Mistletoe Cottage

by Debbie Mason

  “He acted as though he did.”

  “He always looks like that. Don’t let him get to you....Listen, I was serious about helping you with Protective Services.”

  “If you want to help me, the best thing you can do for me is make sure I keep my job here.”

  Now that could be a problem. Before he could come up with a way not to give her too much hope or steal it away, her phone beeped.

  “Sorry, it might be Marco.” She retrieved her cell from her pocket, looked at the screen, sighed then answered. “Yes, Nonna. I’m coming—” She glanced at Liam.

  Worried that his inward groan at the thought of Sophie and orgasms hadn’t been so inaudible after all, he walked casually to the desk and grabbed a cookie. He stuffed it in his mouth.

  “No. It’s a private viewing for the Widow’s Club, and I’m not…You what? Sí. Sí. I’m—” She glanced at Liam again. He picked up another cookie. “I’ll be right there.” She shrugged out of her coat. When she turned to lay it over the back of the chair, Liam promptly choked on the cookie. The dress hugged the lush curves of an ass that his fingers had brushed against only a few days before.

  She glanced over her shoulder. “Are you okay? Do you need some water?”

  No, he needed a cold shower and to stay as far away as possible from Sophie. “I’m good.”

  Jasper reappeared in the study two minutes after she’d rushed off. The old man eyed Liam as he took another cookie. “Ah, I see.”

  “What do you see, Jeeves?”

  “A man who’d best have a care. You stand to lose more than you stand to gain, Master Liam.”

  Sophie had just passed the reception desk when she realized she’d forgotten the cookies. Which shouldn’t have come as a surprise since she’d lost her head and her filter. I haven’t had sex in six years, she mimicked herself. Honestly, what had she been thinking to say that to Liam of all people? It was that kiss, the feel of his…Oh, would you stop? she berated herself. She had enough to deal with without getting herself all hot and bothered thinking about Liam. Thanks to her grandmother, she was now an honorary member of the Widow’s Club. Honorary because she hadn’t been married to Mia’s fake father who fake died.

  She consoled herself with the thought that surely she’d met her quota of stress-inducing events for the day. Hopefully she’d be able to take fifteen minutes to sit in a corner and relax with a cup of coffee. But she was barely ten feet from the drawing room when the wailing and keening she’d heard earlier started up again. Earplugs...all she needed was earplugs and she’d zone out in a secluded corner of the sitting room. She turned to head for the reception desk and was nearly run over by a bald-headed man—his face red—pushing a television on a stand toward the sitting room.

  “Sorry, my dear.” He stopped to rub his sweaty brow with a white hankie then offered his hand. “George Wilcox.”

  “Sophie DiRossi.”

  “Ah, just the young woman I was looking for. I’m the Gallagher family’s attorney. I”—he looked around and lowered his voice—“Kitty tells me that Colleen had every confidence in you, my dear. She felt certain you could turn the manor’s fortunes around.”

  “Thank you. Greystone won’t be the same without her. But I’m not sure I still have a job, Mr. Wilcox.”

  “You do. Obviously I can’t share with you the contents of the will, but it is imperative that you do whatever you can to show a profit as quickly as possible. The mayor and that realtor aren’t about to give up. I’ve been fielding calls from Paige Townsend for the past two days. The woman has no respect for the dead.”

  Sophie’s relief that she had the job was tempered by the knowledge that Paige was hovering in the wings. Looking for any opportunity to swoop in and steal Greystone out from under the Gallaghers. Sophie owed it to Colleen, and to Kitty, not to let her get away with it. Which meant they needed to host Michael’s wedding. “I appreciate the opportunity and Colleen’s faith in me. I won’t let her down, Mr. Wilcox.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. It’s up to us to see her wishes are fulfilled. I’ll contact you once the Gallaghers have been apprised of the situation. Any changes or upgrades to the manor will be cleared through me. Some monies have been set aside, but not enough for any major renovations. Let’s hope Michael and Bethany decide to hold their wedding here. I’ll try to guilt them into it tomorrow.” He winked. “Now, Colleen taped a final message for the Widow’s Club. Would you mind helping me?”

  “Of course.” Sophie took hold of the opposite side of the stand, and they wheeled it into the dark-paneled room. Colleen’s rosewood casket sat open beneath a window framed by heavy red velvet drapes with tiered stands of floral arrangements at either end. The four rows of chairs forming a semicircle around the casket were mostly filled. Two older women knelt side by side on the kneeler.

  Apparently they were trying to outdo each other’s show of grief. One would wail, and the other would wail louder. Mr. Wilcox grimaced as he situated the television a couple feet from the head of Colleen’s casket. The older woman was dressed in a somber navy jacket, skirt, and white blouse, a silver rosary intertwined through her white-gloved fingers.

  Sophie’s gaze moved to Colleen’s face, and she did a double take. Kitty should have prepared her mother-in-law for the wake, Sophie thought as she took in Colleen’s rosy red cheeks on her otherwise pallid face, her eyebrows darkened to frame her blue-shadowed lids. The short silver waves that had once framed her face were tightly curled.

  “Ladies, Colleen left a final message for you. I’ll leave you to your privacy,” Mr. Wilcox said, drawing Sophie’s attention from Colleen. He handed her the remote. “I’ll be at the bar if you need me.” He looked more than a little relieved to get out of there when several women started to cry. Sure enough, Rosa was one of them. Sophie was tempted to follow Mr. Wilcox to the bar.

  “Sophie dear, not all the ladies have arrived. We’ll give them a few more minutes,” Kitty said from where she sat surrounded by her friends. The new matriarch of Harmony Harbor and the Gallagher clan seemed to be holding up well under her grief. She looked elegant in a black pantsuit trimmed with black jet beads. Her makeup, unlike Colleen’s, was tasteful and her hair elegantly coiffed.

  At the aroma of freshly brewed coffee coming from the other side of the room, Sophie made a beeline for the long banquet table loaded down with pastries and sandwiches. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Ava hovering outside the doors to the sitting room. Her cousin wore a gray sweater over a shapeless black dress with her long hair scraped back from her pale face. Ava spotted Sophie and hurried to her side. “I’m so glad you’re here,” her cousin whispered.

  Despite seeing Ava every day, Sophie still found it difficult to get used to the changes in her. It was like her cousin did her best to look unattractive. But she couldn’t disguise her exquisite bone structure or stunning green eyes. Sophie smiled. “I’m surprised you’re here, but I’m glad you are.”

  Ava tugged the sleeves of her sweater over her hands and curled her fingers around the gray wool. “They made an exception for me. I’m pretty sure Colleen badgered them into submission. She decided I needed a social outlet. I’m the token divorcée.”

  Sophie could tell her cousin would rather be anywhere else but here, but she thought it was sweet that Colleen had invited Ava to join the Widow’s Club. Even though Ava had divorced her great-grandson, Colleen had been looking out for her in her own way.

  They got their coffees and found two empty seats to the left of the table. “I got the job,” Sophie whispered once they were seated.

  Ava squeezed her hand. “I’m so glad. Please tell me we don’t have to wear the costumes anymore.”

  “They’ll be the first to go. I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes, though. I was hoping you’d help me out. Be my eyes and ears.”

  Ava nodded, her gaze darting around the room. “I keep to myself, but I hear things. There’s already been some chatter. I’m sure it will die down once they know th
ey still have their jobs. At least for now. Did Colleen leave the manor to Kitty?”

  “I’m not sure, but she’d be the most likely choice. Mr. Wilcox is talking to the family tomorrow after the funeral.”

  “We better hope it is Kitty. If Colleen left Greystone to her grandchildren, Colin will be outvoted. Maura and Tara will push to sell,” Ava said, her knee bouncing.

  “Are you okay? You seem nervous.”

  “Griffin’s arriving tonight. Kitty asked me to make up his room. Or I should say their room. His wife will be joining him.”

  Poor Ava. Sophie’s problems were nothing compared to hers. At least she wasn’t in love with Michael, and he had no idea Mia was his. “Really? I thought they divorced a couple years ago.”

  “They did. I guess they’ve reconciled. Non mi importa,” she added when Sophie cast her a concerned glance. Ava might say she didn’t care, but Sophie didn’t believe her.

  Dana Templeton looked their way as she entered the room and gave them a wan smile. Sophie had made a point of introducing herself to the tall, willowy redhead the other day.

  Ava leaned into Sophie. “She’s hiding from someone.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “She’s wearing a wig. She has other ones in her room, colored contacts too.”

  “Maybe she’s sick?”

  “In the head, sí. The medication that woman takes, it’s a wonder she can walk and talk.” She shrugged. “Ah well, everyone has their accidenti.”

  Her cousin was right. They all had their crap to deal with. Sophie made a mental note to keep a close eye on Dana. The last thing Greystone needed was another death. Sophie crossed herself.

  “Auntie Rosa is rubbing off on you,” Ava said with a smile then glanced at the entrance to the sitting room. “This should be interesting. Here comes Maggie.” She nodded at an attractive fiftysomething redhead wearing a vibrant eggplant-colored cape over an ankle-length skirt two shades lighter paired with fringed boots. A multitude of colorful bangles jangled on her arm when she waved to the women with one hand while pulling a cart behind her. On the cart, there appeared to be a framed picture wrapped in black fabric. “Colleen commissioned her to paint a portrait of her. Look at Kitty’s face.”

  “Why does she look…panicked?”

  “Maggie’s famous for her nudes. She owns an art gallery in town called Impressions. Very chichi.”

  “She wouldn’t paint a hundred-and-four-year-old woman in the buff. Would she?”

  “If anyone would, it would be Maggie. You’ll like her. I doubt she did, though. Rumor has it she’s dating Colin, and the Gallagher men are prudes.”

  If that was true, Sophie could only imagine what Liam thought when she overshared about her sex life. She wondered if Ava noticed what was surely Sophie’s now-red face. But her cousin was focused on the drama unfolding across the room. Kitty appeared to be trying to talk Maggie out of displaying the painting with several of her friends backing her up.

  “You’ve seen my work before, Kitty. I don’t know what you’re worried—” Maggie began as she took the painting off the cart.

  Kitty grabbed hold of one end, and the two women started a tug-of-war. “Yes, I have, and that’s what I’m worried about. I can’t have a naked portrait of—”

  Rosa got up from her chair. “Basta! Enough! You must honor Colleen’s wishes.”

  “Thank you, Rosa,” Maggie said, retrieving her painting from Kitty.

  “Prego.” Rosa straightened her dress as though she’d been in a fight. Then she walked to Maggie’s side to help her remove the seascape that hung on the wall.

  “Okay, everyone, close your eyes. Not you, Rosa. I need your help,” Maggie said.

  Sophie closed her eyes along with the other women. She heard Maggie and Rosa whispering. There was a dull clunk, a few muttered Italian curse words, and then, “Molto bella. Look, ladies, look what Maggie has created. It is a masterpiece.”

  Sophie opened her eyes at her grandmother’s reverent tone. Maggie had painted the manor at sunset. The angle was such that you were looking down on Greystone with Kismet Cove, the lighthouse, and the harbor in the background. Sophie didn’t see any sign of Colleen until she lifted her eyes to the orange and red dappled sky. There she was, watching over her legacy like a guardian angel. And not just Colleen. Behind her were smaller images of the family members who’d gone before her. Sophie made out Ronan, Mary, and a little girl she assumed was Riley.

  Her grandmother was right. The painting was beautiful, magical, and whimsical. The artist was not only incredibly talented, but she also clearly knew and loved her subjects.

  Her cousin sniffed beside her, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her sweater. Sophie slid her arm around Ava’s shoulders. Her cousin had worked at Greystone for almost a decade, and she’d been a Gallagher for three years. In her heart, maybe she still was.

  “I’ll miss her. I didn’t realize until now how much,” Ava said on a broken whisper.

  Sophie gave her cousin’s shoulder a comforting squeeze.

  “Kitty?” Maggie said, playing with her bangles. “What do you think?”

  Seemingly overcome with emotion, Kitty pressed a hand to her mouth and shook her head. The mourners got up from their chairs and moved closer to inspect the painting and much oohing and aahing ensued. They made room for Kitty when she finally pulled herself together. She stared at the painting, raising a finger as though to touch each of her loved ones. Then she turned to face Maggie, her cheeks damp with tears. “I don’t know what to say. I never expected anything like this. It’s a precious gift, Maggie. You’re a gift. I know it’s not enough, but thank you.”

  Pretty much all the women started to cry again. Though it was hard to tell if her grandmother was one of them. Rosa stood with her back to the room staring at the painting. When she finally turned around, she swiped at her eyes and said, “Sophie, our hour is nearly up. Colleen’s message.”

  Once the women had shifted their chairs to get a better view of the television, Sophie pressed the remote. Colleen’s voice was muffled. A heavy oak dresser with a mirror filled the screen. Colleen was visible in the mirror, her face the picture of frustration as she moved the handheld video camera around and a stone wall appeared, and then a window.

  Laughter filled the room. “She never did figure out how to use a camera, or her phone,” someone said.

  Colleen’s nose and eyes filled the screen. “Hello, can you hear me?” She held the camera out from her face. “Jaysus, who the hell is that? Is that me?” She touched her face. “I guess it is. Why was I doing this anyway? Oh right.” She leaned closer to the screen again and shouted, “If you’re watching this, I’ve gone to meet my maker. I’ll be with my loved ones now. Not that I don’t love all of you, I do…or I did.” She waved her hand. “You know what I mean. Anyway, I want you to carry on when I’m gone. Finish what we started. We need the younger generation to come home to Harmony Harbor. I’ve done my part.” She grinned. “Batten down the hatches, ladies. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.”

  She held up a brown leather-bound book. “This is the real reason I’ve recorded this message for you. I’ve about finished my memoir, The Secret Keeper of Harmony Harbor. I’ve written down all of the town’s secrets, yours and mine too.” There was an audible gasp from the audience, and the women moved to the edge of their seats, Sophie included. If she’d been wrong and Colleen had known her secret…

  Several of their voices rose above a whisper. Someone shushed them. “I wouldn’t want it to fall into the wrong hands, so it’s probably best if I tell you where I’ve hidden—” The screen filled with static.

  Rosa waved her arms, yelling, “Sophie, hurry, fix it!”

  “Yes, dear God, fix it. We can’t lose her now,” someone else yelled.

  “I’m trying.” Sophie stood up and moved closer to the television.

  Ava grabbed the remote from her, aiming it at the TV and frantically pressing buttons. Nothing worked; the static
got worse, and then the screen went black.

  “Maybe it was the cat. See him? He’s sitting right there,” another woman called out, pointing to where Simon sat at the foot of the stand, watching them with a bored expression on his face.

  While everyone yelled suggestions at Ava, Sophie took advantage of the distraction and edged toward the door. She walked casually from the sitting room and then sprinted for the stairs. Colleen had made the video in her bedroom; Sophie was sure of it.

  She ran up the stairs to the second floor and down the hall, taking the next set of stairs to the third floor. Out of breath by the time she reached the circular staircase leading to the tower, she paused for a minute and leaned on the brass rail. She should have taken the elevator. At the sound of running feet two floors below her, she pushed on. If Colleen had known about Mia, Sophie had too much to lose if someone discovered the book before she did.

  She reached the upper landing where gold-framed Gallagher family portraits graced the stone walls. The entire fourth floor was reserved for Kitty’s and Colleen’s suites. From her time working at the manor, Sophie knew that the walnut-colored studded door she now stood in front of led to Colleen’s. She hesitated, feeling uncomfortable invading the older woman’s private space. With a whispered apology, Sophie opened the door. After all, Colleen wanted them to find the book.

  The scent of roses wafted past Sophie’s nose as she entered the room. A crystal vase overflowing with rainbow-colored roses stood on the nightstand beside the dark wood canopied bed, a book lying open on the red-and-gold bedspread. Sophie’s heart raced as she turned it over—disappointed to discover it was a book of poetry and not Colleen’s memoir. Her gaze flitted over the Gothic style leaded windows that overlooked the gardens, the oil painting of the harbor hanging over the unused fireplace with the wrought-iron branch of candles standing in front of it, to the sitting area.

  Shelves of books lined the walls while others were piled haphazardly on the antique tables on either side of a well-worn love seat, additional stacks creating small towers on the hardwood floor. A cluttered feminine desk sat in the center of the area rug with a spectacular view of the ocean through the French doors that led onto a stone balcony. One of the doors was slightly ajar, letting in the sound of waves hitting the rocks, and the cool breeze, which ruffled the red-leafed vines climbing the balcony walls.