by Lisa Jackson
But the fact was, he’d been having trouble pushing Acacia Lambert out of his mind.
And that spelled trouble, plain and simple.
The kind of trouble he didn’t need.
CHAPTER 11
Kacey didn’t like the place.
No matter how many “stars” or “diamonds,” or whatever the ranking was as far as retirement homes went, Rolling Hills just wasn’t her idea of “independent” living. But it didn’t matter. Her mother loved it here in this lavish, hundred-year-old hotel that had been converted into individual apartments. Her mother’s place, a two-bedroom unit on the uppermost floor, had an incredible view of the rooftops of Helena and, farther away, on the horizon, the mountains.
There was a pool and spa, exercise room, and car service, if one preferred not to drive their own vehicle, though each unit came with one parking spot in an underground garage.
The building was spacious, the amenities top-notch, and still, when Kacey walked through the broad double doors and signed in at the reception desk, she felt a pang of sadness for the home she’d once shared with her parents, a little bungalow with a big yard.
That’s what it is, she decided. There was nothing wrong with Rolling Hills other than it wasn’t the place she’d grown up and this was the place where her father, after suffering a stroke, had died.
“She’ll be right down,” the receptionist, a petite woman with narrow reading glasses and lips the color of cranberries, advised Kacey. “If you want to take a seat . . .” She waved a hand toward a grouping of oversized chairs and a love seat near a stone fireplace that rose two full stories. Kacey crossed the broad foyer and stood before the glass-covered grate, where warmth radiated to the back of her legs.
For the past three years, ever since her divorce, Kacey had spent her Thanksgivings here, and she couldn’t help feeling a bit of nostalgia. Don’t go romanticizing your childhood. You know better . . . .
Maribelle, her mother, when invited to Kacey’s, had steadfastly refused, insisting Kacey make the trip to Helena instead.
“You must come here,” she’d intoned. “Chef Mitchell is a god when it comes to the menu, and neither one of us will have to spend hours cooking and cleaning. Besides, it’s just too much for me to get away.”
That had been a bald-faced lie. Why her mother wanted to play the age card when she was on the south side of seventy was beyond Kacey. Maribelle Collins had more energy than a lot of women half her age, and, for the most part, she was sharp as a tack. Kacey believed her mother was a bit of a queen bee at Rolling Hills Senior Estates and didn’t want to leave her position for a second.
But Kacey had decided making the trip would be simpler than insisting Maribelle come her direction.
“There you are, darling!” Her mother’s voice rang out across the grand foyer. Kacey snapped out of her reverie to spy her mother, shimmering in a silver dress and high heels, hurrying toward her.
Tall, thin, and striking, Maribelle smiled widely and clasped both her daughter’s hands as they met, which surprised Kacey as the last time she’d seen her, all she did was frown and complain. At sixty-five, she was spry and youthful, dressed as if she were going shopping on Fifth Avenue in New York City. Her hair was white, thick, and cut in a soft pageboy; her eyes were a sparkling blue behind fashionable glasses; her chin as strong as it ever was. “I’ve been so looking forward to this. Come, come!” She was already leading Kacey to the dining room near the back of the building. Garlands of pine boughs had been draped around the windows. White lights winked from beneath the long needles, while another fire burned brightly and the tables had been covered in white cloths and decorated with small poinsettias in red and white. A few other residents were scattered around the room, seated at tables, some as couples, a trio of friends, and a couple singles.
“Isn’t it festive?” Maribelle enthused. “They get a little jump on Christmas here, but why not? Oh, this is my table over here.” She motioned toward the windows, and as she did, she glanced around the seating area, her gaze skating over the few other diners.
“A lot of people are missing today. Off to see their children or siblings or whatever. So we have the table to ourselves!” For the first time in a long while she seemed excited and bubbly. “Sit, sit.” She waved Kacey into one of the cushy chairs as she took her own seat and unrolled a napkin that had been placed in her wineglass.
“So tell me,” she said, smoothing the linen carefully over her dress. “How’s work going?”
“Hectic,” Kacey said, trying to understand the change in this woman who was her mother. Gone was the dour, stubborn, glass-is-half-empty person, replaced by a smiling, happy woman who seemed to embrace life. Someone who was interested in her daughter. “Just the other day a woman was rushed into the ER. She’d been out jogging and had fallen over that short little guard fence up on Boxer Bluff, by the park, you know the one I mean. Just at the crest, near the falls, from what I understand.”
“Oh, what a shame. I hope you fixed her back up again.” Maribelle flashed a quick smile and effectively changed the subject. “Now, honey, check out the menu,” she said, pointing with a cranberry-glossed nail to the list of offerings on the menu left on Kacey’s plate. So much for her interest in her daughter’s work or the patient’s well-being. “Look. You can have roast turkey or baron of beef. Can you believe it, an actual choice? It’s because of the new chef. Mitch.” She rotated her hands upward, as if to praise the heavens. “He’s just what this place needed after that miserable Crystal. How she ever got the job here in the first place is beyond me. . . . Let’s see, well, I don’t know why I even care. I’m having the turkey, of course. Tradition, you know!”
Who was this woman? Kacey wondered as her mother flagged down the waitress, Loni, and they ordered. Maribelle took another scan of the room, then welcomed the glasses of Chardonnay that Loni poured.
As the meal was served, they sipped and chatted, making small talk and working their way through a squash soup, green salad garnished with hazelnuts, feta cheese, and cranberries, and eventually sliced, moist turkey served with buttered sweet potatoes, sauteed green beans, and a delicate oyster stuffing with gravy. The meal wasn’t as homey as the corn-bread stuffing, Campbell’s soup green bean casserole, and yams with a marshmallow topping that Ada Collins, Kacey’s grannie, had served every year, but it was a close second best.
Better yet, her mother was in a cheerful, almost festive mood, so unlike the times she’d either sulked or just “gotten through the day” at her in-laws’ farm, the very spot Kacey now called home.
Tonight her mother smiled and kept up the conversation, regaling her with humorous little anecdotes of “senior living.” As long as they talked about Maribelle, everything seemed fine.
Little did Kacey know that she was being set up, though she should have seen it coming.
After the main course was finished, Maribelle asked the question that had probably been on her mind all evening, or quite possibly the last three years. “So,” she said pleasantly as she stared across the table at her daughter, “what have you heard from Jeffrey?”
Ahhh, Kacey thought. The ambush. “Nothing.”
Maribelle’s eyebrows pulled together in concern. “Maybe you should give him a call.”
“Why would I do that?”
“To be friendly,” Maribelle said, lifting her shoulders innocently. “It’s the holidays.”
“We’re divorced, Mom. Have been for three years.”
“Oh, darling, don’t you think I know that, but ... sometimes a couple can get past whatever it was that kept them apart.” Maribelle’s smile disappeared slowly, and she set her fork on her plate. “I always liked him, you know.”
Oh, yeah. She knew. “It didn’t work out.”
“You didn’t give it enough time. Three years? My God, that’s barely a sneeze in life. I was married to your father for over thirty-five years! And trust me, not all of those times were rosy.”
Kacey did believe
her.
“You should just contact him.”
“Not gonna happen, Mom,” Kacey said and pushed her plate aside.
Her mother let out a long-suffering sigh as the waitress came with offers of dessert and coffee.
“I’ll try the pumpkin cheesecake with the caramel sauce and decaf, Loni,” Maribelle said familiarly.
Kacey said, “Just regular coffee with cream.”
“You have to try some dessert. It comes with the meal, no extra expense, and it’s . . . out. Of. This. World!” her mother insisted, then turned to the waitress again. “By any chance did Mitch make crème brûlée today?”
“Espresso-flavored,” the waitress said with a knowing smile.
Maribelle’s eyes brightened. “My favorite, but I think I really should sample his cheesecake.” To Kacey she added, “Order the brûlée and we’ll swap bites. I’m not kidding you when I say it’s scrumptious. If I weren’t so stuck on tradition with the pumpkin, I’d order it myself.”
“I don’t think—”
“Oh, come on, Acacia! It’s Thanksgiving, for God’s sake!” To Loni, she said, “Please bring us a bit of each. It’s a holiday, and we’re not together that often.” She placed a thin, cool hand over Kacey’s, as if sharing dessert would actually be a bonding experience.
“Okay,” Kacey said, surrending.
“You won’t be disappointed.” Her mother actually patted her hand. What was this? Maribelle wasn’t known for any public displays of affection.
The waitress disappeared through double doors leading to the kitchen.
“I wish you’d give Jeffrey another chance.” Maribelle was nothing if not single-minded.
“I’m not interested, and I think he’s engaged.”
“Seriously?” Maribelle’s dark eyebrows shot skyward.
“I don’t know it for certain, and really, I don’t care, but one of my friends in Seattle, Joanna . . . You met her, I think, once or twice. Anyway, she called the other day and mentioned that Jeffrey was going to get married next year sometime.”
“Well . . .” She played with the napkin in her lap, and the shadows from the candle on the table played against her face, aging her a bit. “It’s just that I . . . I would so love a grandchild.”
“Really?” Kacey was surprised. She had been an only child and had been told often enough that she hadn’t been planned. Though she was certain her mother loved her, Maribelle had never been one to fawn over children or even show an interest in becoming a grandmother. Until today.
“Are you seeing anyone?” her mother asked hopefully.
Kacey’s wayward mind flitted to Trace O’Halleran before she brought herself back to reality. “No.”
“No one at the hospital? Another doctor?”
“I said—”
“What about online dating? I see all sorts of sites advertised on the television, and Judy Keller’s daughter found the love of her life on some Christian matchmaking Web site. I’m sure there’s one for professionals. In fact, I checked.”
“I really don’t have time.”
“Of course you do. It’s a matter of priorities, that’s all! And if I were you, I wouldn’t give up on Jeffrey so soon. He’s a well-respected surgeon, and he’s even written a book and has speaking engagements all over the country.”
“And you know this ... how?” Kacey asked.
Maribelle didn’t bat an eye. “I have the Internet, darling. It’s a wonderful tool. And nowhere on Jeffrey’s Web site did he mention a fiancée.”
The desserts and coffee appeared at that second, but Kacey caught the look of disappointment in her mother’s eyes. Maribelle had loved Jeffrey Lambert from the second she’d met him. “A heart surgeon,” she’d whispered to her daughter, her eyes alight. “And handsome, too.”
Never mind that Kacey herself would soon be a doctor in her own right. Or that Jeffrey had an ego that would rival Napoleon’s.
The bottom line with her mother was Jeffrey Lambert, MD, was one helluva catch and her daughter had let him slip away. Now, as she bit into the crème brûlée, Kacey wondered what her mother would think if she admitted that the man she found most interesting these days was a hardscrabble rancher with a seven-year-old son.
Finally, as her mother was in her own private heaven, sampling her cheesecake and moaning softly in ecstasy, Kacey brought up the subject that had been weighing on her mind. “So, Mom, did Aunt Helen have any kids?”
“Of course not.” Maribelle glanced up quickly. “She and Bill couldn’t. You know that.”
“What about on Dad’s side?”
“No. Neither of his brothers married. Again, you already know this.”
“Maybe not married ... but had some kids they didn’t talk about? Or maybe know about?”
Her mother was shaking her head as if the idea were impossible. “As far as I recall, they never dated much.”
“So, you’re saying I don’t have any ... cousins that I was never told about? Since you and Helen have been estranged, I thought—”
“What? That I lied? Why would I do that?” Her mother looked perturbed again and straightened her napkin. “I’m telling you, no cousins. You know that. I don’t understand why you’re asking now.”
“Okay, okay. I know it sounds a little crazy, but remember that patient I was telling you about, the one who fell while jogging and ended up in the ER?”
“Yes. At Boxer Bluff.” So Maribelle had been listening.
“Unfortunately, she didn’t make it. Her name was Jocelyn Wallis, and she was a schoolteacher, who, as it turns out, was born around here. And she looked a lot like me. Enough to freak out some of the nurses I work with.”
Her mother grew deathly quiet for the first time since they’d sat down as Kacey explained the details. She refolded the napkin twice before Kacey launched into her resemblance to Shelly Bonaventure, another woman who looked like her and was born in the area.
“I saw that she’d died. Not much of an actress, if you ask me,” Maribelle said. “And I suppose she might look a little like you, but so what?” She was shaking her head. “What are you suggesting? That those women were fathered by your uncles?” She rolled her eyes. “And then what? Adopted to other families and we never heard about it?”
“Or maybe Dad, before he met you . . .”
“Oh, Acacia, stop it! Right now! If Stanley had any other children, don’t you think I’d know about it?” she demanded.
“Maybe he didn’t know.”
“We’re talking about your father! Remember him?” She shot her daughter a withering glance. “He would be mortified if he were here, Acacia! As it is, he’s probably rolling over in his damned grave!” She shuddered theatrically. “Your friends have overactive imaginations, or some need to put some drama into their lives.” Leaning back in her chair, she glared at Kacey and shook her head. “Come on, Acacia! How many long-lost cousins do you think the family’s hidden from you?”
“Maybe none. I don’t know. I’m just saying it’s strange.”
“So many things in life are ‘strange’ or ‘odd’ or ‘coincidence. ’ ” After making air quotes, she waved her hand as if to dismiss the entire topic, as if it were inconsequential claptrap. But her cavalier attitude didn’t quite match the sliver of concern that Kacey noticed in her mother’s eyes as she added, “You know, people see resemblances with each other all the time. People make entire careers out of being celebrity lookalikes. Now, that’s the end of this inane conversation!” She turned her attention back to her pumpkin cheesecake. “Mitch really outdid himself with this. Try a little, and don’t forget to get a bit of the whipped cream.”
“Nice dodge, Mother,” she said.
“Taste it, and drop this ridiculous inquisition—”
“It’s not an inquisition. I’m just asking about the family.”
“And I’ve answered, so that’s that.”
Her mother transformed into the Maribelle Collins Kacey recognized best: the set, jutted jaw; the p
ursed lips; the narrowed eyes. Her neck was nearly bowed, and Kacey knew she would learn nothing else. Tonight. Not from her mother.
What Maribelle didn’t realize was that, rather than turn Kacey’s attention away, she’d practically ensured her daughter was going to keep digging. There were other ways to check birth records, and she had access as a doctor. For now, she couldn’t nudge her mother any further and there was no reason to antagonize her, but she was not giving up.
She’d learned while growing up that she could push her mother only so far. So now, Kacey didn’t argue. It wouldn’t make any difference, anyway. If Maribelle didn’t want to talk about something, she just didn’t.
So, it was time to feign the peace, if not make it. “Okay,” Kacey said, lifting her spoon. “Let’s see if Mitch’s cheesecake is all that it’s cracked up to be.” Reaching across the small table, she plunged her spoon into the dessert and noticed her mother’s shoulder muscles, beneath the shimmering silver silk, relax a bit.
“Mmmm, that is good,” Kacey said, as if savoring the sweet taste of caramel. But the words were rote as she wondered why her mother was determined to change the subject away from her father or uncle or cousins or anyone associated with the family. If she hadn’t felt so before, Kacey was pretty certain now that there were more than a few skeletons in the family closet.
CHAPTER 12
“ What’re you still doing here?”
The sheriff’s voice almost echoed down the empty hallway.
Seated at her desk, her gaze drawn to the computer monitor, Alvarez glanced over her shoulder just as Dan Grayson actually stepped into her office area.
Her insides tensed slightly, just as they always did whenever she was alone with him. The weird thing was that it wasn’t because he was her boss; she had worked for different overseers since she was fifteen and had never experienced this reaction, but there was something about Grayson that put her just a little on edge. And she didn’t like it. “I was just catching up on some things.” Rolling the chair around, she found him looming above her.