Copper Lake Confidential

chapter 4



It was amazing how, on the north side of the brick arches, the pavement was smooth and the air was, well, simply air, but on the south side, Macy felt as if she were slogging through an invisible barrier, as if her feet were sinking into the concrete with each step. The dread trickling down her spine intensified when the hum of a well-tuned engine penetrated the buzzing in her ears.

Ahead a sleek white Mercedes glided to a stop at the end of her driveway. Though she didn’t recognize the car, her stomach knotted, and with good reason: Louise Wetherby was sitting behind the wheel.

Macy groaned silently. Of all the people she’d wanted to avoid in Copper Lake, Louise headed the list. She was the biggest snob in town, with more money than anyone besides the Howard and the Calloway families and a stronger notion of her own self-worth than all of them. She thinks highly of herself for a butcher’s granddaughter, Mark’s grandmother had often said disdainfully.

Had Willa Howard still thought so highly of herself after finding out her esteemed husband and her beloved grandson were murderers? Good breeding obviously didn’t equal decent human being.

Neither did a boatload of money, she added as Louise climbed out of the car.

Her silver hair was simply styled, her suit summer-white, her nails icy pink, her gaze glacial. She would have been an attractive woman if she hadn’t looked perpetually dissatisfied with the life she’d been dealt. “So you’ve finally come back.”

Hello to you, too. I’m fine. How about you? Macy forced a deep breath and a polite smile that was as phony as Mark had been. “Hello, Louise.”

“Are you planning to stay, and if not, are you putting the house on the market? It’s not good for the neighbors to have an abandoned house next door.”

Macy glanced at the house, then the neighbors’. There was absolutely nothing to suggest her house had been empty all those months. If anything, her house and the yard were in better condition than the others. But before she could respond, Louise went on.

“You’ve disconnected your home phone, and your cell phone isn’t listed in the Woodhaven directory, so I was going to leave this in your mailbox if you weren’t home.” She held up a creamy-hued envelope but didn’t offer it. “Let me just grab the paperwork and we’ll go inside out of this terrible heat.”

Macy automatically took a few steps up the driveway before good sense stopped her. She waited until Louise reappeared from the car’s interior, a folder in hand, before asking, “Paperwork for what?”

Instead of answering, Louise gestured toward the house. “Inside. It’s steaming out here.”

She should have accepted Stephen’s offer of a ride home. Then she would have already been inside when Louise arrived, she would have checked the peephole when the doorbell rang and she would have gone about her work, leaving Louise no choice but to drop off the letter and go home.

She should have stayed at Stephen’s, so she really wouldn’t have been home.

Louise set off for the door, and ingrained manners overtook Macy. Gritting her teeth, she followed in the woman’s trail of Chanel, then unlocked the door. When she caught sight of the boxes stacked in the hallway, she wished she’d moved them to the garage instead, or that she had the backbone to tell Louise to come back at a more convenient time. As if there were a convenient time to deal with Louise Wetherby.

Since it was too late—and she didn’t have that backbone—she stepped aside for the older woman to enter, then closed the door and went into the living room.

“So you are putting the place up for sale.” Louise made no effort to hide her perusal of the handwriting on the boxes in the hallway, making Macy glad she’d settled on shorthand and a numbering system. There was a detailed itemized list of the cartons’ contents in the kitchen, but nothing on them that would give much, if any, clue.

Of course she was putting it up for sale. The house was forbidding, dark, filled with memories of Mark and his lies. It seemed so obvious that she didn’t bother to comment on it, but sat instead, fingers laced loosely together. “What kind of paperwork do you have?” Surely it was something to do with the homeowners’ association. Louise had been president since it was formed, a position Mark had chosen her for. They had the same goals, he’d said, and she had the time to do the job properly.

What he’d really meant was that Louise had been so hungry for Howard family approval that she was fairly easy for him to manipulate, and he’d been too busy with his murders to worry about grass height, paint colors or parking.

Louise settled at the end of the sofa nearest Macy’s chair and laid the folder in her lap. “Since you’ve been gone so long with no hint of whether you’d ever return, there’s been some concern about your property here.”

Macy blinked. Her so-called abandonment. The place had been cleaned regularly, the lawn watered and mowed, the house inspected routinely for any maintenance needs. Really, what more could the woman expect? “You can see the house is as well maintained as when I lived here.” Not that it’s any of your business. Of course, Louise liked to think that money and a sharp tongue made everything her business.

Diamonds flashed with Louise’s dismissive wave. “Not this property. Fair Winds. Your daughter’s ancestral home.”

Another blink, followed immediately by a shudder. Fair Winds was a beautiful place, two centuries old, rising out of the middle of a lush expanse of lawn on the banks of the Gullah River. For generations there had been rumors the place was haunted. The discovery of more than forty bodies buried on the grounds made the rumors easy to believe.

“What interest could you possibly have in Fair Winds?”

Louise offered what passed for a smile. “I’m the president of the Fair Winds Preservation Society. You know the plantation holds an important part in Copper Lake history, along with the Howard family, and of course Willadene was one of my closest friends. It would break her heart to see the place falling into such disrepair, knowing that it’s standing empty and all alone out there. We formed the society to come up with a plan for its future and—”

“‘We’ who?”

Louise listed a few names—ladies who lunched on the misfortunes of others, vipers every one—then opened the folder. “We’re proposing that you sign the plantation, with its contents, over to the society for the purpose of preservation, education and promoting tourism for the community. Certainly you won’t want to live there, and a donation such as this—”

Macy tuned out her voice and focused on her own thoughts. Georgia was filled with beautiful antebellum homes open to the public; the Calloway Plantation just north of town and River’s Edge downtown were two prime examples. And as far as Louise being Miss Willa’s closest friend...ha. Miss Willa hadn’t had friends. Hadn’t needed or wanted them. Had thought herself too good for everyone in Copper Lake besides Mark.

In eighteen months Macy had considered a lot of things—whether she could survive the loss of her baby, whether she could get past Mark’s ugly secrets, whether she would ever be well enough to take care of Clary, where they might live, what she might do. But she’d never given a moment’s thought to what she would do about Fair Winds. She certainly would never live there.

But sign it over to a preservation group she’d never heard of until five minutes ago? With all its contents? And to a group headed by Louise Wetherby, no less?

What kind of gift would that be? She’d never asked what the place was valued at, and neither Mark nor Miss Willa had ever said. The furnishings alone were probably worth several million. Mark’s ancestors had sailed the world and brought back the best goods each country had to offer, and they’d never parted with a single treasure. Add the house—in nowhere near a state of disrepair, no matter what Louise said—and the riverfront property...

A hell of a gift. And one that wasn’t hers to give.

Realizing that silence had fallen, she looked at Louise to see her offering what appeared to be a contract. She took it but didn’t so much as glance at it. “You realize I didn’t inherit Fair Winds. Clary did.”

Another dismissive gesture. “You’re her mother. You control her inheritance. Until she’s of age, you choose what’s best for her. You certainly can’t leave the house empty and forgotten for another fifteen years. How irresponsible is that?”

And yet giving it away free and clear was responsible?

“Of course, the Howard name would remain attached to the plantation, and it would remain a memorial to their history as well as their many, many contributions to Jackman County and Georgia. We would see that the house was restored to its former glory and would ensure its graceful arrival into its next century.”

Macy swallowed a derisive snort. She’d been gone a year and a half, granted, but Miss Willa had never let a board go unpainted or a screw unloosened any longer than the time it took to make a phone call. The only restoration work it could possibly need was on the front lawn. The killing grounds.

Was that part of the history the preservation society wanted to memorialize? Macy shuddered. That really would break Miss Willa’s heart. Four hundred years of spotless Howard reputation destroyed by the last two surviving Howard males. Thank God. If ever there was a name that deserved to die out...

“All you need to do is sign the papers and—”

“No.” Swallowing hard, Macy set the papers on the coffee table.

She had the pleasure of leaving Louise Wetherby speechless, albeit temporarily. The woman gaped for a moment, like a fish trying to undo the hook in its mouth. Good heavens, she’d actually thought Macy would meekly acquiesce and sign away a seven-figure chunk of her daughter’s inheritance at her command. Did she believe Macy was that malleable? That weak? Or that crazy?

Spending months in a psychiatric hospital tended to make people think that of a person.

Resolve smoothed Louise’s features as she stood. “Of course you need time to think about it. That’s understandable. Keep the papers. Read over them. Consider the welfare of the community along with that of your daughter. I’m sure, given time, you’ll agree that this is the best solution to the problem. When you’re ready to sign, you can let me know. You have my contact information, of course.”

Macy supposed there was a homeowners’ directory somewhere in Mark’s office, but it would be a cold day in hell before she called Louise. If she decided to donate Fair Winds, it would be to the state, the local historical society—anyone besides Louise.

“I can show myself out.” Louise made it to the hall before turning back. “Oh, and welcome back. Starting off new will be easier once you’ve cleaned up old business.”

A moment later the door closed, and Macy sank down into the chair exactly like the spineless creature she was. Her gaze settled on the contract again, and she shook her head numbly. The nerve of the old hags, trying to manipulate her into such a decision on her second day back.

And she was considered the crazy one.

* * *

Stephen had had a productive afternoon, leaving his computer shortly after five with more than three thousand words added to his manuscript. It had taken him a while to get into the book after lunch. Hell, it’d taken him a good while to leave the porch after Macy had walked away. He’d watched until she was out of sight, and then a few minutes longer. Research, he’d told himself. A need to get all the descriptions right when he wrote about Ma’ahcee.

He was standing in the kitchen, bent to examine the contents of the refrigerator, with Scooter hanging hopefully at his side, when the cell phone rang. The only people who called him who merited their own ringtone were the ones at the clinic—yes, it was “Who Let the Dogs Out.” He’d been too lazy to assign tunes, so everyone else had a regular old-fashioned ring-ring.

Flipping the phone open, he reached for the milk and a bag of deli turkey. “Hello.”

“Hey. It’s Macy.”

Ah, speak of the Warrior Woman. He tossed a bite of turkey to Scooter and was rewarded with a snap of teeth and drool slung on his bare shin. “Hey, Macy. What’s up?”

Hesitance, then... “I thought you probably wouldn’t answer the phone if you were working, but if I’m disturbing you...”

Only if distraction and curiosity count as disturbances. “No, I’m done for the day. Scooter and I were just debating what to do about supper. What do you need?”

“I’ve got to check on some property outside town, and I was wondering...I’d rather not go out there alone in the evening, and...it won’t take very long. I can buy you guys dinner afterward.”

“Sounds good.”

“You’re sure you don’t mind?”

“I’m sure. We’d just be watching TV, and I get tired of watching Animal Planet.”

Faint amusement entered her voice. “You do get other channels.”

“Yeah, but Scooter doesn’t like them.”

This time she rewarded him with a chuckle. “You know he’s spoiled.”

“Dogs are like kids. What’s the point of having them if you don’t spoil them at least a little?”

“I agree. What time is good for you guys?”

He tossed Scooter another piece of turkey before sticking one in his mouth and talking around it. “Any time.”

“Ten minutes?”

“That’ll do. Do you really want Scooter to come?”

“Sure. See you.”

He set the phone down then dragged his hand through his hair. “Hey, Scooter, Warrior Woman is taking us to dinner. Actually, I think she wants you for security, and I’m just part of the deal.” He wouldn’t hide behind her if anything was out of place at the property, but he wouldn’t be charging heroically ahead, either. He was a writer. He observed, and he was great with speed-dialing a phone. He didn’t derring-do.

The dog’s attention was still on the turkey. Stephen gave him one last piece, took another for himself, then headed to the bedroom at the front of the house, stripping off his T-shirt on the way.

He’d known he was fashion-challenged since he was in middle school. Colors were just colors. As far as he could tell, they didn’t particularly go together or clash. He did draw the line at ones like pink and light purple. Even he had always understood those were girly colors.

His mom had solved the problem for him in high school by stocking his closet with three items: jeans and shorts in either denim or khaki and T-shirts in black and white. Everything went together, and he didn’t risk getting teased about anything other than the predictability of his clothes. He could live with that.

He pulled on a clean white shirt, brushed some dog hair from his khaki shorts and decided they were reasonably clean. After wiping his glasses on the discarded shirt, he was ready to go. With his cell in his pocket and keys in hand, he whistled for Scooter, still waiting hopefully by the refrigerator. The dog raced to the door, sliding into a sitting position an instant before hitting the wall, and Stephen attached his leash. “We’re going for a ride, buddy. Be on your best behavior.”

The mutt gave him a whaddaya mean sort of look, and Stephen laughed as he opened the door. By the time he got the house locked up and walked Scooter to the gate, Macy’s fancy minivan was gliding to a stop in front of them.

“You sure you want to let him in there?” he asked through the open window. “I don’t mind driving.”

She glanced at the luxurious leather of the rear seat and wrinkled her nose. “I don’t mind dog hair.”

“Or scratches from his claws?”

“Don’t worry about it. Get in.”

Stephen slid the back door open and Scooter hopped inside, immediately going into sniffing-new-territory mode before settling on his haunches in the seat behind Macy. The front passenger seat sank under Stephen’s weight, molding around him, reminding him that his car was old and well used and hadn’t been this nice to start.

But it was reliable and paid for. That counted for a lot.

“Where are we going?”

Macy made a tight U-turn. “A few miles outside town. Mark— My husband’s grandmother owned a house out there. She died a month after he did, so it’s Clary’s now.”

“Are you going to keep it, sell it, live in it?” He caught himself before she could answer. “No, you’re not planning to stay around here.”

Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel as they passed through the gate into Villain country. “I’ve had a suggestion, but I don’t know what I want. I figured I should start by at least looking at it and making sure everything’s okay.” She flashed a smile his way at the precise moment they passed her own house. “I appreciate your going with me.”

He didn’t say that he appreciated being asked. She’d lived in Copper Lake a long time before her absence, so she must have had other options—friends, neighbors, a lawyer. Hell, for someone who lived in Woodhaven, the sheriff’s department probably would have been happy to provide her with an escort.

After they exited the subdivision at the other end, her grip on the steering wheel loosened and her shoulders relaxed. She clearly didn’t like the place any more than he did. His reasons were simple enough: he was into reverse snobbery, and the residents had deemed him, the sisters and their families as unworthy to even drive on their precious streets.

But what was Macy’s reason? Still mourning her husband? Not likely, considering her comment last night. It would be tougher if I still loved him.

Had she married up and been on the receiving end of the same scorn her fancy neighbors had shown him?

Had her husband abused her in that house?

He studied her while the idea rolled around in his head. After a moment, he let it go. He had a lot more experience with abused creatures than anyone should have, and she just didn’t present that way. She had a lot of self-doubts, needed a boost in confidence and spooked easily, but she didn’t act like a woman who’d been abused.

Maybe it was guilt because she didn’t love her dead husband.

“You know, it’s impolite to stare.”

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to.” He blinked, realizing that she was glancing his way, that the van was slowing and the turn signal was clicking rhythmically. A look around showed that they were on River Road just north of the city limits, and a plaque set into a brick column on the left side of the road said they were turning into the private drive for Fair Winds.

He blinked again. “Fair Winds? The property your three-year-old daughter owns is Fair Winds? The plantation?”

Uneasiness fluttered through her. After a semi passed, its blast rocking them, she turned onto the wide dirt road. “Yes. Her father was one of those Howards.”

Didn’t sound as if she thought much of her husband’s family. The rich are different, someone had once said, so the super-rich were probably super-different.

“I have to admit, I don’t know anything about the family, but I’ve seen the house from the river.” Stephen wasn’t much on fishing, but occasionally he borrowed Yancy’s boat and spent an entire afternoon kicked back with a cooler of drinks and a life vest for a pillow.

“That’s probably the best way to see it,” she remarked as the road wound through stands of pines. Soon it paralleled a wrought-iron fence, then reached an elaborate gate. She stopped there, rolled down the window and pulled a slip of paper from the sun visor. Stephen watched her punch a code into the keypad, watch the gate swing open then draw a deep breath and drive inside.

If a person appreciated architecture, Fair Winds was probably a prime example. It stood three stories tall, glowing white in the lowering sun, its brick columns straight, its grass mown, its flower beds bordering the porch blooming brightly. It was the sort of place that made the Lessers of the World stare in awe, imagining how good life must be in such a mansion.

But Macy was right: seeing it from the river was better. With that stretch of yard, the wrought-iron fence and strips of riverbank and water adding distance. Up close, the place was...unsettling.

She stopped in the driveway underneath a live oak that showed the wounds from a not-too-distant lightning strike and shut off the engine. She dried her palms on her shorts, took out a key from the console, then opened the car door. Pausing in the act of getting out, she asked in an everyday-normal tone, “Do you believe in ghosts?”

“No, not really.”

She smiled. “Good. Because they say this place is haunted. And I believe it.”

* * *

Macy had been raised with a fine appreciation for Southern historic sites and elegant old houses, but she’d disliked Fair Winds from her first visit. At the time she’d written it off to nerves at meeting Miss Willa and Mr. Arthur for the first time. She’d already been woefully aware of the differences between her and Mark, and Fair Winds had been a flashing-neon reminder.

Later, she’d thought she’d just picked up on the less-than-warm vibes Mark’s grandparents had put out. They hadn’t been a particularly friendly couple. They’d oozed haughtiness, and affectionate hadn’t been in their natures.

Now, as she stood beside the van and felt her gaze drawn, however reluctantly, to the front lawn, she wondered if the remnants of fear, anguish and loss permeating the place had been the cause for her dislike. So much ugliness had gone on within these grounds, from the slave labor that had built the place and multiplied the Howard fortunes to the sad people who’d lost their lives here.

Mark had lost his life here, somewhere in the field of green in front of the house. Suicide, everyone had said. He’d been so self-important; she’d never imagined he could even contemplate suicide.

She’d also never imagined he could lay a hand on another person in anger so, obviously, what did she know?

“Do you want to go inside or just walk around the outside?”

Stephen’s voice startled her, and she took a deep breath to hide it. Rumor said there were ghosts inside, too, but as far as she knew, none of them had died violently. Better than she could say of the poor souls for whom the front lawn had been their graves.

“Just a quick walk-through.” Pleased that her voice hadn’t trembled, though it had come out a bit breathy, she started toward the front porch. The steps didn’t creak, and though rarely used, the key turned smoothly and the door swung silently inward.

She flipped the switches beside the door, and lights came on down the broad corridor and up the stairs. Of course the electricity was still on, to provide climate control for the priceless antiques inside.

Her footsteps echoed on the wood floor until she reached the faded runner that ran the length of the hallway. Realizing that Stephen wasn’t following, she turned back.

“I should leave Scooter outside. One swipe of his tail, and I’d be in debt for the rest of my life.”

She spared a glance for the living room, then the corridor and smiled. “I always worried when I came here that I would break one of the prizes that Miss Willa treasured far more than any living being. Thankfully, I never did, or I would have been banished from the place like Clary was.” She paused. “Bring him in.”

“Was Clary really banished?” With Scooter’s leash wrapped three or four times around his large hand, Stephen crossed the threshold, keeping the dog at his side.

“Not formally, but Miss Willa always made sure we understood that dinner invitations meant getting a babysitter. She wasn’t a warm person. No embraces, no cuddling with babies, no tolerance for fussiness or sticky little fingers.” Macy looked around the formal room to the left again and sniffed. “She didn’t tolerate many adults, either. I believe she loved Mark the best she was able, but she was much better at showing disappointment and disapproval.”

He stopped beside her, and a faint scent of something drifted into her space. Not dog or cologne or soap. No, he smelled like...turkey. Her stomach gave a quiet little growl, reminding her she hadn’t had even a bite since lunch. For someone who snacked routinely, that was a long time to go without food.

“You said your husband had a cousin. Does she live around here?”

“No, she’s in New Orleans.” Disgustingly happy, working in Jones’s historic garden restoration business and planning to start a family soon. Reece had worked hard to get where she was, but still Macy envied her. She didn’t think she could ever be that blissfully happy.

Her stomach growled again, louder this time, and she moved on with the tour. Everything was clean and secure, and soon enough they were back outside.

It wasn’t as much of a relief as it could have been, stepping through that door into the still evening, even though the damage done digging up unmarked graves had been repaired. Looking at the lawn, no one would guess it had suffered any disturbance greater than a mower. But she didn’t have to guess.

With the sun on its downward slide, they walked quickly around the exterior of the house, circled the guesthouse out back, the former farm manager’s office and the storage barns. Contrary to Louise Wetherby’s claim, everything was in good shape, as Macy had known it would be.

She practically hustled Stephen and Scooter back to the van, sighing inwardly when the doors were closed and the locks automatically secured. “Where would you like to go for dinner?”

He fastened his seat belt, then she shifted into gear, backing up beneath the giant oak, heading toward the gate with relief.

“Any place but A Cut Above.”

“You don’t like steak?”

“I don’t like Louise Wetherby.” Abruptly he stiffened. “Sorry. I know she’s one of your neighbors. Are you and she—”

A snort sputtered out despite her best efforts to stop it. “I can’t stand the woman. She’s smug and mean-spirited and tries to be the boss of everyone.”

“But her restaurant sure makes an incredible steak.” He said it regretfully, as if he were paying a real price for not supporting a business owner he disliked.

“So do I.” Warmth spread through Macy as she drove through the gate, energizing her, making her feel damn near normal. “Come over tomorrow night and I’ll show you.”

Immediately upon hearing her invitation, she masked a wince. When had she decided she had first claim to all his free time? He could have plans for tomorrow night. He might want to watch Animal Planet with Scooter. He might just want a few hours away from her.

But he gave no sign of any of that. Instead he asked, “What should I bring?”

“Just yourself and Scooter.” At the end of the dirt road, she turned south onto the highway. “So where for dinner tonight?”

“Dogs are welcome at Ellie’s Deli, at least outside. He behaves pretty well there.”

“He behaves pretty well all the time.” She liked his choice. Ellie Maricci was one of the nicer people in Copper Lake, and the food at her restaurant was outstanding. Following the example set by their boss, the employees were friendly and professional, and eating outside with the day’s humidity literally hanging in the air, they weren’t likely to rouse much attention.

She found a parking space across the square, on the next street over, and Scooter trotted toward the deli, head held high, compact body quivering. “He knows he’s in for a treat, huh?”

“They always have cookies and water bowls, and I usually share with him,” Stephen admitted.

“I hadn’t noticed,” she said drily.

“I’m careful about what I give him,” he protested. “I am a vet, you know.” He reined in the dog as they passed through the gate, then they turned to the left, where tables—all empty—were scattered across the small lawn. “Do you mind letting the hostess know we’re here?”

Macy’s smile faltered, but she quickly forced it back into place. She climbed the steps, crossed the porch and went inside, deliberately avoiding looking anywhere but the hostess station. The girl there was young, maybe sixteen, and didn’t appear to know Macy from the man on the moon. She greeted her politely, grabbed menus and rolled napkins and followed her back out to the table Stephen had chosen.

“Hey Doc,” the girl said. “Where’ve you been, sweetie?”

There was no doubt the endearment was directed to the animal as the girl dropped to her knees, scratched behind his ears, then sat back so Scooter, on cue, could roll to his back for a belly rub.

“Don’t worry. I always wash my hands before I touch you,” she crooned. “Humans are dirty, you know.”

At the moment, Macy certainly understood her preference for four-legged creatures.

“Macy, this is Jacy, Scooter’s favorite part-time vet assistant and restaurant hostess.” Stephen left the introduction at that—no last names—and Macy appreciated it.

“Hello, Jacy.”

The girl looked up at her. “Is your name really Macy? I broke up with a guy because his name was Casey. I couldn’t bear the idea of going all the way through high school with a boyfriend whose name rhymed with mine.”

Despite the studs piercing her nose and eyebrow and the electric-yellow shade of her hair, Macy liked Jacy. Shared pain, she figured. “My friends in college set me up with a blind date because he was named Tracy and they thought it would be cute if we hit it off.”

Jacy shuddered. “Those people weren’t friends. I’ll tell your waitress you’re out here. Nice to meet you, Macy. See you later, Doc. You, too, sweetie.”

Stephen was smiling when Macy shifted her gaze from Jacy’s retreating figure back to him. “Macy and Tracy? You could have named your first daughter Stacy.”

“Or Lacy.” She imitated Jacy’s shudder. After spreading a linen napkin on her lap, she asked, “What did you think of Fair Winds?”

“Impressive place.” He said the words with sincerity, but she thought he hadn’t been impressed so much as taken by surprise. She appreciated that, too.

“Really impressive,” he went on. “I was lucky to have my own bedroom all the time, and your three-year-old has her own mansion.”

“Ridiculous, isn’t it?”

“No,” he said at first, then dragged his hand through his hair, leaving it on end. “Well, yeah. A little. So what was the suggestion you had about it?”

Did she want to discuss that now? Even want to think about it? Common sense said no, but when she opened her mouth, something else took control of her words. “I had a visit this afternoon from the president of the Fair Winds Preservation Society—an organization, mind you, that didn’t even exist until just recently. She suggested I give the property, the house and all of its contents to them so they could turn it into a proper memorial.”

Stephen’s eyes widened behind the glasses and his jaw dropped. “You’re making that up.”

Macy shook her head.

“Just give it to them? Not sell, not lease, just ‘here’s the deed, and y’all have a nice day’?” His snort was both rude and comical. “Hell, why didn’t they ask for a few million dollars to maintain it and keep it running?”

“They might have. I didn’t read the contract they’d had drawn up.”

“Contract?” Astonishment echoed in his voice. “Who in the world could possibly think that was even remotely—”

Something in her expression stopped him. She wasn’t sure even exactly what was on her face. A bit of a smile. Sarcasm. Finally, some little hint of amusement to go along with the dismay.

“Louise Wetherby and her cronies. Wow. I didn’t think even they were that outrageous. You told her no, didn’t you?”

“I did, which she interpreted as I needed more time before I fall in with her plans. I may have to have the lawyer tell her. Compared to me, he’s considered relatively s—”

She clamped her jaw shut so quickly that her teeth collided with an audible click. What had she been about to say? Sane? Stable? She was sane. She was stable. She’d had a problem with depression—granted, a serious couldn’t-get-out-of-bed-in-the-morning, wouldn’t-have-cared-if-she-lived-or-died-if-not-for-Clary problem—but she’d just undergone severe emotional trauma. She’d lost her baby, for God’s sake.

She still had some trouble with depression. Anxiety. Uncertainty. But she took her medication, and she stayed busy, and she was perfectly fine. Functional. Able to be an independent adult and a mother.

Even though she had thought she’d seen someone in the guesthouse yesterday.

Even though she imagined the faint smell of Mark’s cologne in the house.

Even though going to Fair Winds this evening had totally creeped her out. She couldn’t have done it without Stephen.

“I believe the word you’re looking for is stubborn,” he said, giving no sign he’d thought her behavior odd. “He is a lawyer, right? They’re not generally known for being soft touches.”

“Yes,” she agreed with that breathiness in her voice again. “Stubborn. That’s exactly what I was going to say.”