The Carson Springs Trilogy: Stranger in Paradise, Taste of Honey, and Wish Come True (131 page)

“A kid?” Probably on a dare. She felt her whole body sag. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been pinning her hopes on this wild card until now.

Rhonda didn’t seem too perturbed. “It rules out one theory, at least.”

“Which is?”

“That they were yours.”

Anna gaped at her. “Why would I risk my neck climbing the wall when I could let myself in through the gate?”

“To make it look like an intruder.”

Anna hadn’t thought of that.

By the time they finished, it was close to noon. The tea in the pot had long since gone cold and a few scattered crumbs were all that remained of the cookies. From where she sat, Anna had a view of the sunny kitchen where Claire was bustling about—measuring, mixing, kneading, and occasionally bending to slide something in or out one of the ovens. Matt was at the table eating lunch; all she could see were the broad slabs of his shoulders and the back of his shaggy reddish-blond head.

Seeing them together reminded her of Marc and how close they’d grown these past weeks. He’d taken refuge at Laura’s when the reporters had tracked him down at the inn, pestering him to comment on their relationship. Recalling the blurry photo in the most recent issue of the
Enquirer,
which showed them ducking into a car like a pair of fugitives, she winced inwardly. How long before he got tired of it and threw in the towel?

The bell over the door tinkled and Finch and Andie sailed in. Spotting her, they made a beeline for her table. “I
thought
that was your car out front.” Finch’s dark eyes danced—something was up. “We couldn’t wait to show you.” She dug into her canvas tote, pulling out a folded check. “You’ll never guess who it’s from.”

“Marguerite Moore?” Anna joked.

Finch rolled her eyes at the idea of that mean-spirited busybody donating so much as a nickel to the fund. “I’ll give you a hint. Think lottery ticket.”

Anna recalled an item in the
Clarion
some weeks back, but she’d been too preoccupied to give it much notice. Now it came to her. “Clem Woolley?”

Finch tripped over her words in her eagerness to tell the story. It seemed the town eccentric and author of the self-published tome
My Life with Jesus
had purchased a pair of lottery tickets—he always bought two of everything, from sandwiches to seats for whatever was showing at the Park Rio—one of which had left him five thousand dollars richer. “He said that Jesus wanted you to have it.”

“I don’t know what to say.” Anna shook her head in disbelief, smiling at the idea of Jesus’ bailing her out with a winning lottery ticket—it gave new meaning to being saved.

“Guess the old coot’s not as crazy as everyone thinks.”

Anna looked up to find Mavis wiping her hands on her apron. Andie’s grandmother had been keeping a respectful distance, but with all the commotion couldn’t resist putting in her two cents.

“Grandma should know. He used to have a crush on her.” Grinning, Andie slipped an arm about her waist. Where Andie was petite with curly dark hair. Mavis was tall and angular, her once-red hair the color of rusted iron.

Mavis snorted. “Don’t be listening to her lies! And me a married woman.” Even now that she was widowed and in her eighties, there were vestiges of the Irish war bride who must have turned more than a few heads. She leaned close to confide, “Though truth to tell, he was a little peculiar even back then.”

“Maybe Clem only sees what the rest of us can’t,” Finch said thoughtfully.

“Don’t tell me you’ve gone religious on us?” Mavis teased. “Better watch out, or before you know it Father Reardon’ll be pouring water over your head.”

Finch handed the check to Anna, who in turn passed it to Rhonda. She’d have to think of some way of repaying Clem, not to mention Finch and Andie. “You guys …” Looking at them, she felt remarkably blessed for someone facing the prospect of a life behind bars. “I don’t know what to say.”

“What goes around comes around.” Mavis cleared away their cups and plates, stacking them on a tray. “After Glenda Greggins fell and broke her hip, who looked in on her nearly every day? And who volunteered when we needed someone to organize the church picnic last summer?”

Anna blushed, dropping her gaze. “It wasn’t that big a deal.” What she remembered most about old Mrs. Greggins was feeling bad that she couldn’t do more.

“When it’s for the right reasons, it never is.” Mavis gave her a motherly pat. “How about another cookie, dear? We can’t have you wasting away.”

Anna smiled at the idea. “As if.”

Finch eyed her in disbelief “Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately?”

Anna couldn’t recall the last time she had. The very thing that had once consumed her was now the least of her worries. All she’d noticed was how loose her clothes had gotten.

“You’re skinny as a rail,” Andie said.

Anna looked down at her baggy slacks, saying dryly, “I guess there’s a silver lining to every cloud.”

A line was forming at the display case, and Mavis hurried off, tightening her apron strings the way a ship captain might secure the rigging on a sail. Rhonda stuffed the papers into her briefcase, saying she had to run. When she was gone, Anna scooted over to make room for the girls.

“When do you go back to school?” she asked.

“Thanks for reminding us.” Andie groaned.

“Tomorrow.” Finch slipped into Rhonda’s empty chair.

Anna felt a twinge of guilt. “It wasn’t much of a break for you, was it?”

“So much for getting a tan.” Andie looked down at her pale arms, heaving an exaggerated sigh.

“Why bask in the sun when you can go door to door?” Finch teased.

“We couldn’t have done it without Simon and Lucien,” Andie put in loyally.

“I’ll have to thank them, too.” Anna found herself leaning toward the girls the way she would toward a campfire on a cold night. Their high spirits and enthusiasm were just what she needed. “What else have you guys been up to?”

“Oh, this and that.” Finch dropped her gaze.

Anna cast her a stern look. “You know the best thing you could do for me? Talk about anything—I don’t care if it’s the weather—as long as it’s not about this damn trial.”

“Okay, what about you and Marc?” Finch shot her a mischievous look. “He hasn’t exactly been sleeping alone every night.”

Anna had fallen into the habit of slipping out after dark to visit Marc, who was staying in Finch’s room off the barn, but apparently it was the worst kept secret in the Kiley-Navarro household. “I don’t know what you mean,” she deadpanned.

The girls exchanged knowing looks.

“Where is he, anyway?” Finch asked. “I haven’t seen him since yesterday.”

“He had some things to take care of.” Anna suspected it had something to do with his wife. “He should be back in a day or two. You sure you don’t mind giving up your room?”

Finch shrugged. “Are you kidding? Marc’s great. In fact, I think Maude’s secretly in love with him.” She pressed her lips together to keep from giggling. “But don’t worry—she’s not his type.”

“I told her she could stay with us,” Andie said. “God knows we have enough room.” She pretended to hate living at Isla Verde, but there was no getting around the fact that it was palatial compared to her old house.

“If Maude’s snoring gets any worse, I just might take you up on it,” Finch said.

Andie nudged her with an elbow. “Finch has some news. Go on, tell her.”

Anna smiled. “I’m all ears.” It couldn’t be the baby; she’d heard all about it from Laura.

“Remember that lady I wrote to a while back?” Color bloomed in Finch’s cheeks. “Well, she wants to meet me.”

Anna felt a twinge of apprehension, knowing Finch was almost sure to be disappointed. “Really? That’s great.”

“She lives in Pasadena.” Andie seemed even more excited than Finch. “We’re driving down on Saturday, me and Finch and the guys.”

“We were going to go last weekend, but Lorraine wasn’t feeling well,” Finch said. “Not that anything will come of it,” she was quick to add.

Claire swept into the room just then with a tray of turnovers fresh from the oven. Anna watched her arrange them inside the case while Maude manned the register. She wondered if Claire, too, had had qualms before going off in search of her roots. From what she’d heard, her adoptive parents had kicked up quite a fuss, although with her mother dead, she’d recently patched things up with her father.

That reminded Anna: She was meeting Liz at the Sunshine Home in less than an hour. Just the thought made her feel weary. The most she could hope for was that it would take her mind off her other troubles.

“I hope you find what you’re looking for,” she told Finch. Though in some ways the biggest mystery of all, she thought, is the family you know.

Felicia Campbell ushered them into the parlor. “Your mother’s just finishing her bath. Why don’t you make yourselves comfortable?” Anna sank down on the plush sofa, and after a moment Liz joined her. “Can I get you something to drink?” In her flowered silk dress and pearls, Felicia looked more like the proprietress of an elegant bed and breakfast.

“Nothing for me,” Anna said.

“I’m fine,” Liz said.

Liz looked about apprehensively, as if remembering their last visit when old Mr. Henshaw had wandered in naked from the waist down. But the residents were having their afternoon “lie-down,” as Felicia liked to call it. The only sign of life was the gardener out back, drifting in and out of view between the swagged velvet drapes.

Felicia sat down across from them, eyeing Anna with concern. “How are you holding up, dear?”

“I’m still standing. That’s something, at least.” Anna mustered a small smile. It was nice to know that for every Marguerite Moore there were a dozen like Felicia. “My mother hasn’t said anything, has she?” With her face all over the news, Betty, even at her most confused, might have picked up on it. She was relieved when Felicia shook her head.

“How is she?” Liz asked tentatively.

“Physically, she’s fine. Mentally, well, I don’t have to tell you—she has her good days and her bad days. Today she’s in fine fettle.” Felicia brightened as she rose from her chair. “But why don’t you see for yourselves?”

Anna was pleasantly surprised when they walked in to find Betty seated in a chair by the window, dressed in slacks and a flowered top, her hair fluffed into a silvery froth.

Her eyes lit up. “Girls!”

Liz took a cautious step forward. “Mom?”

“Yes, Elizabeth?”

Liz eyed her in disbelief. “You know me?”

“And why wouldn’t I know my own daughter?” Betty beckoned to them, patting the arm of her chair. Her face, which had grown less wrinkled with each passing year as the hardships that had left it furrowed melted into oblivion, was as smooth and pink as the inside of a shell. “Come over here where I can see you. Anna, you cut your hair.” She fingered the ends as Anna bent to kiss her on the cheek. “It suits you.”

Her mother hadn’t been this lucid in months. Anna was seized with a kind of desperation, knowing it couldn’t last. There was so much she wanted to say; how could she fit it all into one visit? “I’m glad you like it.” She ran a hand through her hair.

“And just look at you—skinny as a rail.” Betty pursed her lips in disapproval. She’d always encouraged her to eat, which was one reason Anna had been so fat. She opened her mouth to respond, but Betty was already peering past her, asking fretfully, “Where’s Monica?”

Anna felt a great heaviness descend over her.
I can’t handle this right now. Not on top of everything else.
Liz must’ve sensed it because for once she stepped up to the plate. Lowering onto her haunches so that she and Betty were eye to eye, she said gently, “Mom, don’t you remember? You were at the funeral.”

“Funeral, what funeral?” Betty spoke sharply. “What in heaven’s name are you talking about?”

“Mom …” Liz looked close to panic. “Monica’s dead.”

“What an awful thing to say! I won’t listen to another word!” Betty clapped her hands over her ears.

“Mom, you know I wouldn’t make up a thing like that.”

“You girls were always jealous of her. Both of you.” Betty glared at them.

“Fine. Think what you like.” Liz rocked back on her heels with a disgusted look.

“It’s true, Mom.” Anna stroked her mother’s hair. “Monica’s … with Jesus now.” It was what Betty used to tell them whenever someone died.

But already the light of sanity was receding from her mother’s eyes. “You’re lying!” She cast about wildly, calling in a shrill voice, “Precious? You can come out now. It’s okay, nobody’s going to hurt you.”
Precious.
Anna cringed at the pet name she’d had for Monica as a child.

“Mom, please.” Tears pressed hotly behind her eyes.

All at once it seemed to sink in, and Betty began to rock back and forth, her arms folded tightly over her stomach. “My little girl. My Precious,” she keened softly, the sound she was making almost inhuman.

Liz cast Anna a stricken look.

She remembered the pride their mother had always taken in Monica, keeping a scrapbook and bragging about her famous daughter to anyone who would listen. She never seemed to notice Monica’s disregard that bordered on contempt. “All my fault.” Her voice was a thin whisper. “I should’ve stopped it.”

Anna forced her mother to meet her gaze, but Betty’s eyes were fixed on some distant plane, one that was visible to her alone. “Stopped what?”

“I told him … I said if he ever laid another hand on her …”

The small hairs on the back of Anna’s neck stood up. “Did Dad do something to Monica?”

“I’ll go to the police, Joey. I mean it this time.” Betty was lost to them now. “What kind of a father would do that to his own child?” Her hands flew up to cover her face. “No, Joey … please … not the face … noooooo …” Pale eyes peered out between her spread fingers like those of a caged animal.

Liz grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her, roughly almost. “What happened?
What did he do to her?
”

“Don’t … please …” Betty whimpered. “The children … think of the children …”

Anna was too shocked to speak or even move. Everything was falling into place. Daddy’s little girl. And why Monica had hated their parents so. Even she and Liz—how she must have resented them! And having to hide the shame all those years, act as though nothing had happened.