The Chesapeake Diaries Series 7-Book Bundle: Coming HOme, Home Again, Almost Home, Hometown Girl, Home for the Summer, The Long Way Home, At the River's Edge (92 page)

Steffie shook her head, and her fingers began to tear tiny pieces off her paper napkin.

“Now, does that seem odd to anyone besides me?” Nita asked.

“It does.” Barbara nodded. “That boy is what, a year and a half, maybe? Berry is, as you all know, a neighbor of mine. I see her several times a week, but she’s never mentioned that Wade had a son. I can’t imagine that she’d have known she had a great-grandnephew but didn’t bother to mention it. It’s not her style.”

“Stef, at Beck’s wedding, did Wade mention a wife?” Nita looked Stef right in the eye. No beating around the bush there. “You did spend a lot of time … 
chatting
with him that night.”

“Never said a word, Nita.” Stef felt her cheeks flush. Leave it to Nita to come up with a clever euphemism for what Wade and Stef had been doing that night.

“Grace, did Berry say what the wife died from?” Barbara asked.

Grace shook her head. “No, and I didn’t want to press her to find out what the circumstances were. All
I could think of was how sad for that little boy to lose his mama before he was old enough to really know her,” Grace told them. “And how sad for Wade to be a widower so young.”

Everyone nodded in agreement that it was sad, indeed. Except for Steffie, who, more confused than ever, downed the rest of her coffee. “Gotta run,” she told the others. “I’m getting a late start today.”

“When are you going on your new fall hours?” Grace appeared relieved to have the conversation moving in a different direction.

“As of next week, we’ll be closing at seven, except for Friday and Saturday nights,” Stef said. “With the kids back to school and the evenings getting cooler, there’s no point in staying open later than that.”

She gathered the shredded napkin and her mug.

“I’ll see you all later.” She started to walk away from the table.

“Stef, by the way, was that you I saw coming out of Enright’s office today?” Barbara asked.

“The firm handled Horace’s will. There were some papers I had to sign for the house.” Stef smiled. These ladies didn’t miss a trick. Between Nita, Barbara, and Grace, they pretty much had the whole town covered.

“That Enright boy can write my will any day.” Barbara wiggled her eyebrows.

“He is a dear young man, isn’t he?” Grace smiled. “I was glad to see one of the younger Enrights step in to keep the family practice going.”

“Now, which of Mike’s brothers is Jesse’s father?” Nita asked.

“The oldest one. Craig. He used to be married to Delia Enright, the mystery writer,” Grace told them.
“She and Craig divorced years ago, and he married Lainie, his current wife, Jesse’s mother.”

“I saw Jesse in the market the other day,” Nita said. “He was picking up one of the flyers for Natalie’s Run.”

“He said he was going to run,” Stef replied.

“I think it’s so nice that the town gets behind that charity run every year,” Grace said. “What a nice way to honor your late sister, Steffie.”

“We are grateful to everyone who participates,” Stef told her. “I hope I’ll see you all there next Saturday.”

Everyone at the table nodded.

“Great. Thank you. I appreciate it.” Stef grabbed her purse from the back of her chair. “And this time, I’m really leaving.”

She tossed the remains of the napkin into the trash and left her mug on the counter for Carlo. Walking back to Scoop, she thought about the good people of St. Dennis who were willing to donate their time and their money to run—or walk—to raise funds for childhood leukemia, the disease that had taken her sister, Natalie. Only eighteen months old—roughly Austin’s age—when Natalie died, Stef had no memories of her sister, who’d been four when she passed away. There were photographs, but few of Stef and Natalie together. Natalie had been diagnosed when Stef was only five months old. Of the four Wyler siblings, Natalie had been the closest to Stef in age, and even though she’d never known her, Stef had always felt a connection to her. She wished Natalie had lived long enough for Stef to have some personal recollection
of her, some memory that had been hers and hers alone.

She couldn’t help but feel sick about Wade’s wife. Had the woman been dying when she and Wade had been dancing the night away?

Uh-uh. Wade would never have left a dying wife.

But when was she his wife? And what if he hadn’t known she was dying?

She shook her head almost imperceptibly as she walked along. Grace said the woman had been ill. He wouldn’t have left her if he’d known she was on her deathbed, even for Beck’s wedding. Which led to the question of whether or not he was married at Beck’s wedding. But wouldn’t Berry have referred to the woman as his ex-wife if he hadn’t been?

Too many questions, far too few answers.

It must be so very difficult for Wade, Stef thought, to have had to bury someone he loved. And surely, he had loved her, if he’d married her, right?

And yet there was this … 
something
between the two of them, some sort of fission that activated whenever she and Wade got within fifty feet of each other. She’d felt it last night at the house, and she was pretty damned sure that he’d felt it, too. Did that sound like a man who was mourning the loss of his true love?

And didn’t it just suck for poor Austin to have lost his mom at so young an age? She viciously kicked a stone across the asphalt in the parking lot on his behalf. As tough as it was for her not to have known her sister, it was much sadder for Austin. All he’d know of his mother is what he’d hear from Wade or other people. He’d know her face from photographs, but
he’d never know the sound of her voice or the way she smelled or the feel of her arms around him.

With the back of her hand, Stef wiped away tears for a dead woman whose name she didn’t even know—a woman who’d won the love of the man she herself had wanted—but she couldn’t wipe away her curiosity. Surely Wade had grieved for his wife, but somehow, Stef hadn’t had a sense that his heart had been broken beyond repair, the way her parents’ had been after Natalie’s death. In Wade, she saw a deep sadness, but not the kind of grief that destroyed the soul.

What, she wondered, more confused than ever, was missing from this picture?

Diary ~

I heard the nicest bit of news—Horace Hinson has left his lovely old home on Olive Street to his cousin (twice removed, if I recall correctly), Steffie Wyler. And for my money, he couldn’t have made a better choice. Steffie was always the old boy’s favorite—why, I remember interviewing him for the paper once, right before he went to live in the home up in Ballard. He mentioned how he regretted never having married and having a family of his own, and how only his cousin Shirley Wyler’s children came to visit him, and how, when she was just a little girl, he’d taught Steffie how to make ice cream on an old hand-crank number his mother used to use. So it’s fitting that she should have the house where she learned her trade, I would think. Horace would be so proud of her
.

I admit I have often wondered why Horace never married. Years and years ago, I heard my mother and one of her friends whispering some rumors that there’d been a love affair that was doomed from the start, but I never heard the name of the woman. Neither, apparently, had my mother or her friend, since I seem to recall that trying to guess who the lady in question might be was at the heart of their gossip
.

Speaking of houses—I do not know what to make of this: Vanessa was chatting about having found a Ouija board in her attic, and how it claims to be guided by a spirit named Daz. Now, I find this strange, indeed—one would think that if any otherworldly spirit inhabited the old place, it would have been Alice Ridgeway, who’d lived in that house for ninety-some years and who, let’s face it, knew her way around a Ouija board. I daresay the board Vanessa found had belonged to Alice, once upon a time
.

Which just served to remind me that I must once again ask Vanessa to look in the attic for those journals of Alice’s. And, of course, to let me know if she finds them. I shudder to think of what might happen to … well, certain reputations if those old books fell into the wrong hands! What a mess that would be!

And speaking of which, I certainly made one the other day in Cuppachino. We were discussing young Wade MacGregor and I lamented the fact that his poor young wife had died so recently. Well, how was I to know that no one else knew that he’d been married, to whom, and that he was now a widower?! Way to spill it, Gracie!

~ Grace ~

“Stef, you have to come now, right now,” Vanessa demanded. “Whatever it is you’re doing, drop it and come over
right now.
”

Steffie checked her cell phone for the time of her friend’s call. Almost forty minutes ago. She was just about to hit return call when the phone rang.

“What’s taking you so long? Why aren’t you here? What about
right now
do you not understand?”

“Ness, I just got the message.” Stef frowned. “Is something wrong? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. But there’s something you need to see.”

“I’m on my way.”

Stef grabbed her bag and locked the front door. She’d hoped to have gotten at least one of the kitchen windows painted that night, but apparently that was going to have to wait. Whatever was happening at Vanessa’s must be really important, Stef thought as she locked the house behind her, because she sounded really fired up.

Less than four minutes later, Steffie was walking into Vanessa’s cozy bungalow on Cherry Street.

“What is going on?” she asked as she came into the house.

“Come into the living room.” Vanessa closed and locked the door behind her. “They’re in there.”

“Wait! Let me guess.” Stef stopped in the foyer. “You were fooling around with the Ouija board and it told you that you there’s a tall, dark, and handsome man in your future.”

“I could remind you that I already have my tall, dark, and handsome man in my
present
, but some might consider that gloating.” Vanessa led the way into the living room and sat on the sofa.

“What are those old books?” Stef stopped to check out the array of faded leather-bound volumes that were lined up one by one across the coffee table.

“That’s what you need to see.” Vanessa patted the sofa cushion next to hers. “Sit right here, and let me show you …”

She picked up the nearest book and opened it to a page she’d marked with a slip of paper.

“Remember I told you that old Miz Ridgeway left a ton of stuff in the attic?”

“Right.” Steffie nodded and took a seat. “No surprise there, though. Her family built this house, and she lived here forever. She was ancient when she died. We knew that.”

“Well, here’s something you don’t know.” Vanessa lowered her voice. “Miz Ridgeway … dabbled.”

“What do you mean, she dabbled?” Stef frowned. “You mean she painted?”

“No, I mean she
dabbled.
” Vanessa was almost whispering. “In
spells
.”

“What are you talking about?” Steffie laughed out
loud. “Are you saying that Alice Ridgeway was a wit—”

Vanessa clamped a hand across Steffie’s mouth.

“Don’t say it!”

“Oh, for crying out loud, Ness.” Stef slipped from Vanessa’s light grasp. “You’re talking about a woman who never left her house. She was agoraphobic.”

“So?”

“So don’t you think if she’d dabbled in spells that she’d have put a spell on herself to kick the agoraphobia so that she could go out into the world like a normal person and live her life?”

“Maybe it wasn’t agoraphobia. Maybe it was a spell that someone else put on her.”

“You make it sound as if St. Dennis was a hotbed of witchery.” Stef was clearly amused.

“It was.” Vanessa turned the book around and shoved it at Steffie. “Read.”

Steffie leaned forward and began to read aloud but Vanessa stopped her. “Not out loud.”

Steffie’s eyes skimmed the page.

“Okay, so some of the local girls thought Miz Ridgeway knew some spells and they wanted her to teach them what she knew.” Stef shrugged. “It sounds harmless enough. She was a lonely old woman and these kids probably thought she was more into it than she was because she never left the house and hardly anyone ever saw her.”

“Did you read the names of the young girls who wanted to learn how to do spells?”

Stef looked back to the book and turned the page.

“Holy crap!” she exclaimed.

Vanessa pointed to the top of the page. “Beryl
Eberly.” She looked up. “Do you think this is how she became a famous actress? By casting a spell to bring her fame and fortune?”

“Nah. Berry is naturally a great actress. I doubt she had to resort to magic. Besides,” she pointed out, “according to Miz Ridgeway’s own words here, all these girls wanted was to learn a love spell.”

“Aren’t you just a tiny bit curious as to why a woman like Berry would be interested in a love spell?”

“Maybe she was just going along with the crowd.” Stef’s eyes fixated on one name in particular. “Helen Kay Hinson. Huh. How about that?”

“Who’s Helen Kay Hinson?”

“That’s my nana Cummings’s maiden name. My mother’s mother. She would have been a little younger than Miz Ridgeway.” She grinned. “I guess that’s how she roped old Winston in.”