by Cindy Kirk
Jonah Rollins was a thousand miles away.
He was her past, and she was firmly grounded in the present.
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The party, sponsored by the Hazel Green Foundation—fondly referred to as the Green Machine—was being held at the Pomeroy mansion. The home, designed by Richard Green and built for his friend, Jasper Pomeroy, had been erected in 1923. Recently, the house had passed to real estate developer Leo Pomeroy, a direct descendant of Jasper and the current mayor of Hazel Green.
As tonight’s event was being held in a relatively small venue, a limited number of civic leaders, business owners, and volunteers had been invited.
It was far different from the bigger, more elaborate birthday bash that would be held in October. That soiree, open to everyone, would be held in the civic center ballroom on the night of Hazel Green’s birthday.
Abby gave her keys to the valet before climbing the steps to the front door. She was greeted by a young man dressed in a dark tuxedo and wearing shoes so shiny that Abby could have used them as a mirror.
With a grand flourish, he opened the door and gestured her inside. Abby let the beauty of the home envelope her as she moved deeper into the house. The art deco influence was everywhere, from the silver-leaf ceiling to the bold geometric-patterned rug overlaying a black-glossed floor.
Abby paused at the sight of the chandelier. She remembered the silver-plated light fixture from previous parties. Original to the home, it was a work of art with distinctive long glass prisms at the top. This was the first time she’d seen it festooned with plumes of ostrich feathers.
It appeared as if a huge bird had given its wings a good flap and smothered the lights in feathers. Abby had no doubt that if Eva Grace were here, she’d be begging for “just one” of those fluffy feathers.
Abby had barely had time to swallow a chuckle when she was hit by the sweet scent of calla lilies. Her heart lurched. These lilies had been her mother’s favorite flower. At the funeral, the fragrance had been overpowering.
Blocking out the smell as best she could, Abby concentrated on her surroundings. She wove her way through the crowd. The realization that she knew most of the people attending tonight’s event both baffled and comforted her. In just over two years, she’d become a part of this vibrant community in ways she’d never dreamed possible.
Every few feet Abby found herself stopped by someone with a question about the “big” birthday bash. She was in charge of not only overseeing the pre-events but also chairing what many considered the most important planning committee. She’d been apprehensive about so much responsibility, but seasoned volunteers had made her job easy.
As she smoothed her skirt and prepared to dive into the crowd once more, Abby realized her hand was trembling. The sense of unease that had her nerve endings pulsating puzzled her.
There would be no surprises tonight. She was among friends. The only wild card was the new police chief, hired when Harold Strum had quit to care for his ailing wife.
While the man would take Harold’s place on her committee, Abby didn’t plan on him being an active participant. No doubt settling into his new position would keep him very busy, especially at first.
Abby understood difficult transitions. Not counting the changes in her personal life, she’d made a huge leap when she moved here and took over the running of a ten-room hotel.
At times, it was still hard to believe her dream of owning a business had come true. There had been so many moments when it looked as if she’d never reach that goal. For every step forward, she’d been pushed two steps back.
Then Jonah and Veronica had offered her $50,000 to carry a child for them. Even that hadn’t worked out quite the way she’d thought it would . . .
A knot formed in the pit of Abby’s stomach. She figured this jitteriness must stem from her earlier conversation with Eva Grace. Relax, Abby told herself. She inhaled deeply, then slowly released her breath. She was here to have fun. It had been months since she’d hired a sitter and had the opportunity to socialize with friends.
“You’re looking pensive. Pretty. But pensive.”
Abby swiveled, a smile already on her lips. “Nell.”
Cornelia “Nell” Ambrose brought two fingers nearly to Abby’s red lips before pulling back. “Not Nell. Hazel Green.”
Dressed in a shimmery, intricately beaded dress, circa 1925, Nell fit the image of the town’s patroness to a T.
“You look fabulous.”
“The twenties were an exciting time period.” The cocktail-length flapper dress hugged Nell’s lithe figure like a glove. “I absolutely adore the fashions.”
Nell wasn’t the only one who loved the decade. The era was popular, which in Abby’s mind caused it to be overused. “I was surprised Rachel and her committee decided on 1920s attire.”
“Considering where the party is being held, I’d say it makes perfect sense.” Her friend waved a hand, and eight painted bracelets on her right arm clinked together.
Nell’s hair—or rather, Hazel’s—spilled from under a silver mesh cap in thick waves. The dark-walnut color suited her fair complexion, dark brows, and high cheekbones. Then again, most styles and colors suited the beautiful Cornelia.
When she wasn’t playing Hazel, the attorney wore her own silvery-blonde strands in a stylish pixie.
Tonight, Nell was Hazel Green.
It wasn’t simply that she matched the town’s namesake in stature and confidence. If that were the only criteria, any number of women in the community would be suitable impersonators.
Due to an uncanny ability to transform herself into popular actors and lecturers of the time—both male and female—Hazel Green had been one of the most popular performers on the Chautauqua circuit. Which was why impersonating her at special community events demanded skill and innate talent.
Two things Cornelia Ambrose had in abundance.
Nell, confident and self-assured, appeared to be the picture of a woman with answers to all life’s toughest questions.
But how could that be? As a child advocate attorney, her friend saw pain and heartbreak every day. Of all people, Nell should be constantly questioning whether true love existed and whether giving your heart to someone was ever worth the risk.
Abby had learned that lesson at a young age when her father walked out the front door one day and never came back. Her mother, well, she’d died, leaving her only daughter alone in the world.
And Jonah. Up until she’d gone into that delivery room alone, Abby had held out hope that he’d come through for her.
She wanted to ask Nell whether she’d ever been betrayed. Whether she’d ever had her heart ripped from her chest by someone she trusted.
But as close as she and Nell were, the questions remained unspoken. Though Abby was curious, she didn’t want to be put in a reciprocal position of sharing her own thoughts and feelings.
Instead, Abby grabbed two crystal flutes of champagne from a passing waiter and handed one to Nell.
Abby sipped the bubbly, finding the taste of this particular champagne very much to her liking. “Have you met the new police chief yet?”
A gleam filled Nell’s baby blues. “Not yet.”
Abby took another drink. “Rumor is he’s a real hunk.”
Nell cocked her head, looking vaguely amused. “Don’t tell me you’re interested?”
Though Abby had no desire—or time—to get involved with anyone, something about Nell’s dismissal of her rubbed Abby wrong. She gestured with one hand. “I may be.”
Nell’s expression turned thoughtful. “In my experience, those who pursue a career in law enforcement can be a mixed bag.”
“You’d know.”
For a second, startled surprise flickered in Nell’s cool blues eyes.
“As an attorney, you deal with police all the time.”
Nell offered her what Abby thought of as the woman’s Mona Lisa smile. It was ridiculous for the two of them to even be discussing the man. As far as they
knew, the guy could be married with three kids. But Abby didn’t think so. She swore she’d heard someone mention he was single.
“To Chief Whatever-his-name-is.” Nell lifted her flute in a mock toast, her blue eyes glittering. “May he be one of the good ones.”
Chapter Three
“Just who I was looking for.”
Abby smiled as Liz Canfield strode up. The journalist managed to look cool and professional despite an outrageous amount of fringe hanging from the hem of her flapper dress.
Still, it wasn’t the fringe but the white-and-plum coquille-feather hair clip in her friend’s dark hair that had Abby’s smile widening. She gave Liz a quick hug.
Nell and Liz exchanged smiles.
“I didn’t expect to see you tonight.” The comment was out before Abby could stop it. She blushed, realizing how rude it sounded. But she was puzzled. She’d personally reviewed the guest list. Liz hadn’t been on it.
“Hank was supposed to come, but he wasn’t feeling well. He asked me to take his place.” Liz jerked a thumb in Nell’s direction. “I’m supposed to interview this one and write up a story on the soiree. Though it meant getting a sitter for Sawyer, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to use my journalistic skills.”
When Liz had lost her job as a reporter in Chicago last year, the only job she’d been able to find was as a circulation analyst with a rival newspaper. This was the first Abby had heard of her working for the local paper. “When did you start working for Hank?”
Henry “Hank” Beaumont was the owner and editor in chief of the Hazel Green Chronicle.
“I’m just freelancing. It’s a terrific assignment.” Liz flashed a quick smile and gestured with her head toward the buffet table. “Free food, drink, and the company of good friends.”
“I’m happy it worked for you to be here. I know how busy you’ve been.” Abby gave Liz’s arm a squeeze. “How’s your mom?”
Though her smile never wavered, the light in Liz’s eyes dimmed. “She’s a trooper. After the surgery and chemo, she insists radiation is a walk in the park.”
The surgery and chemo had been anything but a walk in the park for Sandra Canfield, whose diagnosis of metastatic breast cancer had taken them all by surprise.
Abby’s grip tightened on her friend’s arm. “If there’s anything I can do to help, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
“That goes for me, too,” Nell told her.
“Hazel Green offering her assistance.” The dimples in the reporter’s cheeks winked. “Mom will be honored.”
Nell raised an elegant hand. “I’d love to stay and chat with you peons, but I must mingle.”
When she turned to go, Liz stepped forward. “Not so fast, HG. You need to answer a few questions first.”
Two perfectly arched dark brows winged upward. “What kind of questions?”
“Easy and quick ones.” Liz spoke rapidly as if fearful her interviewee might vanish into the crowd. “I promise.”
Nell gave an almost regal nod. “What would you like to know?”
How did the woman do it? Abby wondered. The tone, the mannerisms, the . . . look. As they watched, she’d morphed into Hazel.
Liz pulled out a phone from a purse shaped like a scallop shell. “Do you mind if I record the interview?”
Once Nell, er, Hazel, gave her assent, Liz launched into a flurry of questions.
“Readers will want to know how a platform reader and impersonator of well-known actors first crossed paths with the prominent—and obscenely wealthy—architect Richard Green.”
Hazel took a sip of champagne. Her eyes took on a distant look, and her lips curved. “I was living in New York when Richard came with a friend to a Chautauqua performance. He arrived just as I took the stage as Susan B. Anthony.” Hazel gave a throaty chuckle. “He told me later he was instantly smitten. I asked for clarification. Was it me who had him smitten or Miss Anthony?”
“If you were as good as they say, I have no doubt it was a little of both.” Liz glanced down as if making sure the phone was recording. “What was your first impression?”
“The man dazzled. He literally swept me off my feet. In less than six weeks, we were wed. After our honeymoon, I found myself living in this delightful town.” Hazel’s eyes turned luminous. “My darling Richard made it his mission to get the town’s name changed as a special wedding gift. Of course, he succeeded. My husband was very tenacious. I became the only person I knew who had a town named after her.”
“Quite an honor,” Liz agreed. “I imagine it was an adjustment going from being a performer to being a wife.”
“For the first few months, Richard and I kept very busy.” Hazel’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “We were, after all, newlyweds.”
Abby felt a pang of envy before remembering none of this had happened to Nell.
“Then I threw myself into getting my new hometown on the Chautauqua circuit.” Hazel’s gaze swept the room before refocusing on Liz. “It was a challenge, but I persevered. Like my husband, I can also be tenacious. I’ve always believed the arts to be an essential part of a vital community.”
The interview continued. Liz asked so many questions Abby was surprised “Hazel” didn’t ask the reporter whether she was writing a newspaper article or a book.
Abby wandered over to a table holding enough petit fours to fill a stadium. Folding a napkin over two flowered ones, she slipped them into her tiny bag before returning to her friends.
She arrived just as Liz slipped the phone into her bag.
“Look to your right.” Nell was back in her own skin for the moment, her husky voice a whisper. “Rachel brought him tonight.”
No need to say who. Rachel Grabinski and Marc Koenig had been a twosome since Christmas. Though Abby was concerned about how the smooth-talking investment guru treated her friend, for Rachel’s sake, she and Liz had tried to like him.
Nell, on the other hand, had absolutely no use for the man. Abby wondered whether her friend’s attitude had anything to do with Marc having made a play for her while he was still married.
“No surprise there.” Liz kept her voice equally low. “They’re always together.”
Abby sincerely hoped things weren’t heating up between the two. After her parents were killed in a car accident when she was eighteen, Rachel had devoted herself to raising her siblings.
Only in the last two years, once the last sibling graduated from high school, had she been able to live her own life. If Marc supported her dreams, that would be one thing. But he appeared to be one who liked calling the shots.
“If she marries him, it will be the biggest mistake of her life.” Nell’s voice rang with conviction.
“You know something.” Abby gripped her arm. “Tell me.”
“I know lots of things.” Nell offered a tight smile. “Including that it’s past time for Hazel to mingle.”
Wiggling her fingers in farewell, Nell slipped away.
“What do you think she knows?” Two lines of worry furrowed Liz’s brow.
“You’re the reporter,” Abby reminded her as they watched Nell give the mayor’s younger brother a hug. “I’d say it’s time you do some digging and find out.”
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Mingling was the name of the game.
Hazel went right.
Liz went left.
Abby went straight to the gorgeous black-and-chrome bar staffed by a bartender who looked barely old enough to drink legally. He offered Abby a polite smile. “What can I get you, ma’am?”
Ma’am? Surely she didn’t look that old.
Stifling a sigh, Abby studied the drink list. The party organizers had gone authentic. Reading names like “Gin Rickey,” “Bee’s Knees,” and “Southside” was like taking a trip back in time.
“I’ll take a Mary Pickford.” White rum with pineapple juice, maraschino liqueur, and grenadine seemed like the perfect choice for this out-of-the-ordinary evening.
The party was one where strange cocktails,
feathers on chandeliers, and beaded headbands were de rigueur.
While Abby normally enjoyed socializing, right now she’d give anything to be sprawled on the floor at home playing a board game with Eva Grace. While waiting for her drink, the uneasy feeling that had dogged her earlier returned.
The bartender handed her a cocktail glass filled with crushed ice and liquid the color of ruby-red grapefruit. A cocktail stick skewered a maraschino cherry. “Here you go, ma’am.”
Once again, Abby tried not to cringe. She reminded herself the boy was simply being polite. “Are you having a nice evening so far?”
Surprise skittered across his handsome features. “Why, yes, I am. Thank you for asking.”
She took a sip, smiled. “This is good.”
“It’s very popular.” The boy/man offered her a perfunctory smile before turning to the next customer.
“There she is. The woman I was looking for.”
Though the voice came from behind her, Abby instantly recognized it as Leo Pomeroy’s. Deep and cultured, it radiated command. Leo, one of the partners in a successful family-owned real estate development and investment firm, was silver-spoon born. His brothers now ran the company while Leo ran the town. Last year, at thirty-four, he had become the youngest mayor in Hazel Green history.
Though widely admired for his business acumen, some considered him standoffish and arrogant. That had never been Abby’s impression.
She hurriedly pulled two crumpled bills from her bag and stuffed them into the tip jar before turning. “What is it you want from me now, Mr. Mayor?”
Her tone was teasing, her smile friendly. Last week she’d told Leo she was going to quit answering his calls because every time they spoke, she ended up chairing another committee.
“The committees are all filled.” Amusement ran through his voice. “I just wanted to introduce you to our new police chief. He’ll replace Harold on your committee. Over here.”
Leo made a come-on motion to a man weaving his way through the crowd. Abby shifted her focus, a smile of welcome on her lips.
Her smile wavered. Her heart gave a solid thump against her chest. She swallowed convulsively. Introductions were hardly necessary.