Daughters Of The Bride. Susan Mallery

great-grandmother was still alive and they could take their vulture selves away until informed otherwise.

      “It wasn’t your fault,” Seth said now as he pushed up his glasses. “The lawyer gave you the key to the house.”

      “Something he shouldn’t have done. You know, it wouldn’t have happened if they’d hired a local lawyer. But no. They had to bring one up from Los Angeles.”

      Sienna had apologized to Mrs. Trowbridge personally. The old lady—small and frail in her assisted-living bed—had laughed and told Sienna she understood. Great-granddaughter Erika had not. Of course, Erika was still bitter about the fact that Sienna had not only snagged the role of Sandy in their high school production of Grease but also—perhaps more important—won the heart of Jimmy Dawson in twelfth grade.

      “She was a nice old lady,” she murmured, thinking she would have liked to have sent flowers. Instead, she would donate that amount to The Helping Store in Mrs. Trowbridge’s name. “I wonder if there’s anything left in her kitchen.”

      “You think the granddaughter took things?”

      “Great-granddaughter, and I wouldn’t put it past her. If she had her way, Erika would clean the place out. At least we’ll get the cash donation.”

      “I’m meeting with the lawyer in the morning.”

      Sienna was the donation coordinator for The Helping Store, one of a handful of paid staff. The large and bustling thrift store was manned by volunteers. All the proceeds from the store, along with any cash raised by donations, went to a shelter for women escaping domestic violence. Getting away from the abuser was half the battle. Over the years, The Helping Store had managed to buy several small duplexes on the edge of town. They were plain but clean and, most important to women on the run, far from their abusers.

      Her boss nodded toward the front of the building. “Ready to tap-dance?”

      Sienna smiled as she rose. “It’s not like that. I enjoy my work.”

      “You put on a good show.” He held up a hand. “Believe me. I’m not complaining. You’re the best. My biggest fear is that some giant nonprofit in the big city will make you an offer you can’t refuse and I’ll be left Sienna-less. I can’t think of a sadder fate.”

      “I’m not going anywhere,” she promised. Oh, sure, every now and then she thought about what it would be like to live in LA or San Francisco, but those feelings passed. This small coastal town was all she knew. Her family was here.

      “Isn’t David from somewhere back East?” Seth asked.

      She pulled open her desk drawer and collected her handbag, then walked out into the hallway. “St. Louis. His whole family’s there.”

      Seth groaned. “Tell me he’s not interested in moving back.”

      There were a lot of implications in that sentence. That she and David were involved enough to be having that conversation. That one day they would be married and, should he want to return to his hometown, she would go with him.

      She patted her boss’s arm. “Cart, meet horse. You’re getting way ahead of yourself. We’ve only been dating a few months. Things aren’t that serious. He’s a nice guy and all, but...”

      “No sparks.” Seth’s tone was sympathetic. “Bummer.”

      “We can’t all have your one true great love.”

      “You’re right. Gary is amazing. Okay, then, let’s get you to the Anderson House so you can dazzle the good people who make— Who are you talking to?”

      “The California Organization of Organic Soap Manufacturing, and they’re at the Los Lobos Hotel. The Anderson House has bees.”

      Seth’s expression brightened. “The Drunken Red-nosed Honeybees? I love those guys. Did you know their raw honey has thirty percent more antioxidants than any other raw honey in California?”

      “I didn’t and I could have gone all day without that factoid.”

      “You’re jealous because I’m smart.”

      “No, you’re jealous because I’m pretty and our world is shallow so that counts more.”

      Seth laughed. “Fine. Go be pretty with the soap people and bring us back some money.”

      “Will do.”

      Sienna drove to the hotel. She knew the way. Not only because her hometown was on the small side—but also because nearly every significant event was celebrated there.

      The Los Lobos Hotel sat on a low bluff overlooking the Pacific. The main building was midcentury modern meets California Spanish, four stories high with blinding white walls and a red tile roof. The rear wing had been added in the 1980s, and luxury bungalows dotted the grounds.

      Given the pleasant Central California weather, most large-scale events were held outside on the massive lawn in front of the pool. A grand pavilion stood on the lawn between the pool and the ocean, and a petite pavilion by the paddleboat pond.

      Sienna parked the car and collected her material. As she walked toward the rear entrance of the hotel, she saw that the windows sparkled and the hedges were perfectly trimmed. Joyce did an excellent job managing the hotel, she thought. She was also a generous contributor to The Helping Store. And not just with money. More than once Sienna had called to find out if there was a spare room for a displaced family or a woman on the run. A year ago Joyce had offered a small room kept on reserve for their permanent use.

      Helping women in need was something Joyce had been doing forever. Nearly twenty-four years before, when Sienna and her sisters had lost their father, and Maggie, their mother, had been widowed, the family had been thrown into chaos. A lack of life insurance, Maggie’s limited income and three little girls to support had left the young mother struggling. In a matter of months, she’d lost her house.

      Joyce had taken them all in to live at the Los Lobos Hotel. Now Sienna smiled at the memory. She’d been only six at the time. Missing her father, of course, but also discovering the joy of reading. The day the Watson family had taken up residence in one of the hotel’s bungalows, Joyce had given Sienna a copy of Eloise. Sienna had immediately seen herself as the charming heroine from the book and had made herself at home in the hotel. While it wasn’t the same as living at The Plaza, it was close enough to help her through her grief.

      Sienna remembered how she’d called for room service and told the person answering the phone to “charge it.” Most likely those bills had gone directly to Joyce rather than to Maggie. And when she’d begged her mother for a turtle, because Eloise had one, a guest had stepped in to buy her one.

      While there was pain in some of the memories, she had to admit living at the hotel had been fun. At least for her. It was probably a different story for her mother.

      She entered through the rear door and started down the hall toward the meeting rooms. At the far end, she saw a familiar figure wrestling with a vacuum. As she watched, Courtney tripped over the cord and nearly plowed face-first into the wall. A combination of love and frustration swelled up inside her. There was a reason the phrase was “pulling a Courtney.” Because if someone was going to stumble, fall, drop, break or slip, it was her baby sister.

      “Hey, you,” Sienna called as she got closer.

      Courtney turned and smiled.

      Sienna did her best not to wince at Courtney’s uniform—not that the khaki pants and polo shirt were so horrible, but on her sister, they just looked wrong. While most people considered being tall an advantage, on Courtney the height was simply awkward. Like now—her pants were too short and, even though she was relatively thin, they bunched around her hips and thighs. The shirt looked two sizes too small and there was a stain on the front. She wasn’t wearing makeup and her long blond hair—about her best feature—was pulled back in a ponytail. She was, to put it honestly, a mess. Something she’d been for as long as Sienna could remember.

      Courtney