Pearl of Great Price (21 page)

Then I remembered my one possible ally, the only person who, so far, had maintained any semblance of perspective. Just as Grandpa could always soothe away my anxieties, I’d sensed the same calming spirit in Aunt Geneva.

And since I’d declared Grandpa and everyone else from my old life off limits until I got my head wrapped around all this, I felt an overwhelming need to talk to Geneva—alone, away from Renata’s manipulations and blind belief.

I’d seen the file containing the party guest list among the folders and paperwork scattered across the breakfast table. Certainly Geneva’s name would be among the invitees. I could get her number and then later call her on my cell phone.

As soon as Renata returned to perusing the caterer’s menu, I casually thumbed through the stacks until I found the file. Sliding it into my lap along with one of Renata’s favorite decorating magazines, I rose and stepped toward the French doors leading to the terrace. “I’m going to sit outside and read for a bit before it gets too hot.”

“Good idea, honey. Here, take this.” She handed me a pad of sticky notes. “Our next project will be to redecorate your suite. If you come across any ideas you like, mark the pages so you can show me later.”

“Um, okay.”
Redecorate my suite?
I hadn’t even decided how long I’d be sticking around.

I let the door swing closed behind me and sauntered over to a patio chair just beyond her range of vision. The July morning had already grown warm and humid. My skin felt tingly, as if the heat were penetrating every air-conditioned nerve fiber and telling it to relax, let go. I breathed deeply and closed my eyes.

Micah’s warning, never far from conscious thought since the morning I steered my VW out of the La Quinta parking lot—was it only last week?—weighed heavily on me this morning. Already I felt myself being sucked into Renata’s world, Renata’s lifestyle . . . Renata’s control.

But she was my
sister.
How could I learn to love her unless I understood her? Unless I gave myself a chance to experience her world, walk in her shoes? Although, remembering my sore feet after the dinner party my first night here, I realized I’d never intended that part literally.

Yes, I definitely needed to talk to Geneva. Of all people, she seemed to know Renata best—or at least had the clearest perspective. Which was what I needed, and badly.

Making sure I was alone on the terrace, I laid the magazine aside and pulled the guest list from the file folder. There had to be twenty or more pages here, a two-column computer printout in alphabetical order by last name, including mailing address and phone number. I began a brisk page-by-page scan looking for
Geneva Nelson
.

What I
hadn’t
expected was the name that did catch my eye.

Micah Hobart.

Renata had invited
Micah
? Last I heard, they weren’t exactly on speaking terms.

I cut my eyes toward the French doors to the breakfast room. I couldn’t see Renata directly, just the shimmery pink toenails of one arched foot casually swinging under the corner of the tablecloth. “Renata Pearl Channing, what exactly are you up to?”

C
HAPTER 24

With the guest list tucked between the magazine pages, I marched inside through the side door to the kitchen. I made myself slow down long enough to offer the weekend cook a smile. “Good morning, Mrs. Klein.”

The plump woman looked up in surprise as she set a jam-smeared plate in the dishwasher rack. “Miss Julie! Did you need something?” A horrified look on her face, she started toward the breakfast room. “That Lindy—what did she forget this time?”

“Oh, no, Lindy’s doing a great job.” I kept forgetting my place, apparently. Which was
not
the servants’ areas. “I just wanted to tell you in person how much I enjoyed the . . . the scrambled eggs. You must have a special secret for making them so tasty and moist.”

“Goodness me! Why, thank you, Miss Julie!” She pressed a hand to her bosom, and her florid complexion turned even redder. “Must be the extra pat of butter in the skillet, and of course not overcooking them.”

“I’ve got to remember that next time I—” I started to say,
scramble eggs for Grandpa
. I covered the heart-stopping surge of homesickness with a cough. “Anyway, thanks again for the delicious breakfast, and tell Lindy, too.”

With a cheery wave, I hurried through the back hallway and found my way upstairs. In my bedroom, I flung the magazine onto the bed and flopped down beside it, head in my hands. With every day that passed, I grew more and more certain I’d never fit into Renata’s world.

And now, for reasons I couldn’t fathom, she’d invited Micah to her barbecue. What if he came? What would I say to him?

One step at a time, Julie.
I would not turn tail and run from this situation. I was made of sterner stuff.

Step one: Consider the possibility that Renata wanted to make peace with Micah. That would be a good thing.

But terribly awkward for me. How would he see me now? As the woman Julie Stiles who was just beginning to open her heart to him? Or the grown-up version of Jennifer Susan Pearl, the baby sister of Rennie Pearl, the teenager who’d all but ruined his life?

Deep breath, and on to step two: Find out whether Micah had accepted the invitation. Then, at least, I could begin to prepare myself.

I figured Sandy would know. She spent more time with him than anyone else these days. I pulled open the bottom drawer of the mahogany nightstand where I’d stashed my crocheted shoulder bag and fished out my cell phone. When I powered it on, it immediately flashed the
MESSAGES WAITING
icon.

And
guilt, guilt, guilt
flashed across the backs of my eyeballs. What if something had happened to Grandpa? Steeling myself, I thumbed the voicemail button.

“Hey, Jules, it’s me.”
Sandy. I gave a small sigh of relief.
“Just checking up on you, girlfriend. I miss you. And I’m worried about you. . . . And I’m not the only one, if you get my drift. Call. Soon. Okay?”
The time stamp indicated she’d left the message one week ago today.

“Me again. Why haven’t you called? I know you’re probably living it up with the rich and famous in Little Rock, but don’t forget about us back in Caddo Pines. We miss you, Jules. And we love you.”
Monday, 4:57 p.m.

“Don’t you ever check your voicemail?”
The cajoling tone in Sandy’s earlier messages had given way to urgency.
“Or are you ignoring us on purpose? Julie, I mean it, please call.”
Yesterday morning.

Finding no messages from Grandpa and nothing from Micah, I felt strangely let down. Not even so much as a “Hey, how ya doin’?” from my old buddy Clifton.

I couldn’t blame them. I was the one who’d cut ties with my former life, and they were obviously leaving it up to me to decide when and if I wanted to reestablish the connection.

And I did. Oh, how I wanted to, with every fiber of my being.

I punched the speed-dial icon next to Sandy’s name in my contacts list. She answered on the second ring.

I spoke timidly. “Hi. It’s me.”

Static on the line, then a raspy, “Jules—thank God!” More static while she asked me to hold on a minute, then her muffled words, “I’m taking my break now, Micah. Back in fifteen.”

A door creaked. When Sandy spoke again, she had that breathy sound of someone talking and walking at the same time. “Okay, I can talk now. Julie, how are you? Is everything okay?”

“Things are . . . weird. Sorry I didn’t call you sooner. I haven’t had my cell phone on since I got here.”

“I assume you mean Renata Channing’s place? Micah told me you went to find her. So is it true? Is she really your sister?”

I kicked off my amazingly comfy Cole Haan flats and melted into the pile of down bed pillows. “Renata believes it. Except her attorney set up a DNA test, and when the results came back, she didn’t even look at them—wouldn’t let anyone else, either. She locked them in her safe-deposit box.”

“Seriously?” Another whoosh of a door opening and closing. Then children’s laughter, water splashing. Sandy must be outside by the hotel pool.

“Sandy, I was going to call you this morning anyway. I was wondering about Micah. Did he by chance—”

“Get an invitation to a certain society lady’s Fourth-of-July barbecue? It arrived by special courier three days ago. And if he wasn’t already a basket case, he sure is now.”

Mrs. Klein’s scrambled eggs started clucking beneath my sternum. “What did he say? Is he coming?”

“I doubt if
he
even knows yet. Julie, Micah’s a mess. Since you left, work on the resort has virtually stopped. I’ve spent the last several days stalling contractors demanding to know when they can put their crews to work and expecting to get paid while waiting for Micah’s go-ahead.”

“I don’t understand. What’s the holdup?”

Sandy remained silent for several long seconds. “I think he’s having second thoughts about the whole thing.”

“The whole—you mean the new resort?”

“Tearing down the old one, building the new one. It’s like he’s completely lost interest.”

My fingers caught in the tangle of curls at my temple. “What exactly
has
he been doing for the past week?”

“Mostly just moping around, mumbling, shuffling papers. And cursing. A lot. I need a fire extinguisher for my poor blistered ears! If it gets any worse, I may have to quit . . . if he doesn’t fire me first.”

“Fire you? Why?”

“Well, if he’s not planning on going ahead with the resort, he doesn’t need an administrative assistant for the project.”

I hiked up my straight gabardine skirt—propriety be hanged—and sat cross-legged on the comforter. “If you lose your job because of me—”

“Hey, you have no control over what’s happening. It’s just something that has to play itself out.” Another pause. “So how is it there? Really?”

Inhaling a shaky breath, I described life at Channing Castle—everything from the nightly four-course dinners to all the servants and staff crawling out of the woodwork every time I so much as blinked. Even told Sandy about my run-ins with Felicia Beaufort, including those nagging suspicions about her and Lawrence Channing.

“Hmmm, maybe the Lord meant you to find Renata for purposes you haven’t even suspected yet. Julie, as much as we all want you home with us, I think—”

I switched the phone to my other ear. “Oh, Sandy, tell me everything that’s happening back home.”

I listened hungrily as she filled me in on the doings in Caddo Pines—seeing Grandpa in church last Sunday, stopping by the Swap & Shop to say hello. “Oh, and your grandpa hired Clifton part-time to help out around the shop. You wouldn’t believe what it’s done for Clifton’s work ethic. Having somebody believe in him like that, he’s like a completely different guy.”

“Good ol’ Grandpa. Clifton’s working there can only be good for both of them. And did you see Brynna and the pups? And Sneezy—is he doing okay?”

“They’re fine, all just fine.” She gave a sympathetic laugh. “I’ve been wondering how you stand it being separated from your pets. I heard Renata hates dogs.”

Sandy’s statement reminded me how I’d ended up here in the first place. “Renata’s afraid of dogs, I’m afraid of water. Even without the DNA results, there’s plenty right there to make me believe I’m Jenny Pearl.”

“Maybe so, but you’re still Julie Stiles to me. You always will be. Don’t forget it.”

I choked up again. “You can take the hick-town girl out of the flea market, but you can’t take the flea market out of the girl. Is that what you’re trying to say?”

She didn’t laugh. “Even Cinderella had to come home from the ball eventually.”

“Until the glass slipper confirmed her identity.” I wasn’t real sure where we were going with this analogy, but I desperately hoped Renata would turn out to be more like my fairy godmother than an ugly stepsister.

As for Prince Charming . . . ?

I closed my eyes and let my thoughts carry me back to that last morning in Micah’s arms. His bristly-soft beard grazing my forehead, the spicy scent of his aftershave, the cottony texture of his shirt against my cheek.

Sandy exhaled sharply. “Jules, I hate to cut this short, but I need to get back to work, or Micah really will fire me.”

I swung my legs off the side of the bed. “Are you going to tell him you talked to me?”

“Do you want me to?”

I pondered the idea. “Yes. Tell him I’m doing okay. Tell him I haven’t forgotten what he told me. Tell him I . . . miss him.”

~~~

By the time I made it down to breakfast Saturday morning, the house was buzzing with activity. I watched a crew battle a stiff breeze as they attempted to erect a gigantic canopy at the far end of the pool on the only flat stretch of the Channings’ rolling lawn. An extended-cab pickup had towed a massive barbecue trailer onto the property, parking it next to the canopy. Billowing white smoke carried the savory aromas of beef, chicken, and pork slow-cooking over mesquite coals. My taste buds, trying to wrap themselves around a toasted bagel, were thoroughly confused.

As I sipped a latte Lindy Klein had whipped up from the hissing cappuccino maker, her mother handed me a note from Renata stating that both Isabel and Yvette would be waiting for me in my room.

Naturally, Renata wanted me primed, painted, and polished for command performance number . . . ? By now I’d lost count.

And I still had no idea whether I’d be seeing Micah this afternoon, or what I’d say to him if I did.

As I pushed open the door to my room, Isabel looked up from the ivory settee at the end of the bed. “Good morning, Miss Julie. Are you ready for your fitting?”

Something white and feminine lay across her lap. Her sewing basket rested on the coffee table atop one of those massive photography books that normal people can barely afford, let alone take time to look through. This one contained photos of actual coffee tables. I never knew there were so many different ways to photograph them.