Chapter Fifteen #2
He listened, then held up a hand. “She trapped you.”
“Slammed the doors, turned off the lights. It was darker than it should’ve been, so she added to that. But she either didn’t or couldn’t make it full dark.”
“Couldn’t,” Cleo said. “If she’d wasted power trying that, she wouldn’t have had enough juice, the way I see it, to bring on the rest.”
“And what’s the rest?” Owen asked.
“She moved the furniture, boxed me in with it. Shoved something at me—that’s the bruise. I couldn’t not be afraid.”
“I guess you couldn’t not be human.”
Grateful, she tipped her head toward Trey.
“I started to text Cleo for help, but she knocked the phone out of my hand—used one of the dustcovers. She whispered the usual ‘leave or die’ bullshit—but there was more. I’ll come back to it.
I got down, trying to find my phone, then I’m nearly as pissed as scared and yelled at her.
And this big display cabinet started to come down on me.
I was boxed in, braced for some pain. Pushing, trying to push it upright. Not getting anywhere. And then…”
She touched the beads again. “Clover. Right beside me, pushing with me.”
“Wait.” Trey took her hand. “You saw her?”
“I saw her. I spoke to her, and she spoke to me. I don’t think I could’ve done it without her.”
As she told them the rest, a tear spilled out, and she pressed her face to Trey’s shoulder.
“It was horrible, then wonderful. She hugged me. I felt her arms around me, I could smell her hair. She said she had to go, couldn’t stay corporeal for long, that she loved me.
“Then she was gone, the terrace doors swung open, the lights came back on, and Cleo came into the room like a cannonball.”
“I couldn’t get in before. I pushed, I pulled, I banged on the door, shouted.”
“None of which I heard.”
“It was only a couple of minutes. I was getting my phone to call our cavalry, and the handle turned.”
“What was she wearing? Clover?”
Both amused and baffled, Cleo turned to Owen. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah, and here’s why. They cleared out her things, dealt with her body, and cleared out her things.
Like she never existed. If she was wearing anything when she gave birth, and died, well, it was going to be messy.
So what she wears, it’s a choice, right?
And part of the illusion or whatever it is—I can’t explain it. ”
“All right,” Cleo allowed, “that’s actually interesting.”
“A dress. Summer dress,” Sonya remembered. “Colorful—pinks, oranges, some white. Swirls of color. Sandals.” Sonya closed her eyes to bring it all back. “Bright pink sandals. Orange earrings. Double dangling balls. A lot of beaded bracelets, and this.”
She touched the necklace. “She was wearing this, and after, I found it in the first drawer I opened.”
“A gift,” Trey said. “Something of hers she could give you.”
“Yes. They must have missed it when they cleared her things out of the manor.”
“I’ll buy that.” Owen nodded. “But that’s not what she was wearing when Trey saw her.”
“Because she dressed up for you,” Cleo concluded. “Wanted to look her best, and in her own way.”
To agree, Clover used Lady Gaga and “Born This Way.”
“A summer outfit, too,” Sonya murmured. “So she pays attention to the seasons.”
“With her own unique sense of fashion.” Cleo tapped Owen’s cheek. “Excellent question as it turns out.”
“Now that it’s answered, go back to what Dobbs said to you. You said more than the usual,” Trey remembered.
“I think it was. ‘Leave and live. Stay and die.’” Concentrating, she relayed the rest. “Spare me,” she said again. “She keeps warning me. She warned Patricia, and Patricia ran. She keeps expecting me to. But she warned Patricia because she related, even liked her.”
“She doesn’t relate to you,” Trey put in. “She doesn’t like you.”
“Exactly, so it’s warning for a different reason.
She didn’t hold back and wait for Patricia to get married—at the manor—move into the manor, but scared her off because she liked her, as much, I’d say, as Dobbs likes anyone.
But she wants me gone for a different reason. I don’t think she can kill me.”
“There’s a happy thought,” Cleo murmured.
“No, it’s manor logic. She can hurt me, at least a little. Ice burn, and I’ve got a bruise on my hip that proves it.”
“You’re not a bride,” Trey said. “You’re not engaged and planning a wedding. You live here, so you’re in the way, but not like you would be if you were the next gen of brides.”
“I think she needs me alive, and needs or wants me gone, so she’s doing whatever she can to make my life here too terrifying to stay.”
“She doesn’t get you at all.”
Sonya gave Cleo a little laugh. “Apparently not. I have to leave, like Patricia did, by my own choice. I’m not going to.”
Sonya sipped her wine. “And she’s the one who lost the Battle of the Ballroom.”
That night, she lay in bed with her head on Trey’s shoulder.
“I know you worry about me, and I know it’s stupid to tell you not to.”
“Good. You’re not stupid, so you won’t.”
“But I want you to take this to heart.” She propped on her elbow to look down at him. “I am not alone in this. I not only have you and Cleo and Owen, but Clover made it clear. I know we’ve said it before, but this really brought it home. She was right there, Trey, right there beside me.”
“Cutie, I’m factoring that in.”
“Maybe try to give it a little more weight.”
“If it didn’t have weight, I’d do exactly what your mom said. I’d move in, all the way, and I’d find a way to work from the manor. And you need to factor something in.”
“All right. What?”
“She’s insane. At some point she could lose whatever control she has and go too far.”
Sonya lowered her forehead to his. “I’ve thought of that. I have. And I balance that out with knowing I’m not alone. It’s me for a reason, Trey. It’s us for a reason.”
“I know that, too, and it weighs on both sides. I also know you’re all in on this. If I thought I could talk you out, I’d give it a shot. I’m pretty good at arguing a case.”
Smiling, she rubbed her cheek to his. “So I’ve noticed.”
“If I did that, successfully?” He reached up to toy with a lock of her hair. “I don’t think you’d ever be Sonya again. You’d never forgive yourself, or me.”
“You maybe, because I’d know you did it out of concern for me. But the rest? You’re right. So how about don’t do that, and let’s never find out?”
“That’s where I stand right now.”
“Let’s take the victory.”
“The Battle of the Ballroom.”
“That’s right, and the sweet and happy ending that came after the battle.” She brushed her lips over his. “We can make our own happy end to the day right now.”
Lowering to him, she brushed her lips on his again, and once more before letting them both fall into the kiss.
When Sonya got out of the shower in the morning, she found Molly’s choice laid out on the neatly made bed. Not her usual work clothes, but an easy, breezy summer dress she’d yet to pull out of the closet that season.
“You know what? That works. Casual, but put together.”
She dressed, added the selected sandals, added the seed pearl drops that always reminded her of tiny white grapes. On impulse, she added Clover’s love beads.
Taking a step back, she studied herself in the mirror.
“It’s like wearing a garden—in a good way. Thanks, Molly.”
As she walked out, Cleo came out of her room.
“It’s barely nine-thirty. Who are you?”
“Funny. Need coffee.”
Sonya walked with her. “Or. You could come with me. I can wait. Shopping.”
“Not today, Satan. I want to finish my summer tree before it’s not summer.”
“I thought you had.”
“Nearly. You look good. Professional, but not stiffly business. Pretty but not frivolous.”
“Apparently, that was Molly’s plan.”
“I can look pretty.” Considering, Cleo nodded. “I could look pretty and meet you for lunch.”
“That’s a plan. One would work for me.” Sonya paused at the library. “How about the casual place at the hotel?”
“Also a plan.”
“I could text Anna, see if she wants to join.”
“Yeah, do that.”
“I’ll text her now. I have to grab a couple of things. See you at one.”
She sent the text, gathered her things. And read Anna’s reply on the way downstairs. Detoured to the kitchen where Cleo stood, waking up her brain with coffee.
“Anna rain-checks. Almost-Mom checkup today. Just you and me?”
Still drinking, Cleo shot up a thumb.
Bending down, Sonya gave Yoda a scrub. “Be good for Cleo. And Jack,” she added as she walked out.
On the way to her car, she glanced back at the house and saw the shadow at her bedroom window, as she had seen it the first time she’d come to the manor.
But now she lifted a hand in a wave, and the shadow lifted one in return. Sonya smiled as she drove away.
En route, she went over her agenda.
Gigi’s, A Bookstore, Bay Arts. Depending on time spent in each, either the salon or the yoga studio. Lunch, the florist on the way home.
Calculating her walking route, she opted to park nearest the salon, as she’d end up there one way or the other.
As she walked, she noticed plenty of tourists, and found herself pleased she could recognize so many locals. Plenty of them, too, out and about. Three days of rain, she decided, and the sun pulled everyone outdoors.
She entered Gigi’s, chatted with the owner—her client. She browsed, and thinking of the gift-wrapping room, the gift storage, let herself think Christmas.
As she came back to checkout, a woman and a teenage boy came in, both carrying boxes. Sonya caught the scent before they’d set the boxes on the counter.
“Delivery!” The woman tossed back a head of beaded braids.
“And just in time. We’re running low. I’ll check you out first, Sonya. This is Carrie, and her boy, Hogan. Carrie’s Bayside Lotions and Potions.”
“And the soaps smell amazing. I already use them, and I just picked up more. Sonya MacTavish.” She held out a hand.
“Great meeting you.”
“Sonya’s Collin Poole’s niece. She’s up at the manor.”
Carrie’s large brown eyes widened. “Oh.”
“Seen any ghosts?” her son wanted to know, and Sonya smiled.
“All the time.”
“Don’t know if I could do it,” Carrie said. “As beautiful as that place looks up there on the cliffs, don’t know if I could live there.”
“Bet it’s cool.”
“It really is,” Sonya told Hogan. “I don’t suppose I could take some of these products right from here.”
“Absolutely.”
“It’s crazy, but I’m doing a little advance Christmas shopping.”
After studying her choices, she took out two cakes of soap in pale blue, a body scrub with blue flecks, the coordinating shower gel, body lotion, a pair of candle tins. Arranged them in a group.
“Add a good book, a bottle of wine, maybe a pair of pretty wineglasses, put it together in a nice basket. My aunt will love it.”
“Add a book and such.” Gigi pursed her lips. “Maybe a fancy guest towel, too, or a bath pouf. That’d make a nice window display.”
“Wouldn’t it? I’ll take all these, and if I can, another set like it in this scent.” She picked up a deep purple soap. “Gorgeous.”
Checking off her mental gift list, she gestured. “And one more set in the equally gorgeous fuchsia.”
“You sure made my day,” Carrie told her.
“Isn’t hurting mine either.” Gigi began ringing up the purchases.
“We love your products. They’re lovely to use, lovely to look at. You make them all yourself. That’s impressive.”
“My sister and I.”
“And?”
Carrie laughed at her son. “And Hogan’s a big help when he’s not in school. My daughter, too, and my sister’s two girls.”
“A family business, and a creative one. I imagine a lot of people would love to know more about it. If you ever want a web presence.”
“We’ve got a website.”
Behind his mother’s back, Hogan rolled his eyes, and she said, “I heard that!”
On a grin, he lifted his shoulders. “Lame. Old, creaky, and lame. Not you, Mom, the website. We need to move into this century.”
“Sonya’s the one who pulled me into it.”
Sonya gave her client a smile. “It’s what I do.”
“Web pages and like that?” Hogan asked.
“Web pages and all like that.”
“Got a card or something?”
“I do.” She slid one out of her case, handed it to him.
Nodding, he studied it. “Slick. We could use some slick. I’ll work on her.”
Pleased with the stop, Sonya walked back to her car to stow her bags. Maybe she’d bought more than she’d intended, but she had a gift-wrapping room with storage.
She strolled into A Bookstore. Diana rang up a customer while several others browsed the stacks, and Anita answered questions from one on the phone.
They both shot her smiles. Since they were busy, she put business on hold and did her own browsing. Ten minutes, two books, and another couple of gifts later, she walked to checkout.
“Busy morning,” she said to Diana.
“The best kind. How’ve you been, Sonya?”
“Busy, so the best kind of good.”
Anita finally hung up the phone and let out a long exhale. “Wow. Our online business has taken a jump since you took that on, Sonya. I’ll thank you later, but now? Whew!”
She looked at Diana. “The customer wants the entire Sutton Grove series.”
“It’s a good one.” Diana shifted to Sonya. “And it’s twenty-three books.”
“Double it. She wants a set for her brother and one for her grandfather. A pissed-off gift.”
Sonya laughed. “I have to ask.”
“They both argued with her that women can’t write good, gritty, compelling mysteries. Joyce B. Landon writes the Sutton Grove series.”
“Ah.”
“They’re good, gritty, compelling mysteries.”
“They are,” Diana agreed. “We’re not going to have the whole backlist in stock.”
“I told her we’d order. I’ll get started.”
“If you’ve got just a minute first? And maybe take one more to get me the first book in that series? I’ll send you these digitally, but since I was coming in anyway, I printed out the T-shirt idea, and the bookmark.”
When she walked out, again pleased, she decided she could cart her bags one more stop. Then juggled them as her phone signaled.
The readout said: Doyle Law Offices.
“Hi. It’s Sonya.”
“Sadie.” Deuce’s admin spoke in her crisp and bedrock Maine voice. “Eddie’s not around, so I’m handling Number One. He wants to meet with you. He can come to the manor at noon.”
Number One. Ace.
“Oh, I’m actually in the village now, and have an appointment in a few minutes. I could come by the offices later if he’s free.”
“When?”
“Ah, I’m supposed to meet Cleo for lunch at one, but I can cancel that and—”
“Hold on.”
Sonya shifted the bags again, blew out a breath, and kept walking.
Sadie came back on, brisk as ever.
“Ace says it’s his lucky day when he can take two pretty girls to lunch. One o’clock at the hotel.”
“Oh, that’s— We’d love it. Which restaurant?”
Brisk turned almost amused. “It’s Ace, two pretty girls, lunch. What do you think? The fancy one. One o’clock,” she repeated. “Table for three. He won’t care if you’re late. But I will, so don’t be.”
So warned, Sonya moved a little faster.