Hide in Plain Sight. Marta Perry

problem.”

      She slammed the door, and he pulled away, leaving her standing under the hand-carved sign that now hung next to the entrance to the Unger mansion. The Three Sisters Inn.

      TWO

      Andrea had barely reached the recessed front door when it was flung open, light spilling out onto the flag-stones. In an instant she was in Grams’s arms, and the tears she didn’t want to shed flowed. They stood half in and half out of the house, and she was ten again, weeping over the mess her parents were making of their lives, holding on to Grams and thinking that here was one rock she could always cling to.

      Grams drew her inside, blotting her tears with an unsteady hand, while her own trickled down her cheeks. “I’m so glad you’re here, Dree. So glad.”

      The childhood nickname, given when two-years-younger Rachel couldn’t say her name, increased the sensation that she’d stepped into the past. She stood in the center hall that had seemed enormous to her once, with its high ceiling and wide plank floor. Barney, Grams’s sheltie, danced around them, welcoming her with little yips.

      She bent to pet the dog, knowing Barney wouldn’t stop until she did. “I went to the hospital to see Rachel. They told me you’d already gone home. I should have called you….”

      Grams shook her head, stopping her. “It’s fine. Cal phoned me while you were with Rachel.”

      “He didn’t say.” Her tone was dry. Nice of him, but he might have mentioned he’d talked to Grams.

      “He told me about the accident.” Grams’s arm, still strong and wiry despite her age, encircled Andrea’s waist. Piercing blue eyes, bone structure that kept her beautiful despite her wrinkles, a pair of dangling aqua earrings that matched the blouse she wore—Grams looked great for any age, let alone nearly seventy-five. “Two accidents in one night is two too many.”

      That was a typical Grams comment, the tartness of her tone hiding the fear she must have felt.

      “Well, fortunately the only damage was to the car.” She’d better change the subject, before Grams started to dwell on might-have-beens. She looked through the archway to the right, seeing paint cloths draped over everything in the front parlor. “I see you’re in the midst of redecorating.”

      Grams’s blue eyes darkened with worry. “The opening is Memorial Day weekend, and now Rachel is laid up. I don’t know…” She stopped and shook her head. “Well, we’ll get through it somehow. Right now, let’s get you settled, so that both of us can catch a few hours sleep. Tomorrow will be here before you know it.”

      “Where are you putting me?” She glanced up the graceful open staircase that led from the main hall to the second floor. “Is that all guest rooms now?”

      Grams nodded. “The west side of the house is the inn. The east side is still ours.” She opened the door on the left of the hall. “Come along in. We have the back stairway and the rooms on this side, so that’ll give us our privacy. You’ll be surprised at how well this is working out.”

      She doubted it, but she was too tired to pursue the subject now. Or to think straight, for that matter. And Grams must be exhausted, physically and emotionally. Still, she couldn’t help one question.

      “What was she doing out there? Rachel, I mean. Why was she walking along Crossings Road alone after dark?”

      “She was taking Barney for a run.” Grams’s voice choked a little. “She’s been doing that for me since she got here, especially now that things have been so upset. Usually there’s not much traffic.”

      That made sense. Rachel could cut onto Crossings Road, perpendicular to the main route, without going into the village.

      She trailed her grandmother through the large room that had been her grandfather’s library, now apparently being converted into an office-living room, and up the small, enclosed stairway. This was the oldest part of the house, built in 1725. The ceilings were lower here, accounting for lots of odd little jogs in how the two parts of the Unger mansion fit together.

      Grams held on to the railing, as if she needed some help getting up the stairs, but her back was as straight as ever. The dog, who always slept on the rug beside her bed, padded along.

      Her mind flickered back to Grams’s comment. “What do you mean, things have been upset? Has something gone wrong with your plans?”

      She could have told them, had told them, that they were getting in over their heads with this idea of turning the place into an inn. Neither of them knew anything about running a bed-and-breakfast, and Grams was too old for this kind of stress.

      “Just—just the usual things. Nothing for you to worry about.”

      That sounded evasive. She’d push, but they were both too tired.

      Her grandmother opened a door at the top of the stairs. “Here we are. I thought you’d want your old room.”

      The ceiling sloped, and the rosebud wallpaper hadn’t changed in twenty years. Even her old rag doll, left behind when her mother had stormed out of the house with them, still sat in the rocking chair, and her white Bible lay on the bedside table. This had been her room until she was ten, until the cataclysm that split the family and sent them flying off in all directions, like water droplets from a tornado. She tossed her bags onto the white iron bed and felt like crying once more.

      “Thanks, Grams.” Her voice was choked.

      “It’s all right.” Grams gave her another quick hug. “Let’s just have a quick prayer.” She clasped Andrea’s hands, and Andrea tried not to think about how long it had been since she’d prayed before tonight.

      “Hold our Rachel in Your hands, Father.” Grams’s voice was husky. “We know You love her even more than we do. Please, touch her with Your healing hand. Amen.”

      “Amen,” Andrea whispered. She was sure there were questions she should ask, but her mind didn’t seem to be working clearly.

      “Night, Grams. Try and sleep.”

      “Good night, Dree. I’m so glad you’re here.” Grams left the door ajar, her footsteps muffled on the hall carpet as she went to the room across the hall.

      Andrea looked at her things piled on the bed, and it seemed a gargantuan effort to move them. She undressed slowly, settling in.

      She took her shirt off and winced at the movement, turning to the wavy old mirror to see what damage she’d done. Bruises on her chest and shoulder were dark and ugly where the seat belt had cut in, and she had brush burns from the air bag. She was lucky that was the worst of it, but she shook a little at the reminder.

      After pulling a sleep shirt over her head, she cleaned off the bed and turned back the covers. She’d see about her car in the morning. Call the office, explain that she wouldn’t be in for a few days. Her boss wouldn’t like that, not with the Waterburn project nearing completion. Well, she couldn’t make any decisions until she saw how Rachel was.

      Frustration edged along her nerves as she crossed to the window to pull down the shade, not wanting to wake with the sun. This crazy scheme to turn the mansion into a bed-and-breakfast had been Rachel’s idea, no doubt. She hadn’t really settled to anything since culinary school, always moving from job to job.

      Grams should have talked some sense into her, instead of going along with the idea. At this time in her life, Grams deserved a quiet, peaceful retirement. And Rachel should be finding a job that had some security to it.

      Andrea didn’t like risky gambles. Maybe that was what made her such a good financial manager. Financial security came first, and then other things could line up behind it. If she’d learned anything from those chaotic years when her mother had dragged them around the country, constantly looking for something to make her happy, it was that.

      She stood for a moment, peering out. From this window she looked over