CHAPTER SIX
The kitchen makeover was almost complete. There was a bit more woodwork to paint, and Cara had decided the window seat should have new cushions to match the room’s pretty new décor. The sisters had taken Barney to a fabric store to select something bright and pretty, and while there, got the name of a woman who could sew the cushions for them.
“The window seat is going to be the coziest place in the house,” Des told Barney on the way home.
“I love that yellow, white, and light blue fabric. I think it’s going to look smashing. I can’t thank you girls enough for thinking of this project, especially since you have the theater to deal with.” Barney was beaming. “I can’t wait to get new pull shades on the windows. And maybe hang up some pictures on the walls. Something pretty, I’m thinking.”
“Maybe some photos of the theater,” Des suggested.
“Or maybe an old movie poster or two,” Cara added.
“Which brings me to ask, Des, did you hear back from that dealer in Las Vegas you were going to contact?” Allie asked.
“Not yet. I’m wondering if he isn’t maybe looking for a buyer before he makes an offer.”
The thought had occurred to Des that the dealer she’d contacted might do just that. She didn’t care either way, if in the end he made a big, fat offer. How many original posters could still be around for Possessed, with a young Clark Gable and Joan Crawford as the leads? Or the original Frankenstein with Boris Karloff, or Dracula with Bela Lugosi? Either old movie buffs or collectors of horror movie memorabilia would be interested in those.
“Honestly, I have to admit that when this whole thing started, I thought it sounded like something we could accomplish in six months, maybe a little more. I mean, we had a million dollars to spend, right?”
“Yeah, who’d have imagined the money would go so quickly?” Allie sighed.
“Or that we’d get reasonably close to the end, only to have the roof fall in on us.” Des paused. “Well, more or less.”
“Or that we’d be having to repair that glorious ceiling. Or we would be, if we could find someone qualified to do it.” Cara’s sigh echoed Allie’s.
“How’s that search for repair people going, Cara?” Des asked.
“Three steps forward, two steps back,” Cara replied. “I called a dozen historic theaters and got a dozen different names of artisans who worked on them. I call these restoration specialists and I realize none of the other theaters have had the type of damage we’ve had. Damaged ceilings, yes. The type of decorative painting needing repair, no. Plus the fees they charge just to come and take a look are astronomical. I’m not giving up—I know we’ll find the right people—but it’s disheartening. Everyone I call seems to be out of our league.”
“Maybe someone at the cocktail party this weekend will have some recommendations for us,” Barney said. “At least, I’m hoping someone will.”
“Right now, I’m going to be completely shallow and fess up that I’m thinking about that cocktail party because I honestly don’t have a thing to wear. Joe and I are going out to dinner after, and I want to look really nice,” Cara said as she turned into the driveway.
“I think you want to go beyond nice, Cara. I think maybe you want to wow.” Allie waited until Barney got out of the front passenger side before climbing out of the back seat. “I say we put all this doom and gloom, waaaa, we’re running out of money and the ceiling’s peeling off stuff aside and go shopping. Online. All in favor—”
It was a unanimous “aye.”
“I’ll meet you all in our lovely, newly redecorated, almost completed kitchen.” Allie took off for the back door, house key in hand.
“I like that black one, but it doesn’t come in my size.” Allie pointed to the image of the short sleeveless dress on Cara’s laptop, which was open on the kitchen table.
Des leaned over Allie’s shoulder. “It’s pretty. Simple but lovely. Oh, but it comes in mine.”
“Figures,” Allie muttered.
Cara turned the digital page. “Allie, maybe this one. It’s more your style anyway, don’t you think?”
Allie studied the screen. “Could be a contender. Go back to the main page where all the dresses are.”
“I can’t get used to this idea of buying clothes online.” Barney had poured a cup of coffee and slipped onto the window seat. “In my day, we went into Clarks Summit or Scranton to shop for school clothes and dressy things. A trip into John Wanamaker’s in Philly or Lord & Taylor in New York for special occasions. We’d never consider buying something we hadn’t tried on to wear for an important event.”
“The times they are a-changing,” Cara sang. “So what are you going to wear to the cocktail party, Barney?”
“Oh, I’m sure I have something. I haven’t really thought about it.”
Cara looked up from the screen. “I guess it would help us to know how dressy these things really are.”
“Yeah, a cocktail party out here in the boonies probably isn’t the same as a cocktail party in L.A.” Allie reached around Cara to move to the next page of dresses.
“Allie, are you assuming that we ‘out here in the boonies’ don’t know how to dress, or that we don’t know how to throw a proper cocktail party?”
“Maybe a little of both.” Allie grinned without embarrassment. “Not meant as an insult, Barney. Just that I don’t think things around here are as formal. In L.A., people wear lots of glitz. How much glitz can we expect to see at Saturday’s shindig at Althea College?”
“Oh, probably none, unless you’re wearing it,” Barney conceded. “Generally, we don’t dress up to quite that extent, but don’t let that stop you if you’re in the mood to sparkle.”
“I’m always in the mood to sparkle.”
“Not lately, you haven’t been.” Des pointed to a blue sleeveless dress on the screen. “That would be terrific on you, Cara.”
“What do you mean, lately I haven’t?” Allie tapped Des on the arm.
“Just that you’ve been sort of sullen and cranky.” Des shrugged. “Tough to sparkle when you’re cranky.”
“What are you talking about? I have not been cranky.”
Allie’s sigh was exasperation touched with annoyance.
“I have a lot on my mind, okay?” Her face slightly red, she turned her attention back to the screen. “Click on that teal number on the end there, please.”
Cara clicked and the requested dress appeared.
“That might be too low cut for the college faculty,” Cara said when Allie started to scroll through the available sizes.
“Am I the only one who thinks it whispers, ‘Do me’?” Des asked.
“Really?” Allie looked up.
Des and Cara both nodded.
“Oh, well, then, forget that one. No one around here I’m interested in doing.” Allie closed the screen and moved on to the next.
“The party isn’t just for faculty,” Barney said. “It’s for alums, benefactors, former faculty. It’s a fund-raiser, so they try to include as many people as they can.”
“That one’s too low, too.” Des pointed to the hot pink dress on the current screen.
“I bet it wouldn’t be too low with that emerald necklace Althea is wearing in the portrait in the front hall. With those beauties around your neck—cleavage? What cleavage?” Allie barely looked up from the page. “If we could find it, that is. I’d need shoes to go with this. Strappy sandals with four-inch heels.”
“Your shoes can wait. Cara and I need to find something to wear, too. So buy the dress or don’t, but stop monopolizing the computer.”
“Even if we ever found that necklace, we’d end up fighting over it,” Cara noted.
“No, Barney said finders, keepers, right, Barney?” Allie stepped away from the table.
“I did say that. God knows I’ve looked everyplace I could think of. My guess is that my mother put it in something, then took that something into the attic and put it into something else.”
“Are you sure she didn’t give it away, or maybe it was stolen? Or maybe it’s in an old purse or a hatbox or something?” Not for the first time, Des thought of all the places in the big house where such an item could be hidden.
“She really didn’t see anyone once she developed dementia. She never wanted visitors, and by the time we’d hired someone to help with her, the necklace had already been missing for quite a while.” Barney shook her head. “It’s in this house, I’m certain of that. It’s just a matter of finding where.” A slow smile crossed her lips. “Which of course means that the house will have to stay in the family at least until the damned thing is found. If it’s still missing after I pass along, well, you’re all just going to have to keep looking.” Still smiling, she took a sip of coffee. “I think I’ll call Pete this week and have him put that in my will.”
“Don’t you think Uncle Pete has had enough of the Hudsons’ goofy inheritance stipulations?” Allie asked.
“I like to think he’s merely accustomed to our creativity.”
“It just occurred to me that once you pass to the other side, you can ask your mother what she did with the necklace, then you can leave signs around the house,” Cara suggested.
“But it would have to be a sign that all of us got at the same time so we all had the same opportunity to look for it.”
“Leave it to Des to come up with rules for the hereafter.” Allie searched her bag for her wallet, then opened it to look for a credit card.
“Maybe we should get a Ouija board, girls, and I could communicate with you that way.” The thought seemed to amuse the normally sensible Barney.
“What a swell idea,” Allie muttered.
“Are you buying this dress?” Cara asked, her finger poised to go to another page.
“Unless I find something better. I want to take one more look.” Credit card in hand, Allie moved toward the screen, and Cara got up to give her room. “I should warn you girls, though—Nikki has a to-do list for this summer, and right there at number one: find the emerald necklace.”
While Allie monopolized the computer, Des wandered out into the hall, where portraits of a dozen or more ancestors watched over the family home. Althea Brookes Hudson—Des’s great-great-grandmother, who’d had a college named in her honor—was third from the right of the front door. She wore a dark green gown, chosen, no doubt, to set off the emeralds that were set in gold and draped around her neck.
“My father described those stones as big as a lumberjack’s thumbnails.” Barney came into the hall behind Des. “Not that I know what a lumberjack’s thumbs look like, but that was probably an apt description. The necklace was appraised once, but I forget what the carat size was. I do remember the stones were all identical in carat, clarity, color, and cut. It was definitely a work of art.” She smiled. “I often wondered what the parents of that Spanish prince thought when they found out he’d given that lovely piece—probably an heirloom—to a young American girl who was just passing through Seville with her parents.”
“I bet he lied and said he had no idea what happened to it.”
“All I know of the story is what I told you girls before. That Lydia—she was my great-grandmother—was eighteen, and apparently very lovely. While on a grand tour of Europe with her parents, a Spanish prince fell head over heels in love with her and proposed marriage. He gave Lydia the necklace, which her parents demanded she return because they thought for sure it was the first step toward seduction. Lydia told them she’d given it back, and they whisked her back home to Pennsylvania. A few years later, she met and married Jefferson Hudson, and shortly thereafter began to wear the necklace. They said it was the talk of Hidden Falls because she wore it every chance she got.”
“If we found it, we could probably sell it and use the money for the theater,” Des mused. “Assuming that you agreed.”
“I said it would become the property of whoever found it, and I meant that. I’ve gotten along this far in my life without it. So if you find it, you can do whatever you want with it.” Barney chuckled. “On the other hand, if Allie finds it—well, good luck talking her into selling it and using the proceeds for whatever the theater might need by then.”
“Good point.” Allie finding the necklace on her own was a sobering thought.
“Hey, Des, come here,” Cara called from the kitchen. “We found the perfect dress for you for Saturday night.”
“Go on, see what they’ve found. I’m sure you’ll be lovely in whatever you wear.” Barney started toward her sitting room. “Come on, Buttons. Let’s go read for a while.”
“What did you find?” Des asked as she went back into the kitchen.
“Just the most perfect LBD.” Allie got up and offered the seat to Des. “For those of you who aren’t up on your fashion shorthand, that means—”
“Right. Little black dress. Believe it or not, we do get Vogue in Montana.” Des sat and stared at the dress on the screen.
“See, it’s perfect, right? Classy, but just sexy enough to turn Greg’s head.” Allie crossed her arms over her chest, obviously pleased with herself.
Des nodded. “I like it. I’d definitely wear that.”
“All you have to do is grab your credit card and click on that little bar, and she’ll be on her way to you within twenty-four hours. Free shipping today and tomorrow,” Allie said. “And you can upgrade the shipping so that it’s here in twenty-four hours.”
“How ’bout we put all our dresses into one order and express ship them? We can share the shipping costs that way. The free shipping deal doesn’t apply to express orders, but I don’t want to run the risk that the package doesn’t arrive until sometime next week.”
“Great idea, Des. Did you find something, Cara?”
“I’m going with the blue one we were looking at earlier. Why don’t we put them all on your card, and Des and I can give you checks for our share.”
“Perfect. Let’s do it.” Allie took over the ordering for all of them. “I’m going with black as well, but a different neckline.”
Allie put in her credit card number and hit buy now before anyone could change her mind. Then she sent a text to Nikki showing her what they’d all bought.
“I told her about the cocktail party,” Allie explained. “She wanted to know what everyone was wearing.”
“She’s definitely her mother’s daughter,” Des noted.
“We can take pictures on Saturday night to send to her,” Cara offered, but Allie was already on her way out the door, texting as she walked. Cara turned in her chair to face Des, who was staring out the back window. “I’m kind of looking forward to this party, actually. We haven’t done anything like this since we’ve been here. Do you think your professor friend will be there?”
When Des didn’t respond, Cara repeated the question.
“What? Oh, I don’t know.” Des shrugged. “Maybe.”
“All right.” Cara turned off the laptop and closed the lid. “What’s on your mind?”
“What if we can’t find someone to restore the ceiling? Then what? Do they paint over all that beautiful art?”
“I certainly wouldn’t approve of that. If there’s no one who can restore it, I’d leave it as it is before I’d destroy the rest, but you’re getting ahead of yourself. There has to be someone. We may have to dig for a while to find her or him, but someone is out there.”
“Ever the optimist.” Des smiled and went to the sink for a glass of water.
“You gotta believe, to quote that T-shirt you wore the other day.” Cara dug in the fruit bowl for a grape and popped one into her mouth. “Want to know where the expression came from?”
“It’s just an expression. Everyone says it. You see it everywhere. On mugs as well as shirts.”
Cara nodded. “Maybe, but it didn’t become a thing until it was used by a pitcher for the 1973 Mets.”
Des raised an eyebrow.
“It’s true. The Mets were in last place through the end of August that year. At a team meeting, someone from the front office came in to give them a pep talk. One of the pitchers, Tug McGraw, yelled, ‘You gotta believe,’ and it became a kind of mantra for the team. Long story short, the Mets came back to win their division and go all the way to the World Series against Cincinnati.”
“Did they win?”
“No. Cincinnati won, five games to two. But would they have even gotten to the series if they hadn’t all decided to believe in themselves and in their teammates?”
“Why do you even know that?”
Cara laughed. “My mom was a big Mets fan. I even remember their theme song. Want to hear it? ‘Meet the Mets. Meet the Mets. Step right up and—’ ”
“That’s okay. I’ll pass on the rest of it.” Des finished the little bit of water left in her glass. “Some other time maybe.”
“But you got the point, right? That we all have to believe we’ll find the right person and the ceiling will be restored and we’ll finish the rest of the work and the theater will be ready to go.”
“Go where, Cara?” Des stood. “What happens then?”
“I’ve asked myself the same question. And I don’t have the answer.”
“Do you think about staying? Here, in Hidden Falls?”
“Sometimes. But then I think about my life in Devlin’s Light. My friends. The house I grew up in. My yoga studio.” Cara shrugged. “I don’t know what I’d miss more, Devlin’s Light or Hidden Falls.”
“Or Joe.”
“Or Joe. Right. I don’t know where that’s going. I keep asking myself, what if we fall totally in love—like, deeply in love, can’t-live-without-each-other love—and he asks me to stay?”
“What would you do?”
“I have no idea. On the one hand, I think he’s probably the best man on the face of the earth. I would be the luckiest woman ever if he asked me to stay here with him. But Devlin’s Light is my hometown. I’ve lived there all my life. It’s hard to think about walking away. Even with that messy little matter of my ex and his new family.”
“I understand.”
“How ’bout you? Do you think about your home in Montana?”
“Every day. Oh, not so much my house. I didn’t grow up there. I have no deep emotional ties, but I do wonder sometimes if that’s where I belong. But I’ve committed to this, and I’ll see it through.”
“You could run a lot of shelters with the money from Dad once we can settle the estate. I’m sure that motivates you.”
“Some. But that’s not why I came here.”
Cara raised an eyebrow.
“The truth is, I wanted to see if I could somehow fix my relationship with Allie. I wanted to see if we could put aside all the old resentments and hurt and just be sisters.” Des’s eyes filled with tears. “That was—still is—reason number one. Reason number two? I wanted to get to know you. I wanted to see if we could be, if not sisters, then friends at least. I wanted to see if I could figure out how I’d missed that my father had another family that he loved. Another woman he loved more than he loved my mother. Another daughter . . .”
“I think he loved all three of us equally, Des.”
“Maybe. Now that I know you, and know something about your mother, I have to wonder if maybe he loved you guys just a little more. He spent more time with you, those last few years of his life. There was a reason for that.”
When Cara started to protest, Des stopped her.
“It’s okay. He obviously found a peace with your mom that he never had with mine. It’s not your fault and it’s not mine. I’m not responsible for driving my father away. I am responsible for the fact that I never tried all that hard to be a part of his life after he and my mother separated. I was content to go my own way. A distance developed between us, and I did nothing to close it. I regret that now, but I can’t change it.”
“Why do you suppose you did that? Left that distance between you?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe I was blaming him for not sticking up for me when I said I didn’t want to do that TV show that my mother was forcing me to do. I mentioned that to Seth, and he asked me if I knew for certain Fritz hadn’t tried to talk to her about letting me off the hook.” A tear from each eye ran down her cheeks in parallel lines. “And I had to admit, I don’t know if he did. I just assumed that he hadn’t. And all that time I’d had to ask him I’d wasted being angry with him. And now I’ll never know.” She looked up at Cara. “It never occurred to me to ask.”
“Seth is one pretty smart cookie.”
Des nodded. “Anyway, I can’t change that any more than I can change how Allie feels about me, but I’m grateful for the opportunity to know you. I may never be able to completely mend the rift with Allie so that the past isn’t between us anymore, but I know I have a sister in you.”
“You do.” Cara got up and put her arms around Des. “I am now and always will be your sister. You’ll never have to doubt that, Des.”
Having a great time! Went shopping in downtown Chicago again today! Gramma loves to shop almost as much as you do! Woo-hoo! Just one more week and I’ll be on my way to you guys for the entire rest of the summer! Can’t wait! Luv u!
The exuberant text from Nikki raised Allie’s spirits enormously. Knowing that her daughter would be with her soon was the best news Allie’d had since her daughter returned to California after having spent her spring break in Hidden Falls. Breathing a sigh of relief, Allie went into her bathroom and poured her second drink of the night and took it into her bedroom to relax and celebrate.
It had been almost an hour since she’d heard the others close their doors and thirty minutes since she’d heard Des turning off the shower in her room across the hall. The house lay quiet and still around her, and on a whim, she got up and opened her bedroom door. There was no sign of life from either Cara’s or Des’s rooms, and it appeared the only light in the house came from the night-light at the end of the hall. Grabbing her drink and the pack of cigarettes she’d picked up at the drugstore on her way back from the theater the day before, Allie tiptoed into the hall. She crept to the stairs, and keeping to one side to avoid the steps that creaked, she made it to the first floor.
The front door would be a challenge, but what was life without those little challenges?
She unlocked the door and, inch by inch, opened it. Leaving it slightly ajar, she padded onto the porch in bare feet and sat in the dark on one of the rocking chairs. Amused by the fact that she’d made it outside with such stealth, she lit a cigarette, tried not to cough, and put her legs up on the railing. She’d given up a short-lived smoking habit long ago, but every once in a while she bought a pack of a brand she didn’t really like so she wouldn’t want to smoke the whole thing. She knew it was disgusting and would kill her if she picked up the habit again, but tonight she wasn’t thinking about any of that. Tonight she just wanted to sit in the night air and forget everything negative that had happened to her over the past few years. Her ever-present resentment of Des. The divorce from the man she’d loved with all her heart. The separation from Nikki. The death of her father. The realization that he’d been lying to them all for over thirty-five years. She wanted it all to just drift away with the smoke and disappear forever.
When she was in this mood, her mind always took her to the same place, that part of her brain that wondered how Fritz had kept his secret for so long.
Then again, who would suspect their parent of living a double life? It wasn’t as if that was something you’d search online. What would you type into the search engine? Franklin “Fritz” Hudson—double life?
She could accept Cara as her sister, but she refused to think of Susa as her father’s wife. There was no denying Allie felt a certain amount of curiosity about Susa, though. She was obviously the exact opposite of Allie’s own mother, and that alone made her wonder what it would have been like to have a mother like the one Cara had described. A mother who was always interested in what you did. Who was positive and fun and who did so many things with you. Granted, some of those things included tie-dying T-shirts and learning how to knit and macramé, organic gardening, and making things like jam and pottery, none of which Allie’d ever had the slightest interest in, but still, Susa sounded like a fun person.
Allie wouldn’t have admitted it, but sometimes she envied Cara and the life she’d had with her laid-back mother, who’d apparently brought out the best in their father.
She finished the cigarette and went down the steps to stub it out in the grass, taking care to make sure it was dead before placing it on the step. She’d remember to take it back inside and wrap it in a tissue before she tossed it into the trash.
The breeze picked up a little more. She sat in the rocker, her head back, her face up to the cooler air. Overhead the stars were blinking through the leaves on the trees, and all was incredibly quiet. She’d have one more cigarette, finish her drink, and take herself back up to bed. There were nights when she’d drink until she passed out, but this wouldn’t be one of them. The sweet night air soothed her, the motion of the rocking chair relaxed her, and the text from her daughter had reassured her.
She lit the cigarette with an old lighter that had belonged to her mother, one of the few possessions of Nora’s Allie had kept. It was blue enamel with a three-dimensional pink flower on the front. A clear crystal had once been set in the center of the flower, but the crystal was long gone. She flicked on the lighter and sat watching its flame for a moment or two, then lit the cigarette. She’d just about decided that she didn’t really need to smoke, and started from the chair to put it out, when she realized a car had stopped in front of the house.
Allie froze momentarily as the car door opened and a man got out. He’d taken ten steps onto the front walk when she realized the car was a police cruiser. Which meant the man could only be one person.
Of course it would be him. It was always him.
Defiantly, she took a long drag from the cigarette, and suppressing the cough she could feel building in the back of her throat, leaned against the porch pillar and let the smoke curl slowly from her mouth.
“Evening, Sheriff,” she whispered when he reached the bottom of the steps. She was well aware that his title was chief of police, but it had tickled her contrary nature to pretend to forget his position because it had always seemed to tweak him. Tonight he appeared not to have noticed.
“Ms. Monroe,” Ben whispered in return.
“Nice night.”
He nodded. “Uh-huh.”
“So what brings you to Hudson Street at . . . oh, one-thirty in the morning?” She took another drag off the cigarette because she suspected he disapproved, then turned her back and sat in the chair and began to rock gently.
“Just my normal patrol,” he told her. “And it’s two.”
“So you stopped because I’m breaking some arcane law? Oh wait, let me guess. Illegal use of a rocking chair? Rocking over the speed limit? Or maybe it’s DWR? Drinking while rocking? Or would that be reckless rocking? Rocking without a license?”
“Have you finished amusing yourself?”
“I’m not sure.” She downed the rest of her drink. “Why are you here? Rocking jokes aside, I have to assume it’s not against the law to drink one drink on one’s own front porch at any time of the day or night. Am I right?”
Ben nodded. “Absolutely.”
“So why are you here?”
“I saw the light from your cigarette, and I know Barney doesn’t smoke, and I’d bet any amount of money that neither Des nor Cara smokes, so I wanted to rule out the possibility that someone was trying to set the house on fire.”
“You said you figured Des and Cara didn’t smoke. So you thought I did?”
Ben sighed. “Allie . . . there’s no assuming anything where you’re concerned.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re unpredictable.”
For some reason, Allie was inordinately pleased. “Why, Sheriff, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. That was almost a compliment.”
“Yeah, well, don’t let it go to your head.” He sat on the top step, his back against the railing post. “How’s your daughter? She coming out sometime this summer?”
“She’ll be here in a few days.” Nice of him to remember Nikki, she’d give him that.
“That’ll be good for you. Good for the rest of us, too.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re always a lot nicer when she’s around.”
“Why, if I were a sensitive person, I’d think you meant to imply that I am otherwise not a nice person.”
“Hey, if the shoe fits.”
Did that particular shoe fit? Ben wasn’t the only one to imply she wasn’t always the nicest person to be around.
“I’m going to overlook that remark.”
“Nice of you.”
“See? Precisely my point. And Nikki isn’t even here.”
“Why are you like this?” For once, he didn’t appear to be baiting her.
“Like what?”
“You know. Pretending to be a hard-ass about everything.”
“Maybe I am a hard-ass.”
“I don’t think so. I don’t think that’s really you.”
“Why would you care about the real me?”
“I didn’t say I cared. I’m just curious.”
“Well, see there? You just did the same thing you’re accusing me of.”
“Maybe we just bring out the worst in each other.” Ben stood.
Allie recalled her recent conversation with Des. “Maybe that’s the best of us.”
“That would be sad, if that were the best either of us had to offer.”
“What difference would it make to you?”
“I’m just trying to understand, that’s all.” He raised his hand and tipped an imaginary hat. “Glad you’re confining your drinking to the comforts of home these days, Ms. Monroe. See you around.”
Ben turned his back and went down the stairs, Allie watching every step he took.
“I will never understand that man,” she muttered. “It’s a shame that a guy as fine looking as Ben Haldeman is also one colossal jerk. Possibly the very biggest jerk I’ve ever met.”
Ben made a K-turn in the middle of Hudson Street, then drove toward town. Allie waited until the lights from the cruiser disappeared before going down the steps to put out the cigarette she’d forgotten to smoke. It had burned down to the filter, its ash scattered in the grass. She picked up her empty glass and the remains of the first cigarette she’d smoked. She crept back into the house and relocked the door as quietly as she could, then tiptoed up to her room.
In the bathroom, she hesitated, the bottle in one hand and her glass in the other. She rinsed out the glass and returned it and the bottle to the shelf in the wall cupboard where she kept them behind the towels. Nikki would be there soon. Nothing else mattered.
Even sparring with Ben Haldeman couldn’t take the shine off that.
“I don’t know why you feel like you have to come with me,” Allie grumbled as Des followed her out the front door. “I’m perfectly capable of meeting Dr. Lindquist on my own. And besides, I’m supposed to be in charge of the interior design and décor, right?”
“You are in charge of the interior design and the décor.” Des closed the door behind them and followed Allie down the front steps. At nine fifty in the morning, the sun had risen above the pines that lined the driveway but left the sidewalk still in shade from the oak and maple trees, and the temperature was seasonably moderate. Not a cloud in the sky, she noticed. Perfect for a pleasant morning walk.
“Then tell me again why you think I can’t do this alone today.”
“I have no doubt you can have the necessary conversation with Dr. Lindquist. That’s entirely your department. Absolutely.” Des resolved to remain collected even as she could see her sister’s temper rising. “My department, however, is the money, and I need to find out what we can expect to pay for an artist, if in fact there is one, and then figure out how to pay her or him.”
Des caught up with Allie and tried to match her short stride to her sister’s longer one.
“Short legs,” Des muttered.
“What?”
“I’m trying to keep up with you on these short legs of mine, which are no match for your long ones.”
“You know what they say about short people.” Allie grinned but slowed her pace. She started to sing an old Randy Newman song. “ ‘Short people got no reason, no reason—’ ”
“Yeah, I know. Something about them having no reason to live.” The teasing she’d been subjected to was only one reason Des hated doing Des Does It All. She was the youngest, the smallest, and yes, the shortest person in the show, and resentment from other jealous cast members had made most days unpleasant. Back then, it had seemed everyone had a reason to dislike her.
“I remember that. Brandon . . . what was his name?” Allie’s face scrunched slightly as she tried to recall.
“Whitman.” It hurt Des to say his name out loud.
“Right. Brandon Whitman. He was a couple of years older than me. He used to sing that song every time you came on the set ’cause you were the shortest of the kids. I’d forgotten.”
“He was five years older than me,” Des said under her breath.
“Which made him two years older than me, right. Remember how he thought he was such hot stuff? Cute but a jerk. Most of the other girls on set didn’t think so, though. I heard he scored with everyone.” Allie laughed. “Did I ever tell you about the time he followed me and tried to kiss me during a break? Okay, so I flirted with him just a little for fun, but he knew better than to really mess with me. I’d have decked him.”
“Yes, you told me.” Des’s jaw clenched tightly. She hated thinking about those days, but especially she hated thinking about Brandon Whitman.
And yeah, he’d figured out which of the Hudson girls to mess with, and which one to leave alone. Des had had nightmares for years about being trapped with him in a small, dark room where his groping hands were everywhere and his voice had taunted her when she began to cry. Thank God for therapy. She’d never told Allie—never told anyone except her therapist. It had been the worst experience of her life, and had been too humiliating and frightening to share.
“I heard he even hit on Cathy Jacobs,” Allie went on. “Can you imagine hitting on your own TV mother?”
“Yeah, he was a real dog.” Des tried to change the subject. “What time did you tell Dr. Lindquist you’d meet her?”
“Ten. So did he ever hit on you? Brandon?”
They reached the corner across from the theater.
“It’s almost ten now. Oh hey, look, there are several cars out front. I’ll bet she’s there already.” Des’s mind snapped closed like a steel trap, and she stepped into the street to cross it without waiting for Allie to catch up.
“Dr. Lindquist?” Des approached the woman whose back was to her and who appeared to be studying the stained glass in the front door.
“Yes.” The woman turned slowly, as if hesitant to take her eyes off the glass. She wore a red shirt tucked into khaki pants, Dansko sandals, and dark glasses. Her white hair was shoulder length and tucked behind her ears. “Are you Allie Monroe?”
“No, I’m her—”
“I’m Allie.” Allie took two steps past Des and extended her hand to the visitor. “Thanks so much for coming, Dr. Lindquist. This is my sister Des Hudson.”
“I’m happy to meet you both. And it’s Teresa. Dr. Lindquist sounds so stuffy once I’m off campus.” She gestured around at the theater’s exterior. “I came a bit early to acquaint myself with your theater. The style is quite interesting. Art Deco, but with a little something almost Moorish in design.” Teresa walked to the sidewalk and pointed up. “The design of the roof in particular. Do you know who the architect was?”
Allie glanced at Des, who replied, “We’re in the process of researching that.”
“Shall we step inside?” Allie gestured to the door that Teresa had been studying when they arrived.
“I’ve never seen stained glass like this. I don’t suppose you know who the artist was.” Teresa paused in front of the door.
“We’re looking into that as well.” Allie opened the door to usher the woman inside, glancing over her head to Des, who merely shrugged. They should have researched that important information before meeting with the head of the Art Department, and they both knew it.
“The interior is such a surprise,” Teresa said as she walked into the lobby, taking a long look around before turning her gaze to the ceiling. “I wasn’t expecting such grandeur. The fountain, the painting . . . one feels as if one’s in a courtyard in some sunny place, don’t you think? Even with the photos—which were excellent, by the way—the colors are startling. Glorious. But yes. Yes, you do need help.” She walked to the edge of the scaffold and said, “Do you mind?”
Des and Allie shook their heads.
Teresa kicked off her sandals, dropped her bag, and began to climb.
“Oh man, I get this feeling in the pit of my stomach every time I see someone do that.” Allie looked up for a moment, then down at the floor.
“Me, too. It’s so far from here to there.” Des watched the woman climb, her heart pounding. “I think just about everyone we know has been up there except for thee and me.” Their fear of heights was one of the very few things she and Allie had in common.
Fifteen minutes later, Teresa climbed down and slipped back into her sandals.
“You need more than an artist to replace the missing painting.” Teresa rubbed her hands on the back of her pants. “You need first to have the plaster repaired by someone who knows what he’s doing. I don’t mean your local guy who puts up drywall and occasionally repairs cracks in the walls of the old houses around here. I mean a master craftsman who understands the importance of careful historic restoration. It’s indeed an art form all its own.”
“Is there someone you could recommend?” Des asked.
“I strongly suggest you contact James Ebersol at the Balfour Group. They’re one of the leading historical restoration companies on the East Coast. They have everyone on staff that you’d need, from their plaster artisans to their artists who specialize in period painting. They’ll be able to analyze the paint colors and match them so closely no one will be able to tell the new from the original.” She picked up her bag from the floor, opened it, and took out a card case. She handed Allie a business card and flashed a smile. “Give James a call and tell him I referred you.”
“We were hoping you’d know someone local. A conservation student, perhaps, or a local artist.” Des had a sinking feeling in her stomach it wasn’t going to be that easy.
“Oh no, no, no. You need highly trained professionals for this. I know of no one in the area who’s capable of re-creating the motifs on the ceiling, or properly repairing and preparing the plaster. You can’t trust this restoration to amateurs.”
“Any idea what a job like this would cost?”
Teresa looked back toward the ceiling. “It’s hard to tell. I’m sure James’ll send someone out to assess the repairs, and they’ll give you an estimate. Of course, you get what you pay for.” She took a few steps toward the front of the building. “Mind if I take a closer look at that stained glass in the door?”
A deflated Allie shrugged. “Be our guest.”
“Thanks. Oh, and I don’t suppose you know the artist who painted the ceiling.”
Before Allie or Des could respond, Teresa added, “Let me guess. You’re still researching that as well?”
Des nodded.
“Thanks for letting me take a look. I love your building. I hope you’re able to properly restore it. It’s certainly worth saving.”
“I’ll walk you out,” Allie said.
“I know my way.” Teresa waved without turning around and disappeared into the entry.
“Well, that went . . .” Des searched for a word.
“Yeah, didn’t it, though?” Allie blew out an exasperated breath and turned over the card Teresa had given her. “Other than referring us to James at the Balfour Group—the name even sounds expensive—she wasn’t very helpful.”
“So what do you think?” Des followed Allie toward the exit.
“I think I’m going to hand off the name of this Balfour guy to Cara and have her call.”
Des and Allie went straight to the office and found the door open and the lights on.
“Hi.” Cara looked up from the papers she’d been reading. “Do you need your desk? I can—”
“No, stay. I’m going to be looking in the filing cabinets.” Des set her bag on one of the chairs and went to the first cabinet.
“What do you need?”
“I need to find the original building plans for the theater, for starters.”
“There’s a set of plans on the bottom shelf.” Cara pointed to the bookcase. “Rolled up in that tube. Joe gave them to me a month or so ago.” Cara moved her papers from the center of the desk so Des could roll out the blueprints.
“Where did Joe find them?” Des spread the sheets on the desk.
“In his mother’s garage, of all places. His dad had done some work on the theater for the guy Dad sold it to. No one was looking for them after his dad died, so the plans just sat on his workbench.”
“Ha. The name of the architectural firm is on here—Jones, Latham, and Mathews—but not the individual architect. The address is 14 Spruce Street, Scranton.” Des looked up. “So that’s one question answered. I guess you wouldn’t happen to know where we’d find the name of the artist who made the stained glass.”
“Sorry. Can’t help you there.”
It took about another hour before Des discovered the identity of the stained glass artisan.
“Colin Patrick McManus!” She all but shouted the name. “That’s him! Colin Patrick McManus!”
“What? Really? You found him?” Allie dropped the file in her hand into the cabinet drawer. “How’d you find him?”
“The bill for two stained glass windows. ‘Paid in full, to Colin Patrick McManus, the amount of ninety-two dollars for the design and crafting of two pieces of stained glass to be fitted into the uppermost section of the front door of the theater.’ That must have seemed like a lot of money during the Depression.” She looked up at Des. “It’s signed by Reynolds Hudson and C. P. McManus. I can research him and see if he’s done any other significant work.”
“Two down, one to go.” Des decided to take a break and make her weekly call to Fran, the director of the shelter back in Cross Creek, to touch base and see how they were faring without her. She went to her room to grab her phone from her bag, and found there were several missed calls but only one voicemail.
“Hi, Des. It’s Greg. Greg Weller.” She could hear him take a deep breath. “I know it’s really late notice, but I was wondering if you might be free for dinner tonight. If not tonight, then maybe another night. Like tomorrow, maybe? I’d really like to see you. So. Yeah. If you get to listen to this sometime soon, maybe you could give me a call. Anytime. Really. Anytime. Just . . . call.”
Des sat on the edge of the bed and listened to the message again. He certainly did sound interested. And more than a little tentative, which appealed to her, like he wasn’t expecting her to jump just because he called and asked her out.
She debated within herself. To call or not to call?
Des had often been accused of overthinking things. She tapped the return call icon and listened as the phone rang.
“I hope you like Asian fusion.” Greg smiled at Des from across the console of his SUV.
“I like pretty much everything. I’m easy to please.” Des settled back into the passenger seat, wishing he’d turn down the volume on the car radio just a bit. It was difficult to follow his naturally low voice when NPR was broadcasting an interview with Will Ferrell.
“Can’t remember the last time I heard a woman say that.” He smiled again, as if his little joke amused not only her but himself as well.
Though not amused, Des forced a smile, then wondered why she did.
“So where are we going?” She glanced out the window as the car turned off Main Street and onto the highway.
“I thought we’d go into High Bridge. That is, if it’s okay with you?”
“It’s fine. I’ve been meaning to go. That’s where the college is.” She glanced out the window at the passing scenery, the dense woods and endless hills.
“Right. Some connection to your family, right?”
“Althea Hudson was my great . . . I think great-great-grandmother.”
Des shared what Barney’d told them about Althea and the emerald necklace.
“That’s some tale. Not everyone can claim to have heirloom jewels gifted by royalty.”
“I know. Our family is really a mixed bag. We—my sisters and I—always know we’re in for a treat when our aunt starts to tell a family story.”
“You’ve probably heard them all a hundred times before over the years, right?”
Des paused, wondering how much to tell him about her background.
“Yes, we’ve heard them all more than once.” She couldn’t have said why, but Des didn’t feel comfortable relating the entire story to someone she really didn’t know. Maybe when they knew each other better, assuming they got to know each other better. She felt more protective of her family’s story than she’d realized, more defensive than she’d been when she’d discussed it with Seth. But then again, Seth was a friend of the family. He’d known Barney way longer than she had.
Thinking of Seth reminded her of the photos he’d given her.
“Before I forget, I have those photos you’d asked for. The ones taken inside the theater?”
“Oh great. Yes, they’ll be helpful when we start to put together our grant proposal.” Greg stopped at a red light. When the light changed, he made a right turn, then midway down the street turned into a small parking lot next to a group of storefronts.
“We’re here?” Des looked around after he parked the car. “This is High Bridge?”
“It is.”
Greg got out of the car and walked around to the passenger side, but Des had already opened the door. He held it while she climbed out.
“I hope you like Lotus,” he was saying as he guided her to the sidewalk. In his other hand he carried a bottle of wine. “It’s my favorite place.”
“I’m sure I will.”
He guided her into the restaurant with one hand on her back, a gesture she always found annoying. Strike one.
“It’s a pretty room,” she said, looking around at the pale gray walls accented with paintings of landscapes, flowering trees, and colorful gardens as they sat. The furniture was all black lacquer and the dishes stark white on polished wood tables.
The smiling host led them to a table and held Des’s chair.
Greg followed her gaze to the artwork.
“They’re all originals, I’ve been told. Artists who lived and worked in the area over the past hundred years or so. Improbable as it sounds, the owner—he’s a friend of mine—said he bought the lot on a whim at a sale of one of those storage places. You hear stories about people buying the abandoned units and finding something of value inside, but never expect it to happen to someone you know.”
“Oh, you mean like the stories of people buying an old painting for five dollars at a yard sale and finding the missing copy of the Declaration of Independence hidden in the frame?” Des grinned. “But good for your friend for having such good luck. I’m no connoisseur, but from here, anyway, most of those paintings look pretty decent.”
“Speaking of painting, let’s look at those photos.”
“Oh. Right.” Des grabbed her bag and searched inside for the envelope Seth had given her. “Here you go. Take a look, and see if they suit your purpose.”
He took the prints out one by one. “These are excellent shots. Who’s your photographer?”
“A friend.”
“Is he a pro?”
“No. Just a friend.”
“He did a great job.” He finished going through the stack, then tucked them into the envelope and into his jacket pocket. “These will come in handy when we start to do our thing.”
“Would you like me to open your wine, sir?” the server offered.
“Yes, thank you.” Greg handed over the bottle of wine. Once it was opened, the waiter poured a glass for each of them, and menus were presented.
“Is Jason here tonight?” Greg asked.
“No, Dr. Weller. He left early, but I’ll tell him you were here.”
“Please tell him I’m sorry we missed him.” Greg turned to Des, who was scanning the menu. “Anything strike your fancy?”
“A few dishes look intriguing.”
“I can recommend the fried rainbow trout with mangoes, apples, and chili paste over noodles, topped with ginger sauce,” he suggested. “It’s one of my favorites.”
“Hmmm, that does sound good, but I think I might try the prawns and squid stir-fry with the lime vinaigrette.” She closed the menu. “With a side of sticky rice.”
After they placed their orders, he asked about her life in Montana, and she showed him photos on her phone of her log cabin and told him about the shelter. She’d just started to explain how the shelter operated when their meals arrived.
“So that’s what you do, then? You find strays and then find homes for them?”
“They come to us in a variety of ways. I’m speaking now of the shelter in Montana. We have strays that the sheriff brings us, and dogs whose owners can’t care for them or no longer want them. We have problem pets and unwanted litters. We keep them at the shelter until we can find homes for them.”
“And if you never find appropriate homes?”
“Then they stay with us at the shelter.” Des felt a wave of melancholy, thinking of the dogs that remained in the shelter for far too long, those that were too old or had health issues or were just not cute enough to be adopted.
It must have shown on her face, because Greg said, “I think it’s a really great thing that you do. I bet every dog you find a home for would thank you if they could.”
“They do, in their own way.” She pushed the rest of her seafood around her plate, no longer hungry. Every time she thought about the fate of all the dogs she couldn’t save, she got sick to her stomach.
“Did you always want to rescue animals?” Greg was asking.
“When I was younger, I wanted to be a vet. I was going to save every sick animal that ever was,” she admitted. It had been years since she’d thought about how she’d wanted to go to veterinary school before someone told her she’d have to operate on animals.
“What you’re doing is important,” he said, as if deciding it to be so. “You help heal the spirits of all those lost dogs, right? And make people happy at the same time.”
“Thank you for understanding that.” She put her fork down. “Not everyone gets that.”
“What’s to get?” He shrugged. “Seems simple enough to me.”
She mentally erased that first strike.
He offered Des a little more wine, and she nodded. “Just a splash.”
The waiter stopped to check on things, and assured that all was well, left them with the dessert menu.
“Oh, by the way,” Des said, “we did find the name of the architectural firm that designed the building. It was Jones, Latham, and Mathews out of Scranton. And the artist who created the stained glass was Colin Patrick McManus. Dr. Lindquist had been most interested in the stained glass and we hadn’t located him at the time.”
“I’ll see Teresa at a meeting in the morning. I’ll mention that to her.” He took out his phone and proceeded to write down the names she’d given him, pausing once to ask her to spell McManus.
“I’m sure we’ll see her on Saturday at the cocktail party.”
“Oh, you’re coming to the party?”
“Barney goes every year, and she thought it would be a good idea for us to go with her, get to see the campus, meet some of the faculty, that sort of thing. She’s on the board of trustees.”
“That would make sense, to have a Hudson on the board.” He finished his wine. “Are you up for dessert? The green tea ice cream is good, and the sesame balls are interesting. Sticky rice with red bean paste inside . . .”
“Thanks, but no. I’m good.”
Greg signaled to the waiter. “Just the check, please.”
On the way out of the restaurant, Des stopped for a quick look at the paintings. The landscapes in particular drew her eye, but she didn’t want to be rude and lean over the diners at the tables. She made a mental note to come back. She really wanted a closer look.
“Your friend really was lucky,” she told Greg on their way to the car. “Some of those paintings are wonderful. It looked like a few of them are signed, but I couldn’t read the names. Has your friend researched any of the artists?”
“Good question. I’ll ask him when I see him next time.”
“He could have a gem or two there.” They reached the car, and Greg opened her door. Des slid in and fastened her seat belt while Greg made his way to the driver’s side. “Something about the landscapes are familiar, but I can’t say why.”
“Then I’ll definitely encourage him to try to identify the artists. I admit I’ve looked at a few of the signatures, but couldn’t really make out the names.”
“Same here.”
“Say, would you like me to give you a driving tour of the campus while we’re here?” Greg said. “Though you probably won’t be able to see much since it’s gotten dark.”
“Good point. I’ll wait till the weekend, but thank you.”
He really is very attractive, she thought as the car headed back toward Hidden Falls. And he’s really very nice. I like that he’s easy to be around, that he can keep a conversation going, that he picks up on things that I say and remembers them.
But the conversation had been pretty much one-sided—all about her.
“So where was home for you?” she asked him. “Where did you grow up?”
“Upstate in a place you’ve never heard of.”
“Try me.”
“Millstone.”
“You’re right. I never heard of it.”
“Small town—not as small as High Bridge or Hidden Falls, but small enough that you knew your neighbors and they knew you. The town doctor and the chief of police knew everyone by name, and you knew every kid in your entire school, or one of their siblings.”
“Is your family still there?”
“Oh yeah. My dad’s the head of the school board and my mom teaches first grade. My sister, Melissa, is the school nurse. She’s married to her high school sweetheart and they have three really cool little kids.”
“How’d you decide on Althea for college?”
“That was a no-brainer for me. They offered me a scholarship to play soccer, and they have an outstanding History Department. Always have.”
“You got an athletic scholarship?” For some reason, this surprised her.
“Yeah.” That boyish grin again. “My glory days. Seems like a long time ago.” Greg laughed. “Well, it was a long time ago.”
He slowed the car as they came into the center of Hidden Falls, where the posted speed limit was twenty-five miles per hour. He slowed again to make the turn onto Hudson Street and once more as he pulled into the driveway at number 725.
“Would you like to come in?” Des asked as he parked halfway up the drive.
“I have an early meeting, so I’ll take a rain check. But I will walk you up.” He got out and walked around the car to the passenger side and opened her door. “This was fun. I’m glad you called me back. I did apologize for calling so late, didn’t I?”
“You did, but it’s fine. I didn’t mind.”
They walked along the path to the front porch. He stopped at the foot of the steps and took her arm.
“Listen, since we’re both going to be at the cocktail party on Saturday, how ’bout I give you a tour of the campus afterward? We could grab dinner or a movie or . . . or something.”
“ ‘Something’ sounds just fine.”
“Great. Want me to come get you and we can go together?”
Des hesitated. “I think my aunt wanted us all to go together. But I don’t have to go home with them.”
“Well, then, I guess I’ll see you there.”
She nodded, and as she did, he slipped a hand around the back of her head and kissed her on the mouth. She kissed him back and waited for bells to chime and a spark or two to fly.
No bells. No sparks.
First date, she told herself as she pulled away. Who hears bells on the first date?
“I’ll see you on Saturday.” Greg watched from the walk as she went up the steps to the door.
“See you then. And thanks for a nice evening.”
She stood in the doorway and watched as he backed down the driveway and eased onto Hudson Street, then disappeared onto Main Street. She pushed open the door and went inside. She heard voices in the kitchen and paused, deliberating whether to join them. Her sisters would want to know about the evening. They would tease her and grill her about every detail, the way sisters do. Which would be a totally new experience for Des.
She smiled and headed toward the sound of the voices.