured. “Like we always have.”
Their heavy silence fell in the car, the only sound the low hum of the engine and the hiss of cold air streaming through the air-conditioning vents. Finally, though, her sister admitted, “I did something really stupid.”
“Call out the media,” she said with a rueful chuckle. “One of the Cavanaugh girls has done something stupid.”
Allie finally smiled.
“Go ahead. Just say it.”
Allie opened her mouth to do exactly that, but instead of words, a tiny shriek emerged.
