Copper Lake Secrets. Marilyn Pappano

for the theory of Grandmother. The old woman was standing on the stair landing, hair brushed, makeup freshened, a string of pearls added to the diamonds she always wore.

      Reece glanced over her shoulder at the study door. The room was silent now. Just her imagination running wild. It always had, according to Grandmother. That girl lives in a fantasy world, she’d often complained to Valerie. Thinks she sees ghosts everywhere.

      Heard them. Reece had never seen a ghost. She’d simply heard them, and felt them.

      She loosened her grip on the banister and backed away as Grandmother descended the stairs.

      “Dinner is served promptly at 12:30. Supper is at 6:30. If you miss the meal, you fend for yourself—and clean up after yourself.” With an arch look, Grandmother passed her and headed for the dining room.

      Reece followed her and took a seat at the polished mahogany table as a woman about her mother’s age began serving the meal. There was iced tea in crystal goblets that predated the War, salad and rolls served on delicate plates her great-great-and-so-on grandfather had brought from France when he was still a sea captain in the early 1800s, roasted chicken and vegetables, and pie. Much more than the po’boy or muffuletta she usually had for lunch back home.

      The conversation was sporadic, nothing more interesting than general comments about the weather or the food. It was ridiculous, really, to chitchat about nothing when they hadn’t seen each other in so long, but Reece was no more eager to have a serious conversation than Grandmother was willing to break her dinnertime rules.

      It would have been nice, though, to have been greeted with a little more pleasure—a hug, a kiss, an I’m happy to see you. Valerie didn’t have much patience with her, but even she managed that much every time they met.

      Finally, the meal was over and Grandmother, taking her tea along, led the way into her study. It was the brightest, airiest room in the house, but it was stifling in its own way. The furniture was uncomfortable, and Grandmother didn’t relax her rules there. A settee that didn’t invite sitting, spine properly straight, chin up, ankles crossed and Grandmother with her own rigid posture didn’t invite confidences or intimacy.

      Grandmother had apparently exhausted her store of chitchat and went straight to the point. “All these years, all those invitations you turned down or ignored, and suddenly you show up without so much as a call. What changed your mind?”

      She could claim tender feelings, but Grandmother wouldn’t believe her. Reece had always tried to love her; weren’t grandmothers supposed to be important in a girl’s life? But loving someone who constantly criticized and lectured and admonished … Fearing Grandfather had been easy. Feeling anything for Grandmother hadn’t.

      Reece gave a simple, truthful answer. “Curiosity.”

      “Curiosity killed the cat.”

      How many times had she heard that? And Mark, always out of the adults’ earshot, creeping up beside her, his mouth near her ear. Meow.

      “You look well,” Reece said evenly.

      “I am well. Your grandfather, however, is dead. Your mother came for his service. Your aunt Lorna came, and Mark and his family were there. Several hundred people were there, in fact, but not his one and only granddaughter.”

      The desire to squirm rippled through Reece, but she controlled it. Howard women met every situation with poise and confidence. “I couldn’t come.”

      “You mean you wouldn’t.”

      “It’s not as if we were close.”

      “And whose fault is that?”

       His. He never said a nice word to me. He yelled at me. He scared me. He threatened—

      Reece stiffened. Threatened? She didn’t recall Grandfather ever actually threatening her, not with tattling or spanking or anything. Was that part of what she couldn’t remember? Part of why she couldn’t remember?

      “It was my fault,” Reece said. She would take all the blame Grandmother could dish out if it helped her get a few answers. “That summer I lived here, I was frightened of him. He wasn’t exactly warm and cuddly.”

      To her surprise, Grandmother nodded. “No, he wasn’t. But he was a good man.”

      Maybe in the overall scheme of things. Reece couldn’t deny that Mark had adored him. Maybe Grandfather hadn’t known how to relate to girls. Maybe he’d never forgiven his older son for leaving and transferred that resentment to her. Maybe asking him to deal with his son’s death and a grieving thirteen-year-old girl at the same time was too much. She did look an awful lot like her father.

      “That summer,” she hesitantly began.

      “What about it?”

      What happened? Why do I still have nightmares? Why can’t I remember? The questions seemed so reasonable to her, but she’d lived with them for fifteen years. Would they sound half so reasonable to Grandmother, who hadn’t been much better at dealing with a grieving thirteen-year-old than her husband?

      “I’ve been thinking a lot about that summer lately,” Reece said, watching Grandmother closely for any reaction.

      She showed none. “It was a difficult time for everyone. Losing your father that way … Your uncle Cecil passed four years ago. A mother’s not supposed to outlive both her children.”

      The last words were heavy, as if she felt every one of her seventy-eight years, and sparked both sympathy and regret in Reece. She couldn’t imagine losing a child … or having a loving grandmother. If things had been different, if Daddy hadn’t moved to Colorado, if Reece had had a chance to know both her grandparents before Daddy’s death, would that summer have had such an impact on her?

      But Daddy had had issues of his own with Grandfather, so their visits had been few. They’d been practically strangers when she and Valerie had come to stay.

      And there was no wishing for a new past. It was done, and all that was left was living with the consequences.

      “I’m sorry about Cecil,” Reece said, meaning it even though she hadn’t met the man more than twice that she could recall.

      Grandmother’s unusual sentimentality evaporated. “He ate too much, drank too much and considered riding around a golf course in a cart exercise. It was no great shock that his heart gave out on him. His doctor had been warning him for years about his blood pressure and cholesterol, but he wouldn’t listen. He thought he would live forever.” Her sharp gaze fixed on Reece. “How long are you planning to stay?”

      “I don’t know. A few days.” No longer than she had to. “If that’s all right with you,” she added belatedly.

      “Of course it’s all right. Fair Winds has always been known for its hospitality. I already told your cousin Mark that you’re here, so he’ll be by to say hello.”

      Reece swallowed hard. “He lives around here?” That was one thing she hadn’t considered. Much as she wanted answers, she wasn’t sure she wanted to face her childhood enemy to get them.

      “In town. He moved here after college. He and Macy—she’s from a good Charleston family—they have one daughter and another on the way. He runs the family business and checks in on me every day.”

      Reece smiled weakly. “Wonderful.”

       Grandfather’s dead. I’m not thirteen. I can handle this.

      If she repeated it often enough, maybe she would start to believe it.

      Jones stopped at the grocery store to get the five major food groups—milk, cereal, bread, eggs and chips—before going to the motel to pick up his clothes and Mick. When he let himself into the room, the dog was stretched out on the bed, the pillow under his head, the blanket snuggled around him. He lifted his head, stretched, then rolled onto his back for a scratch, and