The Mirror (The Lost Bride Trilogy #2)

Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Inside, Sonya left Yoda lapping at his water bowl and headed up to Cleo’s studio.

She gave a light rap on the doorjamb before walking in.

“I’m about to go make myself presentable for… Oh, Cleo!”

Sonya stepped closer to the painting on the easel. “She’s stunning. She’s gorgeous. She’s amazing.”

“I think she’s finished.” Cleo stood at her worktable, cleaning her brushes. “I’m going to leave her there, take another good look tomorrow. And if I still think she’s finished, put her in the drying rack.”

“She’s magic,” Sonya murmured.

The mermaid sat on the rocks, her tail a glory of jewel colors as it swept the water. And while day broke in a symphony of golds, pinks, blues, and a whale sounded out to sea, she sat, holding a glass sphere.

In the sphere she held sat another, and in that sphere yet another.

“The detail, Cleo, inside the globes.” Sonya pressed a hand to her heart. “I’m awestruck. Sincerely.”

“I’m going to credit the mermaid lamp we found in storage, the happenstance of the job illustrating a book on mermaids, and this view for inspiration.”

She walked over, laid a hand on Sonya’s shoulder as she studied her own work.

“Screw bullshit modesty.” Cleo tossed back her hair, rocked her hips. “She’s special.”

“Owen should build you a frigging yacht for her.”

“A pretty two-person Sunfish is what I want. But he’d better appreciate her.”

“You didn’t sign her.”

“Tomorrow, after I’m a hundred percent sure. I guess you’re wrapped for the day. And now so am I. Let’s go get pretty.”

“Not only wrapped,” Sonya said as they started down. “I wrapped, then took a walk in the woods.”

“By yourself?”

“I had Yoda. Not far in, but maybe a little more than I planned. I liked it—though there was a moment after I found this little stream, or creek. What’s the difference?”

“A creek’s a small stream.”

Frowning, Sonya looked over as they stopped on the second floor. “How do you know that?”

“We have lots of them in Louisiana, Son.”

“True. I guess a creek.”

“Or a brook.”

“I like brook . I’m saying brook. Yoda chased a squirrel over this branch over the brook. But he came back. It was probably half a minute, but it seemed longer. I need a compass.”

“At least. Next time, you tell me you’re walking in the woods. If I can’t go with you, I’ll know where you are.”

“Deal. What are you wearing to dinner?”

“Haven’t decided.”

“I bet Molly has.”

They went into Cleo’s room together. On the bed lay a dress, belted at the waist, in a coppery color. With it lay a lacy black sweater.

“Nice choice,” Sonya decided.

“I have to agree. Thanks, Molly.”

Sonya continued to her own room and found her navy, square-necked dress paired with her cream-colored, waist-length suede jacket.

“I don’t think I’ve ever put those two pieces together. I like it. Thanks, Molly.”

Deciding she’d gotten used to having a fashion consultant, among other things, Sonya took her time.

She thought of all that had happened since she’d dressed for dinner with Trey—and he’d had to cancel.

She’d walked through the mirror, Owen beside her. She’d seen Lisbeth Poole die at her own wedding reception. Watched Hester Dobbs glide through, a ghost among ghosts, to take Lisbeth’s ring.

And she’d pulled herself into the normal so she and Cleo could make dinner for the men who’d stood with them, stood by them. Trey had watched Dobbs leap to her death off the seawall.

Cleo found Lisbeth’s portrait—what was surely the third in a series. Now it hung in the music room.

They’d withstood Dobbs’s three a.m. tantrum—it felt good to think of them as tantrums—then watched her, as Trey had, leap from the seawall.

Through it all, she thought, as she added earrings, they’d worked, and laughed, and lived.

And she’d taken a walk in the woods with her dog.

Her life, Sonya reflected, had grown so much richer, so much fuller since her move to Maine and the manor.

Though she’d spent, excepting the past few months, her whole life in Boston, she felt her roots digging deep into the rocky coast of Maine.

She missed the easy access to her mother, and suspected she always would. But the rest? No, she’d left that part of her life behind.

Stepping back, she did a half turn in the mirror. Then slid into her shoes, and with Yoda trailing behind, walked down the hall. She peeked into Cleo’s room.

“I’m nearly there!” Cleo called out. “I got distracted. A text from Lucy Cabot about a cat. I’m going to go see it—her, it’s a girl cat—tomorrow when I go into town for supplies.”

After perfecting her lipstick, Cleo stepped out of the bathroom and looked at Yoda.

“If she’s my cat, and I bring her home, you have to be sweet to her.”

“Lucy wouldn’t have called you if the cat didn’t get along with dogs. And Yoda’s already been field-tested with cats. This could be fun.”

“This is really just a look-see.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said about Yoda.” He wagged when Sonya gestured toward him. “Look and see.”

They started downstairs just as the doorbell bonged.

“Talk about timing.”

“Doesn’t that man have a key?” Cleo asked.

“He does, but he’s Trey. He’d think emergency only.”

Yoda was already dancing at the door, and bulleted out to greet Mookie when Sonya opened it.

“He thinks he’s the lucky one,” Trey commented. “But I’m the one taking two beautiful women to dinner.”

“Has the Mook had his?” Cleo asked.

“He has.”

“Then I’d say we’re set.” She picked up the tug rope, offered it.

And the games began.

“You boys behave.” She stepped out, rose up to kiss Trey. “More luck, going out to dinner with a handsome man. Or will it be two handsome men?”

“Owen’s meeting us. Apparently Jones is staying home and watching his favorite movie.”

“And what might that be?” Cleo wondered as they walked to Trey’s car. “ Scooby-Doo ? 101 Dalmatians ?”

“ King Kong , the original.”

“You’re kidding.”

Trey shook his head as he held car doors open. “Don’t ask me why, but Jones goes for it. And clearly roots for Kong.”

“I get the second part.” Sonya glanced back at Cleo, got a nod of agreement. “You take a giant ape out of his kingdom, try to merchandise him, what do you expect?”

Then she touched a hand to his arm. “Can you tell us how it went with your friend, and her kids?”

“It wasn’t pretty, but in the end, he won’t fight her for custody or for relocating. He’s angling for a deal on the charges.”

“I hate that,” Cleo muttered from the back seat, and Trey glanced at her in the rearview mirror.

“I understand that. The deal, if it happens, helps clear the way for my client to get herself and her kids back with family out of state. More, it’ll spare her the need to return here for a trial. I don’t see the prosecutor going for less than fifteen for that guilty plea.”

“Is your client okay with that?” Sonya wondered.

“She just wants to feel safe, for her kids to feel safe. That means going back with her mother and her sister. And that’s my priority.”

Cleo leaned forward, put a hand on Trey’s shoulder. “Of course it is, and should be. I’d never make it as a lawyer because I’d want to burn his balls off with a lighter. It would take a long time to manage that.”

Trey flicked her another glance. “Remind me to stay on your good side.”

“I’d say you’re safe there. I met your daddy yesterday, and I liked him too much to ever burn his son’s balls.”

“Thanks, Dad. How’d that go? I didn’t have a chance to talk to him today.”

“I think we understand Patricia Poole a lot better now, and I’m going to try to talk to Gretta Poole, at some point anyway. And we had some things happen I haven’t told you about yet. I thought we’d wait and tell both you and Owen. We were fine,” Sonya added. “We are fine.”

“After that business with the mirror,” Cleo put in, “it’s clear the four of us are in this together. So.”

“Fair enough.”

But as he drove into town, he shot Sonya a look as if to assure himself on one single fact. She was fine.

“And more news,” Sonya began. “Cleo finished the painting she’s trading to Owen. And it’s breathtaking.”

“Probably finished,” Cleo corrected. “But I’m happy to take the breathtaking .”

“If you can stay tonight, we’ll go up so you can see it.”

“Sounds like a win all around for me.” He parked, sent her a smile. “I’ve got a maybe bag in the trunk.”

The same young hostess greeted them in the Lobster Cage, and cast her wistful eyes on Trey.

“She’s got it bad,” Cleo commented when the hostess had passed out menus and walked back to her station.

“She’s twenty,” Trey muttered.

“I had a serious crush on my art history professor. I was nineteen,” Cleo remembered. “And I’d have to guess he was more than twice that. I’d have been in serious trouble if he’d taken advantage.”

“Got over him, didn’t you?” Trey asked.

“Yes, but the memories are sweet.”

Sonya remembered their server with his orange-streaked dark hair in a topknot. An environmental engineering student who’d shifted from in-person college to remote when his father had fallen ill.

“Good evening, ladies, Trey. Can I start you off with some drinks while you wait for the rest of your party?”

“He should be right along. How about a bottle of sauvignon blanc?” That got the go-ahead. “Bring four glasses, Ian. If Owen wants something else, he’ll tell you when he gets here. Which is right now,” he added as Owen walked in.

While his hair looked windswept and fell wherever it chose, he’d obviously put on a fresh shirt, fresh jeans.

He dropped down in the booth beside Cleo. “Sorry,” he said. “Got busy.”

“We just got here. I ordered a bottle of sauvignon blanc.”

“Great. What are the rest of you drinking?”

“That busy?” Trey commented.

“And then some. Hey, Ian.”

“Hey, Owen. I’ll get your wine right out to you.”

“Good busy?” Cleo wondered as the server left the table.

“Busy’s usually good in business.”

“It sounds like things have been busy at the manor, too. You wanted to wait for Owen to tell us. Well, here’s Owen.”

“Tell us what?”

“Cleo found a portrait of Lisbeth in the studio closet.”

“No shit. Huh.” Owen sat back. “Who painted it?”

“Collin. Your uncle,” Cleo specified. “It’s absolutely beautiful.”

“A wedding portrait again. Even if it wasn’t obviously a wedding dress, I’d have recognized it. Since you and I, Owen, both saw her wearing it.”

“We hung it in the music room with the others.”

Owen shifted slightly to Cleo. “Good. That’s where it belongs.” He flicked a glance at Trey. “There’ll be three more. Maybe four if they don’t count the one of Astrid in the entrance.”

“Is it like the other two?” Trey asked. “Size, frame?”

“Exactly,” Sonya told him.

“Four more then, in my opinion. Neither Collin nor your father painted the one of Astrid, and it’s much bigger, different style frame. This is going to be a set.”

“Or a series,” Sonya agreed. “From the last bride to the first.”

Ian returned with the wine. Once Trey had tasted and approved, he told them the night’s specials as he poured all four glasses.

Before he could step away to give them time, both Sonya and Cleo opted for specials. Trey and Owen went for old favorites.

“That’s what I like,” Owen decided. “Four different meals. You’re never going to eat all that lobster Cantonese,” he said to Cleo.

“I’m going to give it a serious try.”

“Trade him a sample for one of his lobster potpie,” Trey advised. “You won’t regret it. Now, there’s more after the portrait. How did Dobbs take it?”

“Not well.” With a shrug, Sonya lifted her wine. “A lot of banging, slamming, wind blowing, lights flickering. But she ran out of steam.”

“Mostly,” Cleo added.

“Mostly.”

Sonya told them about the events at three a.m.

Trey’s eyes narrowed. “Facing the house?”

“Yes, at first. She wasn’t when you saw her.”

He shook his head at Sonya. “No, her back to the house, then the jump. And no banging or blowing the doors open.”

“No CCR warning from Clover?”

Now Trey shook his head at Owen. “The clock, the piano music, and something that pulled me to the window to watch her jump. Nothing else.”

“You’re about to say I should’ve called or texted you, but there wasn’t any need.” Sonya gave Trey’s arm a squeeze. “We got the doors closed, and she jumped. And it was done for the night. I worked out in the gym this morning.”

“Rubbed her face in it,” Owen said, and got a smile from Sonya.

“Maybe. She rang the Gold Room bell a lot, but that was it. Cleo thinks she ran low on power after the night. I agree with her there. Dobbs stayed quiet the rest of the day. She stayed quiet. So quiet Cleo finished the mermaid painting.”

“Wait a minute. It’s done? When can I have it?”

“I’m not sure it’s done. I’ll be sure tomorrow. Then it needs to dry, then it needs to be framed.”

“I can make the frame. I’ll make the frame.”

“Nothing ornate, and it shouldn’t look shiny and new. I can—”

“I’ll make the frame,” Owen repeated. “I just want another look at her first. How long before I can have her?”

Cleo picked up her wine, smiled sweetly. “Where’s my boat?”

“I’ll bring the design when I come to look at her.”

“Then we’ll talk. Now tell me how your dog became a fan of King Kong —the old one.”

“Original,” he countered. “And who isn’t? I can come by tomorrow, after work. About five maybe.”

“Fine, as long as you understand, you can’t take her or frame her for several weeks.”

“Months? That’s longer than you took to paint her.”

“Yes. Welcome to my world. I wanted to use oils,” Cleo explained. “I used a medium that cuts the drying time. Otherwise, you’d be looking at six months, not two.”

“That’s the way it works?”

“It is.”

“Then that’s the way it works.”

When the meals came, conversation drifted into general areas, easy talk.

Halfway through, Bree Marshall bolted out of the kitchen, chef’s hat over her short red hair. Nudging Owen over, she scooted onto the edge of the booth.

“I’ve got five minutes. Tell me about this event. How many people?”

“Well, we don’t know yet,” Sonya began. “But—”

“You need to get a ballpark soon. You’re going to order food from all the restaurants in the village?”

“That’s the plan, so—”

“You want to nail down what you want from each. You don’t let them choose, or you’ll have a mess of it. You want servers, bartenders, a kitchen crew. And you need somebody to monitor the bathrooms. People will want to pee.”

Cleo leaned forward to look around Owen. “How would you feel about helping coordinate all that?”

“Like you’re smart,” Bree said, and grinned. “I need to see the venue. I can come up next Monday, about eleven.”

“Perfect,” Sonya told her. “We appreciate your help.”

“You’re gonna need it. Open houses are chaotic, and I live in the chaos.” She smiled over at Trey. “That’s why we’d never have made it.” Then she gave Owen an elbow bump. “We’d have been a better match.”

“I tried to tell you.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Subliminally.”

“Oh. I missed that.” She gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek that made him laugh. “Too late now. Manny’s got me by the heart and hormones. Gotta get back. I’m ordering you two ramekins of chocolate lava cake and two of strawberry shortcake to share. You’ll thank me.”

And just like that, she was gone.

“Why do I feel we were run over by a flash flood of whipped cream?” Sonya wondered.

“She does that.” Then Trey angled his head, looked at Owen. “Subliminally?”

“She’s hot.” Owen shrugged. “She’s always been hot. But I stood by the code. Anyway, she’s right. You’re smart to enlist her for this deal you’re doing.”

“She lives in the chaos because she knows how to manage the chaos,” Trey said.

“And people,” Sonya added. “Which is why we’re sharing chocolate lava and strawberry shortcake for dessert. To which I have no objections.”

“Which, again,” Trey said, “makes you smart.”

When desserts arrived, Sonya couldn’t argue about the smart.

“I’ve got it,” Owen said when Trey signaled for the check. “You covered the last time we grabbed a meal—and I’ve had more than a few up at the manor.”

“It’s all yours.”

“Thanks.” Sonya sent a look toward Cleo, got a nod. “Since you’re coming by around five tomorrow, why don’t you stay for dinner? And you, Trey, if you can make it.”

“I think I’m going to try my hand at jambalaya. My grand-mère sent me her recipe. It’s got some heat on it.”

“Then I’m there.” Owen paid the check, grinned at Trey. “I like the hot. I have to take off. I need to get an early start tomorrow.”

“Then we’ll see you around five. And thanks for dinner,” Cleo added.

“Welcome.” He slid out, turned to Sonya. “Maybe I can crash at your place tomorrow night. I wouldn’t mind seeing Dobbs take a header off the cliffs, if she does an encore.”

“Plan on the first, who knows about the second. And you should both see Lisbeth’s portrait.”

“Tomorrow,” he said, and left.

The others didn’t linger long, and drove home in a soft, quiet spring rain.

The dogs greeted them like war heroes before rushing outside.

“We’ll let them back in through the mudroom so they don’t track wet through the house. Cleo and I will show you the portrait.”

“Just waiting in the closet?”

“That sounds right,” Cleo decided. “Waiting. I put some supplies I’d ordered in there a few days ago. Nothing then. Went in today to get something out, and there she was.”

They turned into the music room.

Trey said, “Wow,” and walked closer. “Beautiful, the subject and the work. She’s the first biological Poole up here, and it shows. The resemblance.” He turned to Sonya. “Old photos don’t show it as clearly. You have the same eyes, the same shape of the face.”

“I guess that’s true. Someone—maybe several someones—wants us to have these. And hanging them here, that’s felt right from the first one.”

“And you’re both right about the set. These are painted to go together.”

“I think, before it’s done, we’ll have all seven. One generation missing,” Cleo added.

“Patricia Poole. I think she must’ve had some altercation, some event, with Dobbs. Deuce had old newspaper clippings. Society news, and so on. She’d been to the manor any number of times before she married a Poole.”

“She met Michael Poole Jr. here,” Cleo put in. “We found a gossipy article on that—dinner party deal. She had her engagement party to him here. Another society article, with a photo of them.”

“But not the wedding, and nothing after.” Trey stepped back to study all three portraits together. “I’d bet on that altercation happening at the engagement party. Not all facts in evidence, but—”

“That’s it!” Thrilled, Sonya clasped her hands together. “Talk about smart, and screw all the facts. That makes genius sense.”

“I’m going to agree with Sonya. If something happened before to scare her enough, why consent to the engagement party here? The wedding was, what, Sonya, like nine months later?”

“Ten, and a big, important one, so they’d start planning right off. She went from swanning around for her engagement into breaking Poole tradition and refusing to hold her wedding reception here. Refusing to move into the most important house in the area.”

“Facts not in evidence,” Trey repeated, and slipped his hands into his pockets as he studied the three portraits. “And I’d put money on it. I don’t know what it really tells you, but I’d place that bet.”

“It says Dobbs scared her off, and where and when. I wonder if she showed herself to any of the others before their weddings.”

“I don’t know, but I can’t think she wanted to scare Patricia off.” Cleo spread her hands. “I don’t see why she would when that meant she had to wait another twenty-odd years for her next victim.”

Clover used Sonya’s phone for the Beatles’ “I Me Mine.”

“Yeah, that was you.” Gently, Sonya touched the frame of Clover’s portrait. “Maybe… maybe she taunted Patricia somehow, went too far, and it backfired. That’s what makes the most sense.”

“And now what makes the most sense is for me to go up and read myself to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning, Sonya. Probably not you, Trey, but tomorrow night?”

“I’ll be here.”

“Night, Cleo, and we should bring the dogs in.”

At the doorway, before she turned off the light in the music room, Sonya took one last look at the portraits—thought of the past, thought of the future.

Then she turned off the lights and focused on now.

The dogs rushed in as happily as they’d rushed out—and a lot more sloppy.

While they dried wet paws, Sonya opened what she considered the next door with Trey.

“I want to say a couple things to you.”

His eyebrows lifted as he glanced at her. “Okay.”

“First, you have a key to the manor. I don’t want you to feel you have to ring the bell. You can just use your key. And next…”

She rose, started to walk with him and the dogs through the house.

“If you wanted, you could leave a few things here so you don’t have to pack a bag whenever you stay. I’m not saying all this to box you in. I just—”

“I already built the box for myself,” he interrupted, and took her hand. “It’s a nice box. It’s roomy.”

She tipped her head toward his shoulder. “So I can fit in there, too?”

“It’s a nice box,” he repeated as they started up the stairs. “There’s a lid if it starts to crowd you.”

“You said it was roomy,” she reminded him. “And it feels like a really good fit.”

They walked into her sitting room, through to her bedroom. As the dogs headed straight to the bed they shared on visits, Sonya closed the bedroom door, leaned back against it.

“Leave a few things, Trey. I’ve got plenty of space in here, and in my life.”

“I’ll leave a few things.” He set down the bag, stepped to her. “Because I want that space in here, and in your life.”

“I’m glad you’re here.” She lifted her arms, circled them around his neck. “I’m always glad when you’re here.”

When their mouths met, the hunger leaped in her, so fast, so fierce it stunned her.

She wanted this, the physical, wanted him to stir up all those needs until they boiled over and burned them both.

As if sensing it, he pressed his body to hers, trapping her against the door while the kiss leaped from hungry to desperate.

Raw need, she realized. For whatever reason, tonight the need ran raw in both of them. Surrendering to it, she took her arms from around him long enough to struggle out of her jacket. As their mouths took and took, she rushed to unbutton his shirt.

And moaned in pleasure as she stripped the shirt away to find warm flesh, hard body.

He yanked down the zipper at the back of her dress.

The dress fell, and before she could step out of it, his hands were everywhere. With none of his usual patience, those hands demanded, possessed, aroused until those raw needs boiled over.

Until she felt the burn she’d craved.

She let out a moan. “Don’t stop.”

“Couldn’t.”

Her fingers wanted to tremble as she tugged at his belt. Now, it had to be now, or the need would tear her to pieces, a wild animal of greed.

When she freed him, took him, hard and ready, in her hand, she felt him pull at her briefs.

“Tear them. God! Just tear them. I have more.”

When she heard the thin fabric rip, she let out a laughing gasp. “Now! Right now!”

He lifted her so her back slid up against the door. Her fingers dug into his shoulders.

Then their eyes met, and they held. And something new wrapped around that raw need. Just as strong, just as urgent.

Looking into his eyes, feeling the strength of his hands, the heat of his body, she said, “Yes.” Then again, “Yes.”

He slid inside her, slowly, a deliberate torment for them both. With every inch, her body shuddered, and it rejoiced.

When he was sheathed deep, their eyes remained locked.

He watched her, watched her as he saw pleasure swamp those green eyes, as the heat they brought each other flushed her skin, and slicked it.

Their bodies slid together, and slapped together, until she gasped with every beat.

He watched her fly. Even as her legs wrapped around him, as he took her weight, she flew. Just as she went limp, he flew after.