by Nora Roberts
“Get a hold of yourself. A few minutes ago you’re calling me a grandmother, now you’re going into shock thinking I could be pregnant. I’m not going to present either one of us with a midlife baby, so relax. I had some sort of spell, I suppose.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“One second we were talking, and the next I was standing—I don’t know where, but I was standing over an open grave. She was in it. Amelia, and she was not looking her best.”
She couldn’t stop the shudder, and let her head rest against him. That good, strong shoulder. “More than dead, decomposing. I could see it, smell it. I suppose that’s what took me down. It was, to put it mildly, very unpleasant. I was burying her, I think. Then she opened her eyes, started to climb out.”
“If it’s any consolation, if that had happened to me, I’d have fainted, too.”
“I don’t know if it was here, I mean this particular spot. It didn’t seem like it, but I can’t be sure. I’ve walked by here countless times. I planted that pachysandra, those sweet olives, and I never felt anything strange before.”
“To risk another theory, you were never this close to finding out who she was before.”
“I guess not. We’ll have to dig.” She pushed to her feet. “We’ll have to dig and see if she’s here.”
THEY SET UPlights and dug beyond midnight. The men, and Roz, with Stella and Hayley taking turns between shovels and remaining inside to mind the sleeping children.
They found nothing but the bones of a beloved dog.
“COULD BE METAPHORICAL.”
Roz looked up at Harper as they walked the woods toward home the next day. She knew very well why he was with her, his arm slung casually around her shoulder, because Mitch had told him she’d fainted.
She’d barely had five minutes to herself since it happened. That was going to change, she thought, but she’d give him and the rest of her honorary family a day before she shooed them back.
“What could be metaphorical?”
“That, you know, vision thing you had. Standing over her grave, shoveling dirt on her.” He winced. “I don’t mean to wig you out.”
“You’re not. Who used to have nightmares after watching that Saturday morning show? What was it,Land of the Lost ?”
“Jeez. The Sleestak.” He shuddered, and only part of the movement was mocking. “I still get nightmares. But anyway, what I’m saying is you never stood over her grave, never buried her. She died a long time ago. But if we do the metaphor thing, we could say how you’re trying to open her grave—but by missing something, not finding something, whatever, you’re burying her.”
“So, it’s all in my mind.”
“Maybe she’s planting it there. I don’t know, Mama.”
She considered a moment. “Mitch has a theory. We were discussing it before I keeled over.”
She told him, sliding her arm around his waist as she did. Together, they stopped at the edge of the woods, studying the house.
“Doesn’t seem so far-fetched, all things considered,” Harper said. “It always seemed like she was one of us.”
“Seems to me it only opens up another box of questions, and doesn’t really get us any closer to finding out who she was. But I know one thing. I want those diaries more than ever. If Jane doesn’t come through, I’m going to take on Clarise.”
“Want me to play ref?”
“I might just. If Amelia is part of the family, she deserves her due. That said, I don’t feel the same about Clarise. She’s always wanted more than her due, in my opinion. I don’t know what it makes me to feel more sympathy for a dead woman, who may or may not be some blood kin, than I do for a live one who unquestionably is blood kin.”
“She smacked me once.”
Instantly Roz stiffened. “She did what?”
“Gave me a good swat one day, when she was visiting, and she caught me climbing on the kitchen counter going after the cookie jar. I was about six, I think. Gave me a swat, pulled me off and told me I was a greedy, disrespectful little brat.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? She had no right to touch you. I’d’ve skinned her for it.”
“Then skinned me,” he pointed out. “As you’d told me never to climb on the counter, and not to take any cookies without asking first. So I took my lumps and slunk off.”
“Anybody was going to give you lumps it was going to be me. Nobody lays hands on my children, and in my court there is no statute of limitations on the crime. That bitch.”
“There now.” He gave her shoulders a squeeze. “Don’t you feel better?”
“I believe I’ll make her very sorry before I’m done.” She walked with him toward the house. “You knew better than to put your hand in that cookie jar, Harper Jonathan Ashby.”
“Yes’m.”
She gave him a light elbow jab. “And don’t you smirk at me.”
“I wasn’t, I was just thinking there are probably cookies in it now.”
“I imagine so.”
“Cookies and milk sound pretty good.”
“I guess they do. Let’s go harass David until we get some. But we have to do it now. I’ve got a date to get ready for.”
ROZ KNEW THEstyles and colors that not only flattered her, but suited her. She’d chosen the vintage Dior for its clean, flowing lines, and its pretty spun-gold color. The straight bodice, thin straps and rear drape left her back and shoulders bare.
But that back and those arms and shoulders were toned. She saw to it. So she saw no reason not to show them off. She wore her grandmother’s diamonds—the drop earrings and tiered necklace that had come to her.
And knowing she’d regret it, slipped on the high, thin-heeled sandals that showcased the toenails she’d painted the same delicate gold as the dress.
She turned, to check the rear view in the mirror, and called out an absent “come in” at the knock on her door.
“Roz, I just wanted to . . .” Stella stopped dead. “Holy Mother Mary. You look spectacular.”
With a nod in the mirror, Roz turned again. “I really do. Sometimes you just want to knock them on their asses, know what I mean? I got an urge to do that tonight.”
“Just—just stay there.” She rushed out again, and Roz heard her calling for Hayley.
Amused, she picked up her purse—what had possessed her to pay so much for such a silly little thing—and began to slip what she considered necessary for the evening out inside it.
“You’ve got to get a load of this,” Stella was saying, then pulled Hayley into the room.
Hayley blinked, then narrowed her eyes. “You’ve got to do a spin. Give us a little twirl.”
Willing to oblige, Roz turned a circle, and Hayley crossed her arms over her chest and bowed her head.
“We are not worthy. Are those real diamonds? I know it’s tacky to ask, but I can’t help it. They’re so . . . sparkly.”
“They were my grandmother’s, and particularly special to me. Which reminds me. I have something I thought you might like to wear for your wedding, Stella. It would cover the bases of something old, borrowed, and blue.”
She’d already taken the box out of her safe, and now handed it to Stella.
“Oh, God.”
“John gave them to me for my twenty-first birthday.” She smiled down at the sapphire earrings. “I thought they might suit the dress you’d picked out, but if they don’t I won’t be offended.”
“There’s nothing they wouldn’t suit.” Gently Stella lifted one of the heart-shaped sapphire drops from the box. “They’re exquisite, and more, I’m so . . .”
She broke off, waving a hand in front of her face as she sat on the side of the bed. “Sorry. I’m just so . . . that you’d lend them to me.”
“If I had a sister, I’d like to think she’d enjoy wearing something of mine on her wedding day.”
“I’m so touched, so honored. So . . . I’m going to have to sit here and cry for a couple minutes.”
“That’s all right,
you go ahead.”
“You know, the something old in that tradition’s a symbol of the bride’s link to her family.” Hayley sniffed.
Roz patted her cheek. “Trust you to know. Y’all can sit here and have a nice cry together.”
“What? Where are you going?” Hayley demanded.
“Downstairs. Mitch should be here shortly.”
“But you can’t.” Biting her lip, and obviously torn between sitting with Stella or preventing a catastrophe, she waved her arms like a woman trying to stop a train. “You have to wait till he gets here, then you have to glide down the steps. That staircase is made for a woman to glide down. You’ve gotta make an entrance.”
“No, I don’t—and you sound like my mother, who made me do just that for my escort—thank God it was John so we could laugh about it after—at the debut she forced me into. Believe me, the world will not end if I greet him at the door.”
She snapped her purse closed, took one last glance in the mirror. “Plus, there’s another tradition I have to follow. If I don’t go down, get David’s approval on my dress, I’ll hurt his feelings. There are tissues in the drawer beside the bed,” she called out.
She’d barely finished modeling for David and getting his approval when Mitch was at the door.
Opening it, she had the pleasure of seeing his eyes widen and hearing the low whistle of his breath. “Just how did I get this lucky?” he asked her.
She laughed, held out her wrap. “The way you look in that tux, Doctor, you may get considerably luckier before the night’s over.”
EIGHTEEN
“IWAS TRYING to remember the last time I wore a tux.” Mitch slid behind the wheel of the car, giving himself the pleasure of another long look at Roz as he hitched on his seat belt. “Pretty sure it was a friend’s wedding. His oldest kid graduates high school this year.”
“Now, that’s a shame, since you wear one so well.”
“Lean over here once.” When she did, he brushed his lips over hers. “Yeah, tastes as good as it looks.”
“It certainly does.”
Starting the engine, he pulled away from the house. “We could skip this business tonight and run off and get married. We’re dressed for it.”
She sent him a sidelong glance as he turned onto the main road. “Be careful how you bat those marriage proposals around, Dr. Carnegie. I’ve already shagged two in my time.”
“Let me know if you want to try for three.”
It felt spectacular, she realized, to be all dressed up and flirting with a handsome man. “You getting serious on me?”
“It’s looking that way. You need to consider I’m a rent-the-tux kind of guy, but I’d spring for one when you decide to take the jump. Least I can do.”
“Of course, that is a deciding factor.”
He laid his hand briefly over hers. “I make a good living, and your money isn’t an issue one way or the other with me. What baggage I’ve got, I’ve pretty well packed up. For the past many years, my son’s been the singular essential element in my life. He’s a man now, and while he’ll always be my great love, I’m ready for other loves, other essentials.”
“And when he moves to Boston?”
“It’s going to cut me off at the knees.”
This time she laid her hand on his. “I know just how it feels.”
“You can’t follow them everywhere. And I’ve been thinking it’s easy enough to visit Boston now and again, or take a trip here and there when he’s got a game somewhere appealing.”
“I’m looking forward to meeting him.”
“I’m looking forward to that, too. I’m hoping you’re not going to be too uncomfortable with whatever friction there is between you and his date’s parents.”
“I won’t be. Jan will. Being a spineless sort of woman who’s decided to be embarrassed by her friendship, such as it was, with me. It’s foolishness, but she’s a foolish sort. I, on the other hand, will enjoy making her feel awkward.”
She stretched back and spoke with satisfaction. “But then, I have a mean streak.”
“I always liked that about you.”
“Good thing,” she said as they turned toward the club. “Because it’s likely to come out tonight.”
IT WAS FASCINATING, to Mitch’s mind, to see how this set worked. The fancy dress, the fancy manners were a kind of glossy coat over what he thought of as basic high school clique syndrome. People formed small packs, at tables, in corners, or at strategic points where they could watch other packs. There were a few butterflies who flitted from group to group, flashing their wings, dipping into some of the nectar of gossip, then fluttering off to the next.
Fashion was one of the hot topics. He lost count of the times he overheard a murmured variation of: Bless her heart, she must’ve been drinking when she bought that dress.
He’d had a taste of it at Roz’s holiday party, but this time out he was her escort, and he noted that changed the dynamics considerably.
And he was the new kid in class.
He was given the once-over countless times, asked who he was, what he was, who his people were. Though the manner of interrogation was always charming, he began to feel as if he should have a résumé typed up and ready to hand out.
Ages ran from those who’d certainly danced to the swing music the band played when it was new, to those who’d consider the music retro and hip.
All in all, he decided as he discreetly avoided discussing the more salient details of his work on the Harper family with a curious couple named—he thought—Bing and Babs, it was an interesting change of pace for a guy in a rented tux.
Spotting Josh, he used his son as an excuse to cut the inquisition short. “Excuse me, my son’s just come in. I need to speak with him.”
Mitch made a beeline through the tuxedos and gowns. “Hey, you clean up good.” He gave Josh a one-armed hug around the shoulders, then smiled at the little brunette. “You must be Shelby.”
“Yes, sir. You have to be Josh’s daddy. He looks just like you.”
“That takes care of the intros. Wow.” Josh scanned the room. “Some hot-dog stand.”
The ballroom was draped with twinkling lights, festooned with spring flowers. Wait staff manned one of three bars or roamed the room with trays of drinks and canapés. Diamonds glittered, emeralds flashed as couples took the dance floor to a hot rendition of Goodman’s “Sing, Sing, Sing.”
“Yeah, a littlePhiladelphia Story .”
“What?”
Mitch sent Josh a pitying glance. “There were movies made beforeThe Terminator .”
“So you say, Pops. Where’s your date?” Josh asked.
“She got swept away. I’ve been . . . oh, here she comes.”
“Sorry, got myself cornered. Hello, Shelby. Don’t you look pretty.”
“Thanks, Ms. Harper. That’s an awesome dress. Josh said you were coming with his father.”
“It’s nice to meet you at last, Josh. Your father’s full of talk about you.”
“Same goes. We’ll have to find a quiet corner and compare notes.”
“I’d love to.”
“I see my parents over there.” Shelby nodded toward a table. “I’d like to introduce you, Josh, and your daddy. Then I’ll have done my duty, and you can dance with me.”
“Sounds like a plan. Dad says you’re into plants, Ms. Harper.”
“Roz, and yes, I am.”
“He kills them, you know,” he added as they worked their way around the room.
“So I’ve seen.”
“Mostly when they see him they just commit suicide and get it over with.”
“Shut up, Josh.”
“Just don’t want you to pull a fast one on her.” He gave his father a lightning grin. “Shelby says you live in that amazing house we passed on the way here.”
“Yes, it’s been in my family a long time.”
“It’s totally huge, and great looking.” He angled his head enough to send his father a quick, an
d not-so-private, leer. “Dad’s been spending a lot of time there.”
“Working.” Mitch managed, through years of practice, to give his son a light elbow jab in the ribs.
“I hope you’ll come spend some time there yourself, very soon.”
Roz paused by the table where Jan and Quill sat talking to other friends. “Hello, everyone.” As Roz had expected, Jan stiffened, went a little pale. Deliberately, Roz leaned down, air-kissed Jan’s cheek. “Don’t y’all look wonderful.”
“Mama, Daddy.” Shelby angled herself around to make introductions. “This is Joshua Carnegie, and his father Dr. Mitchell Carnegie. My parents, Jan and Quill Forrester, and Mr. and Mrs. Renthow.”
Quill, a solidly built man with a glad hand and subtle comb-over, pushed himself to his feet to pump Mitch’s, then Josh’s hand, then inclined his head to Roz. “Rosalind, how are you doing?”
“I’m doing just fine, Quill. How’s business?”
He pokered up, but nodded. “Bumping right along.”
“That’s good to hear. Jan, I swear, Shelby’s grown up to be an absolute beauty. You must be so proud.”
“Of course. I don’t think I understood you were acquainted with Shelby’s escort.”
“His father and I are great friends.” Beaming, she slid her arm through Mitch’s. “In fact, Mitch is researching the Harper family history. He’s finding all sorts of secrets and scandals.” Playing it up, she gave a little head toss, a little laugh. “We just love our scandals here in Shelby County, don’t we?”
“That’s where I’ve heard the name,” Renthow spoke up. “I’ve read one of your books. I’m a bit of an amateur genealogist myself. Fascinating business.”
“I think so. In any case, the Harper ancestors led me to Roz.” In a smooth move, Mitch lifted her hand, kissed it. “I’ll always be grateful.”
“You know,” Renthow put in, “I’ve traced my ancestry back to the Fifes in Scotland.”
“Really?” Mitch perked up. “A connection to Duncan Phyfe, before he changed the spelling?”
“Yes, exactly.” Obviously pleased, Renthow shifted in his chair to angle toward Mitch. “I’d like to put something more detailed together. Maybe you can give me some tips.”