After they greeted Emily, Paul said he had to go back to his car, he’d forgotten something. “Walk with me,” he whispered to his mother. “I have something for you.”
Callie realized that he’d left Ann’s package behind, probably to hide it from Rafferty. She looked around the room and recognized several of the better-known guests: a bestselling author, a middle-aged man who had once played second base for the Red Sox, and Archbishop McCauley from Boston. She felt completely underdressed.
“I’d never have come if you’d warned me it was this fancy,” Callie said quietly to Towner.
“Which is exactly why I didn’t,” Towner said. “It’s time for us to change into our prom gowns.” Her tone was light, but Callie could tell it was forced.
They quietly left the library and reentered the main hall just as a new guest arrived in a full-length mink coat, which she insisted on keeping rather than handing off to one of the maids. Callie and Towner watched the woman compel the maid to follow behind her as she headed into the party.
“I guess she’ll take it off after everyone sees it,” remarked Callie.
Towner smiled and started up the stairs. “Come on, I’ll show you to your room. Emily told me she’s giving you the one right next to ours.”
They made their way to adjoining rooms, stopping at Callie’s first. An antique canopy bed stood by a window that looked out on the water. Across the room was a sitting area with overstuffed chairs facing a deep fireplace, a single log burning and crackling. Callie’s bag had been unpacked, her dress steamed and hung.
“Was everything in this house designed to look like old money?” whispered Callie.
Towner looked at her with appreciation. “Astute observation.”
“Every piece of furniture I’ve seen so far is an expensive antique, but it’s all…too perfect. You can tell that a designer arranged everything just so,” Callie said. The furniture didn’t match; the designer hadn’t made that mistake, but the pieces were too similar. True inherited money tended to show a mismatch of pieces far more random than this.
“Do you have a design background, Callie?”
She shook her head. One of Callie’s foster mothers had been an antiques dealer. “One of my better foster homes,” she said.
Towner waited for her to continue. She didn’t. “You are full of surprises.”
“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Callie said. “It just seemed curious, that’s all.”
“Finn Whiting comes from a family of farmers. The money you see here was made generations later, illegally. His grandfather was known for running rum and guns. He built Pride’s Heart just before he died. The original 1600s house was over there.” She pointed toward the woods. “Still is, though it’s part of Paul’s boathouse now. When the grandfather died, Finn’s parents inherited his money and furnished the place with the best antiques from the auction houses of Boston, New York, and London.”
“I guess crime does pay.”
“For a while. Finn’s father lost the rest of the fortune in a bad business deal. He died young and penniless. But not before he found a wife for his son. One who had the fortune to replenish the Whitings’ coffers and the pedigree to take the family legitimate.”
“Emily?”
“Emily Sprague of Hingham. Mayflower and founding father descended. Not only did her ancestors throw tea into Boston Harbor but the family later made a fortune importing it from China. She’s as rich as they come.”
“I thought rich girls don’t marry poor boys.” Callie quoted the movie version of Fitzgerald’s classic.
“They do when they look like Finn Whiting,” Towner said. “And when there’s a shotgun involved.”
Callie raised an eyebrow. “Paul?”
“Surprising, huh? Just proves you can never tell about people.”
Callie liked the woman more now. It made Emily seem almost human.
Callie pulled her dress off the hanger. “This isn’t as formal as what everyone is wearing downstairs,” she said. It was the knee-length black sheath she had purchased for the fund-raiser.
“Don’t worry about it,” Towner said. “You can dress it up with the pearl necklace I brought.”
“I couldn’t take your necklace—”
“I inherited it from Eva,” Towner said, as she headed into her own room. “It’s really not my style, but it will look great on you.”
Callie put on the dress and played with her hair, pulling it back into a knot and then letting it go again. It was a mess: too curly and just plain wild. And she still wasn’t used to being blond. When Towner came back with the pearls a few minutes later, she had already changed into her own dress, a long black cap-sleeved wraparound gown. “God, you look gorgeous,” Callie said. Towner’s reddish blond hair hung perfectly straight and shoulder length.
Towner smiled, holding out the pearls.
“You sure?”
“They’ll look perfect with your dress.”
They stood in front of the mirror while Towner fastened the clasp. Then she pulled Callie’s hair back off her face and neck, winding it into a loose chignon. “Like this, I think.” She held it back. “You’ll look great.” Towner motioned for Callie to sit at the mirrored dressing table so she could pin her hair for real. “Very sophisticated.”
Callie’s phone pinged.
Towner noticed the worried look on Callie’s face.
A text had come in from Zee: Rose fine. Awake and eating turkey dinner in her room. Callie put the phone away, relieved.
“Everything okay?”
“Better now. Rose was having a bad day. But Zee says she’s okay. Eating Thanksgiving dinner and giving thanks.”
“I’m guessing the thing Rose is most grateful about today is your return.”
Callie tried to shrug off the compliment.
“I mean it,” Towner said. “She always worried about you.”
The remark touched Callie in a way she hadn’t expected. Her eyes filled up with tears, and she turned away.
Sensing her awkwardness, Towner changed the subject. “So,” she said, “are you going to tell me what you were up to with Paul? Where did he take you on your ‘little ride’?”
“What do you know about Ann Chase?”
“Ah,” Towner said. “You met Ann.”
“She and Paul are involved, I’d say.”
“Ann’s involved with a lot of people.”
“How old is that woman?”
Towner laughed. “She’s in her fifties, but you wouldn’t know it.”
“That’s some strong magic.”
“You’re interested in Paul,” Towner teased.
“Not really,” Callie lied. “He’s probably too young for me.”
“He’s twenty-five.”
“Five years too young.”
“Almost twenty-six.”
“And I don’t like that he’s involved with the witch.”
“Paul’s been sleeping with Ann on and off for years. Ever since he turned eighteen. Nothing serious, but Emily hates it.”
“I can understand why. Is he even out of college? He could be her son.”
Towner laughed. “Well, he obviously likes older women…”