Mistaken Identity (A Lucinda Pierce Mystery)
Page 26
Jake’s night hadn’t been much better than Lucinda’s. He couldn’t get to sleep because he couldn’t get Lucinda out of his mind. So close, yet so far away. He wondered if he needed to break his promise and make the first move but decided against it. Instinctively, he knew that though it might work with some women, it was the sure path to disaster with Lucinda.
The first few miles that morning passed in silence. Between the fresh mountain air and the incredible golds, reds and yellows in the trees, they both dropped their funk at the first overlook. By the time they reach Swannanoa, both were exhilarated once again.
Lucinda gasped when they pulled up to the enormous mansion built of Georgian marble. With its square towers shooting above the roofline, it looked more like a palace than an American home. She was even more impressed inside when she stood at the foot of the sweeping marble staircase. She was horrified to learn that the steps were once painted dark brown when it was used as a country club right after the great Depression.
Broader than four men laid end to end at its base, the elegant stairs tapered up to a landing where a beautiful and incredibly large Tiffany stained-glass window depicting a woman in a garden filled the wall. The tour guide said the face in the glass was that of Sally May Dooley, the wife of the man who, over eight years, paid more than three hundred artisans to construct the home. The stairway branched in two as it curved upward to the bedrooms on the second floor.
As the commentary shifted from the older history of the mansion to details of the post-Second World War occupation by Walter Russell and his University of Science and Philosophy, Lucinda stopped paying attention to the guide’s words. Just another Virginia crackpot, she thought, and focused on the beauty of the historical home.
After the tour, they left the Skyline Drive at Rockfish Gap and continued south on the Blue Ridge Parkway. They had buckwheat cakes for lunch at a restaurant cabin along the way and paused at most of the forty-eight overlooks they encountered on the drive to milepost 86 and the Peaks of Otter Lodge. Jake pulled into the parking area and continued across the lot to the far side, stopping in front of a bar locked into a post that blocked the entrance to a narrow dirt lane.
“This place is special,” Jake said. “I wish I could take you down there. I don’t know if it has a real name or not but we called it Dexter’s Descent – after the guy a few years ahead of me at school who discovered it.
“During my college years, I had an older friend named Van who drove a ’67 Morgan. If we ducked down in the seats, his car could slip under the bar and we could drive this road all the way down the mountain. It’s a little treacherous in spots but the views are unbelievable. The first time I went down it, I thought I died and went to heaven.
“As we approached a small rise, a wonderful, sweet smell tickled my nose. When we crested it and came down the other side, a vast valley opened at our feet, filled with apple trees all in bloom for as far as we could see. The scent in the air was powerful and overwhelming. We stopped the car and turned off the engine and listened to the buzzing symphony of a billion bees. I’ve never experienced anything quite like it.”
Jake turned to Lucinda and gazed at her face with longing in his eyes. “More than anything, I’d like to find a low-slung car and drive it back here in the spring with you by my side. I want to share that with you. It was one of the most intense moments of my life.”
Lucinda put her hand on his cheek and pulled him towards her. After a long kiss, they embraced each other until their arms grew weary. Smiling, they dropped their arms and walked, hand-in-hand, into the lodge to check in. That night, they both shared the same room. Neither one of them got much sleep even though they barely rose from bed in time to make last call for breakfast the next morning.
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