“It’s been about five years since I moved to the coast. I actually used to live in Dunston. I haven’t been back since I left.”
Bentley nodded, carefully maneuvering the vehicle over the snowy pavement as we turned onto Sweet Pea Road. “In that case, the Magnolia probably wasn’t open when you were here. Cora Scott—that’s the owner—only opened a couple of years ago after several years of remodeling. She put a substantial amount of money into it, too, but I think she’s making a good return on her investment. The place is constantly booked.”
“Is that it?” Jodi asked, pointing to a tall domed turret peeking above the trees. She followed up her question with a long “Awww” as we rounded the corner and pulled up to what we locals sometimes referred to as “The Grand Lady.”
“I can see where it gets its name,” Lynn commented, staring out at the pink and white exterior of the home. “It reminds me of the blossoms on the magnolia tree in my mother’s backyard. Such a gorgeous pink color. It’s exquisite.”
My thoughts traveled across the same lines, and I realized how lucky the town was that Cora had swooped in and rescued the place. In the 1970s, during the Illumination Valley days, when our town was a haven for nonconformists and freethinkers, the historic Victorian was occupied by a group who let the place fall into disrepair. Then, after a couple of decades as a multi-rental unit, it was left abandoned for several years. Luckily, Cora came onto the scene and painstakingly restored its original glory with three stories of repaired white spindle work, freshly painted gables and turrets, and new carved pillars on the expansive front porch. And that was just the outside!
We’d just started unloading luggage when the front door popped open and Cora Scott came bustling outside to greet us. “Welcome, welcome!” she called out, making her way down the small walk that connected the side carport to her front door. “I’m so glad you made it okay. Especially with this dreadful weather. How were the roads?” But before we could reply, she turned to our guests. “Let me help you with your bags. You two must be the authors I’ve heard so much about.”
“Excuse me,” I said, apologizing for my bad manners. “Cora, this is Lynn Werner and Jodi Lee. Ladies, this is Cora Scott, your charming hostess for the week.”
Cora’s deep brown eyes gleamed warmly as she shook their hands. A sturdily built woman, Cora had strong features that would have looked harsh on anyone else, but her sweet personality softened her face and made everyone around her feel instantly at ease. “Come in, come in,” she said, motioning for us to follow her toward the house. “I’ve got a pot of tea on. Just the thing to warm you.”
Once inside, she hung our coats in the front hall closet. Then she directed Bentley and me to the kitchen while she led the authors around the corner to where a small elevator was located. Cora had possessed the foresight to install it during renovations, knowing that two flights of stairs might not be easy for her guests to manage, especially with luggage.
I’d been in the Magnolia Bed and Breakfast a handful of times, but the magnificence of its intricate woodwork and ornate furnishings never ceased to impress me. Admittedly, though, there was a certain heaviness to it all that made me glad for the simpler lines of my sunny cottage on Walden Woods Circle. Still, as I followed Bentley’s determined footsteps toward the kitchen at the back of the house, it was hard to resist the urge to stop and ponder the magnificent details of the antique book stand that held the guest registry or the skilled needlepoint design on a nearby Rococo armchair.
“Pam!” Bentley gushed as soon as we entered the kitchen. A thin, dark-haired woman rose from the kitchen seating area and grasped Bentley’s outstretched hands. They exchanged a series of cheeky air kisses and traded comments on how great each looked. Bentley adored Pamela Fox. Her popular erotic series, The Reluctant Brides of Babylon, had hit the top ten of the New York Times bestsellers list last year, which succeeded in propelling Pam to the top of Bentley’s list also.
We settled into the padded seating built into an octagon area formed by the large turret that ran up the back side of the house. The nook was surrounded by windows framed in pretty yellow and blue fleur-de-lis valances that matched the padding on the built-in benches. To me, this was the best feature of the home: a bright, sunny spot for guests to lounge with a cup of coffee. Much more comfortable than the adjacent formal dining area with its dark oak table and thick Oriental rug of burgundy and forest green.
“I hope you slept well last night,” Bentley said to Pam, serving herself from the antique tea set arranged in the middle of the table. I skipped the tea but snagged a roll.
“Everything has been just wonderful,” Pam said, cringing at the sound of hammering coming from the opposite side of the kitchen. “Except for that.”