Loran wrote everything down, even the phone number she already had. “What is Lilac Hill?” she asked.
“It’s a B and B. I’ll get you a room. There’s one called the Rose Room. Very Victorian-girlie. You’ll like it.”
Loran stood looking at what she’d written, still bewildered, still worried.
“Loran?” Maddie said when the silence on Loran’s end lengthened.
“I’m here.”
“Drive carefully, okay?”
“I will,” she said. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Don’t I sound all right?”
“You sound all right. It’s that answering a question with a question thing that’s bothering me. Does your doctor know about this?” It suddenly occurred to her to ask.
Maddie laughed softly. “Actually, it was his idea.”
“He told you to go to the mountains?”
“He told me it was time to make sure the burners were turned off and the iron was unplugged—but this is what he meant. I’ll see you later.”
“Okay,” Loran said. “Later.”
She hung up the phone, stood for a moment, then dialed Kent’s number.
“Kent,” she said when he finally answered. “I have to— Are you awake?”
He said something unintelligible.
“Kent, listen. I have to go somewhere to meet Maddie.”
“Okay,” he mumbled.
“No, listen. I might not be back in time for the dinner Friday.”
“What? Why?”
“I told you. I have to go meet Maddie. I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”
“Loran, this dinner is important. The old man specifically asked if you were going to be there.”
“I know, but you can handle it.”
“I’m not the one who reminds him of his first wife.”
“I know. It can’t be helped. I have to see what Maddie wants.”
“Well, where the hell is she?”
“She’s…staying somewhere in the North Carolina mountains—a B and B called Lilac Hill. She wants me to come, and I have to go. I’ll call you when I get there. I’m sorry.”
“Damn it, Loran! Well, if you have to, you have to. I’ll make do, I guess. I’ll tell the old bastard…something.”
“The truth would probably work,” she said, and he laughed, hopefully an indication that she was forgiven for causing him such a major inconvenience.
“The call-waiting just beeped,” he said. “Catch you later.”
He abruptly hung up, and Loran stood holding the phone, still full of apologetic gratitude for what could only be described as a piddling display of empathy and understanding. She would have probably apologized a few more times if not for call-waiting. She tried to imagine what Maddie would have said and done in this situation. She might have said the same things Loran had—but she wouldn’t be feeling so tentative. Of that, Loran was certain.
“You are not your mother’s daughter,” she said out loud.
CHAPTER 2
T he new guest shivered suddenly and moved closer to the fireplace. Meyer Conley kept glancing at her as he stacked the heavy cedar logs carefully into a wood box hidden behind an oak paneled door next to it. She stood looking at the flames.
“It’s turning colder tonight,” he said after a moment.
“I’m sorry— What?” she said.
“It’s turning colder tonight,” he said again, as if that possibility permitted his intrusion into her thoughts.
She looked at him and smiled suddenly. “I like your haircut. Does it have a name?”
“Cheap,” he said, and she laughed softly.
“It reminds me of the boys I grew up with, their summer haircuts.”
“Get buzzed in May and it doesn’t grow out until school starts,” he said.
“That’s right. I had one like it myself not too long ago.”
“Yeah?”
“It looks better on you, though.”
She was teasing him a little bit; he understood that. But she wasn’t being suggestive or flirty like some of the Lilac Hill guests. It was done more in a kind of natural friendliness some people seemed to have.
She went back to staring at the fire.
“My grandfather used to make things out of cedar,” she said after a moment. “It’s a little hard to watch these cedar logs going up in smoke.”
Something in her voice made him look up.
“I know this old man—he’s Cherokee, I think. Anyway, he says cedar smoke will take your prayers straight up to heaven. It’s not so bad if you think of it that way, I guess.” He put another log into the wood box. “So what did your grandfather make then?” he asked. “Out of cedar.”
“Oh…trinket boxes. Pencil holders and wall plaques.”
“You mean the kind they sell to the tourists, the ones with the poems on them?”
“Hillbilly humor,” she said, and he smiled.
“Some people might call it that. Was he from up around here?”
The woman abruptly looked over her shoulder toward the front windows without answering. Apparently, she was expecting someone.
Mrs. Jenkins, the owner of the B and B, came to the doorway. “The second room is for two nights, too?”
“Yes,” the woman said.
“You might find you like our little valley enough to stay longer—isn’t that right, Meyer?” Mrs. Jenkins called to him. He hated being dragged into this kind of token social banter with the guests, but it went with the job. All in all, he preferred to start and end his own conversations.
“Just might at that,” he said anyway. “A lot of people decide to stay longer than they expected to. It’s helped me out more than once.”
“Meyer is the competition,” Mrs. Jenkins said. “When he’s not teaching at the community college.” The condescension in her voice was heavy enough to pick up and drop-kick. He’d been brought up to behave and not embarrass his kin, however, so he let it go. He also needed the employment Mrs. Jenkins so kindly provided.
“My little place can’t compete with a house like this,” he said, still stacking wood. “I get the deer hunters and the fly fishermen.”
“Your cabin is…charming. Meyer built it himself,” Mrs. Jenkins said, neatly putting him back in his place as wood-carrying employee, whether he sometimes taught at a community college or not. She turned her attention to her new guest. “Did you say your daughter would be here this afternoon?”
“She should be here any time now,” the woman said.
“Would you like some coffee while you’re waiting? Or tea?”
“I would love some tea,” the woman said. “Earl Grey, if you have it.”
“Just make yourself comfortable,” Mrs. Jenkins said. “I’ll bring it to you in here. You can enjoy Meyer’s nice