“Did Fancy like the dress?” Jada asked.
“She wouldn’t try it on. The dress is covered with ribbons and bows, exactly the sort of fluff she adores.” A hint of injury sent Linnie’s attention roaming across the grass. “You would’ve thought I was the evil stepmother, offering her a poison apple.”
“That’s a little extreme, isn’t it?”
“I get the impression Fancy isn’t my number-one fan,” Linnie said. “Which makes sense. She loves her uncle Daniel, and I’ve horned in on her playtime. They used to spend lots of time together.”
“They will again. You and Daniel have only been a ‘thing’ since last summer. Once you settle into your new life, you’ll find time for his niece.”
It seemed best not to address the bigger issue: Fancy’s wariness around Linnie. Unlike Jada, or Cat for that matter, Linnie seemed clueless about how to interact with children. Often she behaved too formally around Fancy, making it hard for the child to relate to her.
Jada was happy to offer a few pointers. “Linnie, stop acting like you’re walking on eggshells when you’re with Fancy. I know you want her to like you, but sometimes you’re too formal.” She caught the note of impatience bleeding into her voice and sweetened her tone. “A small child doesn’t know how to relate to that.”
“Easy for you to say. My cooking skills are on par with Philip’s, meaning they’re nonexistent. And I can’t bake to save my life. You’ve won Fancy’s affections through years of luring her with killer brownies and other treats.”
“I also talk to her on her level. You should too.”
They’d reached the back of the inn. A large section of the lawn was carved away, revealing the dark clumps of earth beneath. Tall pallets of sandstone surrounded the perimeter like sentries. The unreliable skid loader, an expensive piece of equipment Jada knew Philip couldn’t afford to replace, stood behind a cluster of plant stock.
Approaching the nearest pallet, Jada ran her fingers across a slab of cool stone. “Did Fancy explain why she wouldn’t try on the dress?” There seemed more to the story, something Linnie had missed.
“She was probably tired.” A reasonable explanation, yet doubt inked Linnie’s voice. “I stopped by close to her bedtime.”
“Not the best timing.”
“I left the gown with Philip. He said he’ll call if it needs alterations.” Linnie circled the pallet of golden stone. She looked up suddenly. “Do you think he’ll forget to have Fancy try on the dress? He’s forgetful sometimes.”
A small seed of concern lodged in Jada’s stomach. “Should I ask if he wants me to come over?” she asked. “Men are rarely experts on little girl outfits.”
“Like you need me hoisting more on your shoulders.”
Head bowed, Jada absently toed the grass. No, she didn’t need more on her shoulders, but what choice was there? Her bestie was getting married, and she’d never let Linnie down. Relief over Linnie’s apology threatened to morph into anxiety as Jada quietly went over her expanding to-do list.
“I’m going with Daniel to hear another wedding band,” Linnie reminded her. “You promised to deal with the furniture delivery. Are you sure you have time to handle Fancy too?”
“The furniture for the south wing should arrive by noon.” Fending off the anxiety, Jada resolved to call Philip after the movers finished outfitting every suite. “Assuming we get everything in place by late afternoon, I’ll have time to help Fancy.”
“You’re sure?”
“It’s fine—honest.” Not even close, but Jada drummed up a cheerful expression.
Linnie nodded with satisfaction. Then she spread her arms, to indicate the long rectangle of dirt Philip and his men would soon transform for her wedding ceremony. “So, what do you think?”
By late morning, Jada had narrowed down the employee applications. After placing phone calls to set up interviews for later in the week, she returned to the Wayfair’s kitchen. With the lunch rush over, the sous-chef was setting out vegetables on the long center island to begin prep work for the dinner menu. At the far end of the room, the windows were flung open to let in the fragrant spring air. Birdsong supplied pleasant background music as Jada prepared a marble cheesecake.
The warm weather should’ve lifted her spirits. Since meeting with Linnie, she couldn’t set aside her concerns regarding Fancy. Children behaved unpredictably, especially around adults they didn’t know well. Although it was doubtful Fancy disliked Linnie, their interactions weren’t frequent enough to forge a solid relationship. Pouring the cheesecake into a pan, Jada wondered if it had been wise to add Fancy to the wedding party. Linnie and Daniel had struck upon the idea soon after announcing their engagement. They’d done so without the child’s consent but with Philip’s approval.
Along with her worry about Fancy, Jada suffered the uneasy feeling that today marked a date when she must undertake an important task, something critical.
What am I forgetting?
None of the Wayfair’s bills were due. She’d paid most of the invoices at the beginning of the month, a task she’d assumed in February, when Linnie’s wedding jitters became too obvious to ignore. Striding through the lobby, she wondered if the forgotten item was personal in nature—a family birthday, an anniversary? Nothing came to mind.
The sense of unease followed her through a hectic afternoon.
After Jada went over the dinner menu with the night chef, she spent grueling hours darting up and down the stairwell, directing the movers on where to place beds, dressers, and chaise lounges in the newly renovated south wing. After the furniture was in place, she helped the Housekeeping staff ferry linens to the new suites. The work was a refreshing change of pace after the wedding gown fiasco of the day before.
Late in the afternoon, Cat found her inside the largest suite, sprawled across a chaise lounge. Minutes earlier, the last men from Riggin Movers had thumped down the stairwell. Down the corridor, two maids were making up beds in the suites Jada, Linnie, and Cat had occupied during the dark years before the inn became profitable.
“All finished?” Cat asked.
“Finally.” The muscles in Jada’s shoulders burned from hours bending, reaching, and repositioning furniture closer to windows or farther away.
Cat offered a sheepish grin. “I meant to pitch in. I was . . . delayed.”
A telltale patch of red bloomed on Cat’s neck. More newlywed fever, with the love bite an indication that her husband was working from home today.
“You’re just now getting in?” Jada asked. She made no attempt to hide her disapproval.
“Stop looking at me like I’m a truant.” Cat huffed out a breath. “I came in this morning. You were in the kitchen. I went home at lunchtime to see Ryan.”
Tamping down her irritation, Jada nodded at the evidence. “Is there concealer in your purse? You need some.”
“Oh. Right.”
Cat dug into the purse swinging beside one slender hip. She produced a mirror from the bag, and padded her fingers across the plunging neckline of her silk dress. Unlike Jada, who preferred jeans and casual tops, Cat always appeared at work in high fashion—with all the right accessories.
Peering into the mirror, Cat dabbed concealer on the blemish. “It feels strange up here, doesn’t it?” she said.
“Like we’ve erased the past,” Jada agreed.
“I’m afraid to step into my old suite and check out all the changes.” Snapping the concealer shut, Cat glanced toward the corridor with misgiving. “What if seeing the changes alters my memories? We had some great times when the three of us lived up here together. I don’t want to lose those memories.”
“Then don’t look. I hardly recognized my old suite. It was hard being inside the room.” An emotion like homesickness throbbed in Jada’s chest. With a rueful laugh, she added, “I didn’t offer to help the girls in Housekeeping make up the bed in my old suite. Everything looks so pretty and bright, ready for the first guests. I wanted to cry.”
&nb
sp; The three women had spent the better part of their twenties rooming together in the south wing, struggling to drag the Wayfair out of the red, sharing the best years of their youth in drafty suites laid out side by side. A sense of loss still lingered in Jada for all those times they chatted long into the night, sharing their deepest thoughts and secrets. Back then, the wing’s heating barely worked, and they never knew if the Wayfair would soon be shuttered, sending them and the depleted staff into the unemployment lines. But Jada cherished every trial they had overcome, how the sense of working for the higher good of the town deepened their friendship. Cat and Linnie were more than besties now. They were her sisters, forged to her heart forever.
Settling deeper in the cushiony fabric of the chaise lounge, Jada said, “All the time we spent living here—we were lucky. We were given a chance to make a difference in the town, and we did.” Her heart shifted as she added, “Remember when Treat Wayfair’s stroke forced him into an early retirement? Few people believed his daughter could bring the inn back from the brink, especially with only the help of her two besties and a skeleton crew. Saving the Wayfair from ruin seemed impossible, but we stuck it out. I’m proud of us.”
“We grew up here, became women. Shared dreams, and made them come true.”
“Look how many new employees we’ve hired in just the last quarter. We’re having a real impact on Sweet Lake.”
“I’m glad.” Cat hesitated, her eyes darkening with concern. “Jada, do you think Linnie will follow her dreams?”
“With Daniel? I hope so.”
“I’m afraid she’ll ditch at the last moment. Break his heart—break the hearts of every Siren. They’re working overtime on the wedding arrangements.”
“If she calls off the wedding, the Sirens will survive. Daniel is another matter. He’s incredibly patient, but even he has limits.”
“We should’ve suggested they elope. It would’ve been easier on Linnie.”
Jada recalled making a similar comment when Linnie had shown her the progress on the new patio. “She never would’ve agreed to elope. Daniel wants a big wedding with most of the town in attendance.” His parents would fly in from their retirement home in Texas; Linnie’s parents, now living in Florida, would do the same.
Jada swung her feet to the floor. Cat was more emotional than her by yards, and a light sheen of tears was collecting in her eyes. If Linnie nixed the wedding, it would upset Cat too. Now that she’d found the love of her life, she wanted Linnie—and one day Jada—to join her in marital bliss.
Steering the conversation to lighter topics, Jada said, “Memories aside, guests will like the south wing’s new look. We spent more money than reasonable, but I can’t fault the end result. This place now reeks of elegance.”
Over the winter months, an elevator had been installed behind the lobby to accommodate guests. It was a minor undertaking compared to the other upgrades. The south wing was now completely renovated, the roof repaired, and a portion of the interior gutted. The fine carpentry had been finished in February, and new paint gleamed on every wall.
Cat turned in a slow circle. “Everything looks great, and without a moment to spare.”
“We have a reservation?”
“For this room, in fact. The front desk got the call this afternoon. The guest asked for the largest suite on the grounds.”
This early in the season, half of the rooms in the main inn were empty.
“What’s the duration of the reservation?” Jada asked. She’d assumed they wouldn’t have bookings for the south wing until May at the earliest.
“Two weeks, confirmed. She might stay longer.”
“Who is she?”
“A retired college professor from Chicago.”
“A wealthy professor, if she might keep the room into April.”
“There is one catch.” A curious light settled in Cat’s brown eyes. “She asked to speak with you. She was rather insistent.”
For reasons beyond logic, the comment brought back the sense of unease that had dogged Jada all day. Something she’d forgotten, a neglected task she’d rue forgetting once she extracted it from her overtaxed brain.
Why would a retired college prof wish to speak with me personally?
The request made no sense.
Cat was saying, “Before you ask, she didn’t explain why she wanted to talk to you. She just began rattling off questions. I got the impression she’s used to getting her way.”
“A demanding guest. How delightful.” With so many new employees on the Wayfair’s staff, Jada wasn’t looking forward to an overly demanding guest intimidating them.
“Will you call her tonight?” Cat handed over a slip of paper. Her distinctive handwriting raced across the page. “She’s strong-willed, but totally legit. I googled her. Millicent Earhardt, PhD. She taught American history before her retirement. She’s written a few books.”
“Which might explain her extended stay with us.” The Wayfair Inn was a landmark with a rich Ohio heritage. Linnie’s ambitious forebears had opened the first trading post in the area back in 1822. They had owned the first lumber mill, and carved the town of Sweet Lake from the dense forest surrounding the lake that shared its name. “Are you sure our curious historian doesn’t prefer to speak with Linnie? She’s the one with famous ancestors. Why would the guest ask to chat with me? I’m only the co-manager.”
“And our superb resident baker.” Cat shrugged. “Maybe she’s writing a book on minority women in business.”
“Then why wasn’t she content to speak with you?”
Cat chewed this around for a moment. “What if she’s finished her research on Latina women in business? Geez, I hope not. I’d love to give an interview. I mean, why should you get all the glory?” Once Cat latched onto a theory, she was capable of spinning it to ridiculous proportions. “How cool if we both end up in a history book!”
“Don’t head for the footlights just yet. The woman is a historian, not a sociologist. If she wants to speak with the Wayfair’s superb baker, I’m guessing she’s a foodie.” Jada decided she’d whip up any confection the historian craved if doing so would secure a long booking for the inn. “I’ll call her tomorrow. I can’t tonight. There’s a good chance I’m heading over to Philip’s house to help Fancy with her dress for the wedding. I need to give him a call after work.”
Jada rose with her emotions in flux.
A vague sliver of a memory flirted with the surface of her mind, then sank back into the muddy depths. It dawned on her that the name Millicent Earhardt seemed familiar. She wasn’t sure why. Jada’s reading preference ran toward fiction, not history, and she’d attended college in Ohio, not Illinois.
In the doorway, Cat paused. “What’s the matter?”
“I wish I knew.” There wasn’t an easy way to explain about the familiarity of Millicent’s name, or why the upcoming call made her anxious. Instead, Jada said, “There was something I was supposed to do today. I can’t recall what.”
“Check Linnie’s calendar. Heck, you should take the calendar and keep it in your office. You’ve been handling most of the management tasks for weeks.”
“The missing task isn’t on the calendar. I’ve already checked.”
Cat lifted her shoulders in a careless shrug. “Then whatever it is, it’ll wait. You never forget the important stuff.” She patted Jada’s cheek. “You’re too responsible.”
The scent of fresh linens wafted through the corridor. A singsong of conversation followed. Jada glimpsed two of the maids inside the suite she’d once called her own.
The walls, no longer a dull grey, sported spring-green paint. New draperies in pale yellow festooned the bay window. The maids hurried to either side of the bed, still immersed in conversation. The taller girl snapped out the sheet, a fluttering sail that rippled in the air, and Jada recalled the countless times Cat or Linnie helped her put clean linens on the bed, the sheets old and threadbare. They’d never permitted themselves the luxury of using the be
tter linens reserved for the inn’s guests.
The maids unfolded the new comforter, green like the walls. The fabric was decorated in a swirling pattern meant to give the room a modern feel. From a distance, the pattern reminded Jada of snowflakes.
Gooseflesh sprouted on her arms.
“Cat . . . ,” she said slowly. “What is today’s date?”
“I’m not sure. Is it important?”
Queasy, Jada retrieved her smartphone from her pocket. Of all the days—how could she have forgotten this one?
The memories rushed over her. They were a chilling onslaught, like the snowstorm that struck Sweet Lake six years ago, crusting the streets with ice and drowning the houses in layers of white. She recalled the panic that had gripped her on that fateful day. She’d raced out of the inn and down the hill, blinded by the pelting snow, guided only by a premonition of disaster.
With effort, Jada pushed the memory away. She stared blankly at her smartphone.
At last, her brain processed the date on the glowing panel. March thirteenth—unlucky thirteen.
The day tragedy befell Sweet Lake.
Chapter 3
Of all the Sweet Lake Sirens, Penelope Riddle was his favorite.
On a day he dreaded each year—and Philip certainly hadn’t expected to receive a call from his daughter’s elementary school—the owlish and sensitive Penelope supplied a patch of sunshine.
The sixtyish Siren wore her heart on her double chins, which shuddered violently if she caught one of the boys at Sweet Lake Elementary threatening to drop an earthworm down the back of a girl’s blouse. Her chins danced with doughy goodness when she helped the children make bells out of Styrofoam cups recycled from the retirement home outside of town. Penelope spent hours washing out the used cups in the kitchen of her odd and charming house before repurposing them with the help of the first graders in Miss Wilson’s class.
Penelope believed a benevolent force underpinned the natural world. During Philip’s long-ago childhood, he’d marveled at her stories of fairies living in the forest near the blue waters of Sweet Lake. He clung to her animated voice whenever she described how the earth would sing to you if you pressed your ear to mossy ground and listened hard enough.
The Season of Silver Linings (A Sweet Lake Novel Book 3) Page 3
