Tangled Memories. Marta Perry

Ainsley. All I want is for you to be happy.”

      For a moment he thought Ainsley would flare out at his mother, but he retreated into sulky silence instead. Surprisingly, it was Corrie who returned them to a semblance of normalcy.

      “I’d really like to freshen up from the trip, so if you wouldn’t mind…”

      Recalled to her hostess duties, Eulalie hustled to her feet. “I’ll show you to your room.”

      He stepped back to let Corrie pass him. “I’ll see you at dinner, then.”

      And maybe by then he’d have at least a preliminary report from the private investigator who was supposed to be finding out everything there was to know about Corrie Grant.

      

      “That’s the lot of them.” Corrie leaned back on the four-poster bed, cell phone cradled against her ear. She’d just finished giving Ann Moreno a rundown of her reception. If she hadn’t been able to confide in her closest friend, she’d have burst. “And every one of them would like nothing better than to run me out of town.”

      “You didn’t go to Savannah to make them like you,” Ann said. “What matters is finding out about your parents.”

      She could always count on Ann for a sensible approach, and she felt a wave of longing to be sitting across from her at a scrubbed table in the café, chatting over the coffee cups.

      “I just hope someone’s willing to talk about them. So far I haven’t seen any signs of that.”

      “It’s early days yet. You’ll work it out. Meanwhile, don’t worry about anything here.”

      “Thanks, Annie. I couldn’t do this if you hadn’t taken over the café.”

      “You’d do the same for me, if I ever discovered I was a lost heiress.” Ann’s chuckle was warm. “Not that it’s very likely. You take care, honey.”

      Corrie hung up, comforted. Someone, at least, had confidence in her. She glanced at her watch. Time to get dressed for dinner at Eulalie’s.

      If someone back home said come on over to supper, she knew what that meant. Here, she wasn’t sure. She began to dress, hoping a denim skirt would do.

      A nap and a shower had helped. She no longer felt so tense. She could even enjoy the bedroom, with its four-poster bed and cool white walls. The floral print of the bed skirt was echoed in the drapes on the many-paned windows that looked out onto the courtyard, seeming to invite the greenery in.

      Taking her well-worn Bible from the suitcase, she put it on the mahogany bedside table and opened it to Psalms. The single, faded photograph of her parents she’d found among Aunt Ella’s papers looked back at her.

      She picked it up, studying the young faces. Gracie smiled at her brand-new husband, her eyes soft with love. Laughter lit Trey’s lean face as he looked at his bride. They’d been newlyweds, ready to leave for Savannah so that Gracie could meet his family. What had happened in a few short months here to bring them to such a tragic end?

      She had to know. She tucked the photograph back inside the Bible and closed it. She would know.

      Closing the bedroom door behind her, she paused at the top of the graceful curving staircase. Sunlight streamed through French doors that opened onto a balcony from the spacious upper hallway, and pink roses in a silver urn perfumed the air.

      Father, I know You’ve brought me here for a reason. Please, lead me to the people who have answers.

      She went down the curving stairway, running her hand along the polished railing. Her soft footsteps on the carpet made little sound, and the crystal chandelier in the downstairs hall tinkled once in response and then was still.

      “I hope being alone in the house won’t bother you,” Eulalie had said. “Mrs. Andrews does sleep in, but I’m afraid she’s so deaf she wouldn’t hear anything softer than the last trumpet.”

      Corrie had already met the housekeeper, who’d regarded her with the deepest suspicion and pretended to be unable to hear anything Corrie said. If Lucas and company thought the possibility of being virtually alone was enough to scare her away, they’d better think again.

      The long downstairs hallway bisected the house, leading onto a glassed-in porch that overlooked the garden. She went through it and down the curved, wrought-iron stairs. A small brick patio was flanked by flower beds overflowing with peonies and old-fashioned roses, and the railing supported such a lush growth of ivy that it threatened to take over the stairs.

      The wall of Eulalie’s house formed the backdrop of the flower beds. Lovely, she supposed, but the place made her feel claustrophobic. Why did they want to live in such close quarters? Even the air was close, heavy with moisture. She could feel her hair curling in reaction.

      She followed the brick pathway toward Eulalie’s door. A fountain splashed softly in the middle of the garden, and beyond it, half-hidden by the foliage, were the other two houses, a little smaller, less grand than the two that faced the street.

      One of them had been the house where her parents lived during their brief time here together. It was rented to an old family friend, according to Lucas. If she could see it…

      But what would that tell her after thirty years? It couldn’t tell her if they’d been happy there, or if Trey had known about Gracie’s pregnancy. Would he have been glad?

      The door swung open, as if someone had been watching. The sight of Lucas cut short a line of fruitless speculation.

      “Corrie, come in. We’ve been waiting for you.”

      That should have sounded welcoming. It didn’t.

      

      An interminable hour and a half later they’d moved from Eulalie’s formal dining room to an equally formal front parlor. Like Baxter’s parlor next door, this one was furnished with antiques, but the effect in Eulalie’s room was crowded, rather than spacious, as if she hadn’t been able to resist the attraction of just one more crystal vase or china figurine.

      The dinner guest Lucas had mentioned now patted a spot next to her on a plush love seat. “Come and sit next to me, Corrie. We must chat.”

      There was nothing Corrie would like better, because Lydia Baron was the family friend who rented Trey’s house. Trey and Gracie’s house, she mentally corrected. Surely her mother had had the right to think of it as hers when she’d lived there.

      She sat down, aware of the comparison between her denim and the silk dress the other woman wore. Lydia must be about Eulalie’s age, but in contrast to Eulalie’s soft, faded charm, Lydia had a brisk, down-to-earth manner and a slim, athletic frame that a younger woman might have envied. Her gray hair was short and stylish, and bright blue eyes sparkled in a tanned face.

      “What are you thinking of all of us, I wonder?” Lydia sounded amused. “Pitchforked into the midst of Baxter’s dysfunctional family as you are.”

      “Dysfunctional?” She’d pegged Lydia as forthright, but this seemed a little too blunt, even for a family friend.

      “What can I say?” Lydia lowered her voice, but Corrie doubted anyone heard them over the wrangle Deidre and Ainsley had just begun. “You can see for yourself. No one’s happy.”

      Corrie looked over that comment for hidden traps. She’d like to believe she’d found someone who’d be honest with her, but it hardly seemed possible that Lydia would take her side against the family.

      “Brothers and sisters often argue, I guess. I don’t have any siblings, so I can’t say for sure.”

      “Ainsley and Deidre fight with each other because they don’t want to hurt their mother’s soft heart. They’re afraid to take their quarrel to the real source of their unhappiness. Baxter Manning.”

      Here was blunt speaking with a vengeance. “I’m not sure I understand what you