Cydney wandered toward the bar, saw a hallway beyond the second set of pocket doors and followed it into a dining room with wainscoted walls and tiny blue roses in stripes on creamy wallpaper. Another enclosed staircase rose up the back wall. The oval Chippendale table and cherry buffet reminded Cydney of her grandmother’s furniture. The biggest breakfront she’d ever seen covered another wall, a lovely set of Blue Willow china behind its glass doors. Aunt Phoebe’s, she thought, all of it.
The room proved how much Munroe missed her. It was a shrine—and it was immaculate. It smelled of potpourri and furniture polish. The finger Cydney wiped across the table came up clean. She felt tears in her eyes but blinked them away. She was tired, that’s all, and madder than hell at Munroe for the cheap trick he’d pulled with the great room. She refused to be touched by how sweet and sentimental this room was.
She left it in a hurry, following another hall with a big, white-flxtured bathroom on one side and an even bigger butler’s pantry with a double sink and built-in drawers and shelves behind glass doors on the other. The kitchen beyond had a bay window at the far end with a pine table and bench built into the curve of the window. There were more cabinets than Cydney had ever seen and a wood block center island with slatted wooden stools that cut the room in half lengthwise. The gas stove had twelve burners and four ovens, two on top, two on the bottom. There were two refrigerators—or maybe one was a freezer. Holdovers from Tall Pines’ incarnation as a bed-and-breakfast, she guessed. The floor was brick red ceramic tile, the countertops gray-flecked granite.
“My mother will have an orgasm when she sees this,” Cydney murmured, opening cabinets until she found a glass.
She took it to the sink, the size of a washtub and split into thirds, and ran herself a glass of cold water. While she drank it—wishing she had two Tylenol to go with it—she opened one of the stained-glass panels latched shut on the pass-through above the sink and saw the bar and the living room on the other side.
This will be perfect for serving hors d’oeuvres to the guests, Cydney thought, closing her eyes and taking a stab at visualizing the wedding. She could see her mother sliding trays of elegant munchies through the cutout, Herb arranging them on the bar, Munroe filching a couple with a drink in his hand. She could see Bebe in her wedding dress and Aldo in a tux, dancing and feeling each other up under the cover of Bebe’s veil. She could even see Gwen, wearing a mother-of-the-bride corsage and enthralling the guests with her vivid presence, but she couldn’t see herself anywhere—not even in the butler’s pantry washing glasses like Cinderella in the scullery.
She couldn’t see it, Cydney realized—any more than her mother could see Munroe being interested in her—because she didn’t belong here. Forget Bebe’s claim that she couldn’t get married without her, the minute Gwen showed up Uncle Cyd would cease to exist. It had happened before; it happened every time Gwen put in an appearance. It would happen again, Cydney was sure, the second Gwen set foot in Tall Pines.
She’d be less than a guest at the wedding, she’d be a fifth wheel. The bride’s old-maid aunt. If she had any guts, she’d save herself the hurt and humiliation of fading into the woodwork. She’d get her keys from Munroe, lug her suitcase out to the Jeep and take herself back to Kansas City. Before Bebe enshrined a dining room in her honor.
Cydney exhaled slowly, drew a deep breath and smelled Clorox, Pine-Sol and Soft Scrub. She opened her eyes and glared at her reflection in the stainless-steel sink. How did Munroe think he’d get away with this? The rest of the house so clean it squeaked but the great room a shambles? Did he think they wouldn’t notice? Or did he think they wouldn’t dare call him on it?
“Wrong on that one, pal.” Cydney banged her rinsed glass down on the drain board, suddenly so angry she couldn’t see straight.
She pushed through a louvered swinging door, moving quickly past the bar and aiming at the stairs until she saw the solarium doors standing open. She stopped and listened but the house was still. No bumps or thumps from upstairs, no muffled voices. Must be finished with the luggage, she thought, and made a beeline for the open doors.
‘Scuse me, her little voice said. I’d like to remind you that the last time you went off like this you wrote that letter to People magazine. Look where that got you.
Good point, but you just couldn’t ignore this strong a compulsion to kill somebody. Cydney stalked up three wide steps onto the dais in front of the solarium doors and stepped outside onto a deck. Empty except for a handful of Adirondack chairs and a breath-snatching view of the lake, a vast, curled finger of water rimmed in red and gold forests that filled the horizon.
It was spectacular. Tall Pines was spectacular.
Cydney had dreamed about coming here. She thought she’d been invited to a literary soiree or something. She couldn’t remember why or what Tall Pines looked like in her dream. Not that it mattered. All that mattered was getting her keys back and her suitcase and going home.
She went to the rail and looked over. Nobody down there, either, just a flagstone terrace, a swimming pool drained and covered for the winter and a hot tub built inside a gazebo with steamed-up glass walls. Cydney could see herself in the tub, could almost feel the jets beating the sleep-deprived ache out of her muscles. When her brain tried to paint Munroe into the tub with her, she frowned and turned toward the doors.
Munroe stood there, leaning on the frame, looking her over, his gaze drifting from her head to her Keds and back again.
“Feel free to use the hot tub,” he said. “You look like you need it.”
“Gee, thanks for noticing,” she shot back, her feelings stung.
“You look beat. That’s all I meant.” He straightened off the door frame and scowled at her. “I’m trying to make you feel welcome.”
“Yes, you said that. You said you’d do everything you could to make us feel welcome. Well, Mr. Munroe. I knew the second I saw the great room just exactly how welcome we are here.”
“Gus. Good.” Munroe smiled. “I hired a janitorial service from Springfield to clean the place up yesterday.”
“Did you pay them extra to dump the dirt from the rest of the house in the great room?”
Munroe blinked at her and said, “Huh?”
“Bebe almost burst into tears when she saw it, but I’m sure that’s what you intended. Happy now?”
“Confused,” Munroe snapped. “What are you talking about?”
Cydney gave a rueful snort. “Like you don’t know.”
“I’ll tell you what I know. You didn’t want to come here in the first place.” He leaned a hand on the door frame, an irritated, what-the-hell edge in his voice. “Second, you don’t like me, and third, you’re pissed about something but I’ll be damned if I have any idea what.”
If Angus Munroe wasn’t one heck of an actor, then he really and truly had no idea what she was talking about. Uh-oh, Cydney thought, her stomach sinking. She’d done it again— leaped before she looked and jumped to the wrong conclusion. I tried to warn you, her little voice said.
“Did you inspect the house before the crew left?” She asked hopefully. If he said yes that would get her off the hook—sort of—but he said, “No,” and scowled. “I just wrote the check. Why?”
“I think you should go look at the great room.”
“I think we should both go look at the great room,” Munroe said, and grabbed her hand.
Cydney let him tow her into the house, down the steps and across the living room. No point trying to duck this. She deserved it for shooting off her mouth. She’d take her lumps, retrieve her keys and her suitcase and slink back to Kansas City where she belonged.
The pocket doors her mother had slapped shut in her face stood ajar. When Munroe banged them all the way open with a crack like a pistol shot, Georgette and Herb turned away from the fireplace, a metal carpenter’s tape stretched between them. Bebe was sitting on the dais, watching Aldo with a broom in his hands draw a giant heart pierced by an arrow in the dust on
the floor, the initials B.P. + A.M. in the middle.
“My God,” Munroe said, letting go of Cydney’s hand. “It’s filthyl”
“Oh Angus, it’s just a little dust, a little dirt,” Georgette replied in a swift singsong. “A little soap, a little water—”
“Don’t you so much as touch a dust rag, Georgette. I paid a small fortune to have this place cleaned from top to bottom.”
Munroe strode into the room and turned a circle looking up at the ceiling. He shook his head and glanced at Cydney with a rueful smile.
“You’re right,” he said. “I should’ve checked their work.”
Wait a minute. She wasn’t right. She was wrong. She’d accused him of creating this mess. Any second now he’d realize what she’d said and how she’d meant it. Then the dust balls would hit the fan.
Munroe walked up to Aldo and pursed his lips at the heart drawn in the dust. “Did you learn this in architectural drawing class?”
“Heck no, Uncle Gus.” Aldo grinned. “It’s just sort of impromptu.”
“Take a picture of it. Then get a dustpan and sweep the floor so we don’t track dirt all over the house.” Munroe clapped a hand on his nephew’s shoulder, then turned toward Herb. “Show Georgette and Cydney to their rooms, would you, Herb? I’ve got a phone call to make.”
He glanced Cydney a nod—just a nod, no scowl—and strode out of the room. She was stunned, amazed that Munroe hadn’t accused her of accusing him. She didn’t realize until she heard a door close somewhere beyond the great room that he’d taken her car keys with him.
Her car keys and her chance to escape.
chapter
thirteen
For the second time in two days, Cydney considered drowning herself in the shower. Grace and Aplomb, whoever the heck they were, had totally abandoned her. If things didn’t change—and fast—by the time she left Tall Pines she’d hold the world record for the number of times a so-called intelligent woman could put her foot in her mouth. And that was figuring she could get her keys back from Munroe and be out of here before dinner.
She felt funny using the shower, like she was imposing, since she knew she was leaving, but the hot spray beating on her shoulders felt s-o-o-o good. She’d need it for the long drive home, providing she could find her way out of here. Before she left, she’d suggest the signs she’d thought of and draft Aldo for the job. Munroe hadn’t paid the cleaning crew to trash the great room, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t put the signs up wrong and send the wedding guests to Arkansas.
It didn’t mean he wouldn’t try something else, either. The strong anti-wedding stand he’d taken with her in his hospital room Tuesday morning, followed by the one-eighty he’d made at dinner and his offer of Tall Pines for the ceremony just didn’t add up. Cydney still didn’t trust his motives, but it wasn’t her wedding and it wasn’t her problem. Her mother was wise to Munroe. Let her keep an eye on him. Cydney was going home to Kansas City where she belonged.
She’d come back on Saturday for the ceremony, slip in around noon and make herself useful washing glasses in the scullery. She could handle a few hours of being eclipsed by Gwen, but a week of knocking herself silly for Bebe, then watching her niece forget she existed the second her mother came through the door—not only no, but hell no.
Cydney shut off the water, opened the glass door and reached for a towel. The Plexiglas shower surround was the only modern convenience in an otherwise charmingly quaint bathroom. A pedestal sink with a wood-framed mirror, a washstand and open shelves and thick, loopy white rugs on the tile floor. She dried off, wrapped up in the towel and padded into the adjacent bedroom where her suitcase lay open on a blanket box at the foot of the Victorian four-poster bed.
Because Georgette was an antiques freak, Cydney knew it was old enough not to be a cedar chest. It was a lovely thing, made of mahogany with a carved front and just enough dings and dents to give it character.
All the furniture was antique, an oddly pleasing mix of styles. A Duncan Phyfe desk, a Shaker dresser and a Chippendale chest, a Bombay chest that served as a nightstand. A lovely wing chair with an ottoman sat in one corner with a brass art nouveau floor lamp.
Munroe’s Aunt Phoebe haunted Tall Pines as surely as if she were a ghost. Cydney just couldn’t see Munroe hanging embroidered curtains, folding an afghan crocheted in ecru yarn at the foot of the wedding ring quilt or tatting the lace throw cushions.
What to wear, she wondered, staring into her suitcase. She didn’t want to look like she’d been planning to leave since she’d come through the door. The cover story she’d concocted was squirrels in the attic. Surely Munroe would buy that, since he looked at her half the time like she had a bird’s nest for brains. She planned to say the neighbor she’d asked to keep an eye on her house called on her cell phone to report the squirrels. She’d lie and say she’d be back in a day or two. When she got home she’d make up some other crisis to keep her there.
She took a pair of navy crop pants and a blue shirt with sleeves she could roll up out of her suitcase and put them on with a pair of sandals. A little makeup—powder foundation, blush, mascara and lip gloss. Picked out her damp curls and glanced at her watch. Ten past five. Her mother had set dinner for five-thirty so they could get to bed early. She had plenty of time to tell her squirrel story, come back for her suitcase, lug it out to the Jeep and be on the road before it was totally dark.
The room assigned to her was tucked into an alcove around a corner from the rest of the bedrooms. The stairs that led to the dining room were just outside the door. Cydney started toward them, heard a door open in the main hallway, then a thump and a loud “Shhh!” and poked her head around the corner, just as Angus Munroe stepped into the pine-paneled hall from the gallery at the other end. Bebe, with a black nylon tote bag over her shoulder, and Aldo, lugging a black duffel, froze in the middle of the long, carpeted corridor.
“What are you doing, Aldo?” Munroe asked.
He and Bebe blinked at each other, then Aldo put down the duffel and faced his uncle. “Moving my stuff into Bebe’s room.”
“Oh.” Munroe nodded. “Why?”
“We aren’t sneaking around. We’re engaged to be married.”
“Yes, I know. But until you are married, you don’t sleep together in my house.”
“My Uncle Cyd doesn’t mind if we do it in her house,” Bebe said.
“I most certainly do mind.” Cydney stepped around the corner, stung that Bebe would say such a thing. “And I never gave you and Aldo permission to do it in my house.”
“But you didn’t say anything on Monday,” Bebe argued.
“What could I say? I came home early and caught you in bed. You were there because you thought I wouldn’t be. Your mother told you to celebrate your love. I told you to get dressed.”
“Hey, Beebs,” Aldo said sharply. “That’s not what you told me.”
“But—but,” Bebe blubbered, her big brown eyes filling with tears. “I love you, Aldo! I just want to be with you!”
“You’ll be with him for the rest of your life a week from Saturday,” Cydney said. “In the meantime, this is Mr. Munroe’s house, and you’ll respect his rules and his wishes.”
Bebe dropped the tote bag and whipped toward Cydney. “You’re not my mother!”
She flung the words at her like a slap, then rushed past her into her room, half the length of the hall away from Aldo’s, and slammed the door. Aldo muttered, “‘Scuse me,” and went after her. When the door shut, Cydney looked at Angus Munroe. He scowled. Her face burned.
“I’m sorry,” she said, just as he said, “I’m sorry.” Not quite in sync, but close enough to make them both smile a little.
“‘We’re engaged to be married,’ “Cydney said, “was Bebe’s justification for necking in the backseat.”
“Aldo said they weren’t sneaking,” Munroe replied. “But it sure looked that way to me.”
“Oh yes. They were definitely sneaking.”
“I put them in separate rooms. I didn’t think I had to spell it out.”
“I can’t believe Bebe said I didn’t mind.”
“It didn’t sound to me like something you’d say.”
Ahem, said Cydney’s little voice. The squirrels?
“Oh right.” She snapped her fingers. “The squirrels.”
“Do you mean Chip and Dale or Aldo and Bebe?”
“I think Chip and Dale are chipmunks,” Cydney said with a laugh. “I had a call from home, on my cell phone. My neighbor—”
She heard the door open behind her and turned around. Bebe and Aldo stepped into the hall. He picked up his luggage and put it back in his room, shut the door and walked back to Bebe.
“I apologize, Mr. Munroe,” she mumbled to the carpet. “Aldo sleeping in my room was all my idea.”
“I doubt it,” Munroe replied dryly, and Aldo flushed. “But I accept your apology, Bebe.”
“Thank you.” She nodded and started toward the stairs with Aldo.
“Just a minute,” Munroe said, and they turned back. “I think you owe your aunt an apology, too.”
Bebe fixed a flat-eyed stare on Munroe. “Do I have to do everything you say while I’m in your house?”
“No, but it seems to me—”
“Then I’m not going to apologize,” Bebe cut him off. “I’m an almost married woman and I’m tired of being treated like a child.’”
“Then stop behaving like one,” Cydney shot back.
“You’re still not my mother,” Bebe hissed at her, then swept away with Aldo down the back stairs to the dining room.
“Sorry again,” Munroe said quietly. “I meant well.”
“It’s not your fault. It’s mine. Mine and my mother’s.” Cydney felt tears in her eyes, blinked them away and turned around.
Munroe leaned on one shoulder against the paneled wall. He’d changed into steel blue khakis and a windowpane checked shirt about the same color that made his gray eyes look navy, socks and a pair of black loafers with tassels. Darn it. She was hoping for one last glimpse of tanned, muscled skin dusted with dark hair.
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