by Terri DuLong
“When I came in here, I heard Corabeth denying it. She said she had no idea what he was talking about. Officer Bob made the reporter leave the island. Said if he didn’t, he’d charge him with harassment.”
I shook my head and laughed. “So is our little town going to be on CNN?”
“I doubt it. He didn’t get a story, so I guess that’s the end of it.”
But that wasn’t the end of it. The following week we were all gathered at the yarn shop for our evening of knitting when Corabeth walked in.
Everybody looked up, stopped talking, and ceased knitting.
She took a seat, removed a beautiful pale green cotton sweater from her bag, knitted a couple of stitches, and then laid it in her lap.
“I suppose you gals want the details on the commotion at the bookshop last week?”
“Well . . . no. Not if you don’t feel the need to share . . .” somebody said, while somebody else said, “Yeah, I’m dying to know what that was all about.”
Corabeth cleared her throat. “Okay. Well, the truth of it is . . . I’ve spoken to my publisher and . . .”
“Publisher!” Raylene interrupted. “You mean to tell me you’re Lacey Weston and you do write that smut?”
Completely ignoring Raylene, Corabeth went on. “And my publisher feels the cat is now out of the bag and yes. . . . My pen name is Lacey Weston and I’m an author.”
A collective gasp filled the room as questions were tossed at Corabeth faster than the speed of light.
“An author? Why didn’t you ever tell us?”
“How long have you been writing?”
“I can’t believe we never knew your secret.”
“Does Lucas know who you really are?”
Corabeth raised her hand in the air. “Give me a chance and I’ll tell you everything.” She took a deep breath. “I’ve always enjoyed writing. And years ago I began writing erotica for my own entertainment. I knew it was becoming more popular in the book industry and it also didn’t have the stigma that it did years ago. So, on a lark, I decided to send one of my manuscripts off to a publisher in New York. Imagine my surprise when about five months later, I received a letter from them offering me a contract.”
Dora chuckled.
All eyes were focused on Corabeth as she continued her story.
“And those contracts kept coming, my sales skyrocketed, and before I knew it, I was a New York Times bestselling author.”
“But why the pen name?” Chloe questioned.
Corabeth laughed. “Not everybody likes the fact that erotica is in bookstores.” Her glance strayed to Raylene, who’d managed to remain silent. “I discussed it with my editor, and we both agreed that perhaps a pen name might be best.”
“I’ll be darn,” Liz said. “All those books of yours that I read . . . and I never knew it was you.”
“You read them?” Raylene said, surprise in her voice.
“Sure I did. They’re good. Maybe you should broaden your own reading horizons.”
Raylene sniffed and resumed her silence.
“So is that why sometimes you were holed up in your house and couldn’t make the Garden Club meetings or other events? You were busy writing?” Flora leaned forward in her chair.
“Exactly. When I was on deadline, it got a bit tricky trying to make excuses why I couldn’t join the rest of you.”
Dora laughed and shook her head.
Needless to say, I was absolutely stunned with this news. Prim and proper Miss Corabeth, satisfying the sexual appetites of women around the world.
I joined Dora’s laughter. “Well, I say bravo to you! But now that your secret’s out, will it affect your writing career?”
“No, I wouldn’t think so, and my editor said it might even give it another boost. I have another novel coming out in the spring, so I guess only time will tell.”
“Well, I’ll be first in line to get one,” Betty said.
“Not if I get there first,” Flora retorted.
“Well, you sure had us fooled,” Raylene snapped. “Here I thought you were a churchgoing woman.”
“Maybe you’ll want to get a copy for you and Mr. Carl to read together,” Flora said, causing a deep crimson blush to creep up Raylene’s neck. “Who knows how it might spice up your life.”
“What a thing to say. . . . As if . . . I wouldn’t . . .”
“Oh, Raylene, lighten up, for goodness’ sake.” Betty leaned over and patted Raylene’s arm. “We’re just joking with you.”
“Yes . . . well . . . I would hope so,” she stammered.
But I couldn’t help but notice that her normal nasty remarks were missing. Was it really possible that Raylene Samuels was beginning to mellow a bit?
“Well, my goodness,” Dora said, standing up. “Life is just filled with surprises, isn’t it? I think we should take a break now and have some pastry and coffee.”
Yes, I thought. Dora’s right. Life is filled with surprises, but learning about Corabeth made me realize even more how little I probably knew about my own mother.
20
By mid-September the gossip and surprise had died down about Corabeth Williams and she carried on as usual. That’s one thing about a small town. You don’t have to wait very long for the next bit of gossip to surface, and people move on to something else.
I had skeins of yarn spun and ready to deliver to the yarn shop. Just before I headed out, my phone rang and I answered to hear Jill’s voice.
“Hey there, girlfriend,” she said. “You must be really settling in because I don’t hear from you much anymore.”
Jill was right. In the six months that I’d been living in Cedar Key our phone calls had dwindled to only once every few weeks, when at one time it was almost daily.
I plunked onto the sofa as a wave of guilt came over me. “I know and I’m really sorry. But I’ve been pretty busy, and then we had the hurricane here and . . .”
Jill laughed. “I’m not scolding you. I just miss you. I saw on the Internet that thankfully you didn’t get too much damage on the island.”
“I miss you too, Jill. And no, we were really lucky. A bit of flooding, a couple of trees down, but no major damage.”
“Great. And how’s the puzzle coming along? Anything yet on your mother?”
“Not a thing. As you know, I did share my story at the knitting group, but nobody can seem to remember her.”
“And your aunt? Has she been any help?”
“Well, I told you about her accident, so she wasn’t able to come here in June. I really don’t want to question her on the telephone, but when I spoke to her last week she said her leg is about back to normal and she hinted about coming here for Thanksgiving.”
“That’s great. I hope eventually you’ll get some answers. Okay, enough chitter-chatter—and Saxton Tate the third? What’s the latest update there?”
I laughed. “I like him, Jill. I like him a lot.”
“Hmm, I can hear that in your voice.”
“Actually—” I hesitated before going on. “I really did want to get up to Maine, especially to see Bosco and Belle, but . . . Saxton’s asked me to join him next month for a few days in the mountains of Georgia . . . and . . .”
Jill laughed. “You silly girl. Let’s see—trip to Maine to see alpacas or romantic getaway with good-looking guy. Duh! Berkley, you don’t have to make excuses. Go! Go and have a great time. Besides, I’ve been giving some thought to getting out of here for Thanksgiving and maybe heading to a little island off the west coast of Florida.”
I sat up straighter and punched my arm into the air. “Yes! Really? You think you might come for Thanksgiving? Oh, Jill, that would be super.”
My friend laughed across the line. “Yup, there’s a good possibility that’ll happen. So don’t give it a second thought. Go to Georgia with Saxton Tate the third—but I’ll never forgive you if you don’t give me an in-depth report when you return.”
After she hung up, I sat there holding the phone
in my hand and smiled. Every woman needed a best friend like Jill—and I was lucky enough to have one.
I walked into the yarn shop to see Dora putting a brightly colored scarf around Oliver’s neck.
“Well, doesn’t he look spiffy,” I said, leaning over to give him a pat. “How’re ya doing, Oliver?”
Dora smiled. “Oliver is going to school later today.”
“Oh, another obedience class?”
“No, no. Oliver is actually going to school. The Cedar Key School. He’s now going to officially be part of the Pages and Paws program.”
“What’s that? I’m not familiar with it.”
Dora adjusted the knot on Oliver’s scarf. “Oh, it’s a new program based on the national one, Reading With Rover. That program originated in Washington State. Well-behaved dogs are brought to schools, libraries, and bookstores so that children can read to the dogs. It builds the child’s confidence and fosters a love of reading. Many children find it difficult reading out loud in a classroom, but with a dog next to them listening, it makes it easier. Dogs don’t judge if you read slow or have a problem pronouncing a word. I feel it’s a very worthwhile program, so I wanted to volunteer and Oliver was accepted.”
“That’s wonderful. And I agree, sounds like a great program.” I reached over to give Oliver a pat on his head. “Gee, it makes me almost wish I had a dog.”
“Well, if you’re serious, there’s sure plenty at the Levy County Humane Society that could use a good home.”
I filed the thought away and changed the subject. “I have some more skeins of yarn here for you,” I said, reaching into my bag.
“Oh, very good. We’ve run out of your last delivery. They’re selling so well, Berkley. Knitters just love hand-spun and hand-dyed yarn.”
I smiled as I watched her arrange the skeins on a table that held a sign proclaiming YARN BY BERKLEY.
“I’m glad. It’s a pleasure doing business with you.” I noticed that Oliver had retreated to his cushion in the corner of the shop. “He’s so well behaved, Dora. Did he have to have any special training to be in that reading program?”
“Well, he had to have extensive obedience training. We had to make sure that he was socialized, especially with children, and he passed all the tests. And of course, all of his injections have to be up to date, and the vet gave me a certificate to give to the school. Today is just a trial run. We’re going over so Oliver can meet some of the children and we’ll see how they interact. If this goes well, then he’ll be put on a schedule for once a week and be with a child that will read to him.”
“I’m really impressed. This is a win-win program. I can see where it would boost a child’s confidence with reading, but I’m sure the dogs involved will also feel productive. I wonder if Saxton is aware of this program. Lola is also very well behaved.”
“Oh, you should mention it to him. It’s a fairly new program, so they’re looking for more volunteers.”
“I will. Well, time to open my shop. Have fun this afternoon at the school.”
Just before I was going to close the shop for lunch, the chimes rang on the door and I looked up to see an unfamiliar woman walk in. Tall, slim, and dressed like a fashion model out of a sixties Vogue magazine, this woman without a doubt had to be Maybelle Brewster. She wore a stylish two-piece beige linen suit with jacket and skirt, beige pumps, celery green lace gloves that matched the filmy scarf cleverly wound around her neck, and a small pillbox hat perched atop her perfectly coifed white hair. This may have been Maybelle Brewster, but there was no way she could be around eighty, as Saxton had said. This woman was utterly stunning and could easily have passed for somebody in her sixties.
“Hello. I’m sorry I haven’t gotten in here sooner,” she said, extending her gloved hand.
Gloves and a hat—accessories that had been abandoned by the time I was born. She reminded me of the old-fashioned magazines my grandmother used to have around the house.
“I’m Maybelle Brewster and a friend of Saxton’s. Any friend of Saxton’s is a friend of mine, so I wanted to finally get in here and welcome you to the island.”
I smiled as a whiff of Chanel No 5 drifted toward me. No doubt about it—Maybelle Brewster was a relic of a fashion era that no longer existed.
“How nice of you. It’s a pleasure to meet you, and thank you for the welcome. Saxton told me about you the night of the hurricane. I’m glad you didn’t have any damage at your house.”
“Oh, Safe Harbor has been very blessed. When I bought that house back in the sixties, somebody told me the house was positioned perfectly to avoid any flooding or damage, and all these years later that still holds true. I’m right on the water, but I’ve always been safe there. So what did Saxton tell you about me?”
She lifted her head a fraction as a smile crossed her face.
“Oh . . . just that the locals checked on you during storms because the airport bridge could flood and they wanted to be sure you were okay.”
She nodded. “Yes, I’m very fortunate to be surrounded by such caring and genuine people. You mean to tell me that Saxton didn’t reveal what my career was before I came to Cedar Key?”
I laughed. “Ah, yes, he did happen to mention that you had been a Copa Girl.”
Her laugh joined mine as she waved a gloved hand in the air. “It seems to be my claim to fame here on the island, but I’m sure you’re too young to know what a Copa Girl was.”
“Oh, but that’s not true,” I gushed. “My grandmother had saved a lot of magazines from the fifties and sixties, and I used to love to pore over them when I was a teen. The girls who danced and sang at the Copacabana were quite famous. I had always longed to wear some of those costumes and jewelry, and I wondered what it must have felt like to be so sophisticated and alluring.”
Maybelle nodded as her expression turned serious and a faraway look came into her eyes. “Yes, those were very exciting days, they were. But the fame didn’t come without a price.” She cleared her voice. “Now then, I’d like three pieces of chocolate, please.”
Three? Seemed like she rationed herself with chocolate the same way that Saxton did.
“Certainly,” I said, reaching for a plastic glove and small box. “Which would you like?”
She pointed to the truffles from Angell and Phelps and explained, “I could devour pounds of chocolate, so I’m very careful. My weight, you know.”
I shot a quick glance at her still-perfect figure and wondered if at age eighty I’d still be concerned with a scale and my dress size.
Ringing up the sale, I passed the box across the counter. “Thank you so much. I hope you’ll enjoy them.”
“Oh, I plan to savor them. It was so nice meeting you, Berkley.”
She turned to leave and then paused. “So you were enchanted with the Copa Girls, were you?”
I nodded.
“Well, then, perhaps you’d like to come out to Safe Harbor sometime. You might enjoy seeing some of my old costumes and photographs. Bring Saxton with you. We’ll have tea.”
And with that, she left the shop.
21
The following week Saxton called to invite me to lunch at the Red Onion in Gainesville.
“Oh, I’d love to,” I told him. “But is there any chance I could make a quick stop at Yarnworks?”
Saxton laughed. “That’s like taking coals to Newcastle, but sure. Something you need and can’t find at Yarning Together?”
“Actually, I’d like to get back to needlepoint for a while. I love my knitting, but it’s nice to work on something different every now and again. I haven’t done needlepoint in years and I know they carry it at Yarnworks.”
“Sure. That’s fine, and I’ll pick you up about noon.”
“Thanks for waiting while I ran into the yarn shop,” I told him as we enjoyed a Cobb salad. “I know I’ll like doing the needlepoint butterfly that I bought.”
“Good. Well . . . I wanted to tell you . . . I’ve heard from Resa.”
&n
bsp; My head popped up to gauge his expression, which appeared to be neutral. “Oh, that’s wonderful. Isn’t it?”
He took a sip of ice water and then nodded. “I think so. The letter was rather generic. She is married, as I thought. Her husband is Jake. Dr. Jake Campbell, to be precise. He’s a pediatrician in Seattle. They have no children, and Resa works for a software company.”
“Oh, that’s it? Well, it sounds like she’s doing well. Did she mention anything about getting together with you?”
“Just briefly said she’s giving it some thought. She’ll get back to me.”
I could hear the disappointment in his tone. “Well, that makes sense. You have to understand you haven’t been in contact in, what? Thirty years? I’m sure she has a lot to think about. But I think it’s a good sign that she answered your letter.”
“You do?” His voice sounded hopeful.
I nodded. “Yes, definitely. If she didn’t want to bother with you at all, she wouldn’t have replied back. That would have been the end of it. But she’s probably taking it slow and trying to decide where to go from here. Do you plan to write her back?”
“I think I will. The last book that I wrote—I dedicated it to her. Maybe I’ll send her an autographed copy.”
“Great idea. I would think that would please her. I mean, after all, her father is a well-known, successful author.”
“Yeah, and a man who stayed out of touch. But you’re right. I’ll give her the time that she needs. At least this was a start.”
“Exactly,” I said and hoped his relationship with his daughter could be what he hoped for.
Mr. Carl was my first customer when I opened the shop, and I noticed that he seemed to have an extra zip in his step when he walked in. In addition to that, his blue eyes had an increased sparkle.
“What’s up, Mr. Carl?” I asked as I arranged the crystals on the table in a more orderly fashion.
“Beautiful morning, isn’t it?” A huge smile covered his face. “Yes, indeedy, I love these cooler September mornings.”