Homecoming (16 page)

“Running away?”

“Starting over. And living free.”

Federica suddenly stopped, as abruptly as if her feet had encountered some particularly potent glue. Chilling thoughts tumbled through her mind. She could be wrong—she
hoped
she was wrong, but all this talk of freedom…individualism…ohgod, ohgod.

“Ah, Lilly?”

“Mmm?” Lilly lifted her face to the warm summer sun and closed her eyes. She opened them to find Federica staring at her. “What?”

Federica was trying not to think of a thousand alarming newspaper and magazine articles. Carson’s Bluff’s determination to remain isolated…all this talk of independence…and California
was
known for its crazies, after all…

“Federica?” Lilly frowned, worried. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Not a ghost, exactly.” Federica drew in a long breath and wondered if she should say it. She had a brief, fierce tussle with herself. She had to know. “Who are you people? I mean…” Federica hesitated. She was about to insult a
pregnant lady
, for heaven’s sake. “You sound…you sound like the people in Carson’s Bluff don’t—don’t like outsiders. And I know you don’t like the outside world intruding too much on your affairs and all…” Federica wound down a little as she looked at Lilly’s bright, open, friendly face. Lilly certainly didn’t look crazy. But she had to say it. She had to know. “You—you’re not all a bunch of survivalists are you?”

Lilly lifted a hand to shade her eyes against the bright sunlight. Federica couldn’t read her expression. “Survivalists?”

“You know…” Federica waved her hand vaguely, feeling more and more foolish by the second. “Those right-wing crazies who hole up in the mountains, stockpiling food and AK-47s for when civilization breaks down. Keeping sentry for when the government comes in big black helicopters in the dead of night. There’s none of that around here…is there?”

Lilly gaped at Federica. “Survivalists,” she said again. Lilly turned her head away and Federica could hear a choking sound. For a panicky moment, she thought Lilly was starting to cry, then she saw that she was struggling not to laugh.

Federica could feel her face flushing. “You read about them all the time,” she muttered. “Then the FBI comes and shoots them all.”

Lilly finally gave in and threw back her head and laughed heartily. Her throat was strong and tanned.

Federica grew annoyed.

Lilly wiped away a tear. “Survivalists.” The thought tickled her. “Not quite. As far as I know, the only guns in town are in Jack’s office, under lock and key. And the last time a shot was fired, it was Benny Keller shooting air pellets at a stray that kept overturning his garbage can. Believe me, honey, there is nothing strange or weird about Carson’s Bluffers. It’s just that we like our peace and quiet and a relaxed way of life.”

Federica still wasn’t convinced. “So how come everyone here seems to be so…so…” Federica waved her hand in frustration, trying to describe what it was about Carson’s Bluff that was so different.

“So what?” Lilly was looking at her with her head tilted, faintly smiling.

“So…normal? Different?” Federica struggled to find the right word.

“Well.” Lilly’s expression turned serious as she thought about it. “I guess we are all aware that Carson’s Bluff is a sort of…sanctuary. It’s a friendly place to live in and bring your kids up in and we all make a real effort to keep the stress levels down.”

“And if someone…disagreeable moves in?”

“We’ve had our share of people who love it here, love the friendliness, the relaxed atmosphere. It’s safe. Then they move here and end up trying to change the place. They start going to Town Council meetings and talking about upping Carson’s Bluff’s ‘tourist potential’ and ‘improving the tax base’ and attracting growth industries.” Lilly shuddered, then shrugged. “So…we booby trap ’em.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Tell you later,” Lilly said swiftly. They reached the end of the road and rounded a corner. Federica, who had an excellent sense of direction, realized that they were heading back toward Main Street. “Look at that. That’s one of our oldest buildings.” Lilly gestured to a three-story gray-and-white building, with an unusual lacy trim.

“Nice.” Federica tried to keep the glumness out of her voice. The building was more than nice. It belonged in a coffee table book.
Beautiful Homes of Northern California About to Be Destroyed by Big Business.
“What is it?”

“Old Man Murchisons’ Place. He deeded it to the town, and the top floors house the town archives. The whole ground floor is the city library. The books are donated, and it’s staffed on a volunteer rota basis.” Lilly waved at an elderly lady in the bay window of the handsome old building. “I go in the second Tuesday of every month.” Federica could barely make out shelves of books lining the walls. The lady waved back and Federica and Lilly ambled on.

They rounded another corner and Federica stopped cold.

“Wow,” she breathed.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Lilly smiled. “Morrison Square. We just call it the Square. We’re proud of it, though it’s Mr. Giannini’s work.”

“Mr. Giannini?” Federica was barely listening. The central area of Carson’s Bluff was a large, irregularly shaped square with tall maples around the perimeter. Federica hurried ahead and Lilly followed leisurely.

Rhododendrons dotted the grounds like colored clouds. Tall hawthorn bushes blocked out the road. Federica ventured further in. A minute into the square and it was like being in the heart of a garden. Not just any garden. Eden. All street sounds were immediately damped and the only things she could hear were leaves rustling and the faint buzz of bees. The square had been designed in such a way that all you could see from any direction were plants.

The Square’s grounds weren’t formal, but rather a pleasant hodgepodge of colors and varieties in irregular beds meandering in and around the big shade trees. It looked artless, but it wasn’t. All the beds were well-mulched and bordered with white paving stones which had been recently painted. All the plants were healthy and planted precisely where they could best grow. Since the Square wasn’t formal, it seemed larger than it was and in the center it was easy to forget that there was a town around.

Federica waited for Lilly near a salmonberry bush. “Your landscaper’s a genius. We…I mean, Mansion Enterprises pays a small fortune to a gardening service and we can’t get results like this.”

“We don’t pay Mr. Giannini anything.” Lilly bent, a little awkwardly, and snapped a wilting gladioli blossom off at the stem. Her mouth quirked when she saw Federica’s shock. “It was past its prime. And anyway, the Square belongs to all of us.”

“What do you mean, you don’t pay anything?” Federica waved her hand. “Keeping this place is a year-round job. Who’d do that for nothing?”

“Mr. Giannini.” Lilly twirled the stem. “And we give him a small plot in the corner where he can grow his vegetables. This year it looks like he’s going to have a bumper crop in tomatoes.”

“Well, that’s fair.” Federica admired a round box topiary and conjured up a pleasant image of a stooped old man, weather-beaten face curved in a perpetual smile, like the farm workers she’d seen tending the verdant hills around Naples. He’d have a handkerchief tied around his head to keep off the sun, and work in his undershirt. “I guess Mr. Giannini must be a peasant from the Old Country.”

“Um, not quite.” Lilly smiled. “Marcus Giannini is one of the most elegant men I’ve ever met. He was a vice president of a big oil company, but he quit after a major polluting incident. He vowed he would never do anything but grow living things again for the rest of his life.” Lilly bent to pick up a sheet of paper. She balled it up and tossed it into a trash can. A hole in one.

“Oh.
Oh
.” Federica’s heart speeded up as they followed the winding path to a little clearing and she saw what was in it, smooth, gleaming, mysterious and irresistible. She raced to the steel and wood structure and ran a reverent hand over the smooth, curved shape. “This is a Rachel Douglas sculpture, I’d bet on it,” she breathed.

“Right first time out.”

“How could the town afford a Douglas?” Federica was astonished. Mansion Enterprises had debated buying one for the acre-lot outside headquarters but Finances had balked at the two-million-dollar asking price. The inside of one of the curves was faced with some light-colored material. It opened the sculpture up, making it resemble a giant flower. Sort of. That was the thing about a Douglas sculpture. It was always on the verge of looking like something familiar, something just on the edge of consciousness. It tickled the mind. There was no such thing as ever completely understanding a Rachel Douglas.

Intrigued, Federica laid the flat of her palm along the curve. As always, though Rachel Douglas sculptures were simple in design, they became more complex the more you studied them. Her hand rested on a surface that felt pleasantly warm to the touch. “What do you suppose this material is?”

“Dunno.” Lilly shrugged. “You’ll have to ask Rachel that. And she didn’t sell it to the town. She donated it.” Lilly pointed to a house barely visible through the maples. “She lives over there.”

Federica’s eyes rounded.
“Rachel Douglas lives here?”
The house Lilly indicated stood apart, small, ancient, slightly askew.

“Oh, yeah.” Lilly smiled. “Nice old lady. Keeps to herself a lot. Don’t be deceived by that Hansel-and-Gretel house of hers. Out back she’s got a studio as big as a hangar with machines and tools that would put NASA to shame.”

Federica’s head was spinning. Horace Milton. Rachel Douglas.
Here
. Who else lived here? She spun around, excited.

“Oh, I get it.” Federica could almost whack herself on the forehead for having missed it. That intangible something…something she couldn’t quite put a finger on. Why Carson’s Bluff seemed so special. The tumblers in her mind spun like a Vegas slot machine. Only this time she was sure she’d hit the jackpot. “
The town is an arts colony
! I don’t know why I didn’t see it before—it’s so obvious that—”

“Chill, Federica.” Lilly met her eyes and shook her head slowly. “Right church, wrong pew. Carson’s Bluff is a perfectly normal little Northern California town. No right-wing crazies holing up in the hills. No arts colony. Just ordinary people who try to get along and who put lifestyle ahead of income. That’s all there is to it.”

“And if someone crass and money-grubbing moves in…”

“Simple. We booby-trap ’em.” Lilly took Federica’s arm. “How about some ice cream? We’ve got the best ice cream parlor on the continent. My treat.”

FAX FROM: Ellen Larsen, c/o Inter Airways, Roissy Airport, Paris

FAX TO: Federica Mansion, c/o Sheriff’s Office, Carson’s Bluff

Dear Federica,

I can’t tell you how worried and anxious I am. Worry and Anxiety are my middle names. You haven’t been receiving my faxes so you won’t know that my flight had a near miss outside New York, on the way to Paris. After spending eight hellish hours at Kennedy, our flight finally took off, but—get this—
on the same plane
. They did a routine check-up, said it would cost too much to fly out another plane
, so they just decided to take the risk
.

Then they gave the whole crew two days off, thinking it would keep us quiet. Can you believe these jokers? I heard the flight crew talking about it, and they’re taking it to the FAA. There’s a smell of strike in the air, which would suit me just fine since I’ve decided to put on my deerstalker, pull out the magnifying glass and play Nancy Drew. See if I can crack The Case of the Missing Heiress. (That’s you, by the way.)

I’m trying to keep it light, honey, but actually, I’m worried sick. I hope this fax gets through.

Love, El

FAX NOT RECEIVED/NO SIGNAL

Federica tasted Paradise, but eyed Sin covetously.

“What’s Sin like?”

“Divine.” Lilly scooped up a carbohydrate-rich spoonful of dark creamy chocolate. “How’s Paradise?”

They were in Dora’s Ice Cream Parlor, a tiny hole-in-the-wall place, very simply decorated. Not that fancy decor was necessary, given the quality of the ice cream.

Federica dipped into Paradise again, yogurt ice cream and maracuja, and laughed. “Probably not as good as Sin, but delicious anyway. This stuff is really great.” Federica eyed the blackboard listing the daily specials. A Deadly Sin for each day of the week. “What do you suppose Avarice is?”

Lilly swallowed and closed her eyes. “Mint and bittersweet chocolate. To die for.”

“Next time,” Federica promised herself.

Lilly glanced at her, a half-smile on her face. “Next time, Federica,” she said slyly, “I’d try Lust if I were you.”

Federica dropped her spoon. “I…ah…” Her face bloomed.
Lilly couldn’t possibly know about her and Jack, could she
? She felt her pulse pound in her ears as she turned to look at the board and read the description of Lust.

As if she didn’t know. Except Dora’s version of Lust wasn’t six-foot-two, with broad shoulders, black hair, bright blue eyes and a wicked smile. It was nougat and tiramisù.

Federica turned back as soon as she felt her face cool down. “I’m not too fond of nougat.”