Confessions. JoAnn Ross

into disrepair. Five years ago it had been lovingly restored by its current owners, who’d decorated it with an eclectic, but attractive mix of antique and western furniture, and established it as a landmark lodge and conference center.

      As a girl, Mariah, along with the rest of Whiskey River’s kids, had prowled the decaying, boarded-up mansion, scaring themselves silly telling ghost stories they swore were true.

      Now, while she admired the transformation, the golden oak columns and paneling of the lobby—which had been the original entry hall—represented yet another sign of change in a hometown she’d always believed to have been frozen in time.

      Although the desk clerk informed Mariah there were no rooms—the lodge was booked months in advance for the holiday, the young man sniffed—all she had to do was mention the Swann name and presto, a suite just happened to open up.

      “You’re right down the hall from Ms. Martin,” the clerk volunteered as he handed Mariah the coded card.

      “Ms. Martin?”

      “The senator’s aide. She checked in late last night.”

      “Was she alone?”

      “Actually—” he leaned over the counter “—the senator was with her when she arrived. He also went upstairs with her.” He’d lowered his voice, but Mariah couldn’t miss the implication in his tone. The man liked to gossip. Terrific.

      “Tell me, Kevin,” she said, reading his name tag and smiling conspiratorially as she leaned toward him, “would you happen to know how long the senator was upstairs with Ms. Martin?”

      “Well.” He raked a hand through his hair and looked around, as if to ensure the manager wasn’t hovering anywhere nearby to observe his indiscretion. “Although I’m not one to spread gossip....”

      After having successfully pumped the desk clerk, Mariah was headed across the plant-filled lobby when she heard a voice call out her name. She turned and saw a vaguely familiar face headed toward her.

      “I thought that was you,” the woman exclaimed with a warm, welcoming smile. She embraced Mariah with an enthusiastic air kiss on both cheeks. “Lord, it’s been absolutely ages!”

      “Ages,” Mariah agreed. She managed a wan smile. “How are you, Freddi? You’re certainly looking well.”

      That was an understatement. Fredericka Palmer definitely did not look like a woman who’d spent her entire life in a small mountain town. Her jet hair curved stylishly beneath her chin in a sleek smooth line as shiny as a raven’s wings. Mariah could not see a single strand out of place.

      Her makeup, like her hair, was flawless. Her turquoise silk blouse, short black leather skirt and buttery soft Italian high heels suggested Neiman Marcus chic.

      “Aren’t you sweet.” Fredericka’s smile was as bright as the diamonds adorning her earlobes. “Of course I’m just a small-town Realtor. I’ll never be a glamorous television star like you were.” She visibly preened as her dark eyes took a quick, judicial tour of Mariah’s own disheveled state. “But all a girl can do is try her best, right?”

      “Right.” Mariah was reminded of the days when Fredericka Palmer had been elected homecoming queen. She hadn’t changed in all these intervening years. All that was missing, Mariah considered, was the rhinestone tiara. For not the first time, Mariah wondered what it was that Fredericka and Laura could have in common to have allowed them to stay friends since kindergarten days. It must simply be a case of opposites attracting.

      As for being a small-town Realtor, Mariah knew from Laura that Fredericka had made a fortune subdividing ranch and timber land into recreational developments. Laura had also told her that in addition to the family ranch, the thrice divorced and recently widowed Freddi owned a sprawling home situated on the ninth hole of a prestigious Scottsdale golf course, a beach house in La Jolla and a penthouse apartment on Chicago’s Gold Coast.

      “Are you staying here?” Fredericka asked.

      “For now.”

      “I’d have thought you might stay at the ranch.” Her voice went up on the end of the comment, turning it into a question.

      Mariah shrugged. “The senator and I tend to get on each other’s nerves.”

      “You know,” Fredericka lowered her voice as she leaned toward Mariah, “you could have bowled me over with a feather when you called my office out of the blue that way the other day.”

      After the events of the past few hours, Mariah had completely forgotten about that phone call. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to postpone our meeting.”

      “Oh?” An ebony brow climbed a forehead free of worry lines or wrinkles. “Postpone? Or cancel?”

      “I don’t know.” At the time, the impulse to return to Whiskey River had seemed like a good idea. Now, with Laura gone, Mariah realized that there was no longer anything—or anyone—to come home to.

      Laura.

      Pain clawed at Mariah’s heart. She debated breaking the news to Freddi, then decided she wasn’t up to answering the inevitable questions. “I’ll call you,” she hedged.

      “I’ll be looking forward to your call.” Freddi’s eyes narrowed as if a thought had suddenly occurred to her. “Did you tell Laura you were returning to Whiskey River?”

      The question caused another of those painful little heart clenches. “Yes.” It was not exactly a lie. She had, after all, left the message on the recorder. “Why?”

      “I spoke with her recently and she didn’t mention you. So, naturally I didn’t mention our appointment. Since you said you wanted to keep it confidential.”

      “That was very considerate of you,” Mariah allowed.

      “Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to cause any more trouble between you and your sister. After all that’s happened in the past.”

      Mariah murmured something vague that could have been taken as agreement.

      Fredericka glanced down at her trendy black Movado museum watch. “Well, as much as I’d love to stay and chat, I have to dash. The Cow Belles are sponsoring the Fourth of July barbecue, as always, and there’s still tons of last-minute detail work to do.

      “For instance, the bunting for the grandstand,” she elaborated on a huff of frustrated breath. “You’d think finding red, white, and blue crepe paper, especially this time of year would be easy, wouldn’t you?”

      Mariah found it uncomfortably surrealistic to be talking about crepe paper bunting while her sister’s body was lying in a locker across town. “Well, now that you mention it—”

      “But it isn’t simple.” Fredericka shook her head, sending her hair flying in a glossy dark arc. “Not at all. There’s navy blue and royal blue, not to mention cobalt. And, Lord, I don’t even want to get into the reds.”

      She expelled another dramatic breath through her pursed vermillion lips, then brightened. “Oh, well. I’m sure you have more important things to do than to listen to me going on about my petty problems.”

      “Actually—”

      Mariah was cut off by another brief air kiss to the cheek. “I’m off to my meeting. Give my love to Laura and tell her that if she’s not returning to Washington immediately after Alan’s rally, I insist we get together for lunch next week.

      “To tell you the truth,” Freddi divulged, “I’ve been a little worried about your sister. Whenever she’s come back to town these past months, she’s seemed a bit distracted.”

      When Mariah didn’t immediately answer, Fredericka shrugged her silk clad shoulders and said, “But knowing Laura, I’m sure whatever is bothering her will work out. She’s always been disgustingly capable. I swear, if she wasn’t my very dearest friend I’d be pea green with envy.”