“Hi, sweetie,” Katie replied.
“Why don’t you use the hand mixer to mash those?”
“Because I like them to be a little bit lumpy.” She grunted with effort. “Why don’t you hang your jacket in the closet?”
“Because the kitchen chair was boring and needed a splash of color.” Cassie grinned at her mother’s glare, then took the masher from her hand. “Here. Let me finish.” Katie brushed her hands on her apron and made room for her daughter to take over.
“Hey, Superpunk.” Cassie’s older sister, Chris, entered the kitchen and gathered up silverware. She’d christened Cassie with the nickname on Halloween when Cassie was eight and had decided to dress up as a super hero of her own creation. Superpunk had been born that night. And it had stuck.
Despite their six year age difference, Cassie and Chris could almost pass for twins. Their dark hair was exactly the same shade, their eyes the same color and shape. Chris would swear under oath that she was ¾” taller, but Cassie was of the “round up” rule, so she insisted they were the same height.
“Kids here?” Cassie asked unnecessarily as sounds of giggling came from the other room. She finished up her smashing and tapped the masher against the edge of the pot.
“Just Izzy and Zack . Trevor is off at a friend’s.”
“On a school night? Liberal of you.”
Chris smiled. “He’s not staying over. Not on a Sunday night. And not with the C in math he’s currently got. I only let him go because he was driving me crazy, and I was afraid I might kill him.”
“A C isn’t awful.”
“It is if you want to stay on the hockey team.”
“Ah.” Cassie nodded. “I didn’t think of that. You’re right. And Bill?”
“Working another weird shift,” Chris answered, referring to her husband’s whacky schedule of late.
“How was the day?” Katie asked Cassie, and Cassie knew she meant the store.
“Not terrible. Not great, but it didn’t suck. Should’ve been a bit busier for a Sunday at this time of year, but I’m not going to stress over it.”
Katie shot her a look that said, Yes, you will, but kept quiet.
The dining room table was a place of joy in the Parker household, more so this evening because this much of the family hadn’t been together in nearly two months. Between Cassie’s retail hours, her father’s parent-teacher meetings and paper grading, and Chris’s real estate job, not to mention all the sports and activities of the grandkids, and Bill’s working trick work, getting the entire family together for a meal was next to impossible. As Cassie set the giant bowl of mashed potatoes on the table, she glanced into the living room to see both Izzy and Zack—Chris’s two youngest—rolling around on the floor and trying to hide their faces from Gordie’s questing tongue. Izzy would giggle, “No, Gordie,” but then reveal enough of her face for him to lick before she’d squeal with delight and roll away. Gordie’s entire body vibrated with joy, as this was his favorite game of all time.
“Cassandra,” Jim Parker said from the recliner when he laid eyes on his daughter. “How are you, honey?”
“I’m good, Dad. You?”
“Can’t complain,” was his stock answer. He pushed himself to his feet and navigated the obstacle course made up of two children and a dog that blocked his way to dinner. He was a tall, lean man with salt-and-pepper hair and clear blue eyes that both his daughters bemoaned not inheriting. “Come on, kids. Time to eat.”
There was a pretty steady hum of conversation for a group of only six people, but the kids had lots to tell. Zack was almost nine and was very excited for the skiing season to begin. He had important plans for some of the larger slopes this year, now that he was “big.” Izzy, at five years old, was all about her new dollhouse and was saving her chore money so she could buy a new couch for her living room because the one she currently had had “gone out of style.”
“Huh. Wonder where she gets that from,” Jim said, sending a sideways glance at Chris.
“Isn’t her mother on, like, her third couch since moving into that house?” Cassie asked, eyes wide with mock innocence. Next to her, Katie chuckled quietly.
“You can all be quiet,” Chris said without venom, but with a slight grin.
“What are we doing for Halloween?” Cassie asked the kids. “Have we made final decisions on costumes?”
“I’m going to be Elsa from Frozen!” Izzy pronounced, using her fork to poke at the air.
“You are? Well, that’s a shocker,” Cassie said, then under her breath, added, “not at all.”
“I’m going to be a ninja,” Zack said.
“Weren’t you a ninja last year?”
“Yup.”
When no explanation came, Cassie simply said, “Okay then.”
Changing the subject, Jim asked, “Hey, Cassie, how’d the drive go yesterday? All right?”
“Easy,” she said. “Uneventful. Less traffic than I expected.”
“Where’d you go?” Chris asked.
“I followed Emerson Rosberg to Albany so she could return her rental car and still have a ride back here.”
“Emerson Rosberg, huh?” Chris’s eyes glinted. “Interesting.”
Cassie furrowed her brow. “What? I did her a favor.”
“Oh, no. I know. I was just remembering her from way back.”
“In school?” At Chris’s nod, Cassie asked, “Was she in your grade?”
“A few years behind me, I think.” Then her shoulders shook with gentle laughter. “You had such a crush on her.”
“What? I did not. Did I?”
“Oh, you did. From the time you were Zack’s age until…I don’t even know how long. Through junior high and into high school, at least.”
Cassie scoffed.
“Mom?” Chris asked.
“It’s true,” Katie said matter-of-factly. “Sorry, honey.”
“Seriously?” Cassie was shocked.
“Seriously. In fact, Mom and Dad wondered about your—,” Chris lowered her voice and glanced at her kids. They were having a subtle light saber battle with their forks. “Preferences,” she whispered.
“No!” Cassie looked from her mother to her father and back again. “Seriously?” she asked again.
“Yup.”
“I don’t remember that. I mean, I remember liking her, but…why didn’t anybody ever say anything?”
Chris shrugged. “Michael came along. You guys were joined at the hip and I think everybody breathed a sigh of relief.” She glanced at Cassie. “No offense.”
“How about after Michael? Why didn’t you tell me then?” Cassie looked to her mom.
“Honestly, honey, I didn’t think of it. Junior high was quite a while ago. I’d forgotten.”
“Huh.” Cassie let that roll around while she chewed a piece of roast.
“What’s she like?” Chris asked.
“Who? Emerson?” Cassie shrugged. “She’s tall.” The adults laughed and Cassie went on. “She’s nice enough. Doesn’t talk much, but she’s nice enough.”
“Doesn’t talk much or couldn’t get a word in edgewise?” Chris asked.
“Har har. Doesn’t talk much, though I did get her to open up a little, get her talking.”
“Talking or listening until her ears bled?”
“Stop it,” Cassie whined and tossed her napkin at her sister.
“I’m surprised she’s still here,” Katie said. “Everything I got from Caroline said Emerson hates it here. That’s why she rarely visited.”
“It was pretty clear she’s not a fan of Lake Henry,” Cassie said, remembering Emerson’s disdainful remark.
“Would you want to stay after what she went through?” Jim asked, shoveling a forkful of potatoes into his mouth.
“She just ran out on the people who supported her all those years,” Katie argued, shaking her head. “Barely so much as a goodbye.”
“What happened?” Zack piped in.
Chris took up th
e story. “This woman was a very good skier when she was just a kid.”
“How good?”
“Super good. Like Olympics good.”
“Wow,” Zack said.
“Yeah, but she got hurt.”
“Bad?”
“Really bad. She hurt her knee so much she couldn’t ski anymore.”
“Ever?” Zack’s eyes grew wide, as if he couldn’t imagine never being able to ski.
“I’m afraid so. It made her very sad, so she moved away.”
Zack blinked at her for a beat. “That sucks,” he finally pronounced. “I’d leave too.”
Chris tilted her head at her son. “It does suck. That’s true. But it would make me sad if you left. Wouldn’t you miss me? I’d miss you.”
“So would I,” Cassie added.
“And me and Grandpa,” Katie chimed in.
“Not me,” Izzy said, and the table broke into laughter as Zack bumped shoulders with his little sister. The mood lightened considerably, and Cassie was glad.
“I got the impression she’s just going to stick around here long enough to figure out what to do with her mom’s stuff, her property, the inn. Sounds like there’s a lot to deal with.”
“I can imagine,” Katie said, then sighed. “Poor Mary must be on pins and needles waiting to see what happens.”
“Mom, Mary’s older than the hills,” Chris said. “Retiring wouldn’t be a terrible thing for her.”
Katie shot her a look. “She is not that old. And she loves that place. She’s already lost without Caroline. I don’t know how she even goes in there every day without breaking down.”
“I don’t think she likes Emerson,” Cassie said.
“That’s not surprising. She saw every day how much Caroline missed her daughter. And now Mary’s future is in this girl’s hands? I’d be annoyed with her too.”
“I guess.” Cassie chewed and swallowed, then added, “I’ve been trying to go by every couple of days and see how she’s doing, help out a bit.” Cassie knew her mother was right. Mary was putting up a good front for the sake of the customers, but her red-rimmed eyes and the dark circles beneath them were pretty clear signs of how she’d been feeling. “I’ve got three people scheduled at the store tomorrow. I can probably snag an hour or two. Gordie and I will go check on her.”
“Do you think Emerson will sell the inn?” Jim asked. “I hear Arnold Cross has been nosing around after it again.”
Katie made a sound of distaste. “That man is shady. Let’s hope he doesn’t get his paws on that property. Lake Henry doesn’t need to be developed. It needs to be left alone.” Turning to Cassie, she repeated Jim’s question. “Do you think she’ll sell it?
Cassie sighed. “I really don’t know. She didn’t say. I can tell you she has no desire to stay in Lake Henry, so if she doesn’t sell it, she’ll have to find somebody to run it for her.”
“Mary runs it now. Why not just leave it alone?” Chris asked.
Cassie lifted one shoulder. “I don’t know what to tell you. She didn’t offer up that much information. I honestly don’t think she’s made a decision yet.”
***
Emerson wasn’t sure why she’d felt it necessary to wear a suit. It was the one she’d worn as she flew from California to New York, a snappy gray number with brushed nickel buttons on the jacket and a sleekly smooth pair of pants that outlined her hips nicely. She wore a deep purple blouse underneath the jacket and her black pumps. At least this time she was able to drive rather than attempting to navigate the cobblestones in heels.
Brad Klein’s office was just outside the village center, but still near the lake, and he had a parking lot with five spaces—gold in this town. She pulled her mother’s Subaru into one of two empty spots remaining, finger-combed her hair, and checked her face in the rearview mirror. She’d never worn much makeup, but Claire had taught her to use mascara and lip gloss to her advantage. Now she never went to a meeting without them. Deep breath in, slow breath out, and she was ready.
The butterflies in her stomach were inexplicable. Why was she nervous? What was there to be nervous about? She was meeting with a businessman about a possible business deal. She did this kind of thing every day. Her leather attaché was on the passenger seat, and she reached for its soft handle. Another thing she really didn’t need, but she felt more confident with it in her hand, so it came along.
The interior of Klein’s office was modest, but neat and classy. Soft instrumental music surrounded her, a gentle sound for which she could find no source. A thick slate gray carpet covered the entire floor, and a bowl of potpourri in a subtle cinnamon scent sat on an end table in a corner, lending a warm, cozy feel to the reception area. Klein’s secretary was pretty and blonde, maybe forty-five, and offered a friendly smile as Emerson entered.
“Ms. Rosberg?” At Emerson’s nod, she continued. “They’re expecting you. In the conference room. First door on the left.”
“Thanks.” Emerson lifted her chin, walked the short distance to the indicated door, straightened up to her full height, and entered.
“Ah, there she is.” Klein stood, his hand outstretched toward Emerson. His handshake was firm, but not too firm, and she appreciated that he didn’t crush her hand to show his dominance like so many men she’d dealt with in the business world. He was dressed in a black suit with a lavender tie, and Emerson mentally grinned at how well they coordinated. “Ms. Rosberg, this is Arnold Cross. Mr. Cross, meet Emerson Rosberg.”
Emerson turned to face the man interested in purchasing her mother’s property. He was standing, but it was hard to tell. He couldn’t be more than five foot three, and Emerson towered over him by more than half a foot. He was more round than any other shape. His hand was small and warm, his fingers like puffy sausages. He had a donut of salt-and-pepper hair ringing his head, some independent strands sticking out in odd directions, doing their own thing. But his suit was perfectly tailored, and his aftershave was pleasant enough.
“Please,” he said. “Call me Arnie.” His voice was deeper than Emerson expected. He gestured toward the big cherry table. “Shall we sit?”
The room was simple and comfortable, with a gorgeous view of the lake from three very large windows. The table’s surface was buffed to a perfect shine; Emerson could clearly see her own reflection. Six chairs surrounded it, deep gray cushioning the seat of each one, setting off the lighter gray carpeting nicely. The walls were still a lighter gray, an abstract painting in blues and purples hanging over the credenza against one wall.
The three of them sat, Emerson and Cross on opposite sides with Klein at the head of the table, a folder in front of him. He got right down to business. “As we discussed on the phone, Mr. Cross has prepared a very fair offer for purchase of The Lakeshore Inn, which you now own, as well as the commercial property at 217 Main.”
Emerson nodded.
“I’m not sure you know,” Cross said, “but I purchased the rest of the inn from your mother a little more than five years ago, and I think that worked out well for both of us. With the purchase of the smaller waterfront property, I can bring the whole inn back together, restoring it to its former glory. The price I’m offering you is fair. It takes into consideration all the work that needs to be done. Roof. New windows. And it’s way past time for new paint. Your mother loved the place, but let’s face it; she was not much of a business owner. Too much help with too little revenue. I’m certain with a little renovation, we could get two more rooms out of that place.”
It was a sales pitch, no two ways about it, and Emerson knew that, even as she tried not to bristle at his criticism of Caroline’s business sense. Part of her was irritated to have something her mother held so dear reduced to a sale item, but the rest of her knew this was just business for Arnold Cross. He had no emotional ties, no sentimentality for the inn. It was a money maker, plain and simple, and aside from the “former glory” comment, he was not trying to make it look like anything other than that.
&nb
sp; Five years ago, Lake Henry was barely a blip on Emerson’s radar. She’d been gallivanting around California, spending the last of the money she’d gotten in the few endorsement deals she’d had as a teenager—the ones that went bye-bye right along with her knee. She partied. She traveled. She drank too much. If she called her mother once a month, that was lucky. She’d had no idea there were financial issues. Her mother had taken the inn over from her own parents when they’d passed away, and the debt that was left was hefty and surprising. Caroline had done her best, but nothing was working. She’d toyed with simply selling the commercial property. Although that was a reliable source of income, it wasn’t enough to keep the entire inn afloat. After much debate, she’d finally decided the only way to get out from under the mountain of debt and start fresh was to sell off part of the inn. She sold the big house on the hill to Cross; it eventually became The Lakeview Hotel, but she couldn’t bear to part with the waterfront building and cottage. Emerson had no clue about the sale until she came for her last visit and saw the new sign with the new name. She’d been stunned.
“I did know that about the big house,” Emerson said now. “I know you helped my mom out of a jam. Something else I know, Mr. Cross: my mother despised you. But that doesn’t mean you’re not the right man for the job.”
Cross took the jab in stride, seemed almost proud of it. Emerson had learned the history through phone calls with her mother. She knew Cross had paid a fair price, but he’d been pushy and overbearing at a time when Caroline was emotionally raw, heartbroken to have to give up the big house, and no sooner had the ink dried on the paperwork then Cross had construction workers and equipment brought in to make dozens of changes inside and out. That left a bad taste. Over the phone, Emerson could almost hear the grimace Caroline would make whenever Cross’s name came up.
“Well.” Klein stepped in, sliding a stack of papers out of the folder. “Mr. Cross had his attorney write up an offer for you.” He pushed the stack in Emerson’s direction. She slid them the rest of the way so they lined up in front of her, but she made no move to turn pages or read what was written.
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