33

Val dropped Alison off at a car rental agency. Alison zoomed along Glenwood on her way to Weathersby, feeling sporty and carefree despite last night’s harrowing adventure.

She put the top down on the red Chrysler Sebring, enjoying the sun and the wind on her face. Val, plus a generous insurance policy, convinced her to rent the convertible.

And the color?

Well, she felt like red today. It was bolder than her normal palette of choice. But despite a lack of sleep the night before, she had a feeling something was going to happen soon to break open the case, and she was determined to remain optimistic.

That pile of dictation still waited for her, and if she knew Ivy—and she was beginning to know her all too well—she’d be cooped up in the office all day despite this glorious April weather.

And true to her prediction, the typing did take all day, but by five o’clock, she’d managed somehow to catch up with Ivy’s frenzied dictation and correspondence. Justin and Claire reported a quiet day at school when she quizzed them over the phone.

Officer Ross had trailed them—discreetly to Claire’s satisfaction—home. Dutiful Justin called his mom when they walked through the door and on the hour every hour per her instructions.

She walked in to the enticing aromas of chicken and wild rice soup. But with a kick, as Claire pointed out. She ditched her purse and her shoes, slipping into her favorite pink polka dot flip-flops.

“Twenty minutes,” Claire cautioned. “Justin is upstairs on the phone with Mike. They’re working on Justin’s new ‘How to’ essay.”

Go figure. Mountain-man Mike—English tutor.

“What?” She mimicked Claire, drama-queen style. “Mike’s not planning on joining us for dinner?”

Claire stirred the soup. “Not tonight, but I invited him over for dinner Saturday.”

She blinked. “You what?”

“You’ll both be busy tomorrow night at the ball.”

She placed one hand on her hip. “Now wait a minute, Claire. You make it sound like it’s a date.”

“Oh, Mom. Give me a little credit. He already told Justin and me about it on the phone when we called him after school.”

They had phone instructions from him, too?

“He wanted to make sure Justin and I understood he was there to protect you and gather intel.”

“You make me sound like Mata Hari with her dance of the veils.”

Claire clanged the lid on the pot. “Puh-leeze, Mother. Now I have to live forever with that image of you burned into my delicate young mind.”

She swatted at Claire’s behind.

Claire clasped her hands together. “So . . . I’ve been working all afternoon on your ball gown.”

“My what?”

“You heard me. Have you for one moment considered what you’re going to wear tomorrow night?”

She bit her lip.

Claire threw up her hands. “Exactly. That’s why I took it upon myself to make sure you didn’t disgrace our family with something you yanked out of the closet at the last minute. Justin and I have to live in this town, you know.”

Taking hold of her shoulders, Claire steered her into the family room. “Men have it so easy. A tux and they’re done. I’ve been advising Mike on accessories to tweak his ensemble.”

Imagining that conversation put a smile on Alison’s face.

Claire dragged her mother over to a heap of fabric lying helter-skelter across the sofa. She draped a swath of shimmering gold lamé over Alison’s shoulder. Claire stood chin in hand, surveying the result. “Yes, just as I thought. Gold is definitely your color.”

Alison fingered the material. “It’s a little clingy.”

“Silhouette-revealing, Mother. You’re thin, and you’ve got great, long legs which I intend to show off with a slit in the side up to about . . .” Claire’s hand moved up the outside of Alison’s thigh.

She grabbed Claire’s palm and pushed it down. And down. And farther down still.

“I’m not in the market, young lady.”

Claire raised an expertly penciled brow. “Oh, really?”

“Yes, really, and I’m not trying to advertise my assets or lack thereof, either.”

Claire skewered her with a look. “You must try and develop a little more self-confidence.” She grinned and tossed her head back with her hand across her brow. Her golden hoops quivered. “We artists are so little understood. But as you wish, Mother dear, if you don’t mind being boring. And lame.”

Smart enough to know when she had been roundly insulted, Alison decided to drop it. “Where did you get all this fabric?”

Claire folded the luscious lengths of spangled material. “Aunt Val took me after her doctor’s appointment. I left Justin with strict instructions to start the soup. He taught Officer Ross how to putt while I was gone. Aunt Val and I had to dash through Fletcher’s Fabrics to make it home in time. She just left, as a matter of fact, right before you got home.”

Through years of experience in dealing with Claire, she seized on the most important piece of information. “Why was Val at the doctor?”

Claire shrugged as she wrapped the black feather boa around her neck. “How should I know? Female stuff, most likely. I’m not as nosy as you are, Mother. I respect other people’s privacy.”

As Claire made her grand exit amidst much flouncing up to the bonus room where she had her own sewing corner, Alison stopped resisting her urges. She rolled her eyes.

“And the good Lord alone knows what getup she’s going to have for me.” Alison pressed the phone against her ear.

“It’s going to be lovely. She showed me her design drawings. I’m so jealous. The costume I bought is going to pale by comparison,” Val commented on the other end of the line.

Alison tucked her feet under her, the pillow cushion propped between her and the armrest.

“I’m looking forward to the ball. Stephen and I don’t usually attend these sorts of society functions. But Stephen’s boss, the head of cardiology, was pushy about the whole thing. Stephen felt pressured to buy a ticket. Two, to be exact. The entire department will be there.”

“Yes, Dr. Reynolds has always been a generous supporter.”

“He’s certainly a generous arm twister,” said Val. “Nothing wrong with Weathersby and historic preservation, mind you, but it’s a lot of money, and we tend to lend our financial support to our church.”

“I know, but I, for one, will be glad to have your presence there tomorrow night. It will be my first official outing since Frank’s death. People will stare and point.”

“Now you sound like Claire,” Val chided. “It will be far less dramatic than you imagine. There’ve been no follow-up articles since Monday.”

“That’s because there have been no developments. But I’m working on changing that.”

Val heaved a deep sigh. “I thank God every night for Mike. Lord knows he’s got his job cut out for him, if he hopes to restrain you from rushing in where angels fear to tread.”

“You sound like him. Have you guys been conspiring against me?”

“No, just trying to keep you alive. Consider Stephen and me your backup. We plan to take our jobs seriously,” Val joked. “Speaking of the handsome detective, you know I expect you to spill your guts about your big date after the ball.”

Alison bolted upright, almost dropping the phone. “It’s not a date, Val. We’re working the case.”

Val gave a short bark of a laugh. “You two are working something all right.”

She fretted at the zipper on the cushion. “He’s too young for me, Val.”

“Hah! He’s all of what? Three years younger? Or is that just your latest excuse to stick your head in the sand this week?”

She gripped the phone. “I do not—”

“I always say, ‘Get ’em young and train ’em right.’ ”

Alison giggled—despite herself—as Val had intended.

Skirmishing broke out on Val’s end.

“Got to go,” yelled Val over the noise. “Stephen’s on call tonight, and World War III just erupted in the living room between Trey and Dillon over the remote. It’s a guy thing apparently.”

She laughed. “Sure thing. I’ll see you at the ball.” As she clicked off the phone a tiny flicker of excitement ignited within Alison.

The ball. That sounded so—so outside her usual life, so full of enchantment.

She darted a glance at the ceiling, toward the steady hum of the sewing machine. If it were up to Claire—her own personal fairy godmother—she wouldn’t only feel like Cinderella going to the ball, she’d look like her, too.

And on Mike’s well-muscled arm. Her toes curled in delicious anticipation.

Whoa . . .

Better not get carried away. Because deep down, despite the excitement of ball gowns and dancing, she refused to give herself over completely to fantasy. Reality had hit fantasy head-on a long time ago.

No handsome prince awaited her. Not now. Not ever. In fact, she didn’t believe they existed anymore. She hadn’t believed for a long time.

Not since Hawaii.