The Mirror (The Lost Bride Trilogy #2)

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

It snowed.

Sonya looked out at the fluffy layer of white over what had been a wide stretch of green. And cursed.

The fact that daffodils waved over the thin blanket of snow didn’t stop the next curse.

Sure, they might get a dusting or whatever—and an occasional spring dumping—in Boston in late April, but she’d been completely into the idea of spring.

So she blamed Maine.

Trey simply shrugged it off, kissed her goodbye, and left with just a hooded vest over his flannel shirt.

She consoled herself that she’d had a night of what, in her previous life, had been normal. She’d slept nearly eight full hours, undisturbed.

And woken to snow and a fire lit by ghostly hands in the bedroom hearth.

They hadn’t been wrong about the drop in temperature either.

When Cleo surfaced just before ten, Sonya sat, fully dressed, makeup in place at her desk.

“I’m thinking I’ll cancel the hair appointment, and just work until we go meet Anna for lunch.”

“Stop it. You’re going.”

“It’s not your hair!”

“And yours needs shaping up, and you want your nice, subtle highlights refreshed. They really bring out that maple syrup color. And I need coffee!”

Scrambling up, Sonya followed her down. “Maybe I don’t want to leave you alone in the manor while I give in to my shameful vanity over my hair.”

“Stop that, too. And didn’t you say before I went up last night you were going in early enough to stop by the bookstore?”

“That was last night. Oh, and it snowed.”

“Did it?” Cleo went to the window in the kitchen. “Damn if it didn’t. But it’s already melting. There’s a lot of sunshine out there. Coffee. But that explains why my fire was going when I got up.”

“She lit the one in the library, too. I realized I’ve sort of missed that.”

“We’re having pork chops tonight.”

“Okay, but—”

“And you should get ready to go. You know how much you like browsing in bookstores, and you should go by Gigi’s. I’ll let Yoda and Pye out and back in before I leave.” Leaning back against the counter, Cleo drank coffee. “Son, your hair needs work. Go get your hair done.”

“Fine. Fine. And if I come to lunch with orange highlights and hair that looks like somebody whacked it with garden shears, it’s on you.”

“I accept that responsibility.”

“On you,” Sonya repeated darkly, then stalked off to get a jacket, her purse.

And a hat.

She did love spending time in bookstores, and A Bookstore had become a favorite stop. It calmed her nerves. At least until she brought the two books she’d selected to checkout, and they came roaring back.

“I read an advance copy of this one.” Diana tapped the top book. “Just loved it. Twisty mystery, and a swoon-worthy romance. What more could you want?”

As she started to ring up the sale, Diana glanced back. “Everything okay?”

“Oh, I’m just a little nervous. I’ve got a hair appointment. My first since moving here.”

“At Jodi’s?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, no worries. Jodi does my hair. Anita’s, too.”

“Did I hear my name?” Anita came in from the back with more stock.

“Sonya’s heading to Jodi’s.”

“Oh, who’s doing your hair?”

“I’m not sure.” Nerves, more nerves, balled in her stomach. “Does it matter?”

“Diana and I both go to Jodi. Jeannie goes to Carly, doesn’t she?”

“Jeannie?”

“Our weekend manager. Pretty sure she uses Carly. And Aileen—my sister, she works here part-time—she goes to Micah.”

“Who’s adorable.” Diana bagged the books. “A new salon’s scary, but you’ll be in good hands.”

With no choice but to hope that was true, and having lingered too long to stop in anywhere else to procrastinate, Sonya walked down the skinny sidewalk.

The snow that had greeted her that morning might not have fallen. Not a trace of it remained as she wandered down to the salon.

And at the door, she reminded herself it made no sense to be more fearful of a new hairdresser than she was of the entity in the Gold Room.

She went inside.

Less than two hours later, she walked out a very happy woman. She tossed her newly shaped, highlighted, and styled hair as she walked back—hatless—to where she’d parked.

Unashamed, she pulled down the vanity mirror, turned her head right, left.

“I’m back!”

As she drove through the village, she sent out loving vibes to the shops, the restaurants, the houses and apartments. And especially to the old Victorian that housed Doyle Law Offices.

A woman wasn’t truly all the way home, she thought, until she found her hairstylist.

Though she’d driven by the hotel, just to take a look, she’d yet to go in.

She knew Anna’s husband Seth’s family owned it, ran it, and from the exterior, it looked like they knew exactly what they were doing.

The snow-white brick on a rise above the bay, the sea, spoke of a mix of grand service and quiet comfort.

She saw rooms with small terraces facing the water, a circle centering the drive currently alive with daffodils and hyacinths and tulips that brought spring right back.

On the far side, she spotted paved pathways winding through gardens she imagined would burst very soon.

It made her remember, when she’d looked at hotels for her aborted wedding, she’d wanted something just like this. With history and that welcoming aura, rather than the slick and grandiose Brandon had insisted on.

Then she set that memory well aside.

She parked in the lot near those gardens and walked in the warming air to the front entrance and the doorman.

“Good afternoon. Checking in?”

“No, I’m here for lunch at Waterside.”

“Straight back through the lobby, on your right. Enjoy.”

She walked in, and fell in love with the coziness and the melding of grand and rustic. Light showered down from the candlestick bulbs on iron chandeliers. The big fieldstone fireplace with logs snapping under its floating mantel added warmth and more welcome.

People lounged in chairs or sofas having coffee or a drink—and she noted some had shopping bags beside them from the village.

The art on the walls depicted different views of the village, the bay, the marina. And one where the manor stood, high above on its rugged cliff.

Recognizing the style, she walked closer and read Collin Poole’s signature in the corner.

So, in his way, he was here, too, she thought. And so was the manor.

Because of that, she felt only more welcome.

She crossed the tile floor with its central mosaic of a gull in flight over the bay, and turned into the restaurant.

A smaller fire simmered here, and wide windows brought in the bay. Anna sat at a table with that sweeping view beside her.

She wore a knee-length red dress that showed off her baby bump with pride. Short black hair framed a face that lit up with a smile when she saw Sonya.

“I just got here. I was about—Oh! Your hair. It’s fabulous.”

“I owe it all to Jodi of Jodi’s.”

“She knows what she’s doing. Really, it looks terrific.”

“So do you. And I love this hotel! God, what a view.”

“One of my favorites.”

When the waiter stepped to the table, offering drinks, Sonya ordered water, flat.

“I warn you,” Anna said when he stepped away, “I’m allowed one glass of wine a week. I intend today to be that day, and I’m not going to drink alone.”

“Cleo and I won’t let that happen. What’s a girl lunch in such a great place without one glass of wine? And there’s Cleo now.”

“God, she always looks amazing.”

“I know. If I didn’t love her, I’d hate her.”

“Am I late?”

“We both just got here,” Sonya told her.

“Good. I hate to be late for fun. And look at your hair!”

“I’m now suitably chastised about my anxiety, and a devoted fan of Jodi’s Salon. I’d almost forgotten how much I like salons. The vibe, the gossip, the chance to focus on yourself for an hour or two.

“And”—she gave Cleo a poke—“Micah is the one for you. According to everyone in there.”

“True,” Anna agreed. “He’s a genius with curls.”

“Plus, I was told, then saw for myself, he’s adorable.”

“An adorable genius? I’ll check that out. And how’s Baby Girl?”

Smiling, Anna gave her bump a gentle pat. “Feisty. And I’m enjoying every minute—so far. I’m so glad you could both make it today. I know you’re busy.”

“You’re not sleeping at the wheel. Get it? Cleo, wait until I show you Anna’s new pieces.”

They ordered those single glasses of wine, salads, and, at Anna’s suggestion, mini quiche appetizers to share.

“You weren’t wrong about these,” Cleo said after a sample. “I’ve never made a quiche. I should try that. I should try making cute tiny quiches.”

“Cleo’s embraced cooking.”

“See, busy. Trey let the family know what’s going on at the manor. It’s a lot. I want to say it’s way more than I ever experienced when I visited Collin. It always struck me as playful and interesting, but that’s not what you’re dealing with.”

“Most of the time it is,” Sonya told her. “Other times? Other times it’s hard to believe it’s happening even when it’s happening.”

“Hester Dobbs thinks she’s going to drive us out. But she won’t. It’s our place, and we love it, love everything in it. Even back in college Sonya talked about having a house with history and character.”

“I did. I just didn’t anticipate the characters .” She emphasized the plural. “But with one nasty exception, we’re enjoying those characters. I’m getting to know my biological grandmother, and she’s wonderful. Oh, Trey saw her again last night.”

“What!” Cleo dropped her salad fork. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“You’d already gone up by the time he came back in, and I was hair obsessed this morning.”

“Sorry.” Anna held up a hand. “Let me echo: What? Trey saw the ghost of your grandmother? And that’s ‘again’?”

“It’s the third time.”

“Okay, back up.” Now Anna circled a finger in the air. “Rewind.”

“He was just a kid the first time. He told me he was trying to learn how to play the guitar and was in the music room at the manor. I think your dad and Collin were playing chess. And there she was. Hot babe, he told me. She talked to him about music for a minute, then gone.”

“He never said a thing,” Anna muttered.

“Then, a few weeks ago, when he was checking the clock in the Quiet Place, she—well—appeared. Last night, he walked Owen out. After Owen left, he heard the window in the library open, looked up, and she leaned out. Blew him a kiss, then?” Sonya flicked her wrist. “Gone again.”

“I think your grandmother’s soft on your boyfriend, Son.”

“And how weird is that?”

“How weird is any of this?” Anna, who’d nursed her once-a-week wine through the meal, now took the last sip. “He told me he’d once seen a woman in white on the widow’s walk, but he never said anything about this.”

“I caught a glimpse once of the boy—Jack. He plays with Yoda, teaches him tricks. And sometimes, if he’s annoyed, opens all the cabinet doors in the kitchen.”

“When I let them out before I left today, Pye was playing with a little ball of string. I hadn’t given her one. So I assume Jack likes cats, too.”

“You have a cat?”

“I have a cat,” Cleo confirmed. “Pyewacket.”

“Oh! Great name. From the old movie.”

“Has everyone seen that movie but me?” Sonya wondered.

“We’ll watch it,” Cleo said.

“Seth and I want to get a dog, and a cat. We decided to wait until the baby comes, plus six months, then gauge our ground. But we want her to grow up with pets. Since we’re just starting to talk about outfitting the nursery, pets are down the list.”

“Now your rewind.” Cleo mimicked the finger roll. “I believe Sonya and I were to be consulted on nursery art and such.”

“Yes, but you’re both so busy, I—”

“Cleo, in particular, is never too busy for anything connected to babies. Are you thinking pinks because girl?”

“Actually, no. Are you sure you want to hear all this?”

“Start talking. Wait.” Cleo signaled the waiter. “We need to order dessert. What’s good?”

“Their peach melba’s amazing. And really generous.”

“We’ll share.”

With that settled, Cleo gestured to Anna. “Not pink.”

“Nothing too girlie, because what if she’s not a girlie girl? Plus, we want at least two, and the next could be a boy. Seth and I liked the idea of a forest sort of theme, and animals. Cute animals.”

“What about magical animals?”

Anna’s eyes went dreamy. “Magical animals?”

“Unicorns, winged horses, friendly dragons, griffins. Throw some elves and fairies in there because, you know, they live in magic forests.”

“A magic forest. Uh-oh.” When her gone-dreamy eyes filled, Anna waved a hand. “Don’t worry, hormones really bring them on. Can you imagine going to sleep and waking up in a magic forest?” She swiped a tear away. “It’s so sweet. It’s so perfect.”

“I could do a mural.”

“You’re going to have me sobbing in a minute. You really could?”

“Trust me,” Sonya assured her. “I’ll assist, but Cleo shines here.”

“Talk it over with Daddy. If you both like the idea, I’ll come look at the room, sketch some things up.”

“I know Seth, and he’s going to love it. Name your price!”

“You can pay for the supplies, but that’s it.”

“But—”

“That’s it, or no deal.”

“You drive a hard bargain.” And had another tear spilling. “But I’m buying lunch.”

On the way home, Sonya stopped at the florist for fresh flowers. She drove home in a happy mood with their scent filling the car.

To be greeted at the door by Yoda with crazed joy, and Adele’s “Hello.”

“Yes, hello! I’m home. Were you a good boy? Did you play with Jack? Did Clover look after you?”

Yoda wagged all the way back to the kitchen with her, where Cleo sat at the counter with a sketchbook. Cleo looked up, raised her eyebrows at the armload of flowers.

“Did you buy them out?”

“Came close. We ditched all the faded ones the other day, so it was time to go a little crazy. What are you doing?”

“Oh, playing a little in a magic forest. You were a while at the florist.”

“Apparently.” On her way to choose vases, she stopped, looked over Cleo’s shoulder at the trees with their curving branches, the waterfall dropping into a winding stream. An arched bridge spanned it.

“Yeah, you shine.”

“It’s going to be fun. I hope they go for it, and let me have my way with the colors, the animals. Like maybe something between a monkey and raccoon hanging off a branch.”

She reached over to stroke the cat, who’d perched on the stool beside her. “A cat, but with a long, braided tail.”

Sonya carried back the first of the vases. “If she teared up thinking about it, she’s going to fall to pieces when she sees your sketches.”

“Hope so. Flowers,” she said as Sonya began arranging. “But nothing you’d find at the local florist. Anyway, I’m going to play with it. I really enjoyed having lunch with her.”

“Me, too. And I will help in the nursery, but assisting as I sometimes do when you’re cooking.”

“You downplay your fine art talents.”

“Maybe, but I know I wouldn’t come up with an animal that’s a cross between a monkey and raccoon.”

When she’d filled the last vase, she carried a couple at a time. Another homey task she enjoyed, Sonya thought. Walking through the manor with flowers, finding just the right place for the right arrangement.

Sometimes, she’d found, Molly disagreed with those choices, and she’d find flowers moved. But she had to admit, she’d come to enjoy that, too.

Once she’d spread flowers out on the first and second floors, she carried an arrangement to the third for Cleo’s studio. As she did, she realized she hadn’t come up to the third floor alone—at least knowingly—for weeks.

When even her brief hesitation irritated her, she walked straight down to the studio.

With the mermaid in the drying rack, Cleo had a blank canvas on the easel. Sonya suspected it wouldn’t stay blank for long, as the rigorous organization in the studio had slid into Cleo’s creative jumble.

Since sketches, folders, pads, pencils littered the old desk, Sonya put the flowers on the table by the sofa.

Then she walked to the closet, held her breath. Opened it.

She saw nothing but Cleo’s still-organized supplies.

“Okay, not yet.”

But she didn’t doubt that sooner or later, either she or Cleo would open that door and find Agatha, the fourth bride.

She’d just closed the door when the banging started.

Steeling herself, she walked out.

The door of the Gold Room bowed out, sucked in as she walked toward it.

My house, she thought. Mine, not yours.

She said just that, then repeated it, lifting her claim over the banging.

The door flew open, and wind rushed out with it.

The cold bit into her bones.

Hester Dobbs stood in the center of the room, arms outstretched, palms up.

Under the wind, she heard whispering, urgent, but couldn’t make out the words. Her phone blasted out with the chorus of Nirvana’s “Stay Away.”

“This house is mine!” Dobbs shouted, and her voice blew cold like the wind. “You’ll die here. You’ll all die here.”

When the walls bled, even the whites of the witch’s eyes went black.

“Poole blood.”

Sonya watched it drip from her cupped hands.

“It’s all Poole blood.”

On her wild laugh, the door slammed shut.

Silence fell.

“You’ll die again tonight,” Sonya spoke with a calm that surprised her. “And the next night, and the next. That’s your hell for the time being. I can live with that. For now.”

As she walked away, her phone played “It’s Gonna Be Alright.”

“That’s right, Clover. That’s goddamn right.”

When she reached the kitchen, Cleo held a potato on a wooden spoon with one hand, and carefully made slices in it with the other.

“What are you doing to that potato?”

“Making it an accordion. Then you do this butter and herb thing. Meat and potatoes. Men coming.”

She looked up, and quickly set the knife aside. “What happened?”

“You didn’t hear anything?”

“No, it’s been quiet. I thought after your flower delivery you might’ve gone back to work awhile.”

“I saw Dobbs. In the Gold Room.”

“Jesus jump-roping Christ, you went in there?”

“No, no. She blew open the door, and I saw her inside. You didn’t hear all that banging and booming?”

“No, nothing.”

“So just for me this time,” Sonya murmured. “As Trey would say, interesting.”

“You saw her? What were you even doing near that damn door, Sonya?”

“She started up with the banging, and, I don’t know. It pissed me off, and I guess I needed to stake my claim. My house, you know. Then while I’m standing there, she blew the door open, and I saw her in there.”

She sat because now that it was over, maybe her legs were a little shaky. And told Cleo the rest.

“I like your slapback, but, baby, stay away from that room.”

“You’re up there every day.”

“I don’t go near that room. Take Clover’s advice. Stay away.”

“Her dress was torn. Down by the hem of her skirt. I wouldn’t have gone in even though in that moment I was more mad than scared.”

She shook it off.

“Done now, so maybe that’ll be it for a while. Now I want to watch you make potatoes into accordions.”

Sonya flipped open the sketchbook, and laughed at the image Cleo had drawn while she’d carried flowers through the house.

“It is like a part monkey, part raccoon.”

“I settled on moncoon.”

As Cleo picked up the knife again, Sonya looked at other sketches. “These are fabulous. Magical. Oh! You made Yoda a butterfly!”

“He’s got such an interesting body type, that brindle coat, so I thought add wings, miniaturize, and we’ve got a butterhound. This is pure entertainment for me.”

She set the first potato in a baking dish. “One down,” she said, and picked up another. “Three to go.” She smiled over at Sonya. “We’re doing fine, Son.”

More than fine, Sonya thought when Cleo put the potatoes in the oven, prepped the chops. To contribute, she did what she now considered her baking specialty. She made beer bread.

Yoda barked and raced out of the kitchen. The cat slithered down from the stool.

A minute later, they heard answering barks and male voices.

“We’ve got company.”

Trey walked in. “Owen went up to put his stuff away. Hey, your hair.”

Deliberately, Sonya tossed it. “What about it?”

“Looks great. It always does.”

“Good answer.” She kissed him, then leaned into him, wrapped her arms around him. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Because he heard something in her voice, he looked over her head at Cleo.

“Everything okay here?”

“It is,” Sonya assured him. “But it’s not often we get through a day at the manor without something. And today wasn’t one of those without-something days.”

“We’re having wine,” Cleo decided. “We’re all having wine because this meal is going to deserve it. I’m going to open a bottle, pour it out. Then Sonya will tell her latest tale.”

“Dobbs?” Trey asked, and Sonya nodded.

“Dobbs.”