The Mona Lucy

by Peggy Webb

  What she’d got was a new toothbrush wrapped in tinfoil and a curt “You can’t be too careful about hygiene” from her grandmother.

  Right before dark, C.J. and her parents had burst through the front door bearing a chocolate cake with thirteen candles, a pile of gifts in bright-purple paper and hugs enough to fill the empty spot in Sandi’s heart.

  She traced the wistful smile on the face of her younger self.

  “Sisters forever,” C.J. said, then fastened the delicate gold chain around Sandi’s neck.

  She placed her hand over the gold heart. “Sisters forever,” she said.

  “Clint and I are going to name our first child after you.”

  “You’re pregnant?”

  “Not yet, but we’re hoping. Clint says there’s no need to wait until I finish vet school. He’ll set up a nursery in his newspaper office and take care of the baby while I’m in class.”

  Sandi wanted a family of her own more than anything, but first she had to find a husband. And that meant falling in love with somebody who would love her right back.

  “I’m happy for you, C.J.” And she was. Truly, she was.

  C.J. squeezed her hands. “It’ll happen for you, Sandi. I feel it in my bones.”

  “It takes two.”

  “You’ve been looking for love in the wrong places. Why don’t you look at somebody smart and successful and steady instead of bullfighters and out of work artists? Somebody like Matt Coltrane? You ought to try to get to know him. He looks like a man with potential.”

  “No, he’s not my type.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I can tell by his uptight behavior.”

  “Ellie says he’s very good to his mother. That speaks well of him.”

  “He doesn’t jingle my chimes.”

  “I give up. Make a wish, Sandi.”

  She closed her eyes and wished for babies with sweet pink faces. Then she blew out the candles. All twenty-nine of them.

  The jangle of the telephone rousted Matt out of a deep sleep. He never dreamed. Dreams were too messy.

  “Matt?”

  “Aunt Dolly?” He glanced at the clock. Midnight. With no transition between sleeping and waking, he reached for his pants.

  “You’ve got to come home. Lucy’s had a heart attack.”

  “I’m on my way.” He did a quick calculation. His bags were still packed, his gas tank full and his affairs in order. “I’ll be there in three hours and sixteen minutes. How bad is it?”

  “She overextended herself with the wedding. Kitty tried to tell her, but would she listen? Naturally not, you know how she is. And then, of course, she’s always climbing the stairs when she could take the elevator. I don’t know why she insists on sleeping upstairs when she could have her pick of bedrooms on the first floor.”

  “Aunt Dolly…”

  “And then, of course, she insisted on having a private party for the Foxes after the wedding….”

  “Aunt Dolly, is she dying?”

  “God only knows.”

  Much as he loved Dolly Wilder, Matt couldn’t help being exasperated with her. Sometimes she carried drama to the extreme. Why hadn’t Aunt Kitty called him? She always cut straight to the point.

  He’d hold off calling his sisters until he saw his mother’s condition for himself. No sense in unduly alarming them. Anyway, neither of them could get home quickly. Kat was backpacking in Peru and Elizabeth was filming a documentary in Wales.

  “Tell Mother I’m on my way.”

  “She’ll be so relieved. I’m staying, of course. I’ve called London to get a replacement for the play. Not that they can ever replace me….”

  “Aunt Dolly. I have to leave now. Tell Mother I’m coming home.”

  Dolly entered Lucy O’Banyon Coltrane’s bedroom as if it were a Broadway stage. “Matt’s on his way.”

  Lucy sighed. “Unfortunately, I’m not dying.”

  “Not dying!”

  “Ben just left. He said it was nothing but a bad case of indigestion. We shot off the gun too soon.”

  “Good God.” Dolly sank into a chair. Naturally she chose the pink-satin chaise longue. “What are we going to do?”

  “We’re going to call Matt on his cell phone and tell him not to come,” said Kitty. “That’s what we’re going to do.”

  Trust Kitty to be practical. The only thing Lucy hated more than making a fool of herself in public was making a fool of herself in front of her children. Here was Matt, the busiest attorney in Jackson, driving all the way back to Shady Grove to chase a wild goose his mother had turned loose.

  “Let me think,” she said.

  “What’s to think about?” Kitty said. “For Pete’s sake, you’ve got to tell him the truth.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “Whatever plot you’re hatching, I want no part of it,” Kitty said.

  Lucy didn’t bother to deny she was hatching a plot. Why should she? She was a romance novelist, for goodness’ sake. “Do you remember my tenth book, Made-To-Order Bride?”

  “Tell me you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking,” Kitty said.

  “Why not? Here’s the way I see it. Matt’s already picked out a woman.”

  “What woman?” Dolly asked.

  “The one by the pool. The artist. Sandi Wentworth.”

  Kitty sniffed. “He didn’t pick her out. He said she wasn’t his type.”

  “Nobody’s his type. My son’s a stick-in-the-mud. If I don’t give connubial bliss a little boost he’s never going to be happy.” Lucy’s best plots always fell into her lap, so to speak. That’s how she knew she’d hatched a humdinger. “Here’s how it will work. I’ll invite her here to paint my final portrait for my children and my fans….”

  “You’re not dying,” Kitty pointed out.

  “A minor detail.”

  “He’ll find out the truth as soon as he questions Ben,” Kitty added.

  “Ben will evade Matt if I ask him to.” Ben Appleton was not only the family doctor who had been her husband Henry’s partner in their medical practice, but a lifelong friend. “All we need is a few days. Two weeks at most. When Matt finally finds out I’m not dying, he’ll be so happy he’ll forget the little white lie I told.”

  “More like an encyclopedia of lies,” Kitty said.

  “We’ve done it before.” They both glanced at Dolly who was busy pouring three glasses of wine. “The garden’s full of herbs. Kitty, didn’t you used to make a little love potion?”

  “That was a long time ago,” Kitty protested, but Lucy could tell by the look on her sister-in-law’s face that she had won.

  Dolly passed around the wine. “May this rescue be as dramatic and successful as the first.”

  They all lifted their glasses. “To the Foxes,” they said.

  Chapter Two

  Sandi couldn’t wait to get to Shady Grove. Though she usually obeyed speed laws, she drove over the limit all the way so she could arrive at O’Banyon Manor before dark. The mansion had so much family history.

  No matter what its style, the mansion had a fairytale charm. She was going to love working here.

  Lucille Coltrane had seemed nice on the phone, too. Warm and friendly. The kind of woman you feel you know after one conversation.

  C.J. had told her that Kitty O’Banyon lived in the house as well, and that Dolly Wilder visited so often she might as well live there. All three women were her mother’s friends.

  “Kitty’s an herbalist. She used to have a little shop that sold the neatest things. Natural-healing oils and sleep masks filled with lavender. She grew up on a farm. Mom used to say if you wanted to know something, just ask Kitty.”

  Sandi looked forward to cozy evenings chatting with Kitty O’Banyon. A woman like that who knew about domestic matters such as cooking and milking cows and pickling eggs might give her a tip or two on selecting a domesticated man. Or at least one already leash trained, one who would heel at the sound of the wedding marc
h.

  Heaven only knew, Sandi needed advice. And she needed it quick, before her rapidly aging eggs got too old.

  Sandi was going to have fun in this house full of women—girl talk, laughter and tears.

  She parked her l960 baby-blue Thunderbird convertible underneath a magnolia tree, grabbed her duffel bag and art supplies, then bounded up the steps to ring the doorbell.

  The door swung open, and there stood the hunk who had rescued her hat only three days earlier. When he saw her bag, he gave her a scowl.

  “Yes?”

  His tone of voice would frost toes. Sandi refused to be frosted.

  “Hi, I’m Sandi Wentworth, and I’m here to paint Lucille Coltrane’s portrait.”

  “Your timing is off, Ms. Wentworth. My mother is a very sick woman and in no condition to pose for you.”

  “Oh, I won’t ask her to pose. I’ll merely sit with her a little each day, get to know her features, her personality. She won’t have to do a thing except lie in bed. I can even feed her broth and read to her, if you like.”

  “Perhaps I haven’t made myself clear. You won’t be doing any of those things. Good day, Ms. Wentworth.”

  Sandi had seen people in movies stick their foot in a closing door, but she’d never thought she would be one of those people. She was deciding whether to sacrifice her right or her left foot, when a stunning woman with flaming titian hair and a bright-red blouse tucked into her jeans appeared in the doorway.

  “You must be Sandi,” she said. “Please do come inside.”

  Sandi cast a suspicious eye toward the guardian dragon. “Are you sure it’s all right?”

  “Don’t mind him. That’s Lucy’s son, Matt. His bark is worse than his bite.” The woman took her bag and handed it to the crown prince of intimidation. “Take her bag upstairs, Matt. The pink room in the east wing. And stop that scowling. It’ll give you wrinkles. At your advancing age you don’t need any more of them.”

  The woman grabbed Sandi’s hand and practically dragged her into the hallway. “I’m Dolly Wilder.”

  She lifted an eyebrow, and Sandi took her cue. “The star of stage and screen. I’m delighted to meet you, Ms. Wilder.”

  “Please, call me Dolly.” She raised her voice and added, “Or Aunt Dolly, if you wish. That’s what Matt calls me.” If he heard he didn’t let on. “Oh, Kitty…look who’s here.”

  Kitty O’Banyon had come from the back of the house swathed in a white apron. At first glance she appeared to be a plain woman without a single redeeming feature. But she had the kind of strong, arresting face you couldn’t look away from. Sandi still remembered it from the wedding. Up close she saw the wide-set gray eyes and a generous mouth that might have been pretty if she’d bothered with makeup.

  “We’re delighted to have you with us.” Her greeting was far more reserved than Dolly’s, but her smile was genuine. “I hope you like rack of lamb with rosemary and mint.”

  “It sounds delicious, but I don’t want to intrude on a family meal. I’ll just pop downtown and get a hamburger.”

  “Absolutely not!” Dolly said.

  Kitty added, “I love to cook, and we usually have food going to waste. I hope you’ll eat all your meals with us while you’re here.”

  “Thank you. You’re more than generous.” Considering the circumstances, their festive air surprised Sandi.

  As if she’d read her thoughts, Dolly put on a long face. “Poor Lucy, of course, won’t be joining us.”

  “No,” Kitty said, her own face drawn downward. “Poor Lucy.”

  Dolly brightened. “You just have time to freshen up. Let me show you to your room.”

  Sandi followed Dolly Wilder across a cavernous ballroom, through several ornate sitting rooms and hallways then up a winding staircase.

  “I hope I don’t get lost,” she said.

  “If you do, just ask Matt. He’s in the room next to yours.”

  Great, only a wall to separate her from the man who never smiled. She hoped he didn’t give her nightmares.

  After Dolly left her, Sandi wished she’d asked exactly what was meant by freshen up. Did they dress for dinner? Certainly the surroundings called for full makeup and a fancy dress. The fact that the owner of the mansion was near death could change things, though. Perhaps Dolly only meant wash your face and comb your hair.

  On the other hand, Dr. Darkness would be there, probably still in his three-piece suit and tie. He acted as if he hated her already. There was no reason to give him further cause.

  Besides, you never knew when the opportunity to find a husband would strike.

  Remembering Matt Coltrane’s scowl, she shuddered. “Please, God, don’t let opportunity strike here.”

  She settled on a great-looking little black dress, then swept her long hair into a French knot with flyaway tendrils.

  She got lost twice before she finally found the dining room, which was filled with a delicious spread of food. She noticed that Matt was absent.

  “Matt decided to eat with his mother,” Dolly said. “He offered his apologies.”

  Sandi doubted that, but she was too polite to say so. “I’m sorry she’s so ill,” she said taking a seat at the table.

  “How kind of you. Matt’s brilliant, you know,” Dolly added, taking a seat and glaring at Kitty.

  “Ouch,” Kitty said, smiling. “Lucy’s son is a top-notch divorce attorney. She’s very proud of him. We all are.”

  “Rich,” Dolly said. “I’m surprised some lucky girl hasn’t already run off with him. Have some more mint sauce, Sandi. It’s good for you.”

  “I made it with fresh herbs from the garden.” Kitty’s whole face lit up when she spoke of her garden. Sandi seized the opportunity to steer the conversation toward domestic matters.

  “It’s delicious. I’d love to make a garden in my backyard. I just don’t know if I have enough room for a garden as well as a playground for the children.”

  “You have children?” Kitty seemed excited about the idea and looked disappointed when Sandi shook her head.

  “Not yet. I’d like a big family someday, though.”

  “Good.” Dolly acted as if the whole brood would be born for her benefit. “Matt adores children, too. He’s quite a Romeo, you know. It wouldn’t surprise me if he fathers five or six.”

  “More mint sauce, dear?” Kitty picked up the bowl and ladled it onto Sandi’s plate before Sandi could protest that she couldn’t eat another bite.

  “He’s a real Casanova,” Dolly said.

  “Wasn’t Casanova unscrupulous?” The words flew out of Sandi’s mouth before she could stop them. To make matters worse, she added, “I’ve had it with men of that sort.”

  What in the world was wrong with her? She knew better. She hadn’t even touched her wine. One sip made her tipsy and half a glass shot her over the moon. She looked down at her plate as if it might provide answers, but all she saw was the sick green sauce swimming all over her half-eaten lamb.

  “Well, naturally I didn’t mean anything of the sort about Matt.” Dolly didn’t seem to be taking offense, which made Sandi feel better. “He knows a lot about romance, that’s all. He’s true blue, as good as gold, salt of the earth, cream of the crop.”

  “One bad metaphor was more than enough, Dolly.” Kitty picked up the damnable bowl of mint sauce. “More sauce, dear?”

  Sandi shielded her plate with both hands. “No, please. Any more of that and I’ll be dancing on the table in my black-lace thong.”

  “You’re wearing a lace thong?” Dolly clapped her hands. “That’s absolutely perfect for romance.”

  It hadn’t worked for Sandi yet, but she wasn’t so far gone she planned to admit defeat in the romance department.

  “What time is it?” Kitty looked at her watch, and Dolly jumped up from the table.

  “Bedtime.”

  “It’s only eight-thirty,” Sandi said, which wasn’t like her at all. Such bad manners. Her grandmother would be spinning in her grave.r />
  “We go to bed early, don’t we, Kitty?”

  “With the chickens.”

  Kitty cleared the table while Dolly linked arms with Sandi and led her into a walnut-paneled room with cozy chintz furniture and bookshelves filled with interesting-looking books. Lucy’s romances occupied two whole shelves.

  Every single one of the titles made Sandi feel inadequate. You Plus Me Equals Love, Love Is All We’ve Got, Love Is Bustin’ Out All Over, just to name a few. All that printed passion made her dizzy, and she had to sit down.

  “Help yourself to anything in the library.” Dolly sashayed to the desk and came back with a deck of cards. “You might want to play some cards.”

  “I don’t play solitaire. It seems so lonely, somehow.”

  “I was thinking of strip poker.” She patted Sandi’s arm. “Well, good night dear. We’ll send Matt down to make sure you can find your way to your room.”

  More than likely he would show her the door…unless she could think of some way to win him over so she could complete the portrait she’d been commissioned to do. Perhaps if she asked his advice, appealed to his ego. Men liked that.

  There she was, curled up in a chintz chair waiting for him like a black widow spider. In his favorite chair, to boot. Posing, for God’s sake. Pretending to read a book. She sat with one foot tucked under her, head tilted exactly right so the lamp would shine on those little strands of hair so artfully draped against her cheek.

  Matt was going to kill Kitty and Dolly. They’d stopped by his mother’s room and announced they were off to bed and he should escort their guest to her room.

  He could have pointed out that Dolly never went to bed till midnight and that Sandi Wentworth was not his guest, but he didn’t want to make a scene in front of his mother. She was so weak she was barely coherent. He couldn’t get a thing out of her except, “It’s my heart, son.”

  Aunt Dolly was no better, which didn’t surprise Matt. She was known for beauty not brains. But Kitty was a different story. Usually she was articulate and sensible. He supposed his mother’s condition had her so upset she couldn’t think straight. After all, they were as close as sisters.