B008KQO31S EBOK (12 page)

But maybe I didn’t.

I’d just been jumped by a bogeymen that I’d thought was banished forever. Blindsided by the one person from my past who I trusted—and who I clearly
shouldn’t
trust. The person who had in fact told me not to trust people who didn’t deserve it. It hurt like hell, and dredged up a lot of painful memories I could have done without.

Fat Philippa was right there in the Beast with me and I wanted her gone. She must have been the one who was crying because I gave up that crap ages ago. I told you that people from Rosemount had a way of screwing up my rhythm and Nick apparently was no exception.

Years of having it all together, years of making myself what I wanted to be, and everything shot to heck in less than twenty-four hours.

Some run of luck.

I recounted my crimes, just to ensure I didn’t forget them. My first taste of success and I had celebrated by breaking my cardinal No Alcohol rule, blowing my chocolate allotment for a month in ten minutes, and agreeing to be a sap for Nick Sullivan.

I was clearly the kind of person who did much better facing adversity. If my luck
had
changed for the good the day before, it had made a course correction for the worst. The consolation prize was that I’d soon be fighting uphill again, playing the role of the underdog that I was born to play.

All the same, I could have spit sparks. I could just about
feel
that chocolate bar breakfast rising in lumps on my thighs. It probably would have been faster just to smear it right on my butt, since that was where all those calories were going to end up anyway.

Things had gotten out of hand.

Undoubtedly a little dark cloud was tugging along behind me as I marched into the office. There was no sign of Elaine, but that wasn’t too astounding after the night before. And it was still early. I dropped my keys on my desk, started the pot of coffee which Elaine would surely need, then stared at the drawings on my board.

Even the orderly arrangement of the shrubbery for Mrs. H.’s garden didn’t appease. I tried very hard to imagine the white tuberous begonias against the slate blue-grey of the hosta in the shade against the house, the little white outline around each hosta leaf perfectly accentuating the fleshy white begonia blooms.

Instead I saw Nick’s surprised expression.

And my anger eased enough for me to acknowledge a teeny tiny niggle of doubt. Why would he turn up now, just to play such a juvenile trick on me?

Why would he bother?

I hadn’t exactly given him a chance to explain.

But then, did it really matter? Either he was playing a trick on me, or he had shown up on my doorstep because I might be useful to him.

Like a kitchen appliance.

I snarled and stuck a pencil in the sharpener, letting the little motor chew it down to a stump.

Then I sacrificed another one, because the demise of the first felt so good.

As though to prove that when things go bad, they can always get worse, the phone on my desk rang. I hesitated to answer because no good news comes at work early in the morning.

Another contractor sucked into the void. Nope, it was too early for Joel to be sure of that. Elaine couldn’t be calling in, because she wouldn’t expect me to be here. In fact, no one would expect me to be at work at this ungodly hour.

Except one person.

I allowed myself one sigh and picked up the phone. “Coxwell and Pope. Hi, Mom.”

“Philippa? Is that you?”

Okay, I winced. Just a little. Then I sat down and braced for the worst. Some days are meant to go bad and there is nothing a mere mortal can do to stop them. Might as well ride along and check out the view.

I counted off on my fingers—Nick, trick and Mom. If all things came in threes, I was due for a break. I knocked the wood of my desk for good measure.

“What’s up, Mom?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing, dear. You didn’t call me back last night.”

“I got in late.”

“You could have called this morning.”

“I just got here.”

“Well, we haven’t talked for a while. How is your little business coming along?”

That tripped a warning wire. Nothing good could come from family curiosity about my work. Scorn I’m used to, curiosity could only be a harbinger of trouble.

“Fine.” I was proud of how neutral my voice sounded. “Why do you ask?”

“I had no idea you were expanding beyond Boston.” My mother’s voice hardened and I had a bare inkling of trouble before it hit. “But Evelyn Donnelly mentioned that she saw you calling on Lucia Sullivan this morning.”

Mentioned
. I refrained from commentary on Mrs. Donnelly. I did, however, doodle “busybody” on my scratchpad and give the word eyes and horns. “Did she? I didn’t know you two were friends.”

Mom snorted. “She’s hardly of our class, dear, and as you might imagine, I was embarrassed that she felt so
familiar
that she could call me out of the blue. The woman is common, but then, what would you expect from new money?”

Mercifully my mother was running full steam ahead and I didn’t have to comment.

“But I was concerned—as a mother, of course—that she said you looked troubled when you left. Are you worried about things, dear? Your little business not holding its own?”

Oh wouldn’t she just love that! Another failure on my part would give the Coxwell clan something to cluck about for years, a little mortifying tale that could be dragged out for everyone’s entertainment each Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter dinner.

As though they didn’t have enough of those.

“Everything’s fine, Mom. In fact, we just signed a project yesterday that might interest you...”

“What interests me, Philippa, is your future. Are you seeing anyone?”

Elaine stepped into the office, looking sleek, blond and expensive. She did a double-take when she realized I was there, then looked at the wall clock, clearly incredulous.

“Holy shit,” she mouthed. Everyone’s a critic.

I mouthed “mother”. Elaine winced. She pointed her fingers at her temples and crossed her eyes, effectively communicating her state after our celebration.

I fought against a chuckle and pointed to the brewing coffee. Elaine feigned falling to her knees in gratitude. Then I remembered it was time for me to say something. “No, Mom.”

“Then that’s obviously why you looked so miserable this morning at Lucia Sullivan’s!” A triumphant and fairly inevitable conclusion, at least from my mother. “What woman wouldn’t be upset to see her life stretched out before her, empty as far as the eye can see?”

“Well, actually, Mom, anyone would be troubled when their appointment wasn’t kept.”

It took two heartbeats for me to realized my mistake.

“An appointment with Lucia Sullivan? To do what?”

I stuck to my cover story. “I do gardens, Mom. You know that.”

“Well, I’m not surprised she wasted your time. You can hardly expect better from the likes of the Sullivans. Are you so desperate that you have to take work from her? What will people think if you do business with people like that?”

I put down my pencil with some impatience. “Lucia’s a bit eccentric, Mom, but that’s hardly a thing to hold against someone.”

“Eccentric is the least of it, Philippa. I forbid you to take any work from Lucia Sullivan. You just don’t know how it will work out.”

“I’ll put plants in her garden and a sign on her lawn. She’ll pay me and we’ll both go on our merry ways.”

“I doubt that! She’s a wicked, wicked person, Philippa, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay miles away from her.”

“Wicked?” Seemed a bit strong to me.

My mother heaved a sigh. “I suppose it’s only because you’re such a nice girl that you don’t know this, but Lucia—” she struggled for the words and gave it up with a sigh of frustration. “Well, Lucia takes care of things.”

“Things?” I sat back, intrigued and mystified.

“Yes, things! Unwanted
things
.” My mother waited, but I didn’t get it. “Oh, Philippa. For girls who get into trouble.”

“She’s an abortionist?”

“She’s
not
a doctor. She’s one of those women who know things, who mix potions and make charms.”

I half laughed. “Are you trying to tell me that Lucia is the witch of Rosemount? That’s an old lame story.”

“Everyone knows it! Why she and Evelyn had an enormous argument right in front of the town council. Lucia gave Evelyn the evil eye when the council ruled in Evelyn’s favor.” My mother’s voice dropped. “And one of Evelyn’s cats died the very next day.”

I was skeptical. “Mrs. Donnelly’s cats are ancient.”

“Not all of them.”

“It could have been sick.”

“You’re making excuses, Philippa. The cat was perfectly healthy until the council meeting.”

“How do you know?”

“Why are you defending her?”

I changed the subject, defending that particular breach in the walls. “What was the argument about?”

“Lucia wanted to make her greenhouse bigger. It would have gone almost to the lot line and been two stories high. It would have blocked Evelyn’s sunlight completely and for what? She probably intended to grow marijuana or something.”

Years of exposure to my father have ensured that my mother shares not only his abhorrence of marijuana and conviction of its ills. It is the demon weed and root of much evil in the world, according to Judge Coxwell.

The irony, of course, is that neither of them have a clue what it smells like and once told Zach to quit burning incense in his apartment when he came home from university redolent of weed.

So, I let that one go.

“I certainly hope you aren’t involved in that project! Why, the whole town was up in arms about Lucia’s plans, not that she gave a hoot what anyone thought.”

“I didn’t know anything about it until you told me, Mom.”

“Really?”

“Honest and true.”

Mom barely paused for breath before making a maternal leap straight to Guilt Central. “Well, you should have come to the house, dear, since you were right here in Rosemount. A cancelled appointment would have given you time to stop for breakfast. And, after all, we haven’t seen you in so long...”

“Well, uh, things are really busy at the office right now.” I waved frantically at Elaine, then mimed a drowning woman. Elaine chuckled but picked up the phone, using our established trick. We had three lines installed, a fact which could be terribly useful in such moments.

The office phones rang in unison as Elaine’s call was routed to the second line. Elaine put her receiver on the desk, the twinkle in her eye not nearly fair warning.

“Philippa!” she wailed. “Get the
phone
, would you? God, there’s no crap wrap left in here and my pantyhose are around my ankles!
Philippa
!”

Elaine’s voice undoubtedly carried right down the phone line to Rosemount, just as she had planned for it to do.

I was dying to laugh. My mother was outraged.

Of course.

“Philippa! Is that your partner? My goodness, but I’ll never understand how you managed to link up with such a vulgar woman. She clearly doesn’t come from a good family and you mark my words, Philippa Coxwell, bad breeding will out in the worst possible way...”

“Mom. I’ve got to get the other line.”

“First I have to tell you the important part, Philippa, and there’s nothing more important than your family and your future. You tell that to that common piece of baggage in your Ladies’ Room.”

“Philippa!” Elaine wailed. The phone rang and rang. I had a very bad feeling about what was coming, though I tried to ignore it.

“Mom, I’ve got to go.”

My mother continued undeterred. “Philippa, I’ve arranged for Jeffrey McAllister to take you out.”

“What?” I forgot the ringing phone and sat up straight. “You fixed me up?”

“Well, I could hardly wait for you to find yourself a date. Honestly, Philippa, a person could come to the conclusion that you had no interest in men at all.”

Oh, there was a leading opening—I was ready to be gay just to get out of this, but she didn’t give me the chance.

“Fortunately, I know that that’s not the case. Why, it seems like just yesterday that you were making moon eyes at that Sullivan boy, what was his name? He was trouble, just like all those Sullivans are. I told you but you didn’t listen and wasn’t I proven right when he went to jail?
Jail
, Philippa!”

Mom inhaled in horror at the memory of that close brush with infamy and I seized the moment to make a timely diversion.

“Who is this guy?”

“Oh!” Mom’s voice warmed. “Jeffrey McAllister is that nice young lawyer who joined the family practice.”

A lawyer—could things get worse? I had been a fool to imagine that Mom had given up on her subversive matchmaking. She’d invited me to dinner more times than I could count when ‘nice young men’ just happened to be in attendance. When I twigged to that trick, she enlisted dutiful Number One Son James to perpetuate the ruse. I stopped accepting his wife’s dinner invitations too.

Now, Mom was going for the jugular.

“A nice, clean-cut young man, a lawyer with a future and charming manners—surely it can’t be too much of a burden for you to meet the man and share a meal together.”

It occurred to me that a man could be a serial killer and would be an eligible bachelor in my mother’s view if he had one good suit and a conservative haircut.

“That’s four,” I muttered. “Bad things are supposed to come in threes.” I braced myself for two more bad events.

“Stop mumbling, Philippa. You know, these young lawyers work so very hard and get lonely in the city. I’m sure he’d just love some feminine companionship. Perhaps you should cook him dinner tonight. Philippa, you might at least come up with a decent casserole. Or get something catered and pretend you made it. Just a little white lie, because after all, the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. And he’s such a nice boy, and from a perfectly respectable family...”

“I don’t need a date, Mother.”

“Oh,
Mother
, is it now? Well, the thanks I get for trying to ensure your happiness.”