Pearl of Great Price (16 page)

I inhaled a calming breath. “Please, I
need
to talk to her.” I reeled off my cell phone number. “Tell her it’s about Pearls Along the Lake. She’ll know what you mean.”

C
HAPTER 18

October, 10 years earlier

Arkansas Philanthropic Association Annual Gala

Renata’s heart stammered. She willed her voice to hold steady. “Micah Hobart, is it really you?” She swept aside the shimmering train of her beaded mauve satin gown and stepped toward the tall, handsome man in the tuxedo.

He turned. The smile he’d just flashed his over-processed blond companion slowly faded. His brows locked together in astonishment before his expression softened into unconcealed approval. “Renata?”

Exactly the effect she’d hoped for. She knew she looked drop-dead gorgeous tonight. Her stomach had been in knots all evening as she scanned the crowd and waited for Micah’s arrival. “I saw your name on the invitation list. Micah, darling, it’s wonderful to see you again. And congratulations on your new business venture. Barely out of grad school and already the entrepreneur.” She linked her arm through his, discreetly guiding him a few steps away. Let the drab wannabe in the Von Furstenberg knockoff cool her cheap rhinestone-studded heels for a bit.

Micah angled a nervous glance toward the woman staring dumbly after them. “It’s good to see you, too, Renata, but I—”

“The beard makes you look distinguished. I like it.” She tweaked the corner of his moustache. “But then you always did look roguishly mature for your age.”

He gave an uneasy laugh as he shrugged off her arm and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I shouldn’t leave my fiancée . . .”

Renata lifted a hand to her mouth. “Forgive me, I had no idea.” She forced a tittering chuckle, hoping it masked her disappointment—her sudden, seething jealousy. “Well. Congratulations again.”

A long, slow breath eased the tense set of his shoulders. “It’s good to see you, Rennie. It’s just . . . you’re the last person I expected to run into tonight.”

Her heart clenched. “Rennie—no one except family has called me that in years.” She could barely speak over the tightness in her throat. “I’ve missed you, Micah. There’s so much I’ve always wanted to say . . . and never had the chance.”

His Adam’s apple worked. “Give me a minute, okay? I’ll explain to Tori—tell her I’ve run into an old friend. Then we can go somewhere and catch up. But just for a while.”

She nodded and watched while Micah kissed away the puzzled look on his fiancée’s face and whispered something in her ear. The blonde smiled up at him and minced over to a nearby table, where she joined a gossiping brood of women about as tackily dressed as herself.

Honestly, the nouveau riche—or those who wished they were. No class at all.

Unlike you, of course
.

With an angry shake of her head, she silenced the annoying voice that took such pleasure in pointing out her flaws.
Shut up, Mama.

At least Rennie had married well, attached herself to someone who could lift her out of her miserable past and give her the life she deserved, the life she’d fantasized about since her days of pushing that creaking old maid’s cart from one dusty cabin to another. And Lawrence Channing was old money, the eldest son of one of the richest families in Arkansas and CEO of the thriving GigantaMart corporation.

But Micah . . . oh, Micah, what a charmer. I always knew you had it in you to succeed.

She hadn’t been able to get him off her mind since the day she came across his name listed among the Arkansas Philanthropic Association’s top fifty contributors. As president of the Channing Children’s Foundation, she served on the APA board and helped coordinate the $350-a-plate invitation list for this year’s gala.

If things had been different—but it didn’t bear thinking about.

“There’s a bar on the first floor,” Micah said, returning. “It shouldn’t be too crowded right now.”

“Your fiancée—Tawny, you said? She can’t possibly begrudge two old friends catching up?”

“Tori. She’ll be fine.” Taking Renata’s elbow, he escorted her to the glass-and-chrome elevator, brushing past a border of potted sago palms and pink hibiscus heavy with forced blooms.

She plucked a blossom as they waited for the elevator car. “Brings back memories,” she murmured, holding the soft, tropical-scented petals against her cheek. Behind her closed lids she pictured the brick patio at Pearls Along the Lake, her mother’s geraniums, impatiens, and hibiscus parading in clay pots along the retaining wall. She remembered the day nine-year-old Micah had stood before her on the stone path, grinning shyly as he brought a fistful of sweetly pungent hibiscus blooms from behind his back and presented them to her.

You once thought I hung the moon, Micah Hobart. Can I still make you believe it?

Three vodka cocktails later for her, one snifter of brandy that Micah never quite managed to finish, and Renata couldn’t hold her emotions in check any longer. She reached across the table to lay a hand on Micah’s ink-black coat sleeve and ran a finger along the narrow satin stripe. “My life has never been right, Micah. Never. Not since that day—”

“Don’t, Rennie.” His voice was gentle, tender. He pushed the brandy snifter aside and clasped her hand. “Nothing will change what we did, but it’s in the past and we have to leave it there.”

“I’ve tried, believe me, and for years I pretended I had. But long ago I had to admit that I’ll never be able to let it go. My baby sister”—she stifled a sob—“we killed my baby sister.”

“You can’t think of it that way.” He slid his chair closer, close enough to encircle her in his arms, just like she’d planned. “It was a mistake, a horrible, tragic accident. Every day of my life I have to remind myself we were just kids.”

“Two incredibly stupid, naïve kids.” She buried her face against his neck, weeping softly, knowing she’d leave behind a smear of beige powder, a streak of Keepsake Rose lipstick. She tilted her head to look up at him, her eyes brimming. “No one understands me the way you do. No one else knows the pain I live with.”

“Rennie, Rennie.” The sound of her name on his lips made her tremble. He brushed a strand of hair away from her damp cheek.

She snuggled deeper into his embrace. “I don’t want to go home alone tonight. Larry’s away on business, and that huge house will seem so cold and empty. Micah, seeing you has . . . it’s brought back so many memories, so many emotions I thought I’d long since put behind me.”

“Rennie, no . . . I can’t.” And yet she heard the hesitation in his voice.

“Please.”

He sighed, swallowed, ran nervous fingers up and down her spine. “Let me make some excuse to Tori, and then I’ll see you home. But I won’t stay. Do you understand?”

C
HAPTER 19

Present Day

Just like I thought, I didn’t have to wait long for Renata Channing to return my call. I’d parked the VW in the shade of a sprawling oak in War Memorial Park, off I-630 near the Little Rock Zoo. Seemed like a calming place to hang out while I figured out my next move.

“Exactly who is this?” came her crisp greeting.

I sucked in a loud, shaky breath. I couldn’t exactly pop right out with,
“This is your long-lost sister, Jennifer Susan Pearl,”
now, could I? “Mrs. Channing, this is Julie Pearl Stiles. From the flea market in Caddo Pines.”

“You.” An exasperated groan slammed against my eardrum. “Why on earth would you be calling me? Even more appalling, why did you find it necessary to bother the employees at my foundation? Certainly my check didn’t bounce?” Her voice dripped Southern sophistication at its arrogant best.

No way would she make this easy. I got out of the car and leaned against the fender, welcoming the light breeze that lifted damp ringlets off my forehead. “Is there any chance we could meet somewhere? I have something important I need to tell you.”

A snort. “Did you forget to give me the laundering instructions for that relic of a tablecloth you sold me?”

I pushed away from the car and paced across the grass. “Hazel’s tablecloths are fine, handmade works of art.”

“Perhaps so, but when I unfolded it yesterday—in preparation for a hugely important dinner party, by the way—I must have sneezed at least fifty times from all the dust that flew.”

Okay, so Hazel’s expensive creations didn’t sell very fast, which meant a lot of shelf time. But I couldn’t let Ms. Moneybags get in the last word here. “Yeah, right. With all the servants you surely have at your beck and call, I just bet you were working your delicate little French-manicured fingers to the bone.”

Oh, great, if my grandpa heard me talking like this, he’d be all over my case.

My grandpa
—right. Was I making a huge mistake? I mean, I had a really good life in Caddo Pines. Maybe it had all been a sham, but it was the only life I knew, and I loved it. Loved my grandpa with all my heart. Could I ever be happy as Jennifer Susan Pearl, especially having a sister as stuck up and ill-tempered as Renata Channing?

“I—I’m sorry. I had no right being so rude.” I hoped the stone-cold silence on the other end didn’t mean she’d hung up on me. “Mrs. Channing, are you there?”

Her breath caught. “I apologize as well. I’m not myself lately—so much on my mind. Now, if you’ll please tell me what you called about?”

On the way back to my car, I dodged a jogger and inhaled eau de mucho sweat. “Like I said, I’d prefer to talk to you in person. What I have to say is—well, it’s major.”

She gave a sardonic laugh. “All right, if you think it’s
majorly
important. But I’ll have to ask you to come to my home. My seamstress is here, and we’re in the middle of a dress fitting.”

Twenty minutes later I stood shifting my feet in the dressing area adjoining Renata’s elegant bedroom. A servant (housekeeper, lady’s maid, chief cook and bottle washer—whatever her actual title might be was out of my range of experience) had escorted me along about a half-dozen hallways, up winding staircases, through paneled doorways. I hoped she’d be available when it came time for me to leave. Otherwise I might be wandering the maze of rooms and corridors of this castle fortress till the day I died.

And that’s what it seemed like—a fortress. A high brick wall surrounded the estate, with ten-foot wrought-iron gates and a guardhouse barring the driveway. I wondered what the poor man checking IDs did between visitors. Play computer solitaire like Katy Harcourt?

“Well, don’t just stand there.” Renata motioned me into the room. She stood on a low platform, arms extended at an awkward angle. “The chair in the corner—pull it closer and tell me what you came to say.”

“Stand still,
por favor
, Mrs. C. You don’t want trousers with uneven hems.” Even with a mouthful of straight pins, the kneeling seamstress spoke with a polite Hispanic lilt.

I didn’t feel right planting the seat of my faded jeans onto the fancy gold brocade chair Mrs. Channing had indicated. “That’s okay, ma’am. And anyway, I’d rather we spoke in private.”

“We are in my private suite—ouch! Isabel, be careful with those pins!”

“Sorry, Mrs. C.”

“How much more privacy do you need?”

The fine hairs on the back of my neck rose. She’d shown her seamstress about as much respect as she probably gave the family dog.

Oh, yeah. Renata Channing was deathly afraid of dogs. Maybe she kept people as pets instead.

Micah’s warning rang in my ears. This lady was definitely someone to be wary of.

Even so, she was my sister, and she believed I’d died. Look what the accident had done to Micah—turned him bitter and cynical, made him want nothing more than to wipe out every reminder of that horrible day. Maybe living (and acting) like queen of the world was how Renata dealt with her grief.

I felt a sudden compulsion to bring the seamstress into the conversation, to let her know she wasn’t invisible. “Hi—Isabel, is it?” I plopped down on the floor beside her. “I’m Julie Stiles, from Caddo Pines. Wow, did you make this outfit? It’s gorgeous!”

The thin, brown-haired woman looked at me in surprise. “
Sí, muchas gracias
—thank you.”

“Have you been working for Mrs. Channing very long?”

“Yes, many years.” She flicked a glance my way as she resumed her measurements and pinning.

I fingered the flowing black fabric of the wide-legged slacks. “Must be for a really special occasion.”

Above my head I heard an impatient sigh. “A vastly important dinner party, as I mentioned on the phone. Now, will you please let Isabel get on with her work? I have other things I need to attend to before this evening.”

With a sympathetic smile, I lightly touched Isabel’s arm. Her eyes spoke gratitude.

I pushed up from the floor. “Mrs. Channing, when I tell you the reason I came, it’s going to make your
vastly important
dinner plans seem like the most trivial event of your life.”

~~~

With Isabel excused to finish hemming the trousers, Renata finally granted me the private audience I’d requested. I chose my words with care, leading her as gently as I could to the news I was about to spring on her. I sketched the background—the newspaper clippings my grandfather had given me, the things I’d learned from Micah Hobart about Pearls Along the Lake and the boating accident.

But all the while I talked, she continually glanced at her watch, the polished toe of one beige pump tapping nonstop on the plush ivory carpeting. I could tell she wasn’t going to sit still for much longer. She pressed her eyes shut for a moment and then interrupted me with an upraised hand. “I can’t begin to fathom why you’ve taken such interest in my personal tragedy. I must say I am highly offended.”

“Okay, I’ll come to the point. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I sucked in a rattling breath before reaching into my crocheted shoulder bag and tugging out the monogrammed sailor cap. “Recognize this?”