Every Trick in the Book (2 page)

I’d had my eye on this butter yellow house with periwinkle shutters since it came
up for sale. But at the time, there was a snag in my finances due to Trey totaling
my car and
trashing East Dunston High’s football field and bleachers in the process. This prevented
me from making an offer on the picket fence paradise until I sold my house in Dunston.
Instead, Trey and I moved in with my mother for the summer. The moment my financial
burdens eased, I rushed into the Sherlock Holmes Realty office and made an offer that
was immediately accepted. I happily put down a deposit to ensure that after a mid-October
closing I could lay claim to the two-bedroom house in the lovely subdivision of Walden
Woods Circle.

Throughout the months of August and September, I’d fallen asleep to visions of the
cottage’s sunny rooms and secluded rear garden. I couldn’t wait to hang family pictures
on the walls and dig up the previous owner’s spent annuals, to plant row after row
of perennials that would burst through the ground the following spring. My head was
filled with images of van Gogh’s irises and sunflowers, Matisse’s dahlias and daisies,
and a riot of Manet’s roses. I planned to transform my backyard into an impressionist
painting.

As for the interior, I wanted to decorate using a combination of furniture from my
old place as well as some new pieces in bright, cheerful hues. Unfortunately, I’d
have to sell a few more of my clients’ books to major publishing houses before I could
afford to head over to High Point to pick out comfy living room chairs or a farm table
for the kitchen. Up until now, I’d only sold two book series. One was a cozy mystery
featuring a sushi chef and the second was a romantic suspense set in a Scottish castle.
And I couldn’t really take credit for the sale of the romantic suspense. That deal
was already in the works when I was promoted to literary agent.

Upon our arrival at the storage unit in Dunston, I pulled out boxes of clothes and
milk crates stuffed with books for
the boys to load into their truck. As I worked, my thoughts focused on another client
I’d inherited. I still couldn’t believe that I now represented the international bestselling
romance author Calliope Sinclair. If I could just convince her to make some changes
to her latest manuscript, I felt certain that several publishing houses would enter
into a bidding war to acquire the latest masterpiece from one of America’s best-known
authors.

“Stop gatherin’ wool, girl!” My mother’s voice startled me out of my reminiscing.
“You’re standin’ in the middle of the path and this box isn’t gettin’ any lighter.
What’ve you got in here? Cannonballs from the Civil War?”

Putting my own box on the ground, I rushed forward to take my mother’s burden and
set it in the bed of her turquoise pickup truck. I added the last box and then shut
the tailgate, causing the magnetic sign plastered to the side of the truck to fall
askew. I realigned the purple and black sign advertising the services of Amazing Althea,
Psychic Advisor. “Sorry,” I told her. “I was thinking about work again.”

“
This
is work. Good work. The kind that gets you out in the open air and invites the sun’s
rays to paint your face. Before long, it’ll be winter and we’ll all be starvin’ for
this feelin’.” My mother held out her free arms as though she could embrace the whole
world. “I always feel like a kid durin’ the fall. This is gonna be the best Halloween
ever. I’m gonna decorate the front door and scare the masks right off the kids who
toilet papered my holly bushes last year. They won’t come near my place totin’ rolls
of Charmin ever again.”

I waited until we were both inside the truck before saying, “Is that an official prediction?”

My mother swatted me with the paperwork from the storage facility. “I don’t read the
cards for somethin’ like that.
I’ve gotta save my spiritual energy for when someone needs me, and my appointment
calendar is as stuffed as a Christmas goose.”

We chatted about her clients as I maneuvered the winding roads leading to Inspiration
Valley, with Trey and the guys following right behind me in his pickup truck. The
town sat in a circle of low mountains like a teacup in a saucer, and I never grew
tired of the view. After that last sweeping curve, the town suddenly became visible
through my driver’s side window—an oasis of tree-lined streets and beautifully designed
houses, storefronts, and buildings. There were no concrete boxes in Inspiration Valley.
Nearly every home boasted a garden, and the business district was lush with public
green spaces.

Making my careful descent, I was struck anew by its charm. An army of multicolored
trees surrounded the town, standing guard like timeless sentinels over the bookstore,
garden center, organic grocery, restaurants, art studios, and tidy subdivisions. Today,
the foliage show was magnificent. Corn yellow, pumpkin orange, and spiced cranberry
leaves encouraged rich and aromatic fantasies about the first meal I’d cook in my
new house.

Not for the first time, I sent up a grateful prayer of appreciation for the circumstances
that brought me here. When I was handed a pink slip last spring from my job as a Features
reporter for the
Dunston Herald
, it had originally seemed a setback. There I was, a forty-five-year-old single mother
with a college-bound son, having to start a new career. However, being fired had spelled
not only the beginning of an exciting and unique career path, but an opportunity to
make my home in this delightful town.

By the time we’d unloaded all the boxes and I’d arranged
my pots, pans, dishes, and utensils in the green and ivory kitchen, I was too tired
to do anything but order takeout, and the meal I had envisioned en route to the house
vanished.

“What would you boys like to eat?” I asked Trey and his friends.

“Everything!” Trey answered wearily, putting his feet up on my coffee table.

I knocked them off with the sweep of one hand and held out the menu for Godfather’s
Pizza with the other. “Your wish is my command, gentlemen.”

The three young men suddenly shucked off their fatigue and began to argue over the
merits of pies made of sausage and mushroom, ham and pineapple,
quattro formaggi
, pepperoni, or spinach and feta. Before they could get too fired up, I promised to
have all five delivered to my new house.

After the pizzas arrived, my mother and I set the table and put a pitcher of iced
tea and a pile of extra napkins in the center and then called the boys into the kitchen.

“Thank you so much!” I told them, feeling my heart swell at the sight of my family
gathered around my table.

Trey raised his glass of iced tea. “To making new memories!”

His two friends shouted a hearty “hear, hear” and then dug into their food.

Trey devoured the pizza with such gusto that I couldn’t help but wonder if my son
was getting enough to eat living in the self-sustained community he’d joined in June.
Although I’d had my reservations at the time, I had to admit that the Red Fox Co-op
had done Trey a great deal of good. He was stronger, more independent, and treated
his elders with respect. He’d gained a quiet confidence and was willing to throw himself
into hours of demanding physical labor.
Yet at the same time, he was missing out on a college education.

In early August, Trey had received a letter from UNC Wilmington containing a welcome
packet and the name and contact information of his future roommate. Several weeks
later, when my son should have been attending his first class as a college freshman,
he was grooming the co-op’s herd of goats and preparing for a trip to Dunston to sell
goat products to a selection of natural food stores and chic boutiques.

I had called the school and managed to defer Trey’s admission until January, but I
feared he’d refuse to attend then as well. From the beginning, I’d assumed his interest
in the rustic, rather primeval way of life on Red Fox Mountain was a passing phase.
It seemed that his enthusiasm had been compounded upon meeting the lovely and ethereal
Iris Gyles, the co-op leader’s younger sister.

Autumn in North Carolina is a gentle season, but I was worried about Trey spending
a cold winter up on the mountain. The members of the co-op stayed warm with the help
of woolen clothing and potbellied stoves. However, if our area received more than
a dusting of snow or a freezing rain, the dirt road leading to the mountaintop community
would be impassable. I hated the idea of my son being cut off from electricity, medical
care, and me. I was ready for him to resume the life of an average American teenager,
and was terrified that he would never do so.

Pushing these irksome concerns aside, I focused on one last task before a dessert
of raspberry sorbet. I had picked up a fabulous mirror at Dunston’s largest consignment
shop and was given an enormous discount by the owner. When I was still an intern,
I’d passed along her query letter on decorating with vintage objects to Franklin Stafford,
the agent
representing nonfiction books. He had found her idea compelling and later signed her
as a client. As a result, the oval mirror, set in a wood frame embellished with carved
flowers and small birds, didn’t cost me much more than tonight’s pizza order.

Trey had drilled a hole and secured a wall anchor right inside the cottage’s front
door, and I was just about to lift the mirror onto the hook when my mother entered
the hallway.

“Everything’s comin’ together,” she said with a smile.

I balanced the heavy mirror on the top of my foot and nodded. “Yes, it is. And not
just the house. Everything. I love my job, I’m dating a great guy, and Trey and I
haven’t gotten along this well since he was a little boy.”

My mother raised her brows. “So you and the good-lookin’ man in blue are finally knockin’
boots?”

Blushing, I turned away from her bemused gaze. “If you must know, we haven’t progressed
beyond the kiss good night stage.”

“Why the hell not? You’re a grown woman. More than grown.” She grunted. “Shoot, Lila.
Don’t you know that havin’ gray hair means that you get to sleep with a man without
anybody’s permission?”

I frowned at her. I spent a pretty penny keeping my shoulder-length hair a gray-free,
roasted chestnut hue. “I’m not looking for permission. Work just keeps getting in
the way. Sean’s been assigned a string of night shifts, and with the festival coming
up at the end of next week I—”

“How about a little afternoon delight?” my mother suggested with perfect aplomb. “When
your daddy was alive—”

Thankfully, Trey called out for my mother before she could elucidate on the ecstasies
of her marital bed. I’d heard them before, usually after she’d consumed a few fingers
too
many of her lifelong beau, Mister Jim Beam, but I really didn’t want to hear her conjugal
anecdotes before dessert.

Returning my attention to the mirror, I hefted it against the wall and slowly eased
it onto the brass hook. The moment I drew back, the wire attached to the frame snapped.
My fingers shot out to catch hold of the mirror, but I couldn’t move quickly enough.
The vintage work of art tilted sideways and hit the hardwood floor. The sound of glass
shattering echoed down the narrow corridor.

I screamed in dismay and both Trey and Althea came running.

“Did you cut yourself?” Trey asked, worry clouding his handsome face.

“I’m fine, honey, but I doubt I can say the same about this.” I bent over the mirror.
It had fallen facedown, concealing the extent of the damage. Gently, I flipped it
onto its side, listening to the sickening crunch of broken glass coming loose from
the frame and crashing onto the ground.

I sighed in relief. The delicate birds and flowers were unscathed. There was a small
scratch on the right-hand side that could be easily repaired with a dab of stain,
and the glass could be replaced by the local art supply store. I’d seen their custom
frame jobs and knew they’d have my mirror fixed in no time.

Trey disappeared to fetch a broom and a dustpan, but my mother stayed rooted in place,
her features pinched in concern.

“Mama,” I said softly, touched that she was so upset over the thought of my being
injured. “I’m okay. See?” I presented both of my pink, healthy palms as proof.

She shook her head and did not meet my eyes. She
couldn’t seem to tear her gaze from the jagged shards of glass. “Oh, darlin’. It’s
not fine. Not at all.”

To my surprise, she knelt down on the floor, picked up a piece of glass shaped like
a lightning bolt, and began muttering under her breath.

“Mama?” I began to feel a stirring of alarm.

She waved Trey away when he appeared with the broom, insisting that she needed to
collect the pieces and take them far away from the house.

“Whatever for?” I asked her, utterly perplexed. “All that nonsense about broken mirrors
and seven years of bad luck is just that. Nonsense.”

She took a deep breath and answered in a tremulous voice. “You should believe. I’m
takin’ these to protect you, Lila. Trouble’s comin’. It’s comin’ hard and fast as
a runaway train.”

My uneasiness grew. Memories of my brush with violence during my first month in the
Valley could still fill me with dread, although the sharp edges of the fear had dulled
somewhat. “That was this summer. It’s all over now.”

She pointed at the debris on the floor, and I was disturbed to note that her finger
shook as she said, “You’re wrong, Lila. This is only the beginning.”