The Bride's Curse (12 page)

Unbidden, Brett Atwell’s honest brown eyes and gentle touch came to mind. Kelly had to fight to tamp down a flood of warmth at the very idea of creating a tiny person like the one in her arms with Brett.

The impact of these hitherto unknown emotions was so strong that a wave of disappointment washed over her when the child’s mother returned and gently reclaimed the baby. “This is Dixie,” she said, as she introduced the chubby faced angel who looked as though the tragedy of a few minutes before was now a distant memory. She stuck her thumb in her mouth and clung to her mom’s jeans, but managed to smile around the digit when Kelly said hello.

“Thank you so much. Dixie and I appreciate your help. And I’m so glad you’re not a kidnapper, although some days … ” Merry rolled her eyes as she struggled to corral the tired toddler while balancing the baby, car seat carrier, coats, and Happy Meal box.

• • •

Holywell Home was a high-end convalescent home featuring luxury tempered with practicality. Kelly had to press a button to gain entry through the big glass-and-brass doors and then walk across a mile of expensive but easy-care low pile carpeting to a half-moon cherry wood desk that glowed softly in the discreet lighting from ceiling pot lights.

The carpeting was a soothing moss green, the walls a soft beige. Three comfy looking loveseats braced a glowing gas fire with brass surround and cherry wood mantel. On the table were two piles of magazines, corners squared and looking pristine as if they’d never been flipped through.

Several large, fake green plants were dotted about. Two or three generic pictures, prints of old masters and a surprising Dali abstract, provided visual relief on the broad expanse of beige walls. Soft classical music spilled from speakers embedded in the walls and flowed over the subdued quiet.

The receptionist looked to be in her thirties, wearing a pink trouser suit. Her name tag said Sandy Lewis. She treated Kelly to a warm, impersonal smile and asked how she could be of help.

“Are the doors always locked like that? No one gets in or out without you knowing?” Kelly was genuinely interested.

The receptionist assumed a serious, concerned expression and leaned forward over the cherry wood counter. “Some of our guests are suffering from Alzheimer’s or dementia,” she confided. “We have to monitor the doors, like other nursing homes. Some places have had people go wandering away and it has ended in tragedy.”

Kelly, who since being wounded had suffered from slight claustrophobia, shuddered mentally but maintained her smile as she announced that she was here to visit with Aunt Mary Atwell. “I only heard recently that she had been ill, you know, after Brett returned from abroad.”

“Hmm, there haven’t been many visitors and I’m sure Ms. Atwell will be delighted.” She tapped pink tipped fingernails on the keyboard, brow furrowing with concentration. “What was your name again?”

Kelly told her and the brow furrow became more pronounced. “I’m sorry, but your name isn’t on the visitors list.”

Kelly heaved a theatrical sigh and clicked her tongue against her front teeth. “Oh, Brett and Sasha said they would call you to let you know I’d be here, but you know how busy they are. I’m sure you’ll hear from them soon.”

“I really can’t let anyone in to see Ms. Atwell unless you’re on the list.” The receptionist looked genuinely sorry, then crossed her arms over her chest and looked stern.

“Like I said, you should hear from them momentarily and I really don’t know what they’ll say if they find I’ve come all this way and you couldn’t let me see Aunt Mary. Could you give them a call? I have Brett’s number here … ”

“No, dear, I can’t do that. Mr. Atwell calls regularly as clockwork at about 3 o’clock; why don’t you go and have a coffee and come back in half an hour? We’ll get you on the list then and everything will be fine.”

Kelly heaved a huge sigh of frustration and she wasn’t acting. “I guess if that’s the best we can do … I certainly wouldn’t want to upset Aunt Mary. But one thing—is there a bathroom close by? I’m recovering from a tummy bug and all this anxiety and travel, well, it seems to have stirred things up again.”

“I don’t think … ”

“Listen, this is urgent. I could even have an accident … ” Kelly screwed up her eyes in a well-played look of embarrassment as she wrapped her arms around her midsection.

The receptionist’s eyes went panic-wide. “Of course—go through the double doors and there’s a toilet two doors along on your right … ”

Kelly scampered off, looking for all the world like a woman with a dire emergency. Once through the doors and out of sight of the dutiful gatekeeper, she relaxed and wandered along with a puzzled expression like a visitor looking for a room. A pleasant-looking middle-aged woman in pink flower patterned scrubs came out of one of the rooms and Kelly asked for help. “I’m a bit lost, I’m afraid. I’m looking for Mary Atwell, but I seem to have got the room number wrong … ”

“You want Room 202. Go along the corridor, take the elevator to the next floor, turn right, third door on the left.”

“How is Aunt Mary today? In one of her moods?” It was a guess, but apparently spot on.

“She is a bit of a dragon, I’m afraid. I don’t want to speak out of turn, but that woman isn’t going to be happy until she’s home again.” The woman gave Kelly a meaningful look and strode off.

She found room 202 easily. So far, so good. A querulous voice answered her knock, and she slipped inside. She knew she didn’t have too much time before the gorgon at the reception desk tattled on her to the Atwells and then hit the panic button. She’d only think that Kelly was in distress in the washroom for a while before realizing that she’d done the unthinkable—snuck up uninvited to Mary’s room.

“Ms. Atwell?”

“Who else would be in this room?” The woman in a fluffy pale blue dressing gown and matching slippers sat in a tall wing chair by the window. She was so petite her feet hung above the floor, but her expression was of the “don’t mess with me” variety. Kelly bet a lot of people didn’t dare mess with her, which was probably why the thought of her aunt coming home and noticing all the missing objects she’d auctioned off left Sasha looking a bit green. Ms. Atwell didn’t look like the kind of woman who would tolerate fools gladly.

Kelly took a deep breath. Before she could exhale, the woman snapped, “I hope you’re not here to do another test, young lady. I’ve had it up to here with your tests. Won’t someone just tell me what’s wrong with me? My nephew insists there’s nothing, but if that’s true, then why am I still here having tests if I’m perfectly healthy?”

Kelly remembered Brett’s comment that his aunt thought she was dying and that’s why she wanted that wedding gown. To be buried in. A cold chill ran along her spine. Letting out a nervous breath, Kelly replied: “No, I’m not here to do tests.”

“Good. You heard that my nephew will be taking me back home soon? Then I can see what a mess my niece has made of her life and my home while I’ve been cooped up in here.”

Kelly experienced a momentary pang of sympathy for the feather-brained Ms. Sasha Atwell-Montgomery. “Then you’ve heard what happened?”

“Of course. I didn’t expect anything better from that girl. Been a problem to her parents all her life and now they’re gone and she’s a problem to me.”

“I’m so glad you know because I needed ask you some questions about your wedding dress … ”

Mary tilted her head to one side, reminding Kelly of a hungry predatory bird. “What do you mean? You want to talk about my wedding dress? What’s that got to do with that silly girl getting a divorce again?”

Ice formed in the bottom of Kelly’s stomach as she realized her mistake. Obviously she had jumped to the wrong conclusion. Mary knew nothing of the sale of her wedding dress.
Oops!
As she struggled to come up with a good explanation for her gaffe another problem rose up before her eyes.

Standing right on the other side of Mary’s bed was the Old Man on the Bench. Except he wasn’t on the bench outside Wedding Bliss; he was right here in Mary Atwell’s room.

“You’re not supposed to be here!” she hissed.

“Who’s not supposed to be here?” Mary threw a puzzled glance around the room.

“I shouldn’t be here? You’re the one who shouldn’t be here!”

In her shock at seeing the ghost, she hadn’t heard the door open. Kelly whipped around to see a furious Brett Atwell standing in the entryway, an angry flush of red across his cheekbones.

Oh, my goodness, now I’ve really done it!

Of course, she couldn’t explain that her remark was really aimed at the restless spirit who even now was fading from view. That would obviously go over like a lead balloon
.
Did that nasty old man smirk as he was leaving, or was that just her imagination?

She was still struggling for a reply that wouldn’t make her look like a lunatic when Brett’s aunt spoke up.

“This girl wants to talk about my wedding dress, Brett. What does it have to do with her? And have you brought that dress with you? I don’t see … ” The high quavering voice trailed off as the old lady’s sharp intelligence kicked in. “Something’s happened to my dress, hasn’t it? Has that silly girl Sasha done something with it?”

Brett pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, signaling a budding headache. “Yes, Auntie, there is a problem with the wedding dress, but nothing that we can’t solve. Trust me, you’ll get your dress back—not that you’ll need it. There won’t be a funeral anytime soon. There’s nothing wrong with you, Auntie. You’re over the pneumonia and healthy as an ox.”

Mary refused to be sidetracked. “Get my dress back? Where is it? What has that stupid girl done? Does this girl have my dress? Is she a thief?”

“No, she’s not a thief. Can you excuse us a moment while I talk to Kelly?” In two quick strides, Brett crossed the room and his fingers closed over Kelly’s wrist in an iron grip. Ignoring her shocked squeak of protest, he dragged her effortlessly toward the door. For a brief moment, she wanted to throw herself on the old lady’s mercy and beg to be allowed to stay. But the way Brett’s aunt was looking at her, she thought the woman would have no compunction in throwing her to the wolves.

Or wolf. Brett’s upper lip was curled back in a very feral snarl. Kelly wrenched her hand from his grip and began to walk away down the corridor, putting on her best “I don’t give a damn” look. The same look she used to turn on her fellow officers in the military when the men would tease her.

It didn’t work on Brett. He closed his aunt’s door behind them and quickly caught up with her, moving them both a little way down the hallway; obviously he wanted a chance to bawl her out without the old lady hearing. Kelly’s chin tilted higher.

“Look, I didn’t know your aunt hadn’t been told that the gown was sold. How could I?”

“Didn’t I specifically tell you to stay away from her? Didn’t I tell you that she’s fragile and doesn’t need the stress of your little games? Cursed gown, indeed!” He spat out the furious words. His hand was on the wall next to Kelly’s head and he was leaning in much too close. She swallowed hard and wondered if he was feeling the same heat she felt.

Apparently, his feeling was the heat of anger. “I was actually going to try to find you and apologize for being so mistrusting earlier. I have to confess, I’ve found dealing with this situation very stressful. Sasha is so deceitful and I guess I was tarring you with the same brush. Then I get a call from the home here and find you’ve lied your way into my aunt’s room, when I explicitly told you not to bother her … ”

His words trailed off and he stood for a few long moments staring directly into her eyes. She looked back, afraid her heart might just be reflected in her own gaze. Brett’s expression softened, the pupils smoky with sudden desire as his glance moved to her lips. His mouth followed, catching hers in a kiss as intense as it was short-lived.

Suddenly he pulled back, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Kelly Andrews, half the time I don’t know what to do with you—whether to kiss you or yell at you!”

And with that he turned and walked away, leaving her shell-shocked but smiling.

Kiss me. Kiss me, please. Kiss me again.

Kelly didn’t know what had shaken her the most—the ghost’s appearance in Mary’s room, Brett’s heated kiss, or her own breathless, needy reaction. Either way, she had to find a calm sanctuary to regain her equilibrium. A glance at her watch showed that it was after five o’clock and her assistant would have closed the shop and gone home for the day.

It was Noelia’s calm common sense that she needed and she took the short detour toward her assistant’s home almost without conscious thought. Noelia Russo’s little house stood on the edge of town. Neat and well-cared for, the dignified Cape Cod with its blue siding and fresh white paint reflected its owner’s character. The house was small, but the gardens surrounding it were the envy of every other gardener in Marina Grove. Noelia had a special way with plants as well as people and it seemed that everything she planted flourished under her care.

The older woman was a very private person and Kelly had only visited her home once before, when Noelia had held a small graduation party for her younger son. She’d been impressed then by the simplicity of the home and the quiet calm that pervaded it.

It was that quiet and calm that beckoned her as she returned from her confrontation with Brett over her visit to Mary Atwell. She brought with her a bottle of red wine recommended by the woman behind the counter in a liquor store. She hoped Noelia would be happy to share it with her and perhaps dispense some of her good advice.

She was admiring the flowerbeds alongside the crazy-paving garden path when a voice caught her attention.

“Oh, yes, yes … my darling, love me now!”

The words, spoken by Noelia but so very un-Noelia like, froze Kelly in her tracks.

“Kiss me, now … oh, keep doing that! You know just how to pleasure me … ”

Realization dawned that her assistant had a visitor and wasn’t likely to want her company. Kelly started to back down the path.

“Ahhhh! Don’t stop now! Your touch is magic … I need … ”