Sweet Lake (Sweet Lake #1)

by Christine Nolfi

  Although Cat never admitted as much, Linnie assumed she’d attended Siren gatherings at one time or another. Linnie and Jada had never received an invitation—the gourd rattling to warn Linnie of danger didn’t really count, since they hadn’t stayed long enough to witness anything unusual.

  Rumors abounded about the goings-on at the affairs. Some of the speculation was outlandish—Linnie doubted mature women possessed the stamina to climb trees to sing to the moon. She certainly didn’t buy the stories about Sirens concocting potions they slipped into coffee cups at town meetings to influence decisions by Sweet Lake’s mayor and the town’s zoning board. But their established habits, like skinny-dipping in the lake, naturally led to more bizarre conjecture.

  Frances spread her hands in greeting. “Welcome, guests,” she intoned.

  Across the circle, Penelope scooted to make room. The owner of Gift of Garb was a natural packrat who’d turned a yen for garage sale hunts into a prosperous enterprise. Tufts of white hair streaked auburn locks cut in a bob style. Add in the owlish glasses, and she’d always reminded Linnie of a cartoon depiction of a worm reading a book.

  “Sit down, girls! Make yourselves comfortable.” Penelope’s double chin jiggled as she patted the sand. She regarded the diminutive Tilda Lyons to her left. “Pour them a drink, will you?”

  A lime-infused mojito appeared before Linnie. Booze was a no-go for a woman half-asleep, but the Baccarat tumbler was a nice touch. The heavy crystal glinted in the moonlight. Had Frances brought the tumblers? She was the wealthiest Siren by far.

  Penelope lifted her glass. “I love induction ceremonies,” she told Linnie. “Pity you can’t stay for the whole affair. ‘Hear the Siren’s call and give kindness in secret.’ Such noble words.”

  Silvia’s gaze shot arrows. “Penelope! We do not discuss an inductee’s task with outsiders.”

  Frances gave a regal nod in agreement. “Loose lips sink ships,” she put in. Her father had fought in World War II, and the dictum was one of her favorites.

  The dual reprimand sank Penelope’s chins into the folds of her festive scarf. The other women twittered.

  Linnie and Jada exchanged quizzical glances. An inductee’s task—to give kindness in secret?

  Tilda asked Linnie, “How are Fancy and Daniel? We all wanted to visit, but it’s too soon.”

  “You can visit Fancy at home tomorrow. Philip expects the hospital to discharge her by the afternoon.” She gave the details of Daniel’s more extensive injuries. “He won’t receive visitors tomorrow. Well, other than family . . . and me.”

  Frances smiled at the admission. “Has Philip called his parents?”

  The elder Ketterings had retired in Dallas, where members of their extended family lived.

  “They were planning to book a flight in the morning. Philip talked them out of it,” she explained. “His mother had bunions removed last week. She’s still in pain when she walks.”

  Frances winced. “Airport security after foot surgery?”

  “They’ll come next week instead. Philip thinks it’s for the best.”

  Reflecting on the news, the women sipped their mojitos. Finishing hers, Silvia prodded the carafe from Yume Uchida. Mr. Uchida’s older sister was a retired teacher. Yume riddled her yard with glass trinkets made in her garage-cum-art-studio.

  “Where is she?” Silvia muttered.

  Yume tilted her face to the moon. “Patience.”

  “I have clients in the morning. I can’t stay all night.” At Linnie’s questioning look, Silvia added, “Our new member is tardy. Whenever we induct a woman into the Sirens, our combined hearts produce an abundance of positive energy. That’s why we invited you, Jada, and my daughter. We didn’t think you’d join us without their urging.”

  “I’m here to witness an abundance of energy?” Perhaps energy was code for watch Sirens drink excessively.

  Frances cleared up the matter. “We’d like you to carry the energy to Daniel when you see him tomorrow.”

  A strange request, and she asked, “How do I carry the energy?” In a Baccarat tumbler? In her pocket? “You’ll have to forgive me. I’m new at this.”

  “There’s nothing to carry. We’ll surround you with good vibrations.”

  Like in the Beach Boys song? Inquiring further didn’t seem wise. “Will this take long?” she asked instead. Climbing back into her warm bed was tempting. So was sneaking into the inn’s kitchen for a midnight snack.

  “Only a few minutes,” Silvia put in. She craned her neck. “What’s keeping her?”

  Frances said, “If we must wait, I want all the details. Linnie, why did Daniel carry you out of the party? It was terribly romantic.”

  “We’d had a disagreement.”

  “A man carries a woman off, he’s more than angry. He’s inspired.” Frances toyed with her weird necklace. “Was the sex good?”

  Linnie recalled Daniel’s comment about the elderly Siren giving him advice on helping a woman reach orgasm. She discovered her tongue glued to the roof of her mouth.

  Frances merrily raised her glass. “Look, she’s blushing! Jada, if she’s too bashful to fill us in, why don’t you? Spare no details. At my age, a randy man would pose a danger to my ticker. But living vicariously is safe enough.”

  Cat stopped digging her toes in the sand. “Frances, what makes you think Linnie didn’t spill the dirt to me first? I’m also her best friend.”

  “This isn’t a competition, dear.”

  “It feels like a competition!”

  “Only because you’re guzzling your drink. I suggest you sip.”

  Cat demonstrated proper sipping, but she’d already emptied her glass. “I can keep secrets. Why does everyone act like I can’t?” She poured another. “I’m not like Tilda.”

  The realtor choked on her mojito. “What are you implying?” she sputtered. A manufactured insult if ever there was one. She knew everyone in Sweet Lake feared her twitchy texting finger.

  Frances shushed her. To Cat, she said, “I’m sorry. I simply assumed . . .”

  Breaking in, Jada lowered her drink to the sand. “Forget the assumptions. Linnie’s been mum since she got back from the hospital. Last night there was enough moaning and naughty language coming from her bedroom to scare cats into trees. But do I know if she’s finally in a relationship with Daniel or was just using his big, hunky body for the night? Nope. I don’t.”

  Linnie recoiled. “Give me a break. I wasn’t in the mood to chat when I got back from the hospital.”

  “Then let me fill you in on news you haven’t heard. Your brother is checking out soon. Would’ve already, but he wants to make sure Daniel is on the mend. Best guess, you’ll have him out of your hair by Wednesday.”

  “He’s leaving on Wednesday?” Relief battled the regret inside her. The regret made no sense. Wasn’t Freddie’s departure cause for celebration? “You’re sure?”

  Snatching the pitcher, Jada sloshed booze into her glass. “Gosh, I thought you’d do the happy dance.”

  “I am happy,” she retorted, succumbing to sadness. “I guess I thought . . .”

  Jada heaved out a sigh. “What?”

  This wasn’t the place to discuss quitting the inn. Linnie wasn’t sure about leaving, and the Sirens had her trapped with avid stares. In fact, several of the women were peering beyond her, into the darkness.

  Curious, she was about to follow their line of sight when Frances said, “You’re safe inside our circle of love. Tell us what’s bothering you.”

  “I’m not sure exactly.” She set her drink aside. “Since Freddie showed up, I’ve put pressure on Daniel to explain why my brother came back. At some level, I assumed the reason for the visit would help me understand Freddie, maybe even connect with him. I’ve only recently become aware of how much I’d like to connect. And if we did start acting like family, would I find a way to forgive him? I’d like to think so.”

  “Forgiving him will heal you both. You are family.”

&n
bsp; Silvia glowered. “Frances, I can’t believe you’re peddling forgiveness. If you made a voodoo doll of Freddie and impaled it with sewing needles, there isn’t a woman here who’d find your behavior mean-spirited.”

  Frances eyed her friend closely. “The psychological term for your outburst is transference. Silvia, have you been making voodoo dolls of our favorite scoundrel?”

  “What if I have? And he’s no one’s favorite.”

  “Perhaps I’m also on the road to forgiveness.”

  “You have more exit strategies than a cat burglar.”

  “Oh, drink your mojito and be still. If I never speak to Freddie again, where’s the harm? He’s not a member of my family.” Her sympathetic gaze found Linnie. “I’m not the one with much to lose.”

  Linnie hung her head. “I can’t lose what I’ve never had. We’re practically strangers. Add in this bottled up attraction I’ve uncorked with Daniel, and it makes for trouble—especially now.”

  Jada frowned. “Why now?”

  A hush fell across the women as they awaited Linnie’s reply. The compassion flowing toward her was an emboldening force. Never had she enjoyed a heart-to-heart with her own mother. A bridge of expectation separated them—Linnie’s, built on her desire to have her ambitions taken seriously, and her mother’s, erected with a thousand damaging comments about a woman’s role as keeper of home and hearth, as if outward goals didn’t matter. Was it any wonder she viewed Sarah more as an adversary than a mother?

  The sad observation brought a startling conclusion. At their essence, Siren meetings weren’t about Silvia’s mojitos or Frances encouraging the group to swim naked beneath the moon. The women supported each other. They were a sister league prepared to buoy each other up.

  They were also a mother league willing to support her too.

  Tossing caution aside, she looked to Jada and Cat. “If I left the Wayfair and started a business, would you quit the inn once I got the new enterprise off the ground? I’m just asking. I haven’t made a decision. That’s part of the reason why I’d like to patch things up with Freddie. If I go, I won’t feel right unless I tell him first. Once I’m out of the picture, he’s in charge.”

  Softly Jada asked, “You’re considering giving up your share?”

  “Leaving will be hard, but my parents won’t give me control. I need to decide what’s best for my life in the long run.”

  “You’re seriously considering this?”

  “I am.” Her chest throbbed, but she dredged up a cheerful tone. “So, will you both think about it? Daniel suggested I look into businesses Sweet Lake needs, but aren’t available in town.”

  Jada trailed her fingers through the sand. Her love for the inn equaled Linnie’s.

  Cat, more impetuous by a yard, said, “Why don’t we quit with you? Start the business together?”

  Jada read the answer in Linnie’s eyes. She told Cat, “Linnie won’t gamble with our futures. When Freddie took the money way back when, you lost your event planning business and my bakery went under. How long did it take for us to dig out of debt?”

  “Ages.”

  “Which is the point.”

  Cat’s face fell, prodding Linnie to add, “We’ll see how it goes. Assuming I come up with an idea, I’ll ask both of you to join me the moment the business is profitable.” She looked off into the starry night with a sense of hopelessness invading her bones. She really didn’t want to leave the inn. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I’m still working out if I can bear the thought of starting over.”

  Jada said, “Whatever you decide, I’ll give you brownie points for even thinking about patching up your relationship with Freddie. You’re a good person, Linnie.”

  “Thanks.”

  Again the women began peering into the darkness. Linnie started to turn, to investigate, when Frances cleared her throat.

  “I wonder,” she said, drawing all eyes, “if Linnie does quit the inn, will Freddie ask Jada to take over? It would seem logical.”

  The suggestion drew a disapproving grunt from Jada. “He could double my salary, and I wouldn’t take the job. Frances, do you have any idea how much Linnie handles in a given week?”

  “Then what about Cat?”

  At her name, Cat flinched. “Table the idea right now. Jada and I help out, but we don’t have Linnie’s expertise. All the accounting, ordering just the right amount of food every week, payroll for fifty employees—and dealing with bitchy guests when something goes wrong. I don’t mind pitching in, but I don’t want to run the place.”

  Taking this in, Frances sipped her mojito. Then she said to Linnie, “Replacing you may put your brother in a bigger bind than Silvia’s voodoo doll.”

  “Definitely one of the reasons why I’m still undecided.”

  “And a good reason for your brother to think before attempting to replace you.”

  “Freddie, think? He’s more apt to shove me out the door and then realize he needs to scare up a new manager.”

  Frances pursed her lips, her eyes glittering with another one of her private amusements. “Well, I wouldn’t fret. Your brother won’t face such a dilemma. You’d never act out of character or give up your post after all the hard work of saving the inn. You’re a predictable soul, as constant as the seasons. There isn’t a spontaneous bone in your body.”

  Was this a compliment? Politely Linnie murmured, “Thanks,” thinking, for nothing.

  Oddly, the edge of insult in her voice made Frances more animated. “Steadfast Linnie Wayfair—a veritable anchor throughout the years. I applaud you for putting your brother’s needs first. You wouldn’t dream of leaving without giving ample notice. You certainly won’t do anything rash, like give Freddie the typical two-week notice. Good heavens—what would he do then? You’d put him in an impossible bind.”

  Silvia muttered, “Do it, Linnie. I’ll loan you the rope.”

  Frances shushed her. Then she regarded the Sirens.

  As if on cue the breeze stirred, gaining strength to whirl around the circle of bowed heads. Answering the wind, the surf crashed, louder now, a ready companion to the sense of wonder converging on the beach. Goosebumps rising on her arms, Linnie sensed a strong cord of the sacred binding the women together. One after the other, the Sirens reached out and clasped hands.

  To the night, Frances said, “The moment has been selected for you. Let the initiation begin.”

  The women lifted their faces to the stars winking overhead. “To kindness given in secret,” they said in a beautiful blending of voices.

  From the darkness, out stepped Daniel’s secretary.

  “As you wish.” Kay adjusted the feathered headband cocked on her hair. “Oh, and please forgive my delay.”

  Chapter 21

  On the third floor of Park Center Hospital, an aide directed Linnie to room 312.

  A privacy curtain hid the farther half of the room, a soft mechanical whirring drifting from underneath. Only the glow emanating from the bathroom broke the darkness.

  Her eyes adjusting, she surveyed the quarters. In the first bed, Daniel slept.

  An IV line snaked past the gauze covering the left half of his head. A cumbersome device elevated his leg, which was hidden under the sheet. A bitter scent assailed her nostrils. On his jaw, neat stitches were visible beneath translucent surgical tape. Her heart overturned.

  His eyelids fluttered. “Love . . . your . . . perfume.”

  “It’s soap,” she replied, and her voice broke.

  In a marvel of sheer will, he lifted his eyelids to half-mast. “Hello, darling. How are you?”

  The first time he’d used the endearment, and her throat tightened with gratitude. “Hanging in there,” she said. “How are you holding up?”

  “Dopey from the painkillers.” His head listed slightly. He flinched, and his discomfort sent a twinge of sympathy pain through her. “Is there a light? They’ve kept me in dungeon darkness since yesterday’s surgery.”

  She found the swi
tch, put the dimmer on low. It was early, and the patient in the other bed was undoubtedly sleeping.

  “You just missed Philip,” Daniel said. “He checked in on me before heading to Fancy’s room.”

  “I’ll stop by her room before I leave.” She pressed her lips to his unmarred cheek. “I’m sorry about this. If I hadn’t kept you up all night—”

  “I kept you up all night. When you woke up and caught me staring at the ceiling? I was thinking about persuading you into another round.”

  His pirate’s grin nearly took her hostage. “Wouldn’t have taken much persuasion.” Despite the injuries, he was in a playful mood. A relief, and she added, “You’ll never guess where I was last night. The Sirens inducted a new member.” An interesting evening, although Linnie still wasn’t sure about Frances’s comments regarding her steadfast nature. A compliment or a veiled criticism?

  “You’re kidding. The Sirens invited you to one of their meetings?”

  “Not to watch the actual ceremony. I did chat beneath the summer moon, but skipped the mojitos. The invitation was nice.” With the expansive gestures of a circus performer, she twirled her hands through the air. “I hope this helps. I’m supposed to carry healing energy to you. Feel anything yet? If this works, I’ll bring more good vibes tomorrow.”

  “Tell Frances and the other lunatics I said thanks.”

  “They aren’t lunatics. The meeting was sweet. Like a slumber party for grown women, without the sleeping bags and with much deeper—and lewder—conversation.” She’d left the festivities in a better mood. Still, she was miles from a decision about leaving the Wayfair, and oddly blue regarding Freddie’s upcoming departure. “Cat and Jada also tagged along.”

  “Who’s the new member? Not McCready down at the drugstore—she’s been trying to join since the world was new. She must carry bad vibes.”

  “She is cranky.”

  “Are they hunting for younger members? They did give you, Jada, and Cat a glimpse of their inner workings.”

  “Beats me.”

  “Let me guess. Did they induct the Galliard sisters? They sure meet the quirky requirement to join the Sirens. I heard they’ve come into money and are planning an Internet venture in their old Victorian mansion.”