Copper Lake Confidential (18 page)

She shrugged, a strand of brown hair sticking to her cheek. “Uncle Brent says it means he’s not here, and AnAnne says that’s okay.”

It wasn’t his place to try to explain an inexplicable concept like death to a three-year-old, so he changed the subject instead. “My dad lives near Disneyland.”

“Wow. Really? That’s cool.” Eyes wide with awe, she asked, “What’s that?”

Stephen laughed. His skills with little girls needed brushing up, but she still counted him among the important men in her life. Did that say something good about him? Or sad about her?

After lunch—sandwiches delivered from the Sammie Shop—Stephen had to beg off on moving boxes for the afternoon. He’d missed his word count for the week and needed a few hours to add to it. He let Clary talk him into leaving Scooter behind and lured Macy out into the driveway with him, sliding his arms around her middle. “You realize as long as my dog is here, I
will
be back.”

“Aw, and here I thought it was the complete uncomplicatedness of me that was bringing you back.”

He liked that she could tease with him. That she seemed more at ease now, not just with him but with everything. Sometimes she’d hidden her anxiety well, other times not so much, but right now she looked like a woman with nothing more important on her mind than the job she had to do and the people she got to do it with.

“That, too. Sometimes us simple guys are just naturally drawn to you complicated girls.” He leaned closer, kissed her and was just starting to feel the effects of oxygen deprivation when a car door slammed a few yards away. He took a step back and forced a smile while whispering, “It’s your lucky day. The great white land shark is circling.”

“Quick, can we run back inside and pretend we’re not home?”

In a white suit with killer heels, stalking up the driveway, Louise Wetherby had a predatory look about her. Stephen gave Macy’s hand a squeeze. “Sorry to abandon you, but I’ve got dragons of my own to slay. I’ll call you.”

Halfway down the slope, he grinned broadly. “Hey, Miz Wetherby.”

Despite being inches shorter, she gave him a look down her pointed nose. “Dr. Noble, can you not manage to comb your hair just once in your life?”

He dragged his fingers through it, well aware it would spring back at odd angles. “I was born this way. Sorry.”

She made a
hmph
sound, and he picked up his pace. Macy might be having a tough time, but she could handle Louise. That was more than he could say for himself.

* * *

Louise looked past Macy to the neatly stacked boxes in the garage, now filling more than half of the three-car bay, and for a moment greed shone in her eyes. The only family treasures decorating her mansion a few blocks over were purchased from other families that had died out or were more in need of cash than sentimental objects. On her rare visits to the house for meetings with Mark, she’d coveted more than a few paintings, art pieces and dishes. Macy was somewhat surprised that she didn’t try to buy some of them cheap.
To save you the hassle of appraisals, packing and such.

“I’ve come to discuss the papers with you. Let’s take this inside. A glass of tea will be nice, to say nothing of air-conditioning.”

Louise was halfway to the utility room door when Macy spoke. “I’d rather not go inside. My family is working, and I don’t want to disturb them.”

So used to getting what she wanted, Louise seemed to hover there for a minute, her mind clearly intending to go into the house, her feet seemingly stuck to the concrete. She looked as if she might issue a command anyway, but apparently remembered that she wanted something from Macy. A lot.

On her ridiculously high heels, she came back to stand in front of Macy. “So. You’ve had a chance to go over the contract and showed it to that Calloway boy. The sooner we get your signature, the sooner we can get to work on saving Fair Winds—”

“I went out there last week. There’s nothing to save it from. Everything is in excellent shape.”

Only the glint in Louise’s eyes showed her surprise. “On the surface, perhaps, but a house of that age—”

Macy could probably count on one hand the number of times she’d interrupted one of Mark’s friends or associates. She did it again. “Louise, I’m not giving the house to you.”

Splotches of pink appeared in the older woman’s cheeks. “Not to me, of course, but—”

“Not to you, not to your preservation group, not to anyone at this point. I realize something must be done with it, but it’s not in the top ten of my list of things to deal with right now. Robbie Calloway has made sure that the house has been protected and maintained for the past eighteen months. He’ll continue doing so until I’m ready to deal with it. I’m sure you’re disappointed, but you have to understand that this is Clary’s inheritance. Her legacy. As her mother, I’ve got to consider what’s in her best interests. Now I appreciate your coming out on such a hot afternoon, but I have to get back to work.”

Without waiting for a response, Macy walked past the woman and into the utility room, closing the door and leaning against it. She wouldn’t put it past Louise to barge in, trying to use sheer will to force Macy into the decision she wanted.

But there was no shove on the door, no imperious knock. Faintly she heard the thud of the car door, followed by the sound of the engine. Louise was retreating. For the moment.

“That was one scary woman.” Anne came around the corner with a box cradled against her, and Macy obligingly moved aside and opened the door. While Anne placed it with the other books, Macy closed the garage door. If Louise did come back, or anyone else, for that matter, she could pretend she wasn’t home.

Macy told her what Louise had wanted.

“Ballsy woman,” Anne said with a grunt. She stretched her arms over her head. “I’m gonna need a massage before long.”

“I’ll send you to the best resort in the world when we’re done.”

“You come, too?”

Macy opened her mouth to answer, sure, of course, but nothing came out.

“Aw, you’re gonna be here cuddling up to Dr. Stephen, letting him work out all those kinks.”

Heat spread from her cheeks all the way down through her body. “Stephen and I—”

“That has a nice sound to it, doesn’t it? ‘Stephen and I.’ That’s how I knew I was falling in love with Brent, when saying ‘Brent and I’ gave me warm shivers. You know it’s not just you anymore. You’re part of a couple. There’s someone who will notice when you’re sad or happy or late. Someone who will always be there for you, who puts you first. It’s the coolest feeling in the world.”

Macy didn’t know Anne’s life story, but she did know her sister-in-law’s family wasn’t warm and fuzzy like the Irelands. Parents out of the picture, a brother who died in the war, a sister with more psychiatric diagnoses than an entire team could treat successfully. When she and Brent had met at the resort, she’d been hungry for affection, looking for somewhere to belong. Anne’s family’s loss was Macy’s family’s gain.

Focusing on Anne’s comment, Macy primly said, “Stephen and I aren’t in love.” Though the words gave her a pang.

Anne snorted. “News flash, darlin’—you’re well on your way, and I think he’s already there. He adores you, adores your child, likes your family and couldn’t care less about your money. And he’s not Mark. This one’s a keeper.”

And he had Anamaria’s thumbs-up, too.

Smiling as broadly as a child at Christmas, Macy made a sweeping gesture toward the door. “Let’s get back to work so you can get to that spa sooner. Be thinking what region you want to go to. France, the Bahamas, the South Pacific.”

“You know we’re doing this because we love you. We don’t need bribes.”

“That’s why it’s not a bribe. It’s a thank-you. For everything.” Most especially for loving her. Hell, she’d been a dysfunctional mother locked up in a psych hospital when Anne met her. No one would have blamed her if she’d gone screaming the other way.

Or Stephen.

Back in the library, they ran out of small boxes long before they ran out of books. Hands on her hips, Macy surveyed the room. “The rooms are starting to sound empty.” The high ceilings gave a faint echo back at her.

“Besides the furniture, the lamps and art and the rest of these books, what’s left downstairs?” Brent asked.

“The kitchen. That’ll take an afternoon. The china cabinets in the dining room. A few things in the powder room and laundry room.” She swallowed. “Mark’s office.”

“Have you been in there yet?”

“Once. For a minute.”

Sympathy flashed through her brother’s brown eyes. “Why don’t you let me start that room? You girls can go shopping or cook dinner or jump in the pool.”

“Well...” Part of her wanted to say sure, jump right in. But part of her felt as if she should do the work. Next to Mark’s closet, the office was his most personal space in the house. He’d kept photographs there, souvenirs, all his important papers. The room smelled of him; his presence remained strong.

“I’ll just sort through things, pack it in boxes. Then when you and Clary settle, when you’ve got plenty of time and space, you can go through it yourself.”

“Okay.” She hoped she hadn’t given in too easily, but truth was, she would be clearing out Mark’s other most personal space: his closet. The clothes he wore. The jewelry that had passed down from his father and grandfathers. The suits he’d worn to church, the tuxedo he’d married her in. Wasn’t that up close and personal enough? “I’ll start in our bedroom.”

“If you’re both going to keep working,” Anne said, “tell me what you want for dinner. I want to cook in that kitchen at least once.”

Macy left them to figure that out and began carrying wardrobe boxes upstairs. She planned to donate most of her clothing to Right Track. Some of the more formal clothes wouldn’t be of much use, though maybe they could sell them online. She would offer them first dibs on Mark’s clothes, as well.

“Clary,” she called when she returned downstairs for a second load of boxes.

“We’re in here.” She and Scooter were sprawled on one of Miss Willa’s treasures, a petit-point sofa that predated the Great War, looking at a book Clary had brought with her from Charleston.

“AnAnne’s going to the store, so why don’t you and Scooter come upstairs with me while she’s gone?” There was no telling what they could get into given free run of the house with only two adults inside.

“Okay, Mama.” A smile wreathing her face as if it were the best idea in ages, Clary closed the book and tucked it in the crook of her arm, then spoke to Scooter as if he’d always been hers to command. “Come, Scooter. Upstairs.”

In the master bedroom she sat on the bed and chattered, mostly to the dog, while Macy taped together a half dozen tall cartons and inserted the metal rods for hanging clothes. She didn’t really tune in until Clary spoke her name. “What, sweetie?” she asked absently.

“Whose house is this?”

“It’s ours.”

“But we don’t live here.”

“No.”

“And you’re taking everything out. Why?”

“Because we’re going to find a new house.”

“Why don’t we just stay at Grandma’s and Grandpa’s like we been?”

Macy checked the pockets of a suit coat on the rack, then transferred it to the carton. “Because grown-up mamas don’t usually live with their own mamas and daddies.”

“Can we get a house by Scooter’s?”

Five days ago, two days ago, it had been easier to give an unconditional
no
to that question. Now... Was Stephen right? Was it only the Howard family that she hated about Copper Lake? It wasn’t a bad town. She knew and respected a lot of people here. Of course, there were plenty she didn’t like—Louise and her cronies came to mind—but that would be true anywhere. She liked the idea of Clary going to school with kids whose families she knew. The weather couldn’t be better nine months out of the year, and she was a Southern girl. She knew how to stay cool those other three months.

The downside to Copper Lake: people knew
everything
about her.

The upside, Stephen would say, was that people knew
everything.
There’d be no worrying about when or how to tell her secrets. And she knew small towns: another scandal would come along, another sensational story that would push her and Clary’s return to the back burner, and before long people would forget that they’d ever left.

And the big upside to Copper Lake: Stephen.

“I don’t know exactly where we’ll get a house, babe.”

Clary stroked Scooter’s fuzzy head. “Well, if I can’t live with Grandma and Grandpa, I wanna get a house by Scooter.” A tiny pause. “Did I live in this house, too?”

“Yes, when you were little.”

“Where did I sleep?”

Macy placed another garment in the carton, then faced her daughter. “You want to see your old room?”

Clary bounded off the bed. “Yes!” Scooter looked a little miffed at losing his pillow but stretched out and closed his eyes again.

Macy took her hand and led her down the hall to the first door on the right. She turned on the lights and stepped back to let her daughter enter first. It was painted in primary colors, red, yellow, blue, with an alphabet theme. Macy had thought it busy and overstimulating, but Mark had sided with the designer he’d hired.

Clary stood in the center of the room and turned a slow circle, as if she’d found herself in the spotlight of a circus arena. When she faced Macy again, she giggled. “It’s a baby room, Mama! Look, it’s got a baby bed!”

“Well, you were still pretty much a baby then.” The crib, with each side a different color, was designed to convert into a single bed, but they hadn’t made the change yet. At eighteen months, Clary had been a climber.

“Stuffed bears. Diapers! Binkies!” She shook her head with good-natured dismay. “Wow. I’m glad I don’t have to sleep in here now. It’s like all the colors in the world spilled.”

Macy felt some small satisfaction that her daughter shared her opinion. So much for Mark’s high-dollar designer.

Clary poked around in the toy box, looked at the clothes in the closet and shook her head over the board books, then wandered back into the hall. “What’s that room?” she asked. “And that one?”