Starlight Hill: Complete collection 1-8

by Heatherly Bell

“Wanted to let you know the lieutenant’s been trying to get some of those videos down.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Kinda doubt we’ll get ’em all down.”

  “Sure. But thanks for trying.” Check her out being all nice to the guy who couldn’t remember he’d stood her up once.

  “Yeah,” he said gruffly. “Hey, I’m sorry it happened.”

  His apology was unexpected. She’d been a little unfair in assuming he’d had anything to do with the video. Blame it on residual hostility and the fact that she currently hated the male species. She’d work on that. “It’s not your fault.”

  She heard a siren in the background. “Gotta go,” he said and hung up.

  And as though she sensed some sort of disturbance in the universe, Mom called. “Hi, Mom.”

  “I haven’t heard from you.”

  Okay, so skipping the preliminaries. “What do you mean? I text you every day.”

  “Your little texts about lunch and the bakery in town are not what I’m concerned with.”

  Leave it to Mom to send her out on a job she should be doing herself, and then blame her for not getting it done fast enough. “Actually, I was about to call you. I think Gran is fine and I know she doesn’t need to go in a home. You’d be surprised. She cooks me breakfast every morning. She hasn’t left the stove on. And she seems fairly healthy.”

  “What about the hoarding?”

  “Don’t worry, we’re getting organized.”

  “You better mean throwing away. I’ll believe that when I see it. Otherwise she’s fine?”

  “Better than fine.”

  “Good to hear because it’s a hardship having you gone all summer. I could use you at the shop. Mandy doesn’t know how to talk to the brides. She’s got them reconsidering taking their vows. I need to keep her far, far away from my brides. Speaking of which, You-know-who came in the other day looking for alterations.”

  Un-believable. Diana didn’t even think Tiffany had that kind of nerve. The woman had been their client, shopping for a wedding dress before she had a fiance, and had chosen an Italian designer satin gown with a sweetheart collar that cost approximately a year of Diana’s salary. Tiffany had met Bradley once, when he’d been in the store waiting for Diana. Once was all the two needed. A month later Tiffany had both a wedding dress and a fiance.

  Further proof the bridal boutique was bad luck for Diana, or maybe just weddings in general. And romance. And men.

  “She didn’t. Please tell me you turned her away.”

  “Of course I did. You don’t just steal my daughter’s fiance and then show up and expect me to alter your dress! Even though, honestly, I could use the business. And it’s such an easy job…she’s lost weight so she needs it taken in. Do you know she’s using the same dress she bought from us? It would be okay to do just do a small job for her, wouldn’t it? And I’d charge her three times the rate I normally do?”

  “Mom!”

  “Not that I would do it, even if I’m on my last dime.”

  Thank God for that. “Mom, I’ve been thinking. It’s too bad none of us live closer to Gran. That way she wouldn’t have to move at all. We could just look in on her.”

  “I’ve tried to get her to move out here with me, but she won’t have any of it.”

  “Of course not. This is her home. She loves it here.” And what was not to love? Most of the people were nice, the town small and postcard picture perfect, the bakery top-notch. Of course, they had The Wine. People came from all over the world for that.

  “I can’t very well move the shop out of Los Angeles now. You know how hard I’ve worked to establish myself, my brand…”

  Diana was forced to listen to Mom go on for another five minutes. Not like she hadn’t heard it all before. The running joke in her family was that Alyssa Mulvaney was literally ‘married’ to her work since the divorce.

  “Okay, Mom. I get it. I’m just trying to think of all options.” Her fingers drummed over the newspaper. “I’ll see you next month. Everything’s going to be great, you’ll see.”

  “Your sister wants to talk to you,” Mom said and handed over the phone.

  Diana heard Mandy’s hushed tones. “Mom doesn’t know, don’t worry. I think a new video of you pops up every day. People are so creative. You’ll never get this video down.”

  “This should have happened to you. You’d find a way to sell tickets. This is the worst thing that could have happened to me.”

  “No, the worst thing would have been dying of smoke inhalation.”

  Diana groaned. “Right, but I didn’t die so now I have to die a slow death. Of embarrassment.”

  “Oh c’mon! You looked great in that video. Look at it this way, it could have been worse.”

  Funny, she couldn’t think of anything worse.

  “How many times have you tortured yourself by watching it?” Mandy asked.

  “A couple of times.” Lying. She’d watched about a dozen times. Different versions set to different music themes. People generally had way too much time on their hands, but she had to admit some of them should be working in a Hollywood studio and not goofing off on the Internet.

  “So what’s this firefighter dude like? Because from here all I can see is about a hundred degrees of hotness.”

  “Yeah,” Diana said, an image of Scott’s buns of steel headlining her thoughts. “He looks like he does in the video.”

  “Wow. So are there any…you know…possibilities?”

  “You wanted me to write about sex, not have sex!” Right now she was doing neither, and getting in a fouler mood by the minute.

  “All right! But you know, maybe having some might help you write about it? I would call it research.”

  “Of course you would. Anyway, I’m working on getting the video down.”

  “It’s impossible.”

  “Nothing’s impossible.” It was her mantra these days. She’d find a job and an apartment in a town where there were no jobs or apartments, get Mom to see that Gran didn’t need to move into a nursing home, learn to enjoy writing again, and get this damned video down.

  Diana hung up with Mandy and, like a fly drawn to a bug zapper, she brought up the video. She found one she hadn’t seen before, as if maybe there had been more than one person taking video that night. It was spliced together with video she’d already seen of Scott carrying her out of the motel, but this one had a moment which zoomed in on his face.

  It was a good face, too, all hard inherently male angles. Only a moment in time, but the video had managed to capture Scott, his brows knit together, mouth set in a grim straight line. He’d barely remembered her, but seemed more concerned for her welfare than Bradley had been in six years of dating. But again, this was what Scott did. Save people. She was nobody special to him.

  He still didn’t remember.

  The next morning, Diana left the house for some more of those cinnamon rolls from Gen’s bakery, before Gran woke up and tried to cook breakfast again. Diana was hooked on them, and near the shop nearly had a Pavlovian response to the rolls, her mouth salivating at the memory. Inside, she waited in line along with the rest of the customers.

  A couple of women that she didn’t know smiled in recognition, and Diana did a little self-conscious wave before she moved up to the front of the line.

  “Hi, Diana!” Genevieve sang out. “What can I get for you?”

  Did she really have to ask? Hadn’t it been clear that Diana would have signed over her firstborn child for another cinnamon roll? “Um, yeah. So maybe a few more of those cinnamon rolls? You know how Gran likes them.”

  Gen didn’t even blink. “Coming right up.”

  “And also throw in some of the Bundt cakes.” Diana paid and turned, nearly running into Ophelia. “Nice to see you again.”

  “You as well. Can I talk to you for a minute?” Ophelia asked. “After I get my order in?”

  “Okay.” Diana moved to the side, and waited as she watched Gen fill orders.
Genevieve had a nice little business going here. Not only that, it would seem she truly loved what she did. Wasn’t that what everyone on the planet wanted? To do what they loved and to feel that it mattered.

  Why did my dreams have to be so complicated?

  She was stuck in the middle of counting how many rejections she’d received over the years, the ones that had gone with the fire, and wondered if they could have papered an entire wall or only half of it when Ophelia re-joined her.

  “Follow me to my office?” Ophelia asked. “It’s just around the corner.”

  “I have to get back to Gran…” Diana had no clue what Ophelia wanted from her, but she’d bet it had to do with something Diana didn’t want to do.

  “It will only take a minute, and I think you’re going to be quite interested.”

  “All right, but I can’t stay long.”

  The mid July morning had already begun to heat up the day and a few people were out pushing baby strollers, walking their dogs. By noon, everyone would retire inside to their air conditioned offices or homes, swimming pools, or the nearby lake. Diana would probably be tackling the inside of Gran’s scalding hot aluminum shed today and sorting through memorabilia, yarn and old coupons. Good times. She followed Ophelia a couple of blocks down Main Street to the Chamber of Commerce offices situated in a brick-stone building with a large flag in the front. The name placard on Ophelia’s office door read Ophelia Lyndstrom – President, Chamber of Commerce. The years were listed too, and it appeared she’d been president for the past decade.

  Diana sat in the chair opposite the desk, and set her box on her lap. She didn’t want these puppies getting too far away. If Ophelia would get on with it, Diana could say a very kind ‘no, thank you’ and be on her way. She had to get back to Gran, eat her roll and then pack and organize some more boxes of Gran’s junk. Look for a job and an apartment. Maybe take a nap later.

  “They’re addictive, aren’t they?” Ophelia glanced at the box on Diana’s lap.

  “Gran likes them.” The first step is admitting you have a problem, Diana.

  Ophelia was kind enough to nod. “I’ll get straight to the point. You’re a writer, Betty tells me.”

  “Well, not really. I mean, I haven’t written anything for a while. Gran just likes to brag.”

  “Don’t have you have a degree in journalism?”

  “Well, yes…” Not that she wanted to be reminded. Diana had that, plus a great pile of student debt for that ill-timed MFA in creative writing. Her father had reluctantly helped to pay for her college education but he had refused to entertain the idea of a masters in, of all things, writing. There’s no money in that, Diana. End of subject.

  “I have a job for you,” Ophelia announced, hands clasped as if she’d just announced the start of the World Peace talks. “You heard we’re doing a firefighter calendar?”

  “I saw that.” Diana tried to push the image of half-naked Scott out of her mind, but it kept coming. And coming. “Looks…interesting.”

  “It’s for a great cause. I envision our firefighters each holding a glass of wine from one of our town’s vineyards. That way we honor our heroes, raise money for a charity and we also do a little promoting for our crops.” She leaned back in her seat and smiled.

  Diana pictured a shirtless Scott holding a glass of wine. “Sounds brilliant,” she said, fanning herself. “A different kind of approach. I don’t think I’ve seen that.”

  “Now all I need is someone to write a glowing piece for the website. That’s where you come in.”

  “What kind of piece?”

  “I could leave that up to you. Maybe tell some of the firefighters’ stories? Mr. September and Mr. December are both ex-military. They might not talk about that, of course, but it would be worth interviewing them. Of course, I reserve final say in approving the article. We’ll publish it on our award winning website. The gal who usually writes these fluff pieces is on maternity leave.”

  Mr. September and Mr. December? Had she died and gone to heaven?

  She hadn’t written a word in months, stuck in some kind of writer hell. But this was a job, if only temporary and she needed one. It was either this or shampoo girl. The crossing guard job was already taken.

  “I would have to get paid.” Her last word unfortunately held a slight lilt to it, almost like a question.

  “Of course. I can get you a stipend from our slush fund. We can work something out and I’ll be fair.”

  Whether or not she could or ever would write another word, she should at least try. Or rather, try some more. Under the pressure of a deadline. Diana swallowed and wondered if Ophelia would think it a big fat lie to say that she had wicked carpal tunnel and was going to have to say ‘hell no’.

  Before she could, Ophelia stood up. “Get it to me by the end of the month. Sound good?”

  Oh God, a deadline. There was no air in this little office and Diana’s skin started to prickle and sting. “Um.”

  Ophelia apparently mistook Diana’s shaking for a nod. “You’ll come to the photo shoot next week? One PM at Brooke’s Vineyard.”

  In and out, in and out. Amazing, but Diana was still breathing. Breathing could be simple so long as she didn’t overthink it. Unfortunately, in the next second she had already over-thought it, because now she was hyperventilating. Too much breathing. Too much.

  She’d just signed up to write under a deadline, something she hadn’t done since … she broke up with Bradley.

  5

  Scott was in relative hell again.

  The entire family was having their weekly dinner at Mom’s and as usual it seemed that his state of bachelorhood was of enormous distress to everyone but him. Gen had just announced she wanted to fix him up again. She had the perfect date for him. Diana.

  “She’s beautiful, too. I mean, don’t you think?” Gen directed the question to him.

  “Yeah,” Scott said.

  “And he’s already seen her half naked, so he’s had a chance to check out the goods.” This was from Billy.

  “Billy!”

  “Son!”

  “Dude!”

  Brooke, Pop and Wallace all simultaneously protested Billy’s keen observation. Scott smirked. When his brother was right, he was right. Why pretend he hadn’t noticed?

  Giancarlo, Mom’s new husband— wise man that he was, remained quiet. But so did his daughter Sophia, and that didn’t seem natural. She always had something to add to their mix, and it was funny much of the time. Scott raised an eyebrow in her direction, and she barely seemed to notice. Scott had been worried about her for a while, noticing that in the past few weeks she’d seemed to check out of most family functions. When she’d come back from University this time around, she didn’t have interesting stories to share about the Berkeley campus where there was a daily cause.

  “She’s not interested in me. Good effort but no. I’ll find my own dates, thanks,” Scott reminded everyone for the gazillionth time and tried to meet Sophia’s eyes. She was always good for an eye-roll or two. At the moment, she seemed to be extremely interested in her fork.

  “Why wouldn’t she be interested in you?” Mom asked. “Is there something wrong with her?”

  “Thanks, Ma, but not everyone finds me as perfect as you do.”

  “I know what it is. He probably did something to her. What did you do?” Brooke asked.

  “Must have, but I don’t even remember what.”

  “Classic,” Billy said.

  “It couldn’t have been that bad. Right?” Gen asked. “I’m sure she’d forgive you. She’s perfect for you, I think.”

  “Really? What exactly makes her so perfect, Gen?” Brooke leaned across the table.

  Gen wasn’t even fazed by the question. “Right away you can see she cares about family, because she’s come all the way here just to look out for dear Mrs. Paulsen. I don’t notice the rest of her family here. Just her. That says a lot about a person.”

  “I’d like to meet her,” M
om said, making Scott wince. “She sounds fascinating.”

  Most everyone in his family had seen the video. Unfortunately, he’d recently heard of an ugly rumor circulating through town. If there wasn’t a man in the room with Diana at the time of the fire, he must have snuck out. And who would have something to hide other than a married man? Therefore, this meant that Diana was about to have a tryst with a married man when the fire had started and ruined their plans. One plus one equaled three in this town, and always had.

  He didn’t know Diana all that well, but it seemed out of character for the girl he remembered. She’d been on the straight and narrow then, and nothing much seemed to have changed in that department.

  He slid another look to Sophia. Was she still looking at the same fork? What the hell was going on?

  Scott cleared his throat. “What’s new at school, Sophia?”

  She didn’t answer, prompting Giancarlo to nudge her. “Sophia. Your stepbrother is talking to you.”

  Scott had noticed that whenever newly formed familial titles and expectations were pushed on her Sophia resented it. Not tonight. Tonight she glanced in his direction, and gave him the thousand yard stare. It hit him in the gut. Something was wrong, and he wondered why no one else had noticed.

  After dessert, as usual one of Gen’s cakes, Scott tried to get Sophia’s attention without success. She was about to head back upstairs to her bedroom, he assumed, when he walked right into her path.

  “Move,” she said without a smile.

  “Talk to me.”

  She folded her arms in front of her. “What for?”

  “Just do it.” Scott jutted his chin towards the patio.

  He couldn’t let this go. The last person he’d seen with that hollowed out gaze had been Jake, his Army buddy.

  The rest of the family was inside getting ready for a game of Turlock Monopoly. There were some differences, like the recent fact that Brooke had renamed every property after an existing vineyard. And when a person passed “go” they didn’t collect money but instead took a sip of wine and graded its properties. Pop had made up all sorts of weird baseball inspired rules no one fully understood. Other than that, it was the same never-ending game played by families all across America.