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They needed a list. Figure out how much her mom owed and then sell whatever they had to or even get a loan to pay it off. Glancing around the office for a piece of paper and a pen, she realized she was still holding the deeds to her legacy. Wonders, the house. Trish’s car. Her safe-deposit box where she kept her grandmother’s diamond earrings. Did her mom really think she could write a check to cover all that?
Oh, no.
“Mom, how much money did you collect?”
“Sixty-eight thousand dollars. Sixty-eight thousand, eight hundred and seventy-six dollars, actually.”
Posy leaned against the desk and fanned herself with the papers. She wondered if she was going to vomit. “Sixty-eight—” she was barely able to form the words “—thousand dollars? From your blog?”
“Chloe’s blog gets twenty thousand hits a day.”
“Sixty-eight thousand dollars?” She couldn’t stop repeating the number. It seemed absurd, but Trish kept nodding in confirmation. She’d thought they were dealing with a few thousand, ten at the most. How in the heck had she raised that much money?
How big was Chloe’s audience, anyway?
When she’d recovered enough to ask questions, the answers she got were even more alarming. Trish was in serious debt. Wonders had limped along for several years, never straying too far into the red or the black. She’d sold the building a few years ago when it needed a new roof and an upgraded fire-suppression system, and she couldn’t afford to bring it up to code. After the economy went downhill, Trish mortgaged her house twice to keep Wonders going. The final blow came when she’d mismanaged the holiday ordering the previous Christmas. Now Wonders was about as sunk as a shoppe could get without actually closing its doors.
She’d gone to her bank in a panic this week to try to get a loan to pay the fundraiser back, but she had no assets and bad credit and she’d been turned down flat.
Of all the dramas her mother had created over the years, this one was far and away the most insane. Posy was accustomed to bailing her mom out of jams and patching up messes.... She’d held her hand through an IRS audit a few years ago. This was unbelievable, though.
It had to stop. Trish’s cycle of crisis and collapse was too much. Posy had lost too much time, skipped too many dates, changed too many plans over the years.
Covering up a crime, even if it was only a temporary crime, was the last straw. If she was ever going to have her own life, Posy thought, she needed to... She had trouble finishing that thought. She couldn’t cut her mom out of her life. She just needed her mom to stop screwing up.
“Posy, this is all so complicated. How am I going to get out from under my obligations here so I can go to Ohio?”
Ohio? Trish was worried about not being able to move to Toledo? Posy didn’t want to upset her, but she really needed to be thinking about how to stay out of jail.
“If only you hadn’t broken things off with Pete. You’d probably be married by now and he was very good with math.”
“Pete would not have helped you with this. He’d have been paralyzed with fear about possible police involvement.”
She and her last boyfriend had been together for three years and although Trish had her hopes set on an engagement, Posy had realized that what she’d initially liked about Pete—his deference to her and willingness to compromise—drove her nuts. He was like a puppy, constantly rolling on his back to expose his vulnerable belly. By the time she ended things with him, she’d been eyeing that belly with the urge to give him a swift kick. She hadn’t liked herself very much by that point.
“We need time and we need money. Chloe is a problem, but we’ll figure out a way to put her off. What about the foundation? The one you raised the money for? Are they suspicious?”
“There’s a man—”
“A man?”
CHAPTER THREE
“W HAT MAN?”
“A man from the foundation. He’ll be here tomorrow to meet me and Chloe and collect his check.” Trish practically whispered the last few words.
When she said the word check, Trish put her hands over her mouth as if she could hold back the terror Posy heard in her voice.
She crossed the room to kneel next to her mom. It was a tight fit and she banged her ankle on the leg of the desk. She angled her arms around her mom’s shoulders. The cinnamon scent from the sachets her mother kept in her drawers was strong and familiar.
“I don’t have that kind of money saved, Mom. Buying my condo took almost all my cash. I’d lend it to you if I could. We’ll figure this out. I’ll help. Whatever I can do, I’m here for you.”
For a second, her mom seemed to cling to her, but then she abruptly straightened up.
“Well, I guess it’s on to plan B.”
“We have a plan B?”
Trish stood and brushed the front of her skirt. She stepped out of the jumble of packing materials, the two angels lying broken on the floor.
“Of course I have a plan B. My aunt Denise will lend me the money. She’s always been very generous and she didn’t blink an eye when I asked her for a loan.”
“You already asked her?” Posy was lost again.
“Yes, but I wanted to give you the chance to inherit first. I’m going to drive down to the city and see her. You stay here and stall the Fallon Foundation man and Chloe. I’ll be back in a few days with the money and everything will be fine.”
Posy knew that tone. Her mom was looking on the bright side again. “You really called Aunt Denise? Why not just have her send the check?”
“Posy, I’m borrowing close to seventy-thousand dollars from a lonely old woman who’s always been very kind to me. The least I can do is stop in for an afternoon chat.”
Bam. Her mother was the queen at making you feel stupid while also getting her own way. She didn’t like this, but what was she going to do? “I’ll keep the foundation people and Chloe at bay, but this has to be the last time.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, if we sell your house and close down Wonders, then your life is your own. You can spend time with your new guy or stay in Kirkland, but you have to promise me you’re going to get yourself together. I need to have my independence.”
Trish kissed her cheek. “I promise.”
Posy nodded. “Then I’m in.”
* * *
T HAT NIGHT AFTER she was sure her mom was asleep, Posy slid out of bed in the guest room. Her mom had never redecorated her childhood bedroom and the pink-and-white color scheme and fussy flounces attached to every surface from the curtains to the comforter to the skirt on the vanity table made her claustrophobic.
She didn’t turn the light on as she walked down the carpeted upstairs hall and then quietly continued down the sweeping staircase to the foyer. Her mom and dad bought the house when the development it was in had still been a blueprint in the model house’s showcase living room. Trish picked out all the fixtures and upgrades and she’d clung stubbornly to the house even after her husband moved out.
If Trish had been able to admit back then that her life would never be the picture-perfect image she’d wanted, would she be in the same mess today? If she had dealt with the hole her divorce left in her life, would she have been so desperate to connect with other people? Would Posy still be trying to work off the guilt she felt over being the wrong sort of daughter and picking the wrong parent?
That kind of what-if was absurd, especially because her mom was going to finally sell the house. Trish had, thankfully, set up a retirement fund and while she’d recently taken a loan from it, the bulk of her savings was intact. That meant Posy could meet with a Realtor about the house. And when Trish came back, the two of them would talk to an accountant about Wonders.
The house needed a lot of work before it could be sold. After Posy and her dad moved out, Trish filled up the empty hours with stuff.
Like the display space at Wonders, every corner was packed with collections and collectibles—everything from lighthouses, to thimbles to dollhouse furniture. If only she’d collected something valuable—Matisses, maybe, or original O’Keeffes. Posy might joke with her about hoarding, but the truth was, they weren’t going to be able to show the house until they cleared it out. It was impossible to see the generous space in its current state.
She turned down the hallway, heading for the kitchen, where she flipped the light on, surprising Angel, who was crouched near the sliding glass doors staring out into the dark backyard. The dog jumped and then sat down with her tail to the doors, watching Posy. If Angel had been a human, Posy would have thought she was embarrassed.
“You peeping that golden retriever next door?” Angel didn’t move. “Don’t bother. He told me he only likes smooth-coated chicks. Your curls are a turnoff.”
The dog didn’t take her eyes off her.
“You’ve met this Mitch guy? Is he the real deal?”
Angel flopped on the floor, her head resting on crossed front paws. She lifted the corner of her top lip in what might have been a yawn, but was more likely a growl.
Posy sat in one of the black wooden chairs at the kitchen island. She turned on her iPad and looked up Mitch’s Train Yard. The ex-surgeon looked friendly and normal in his photo. She’d waited her entire life for her mom to turn her laser focus and need for love on someone else. Knowing she had a boyfriend explained the relatively few phone calls and texts she’d been getting recently.
She just hoped he was on the up-and-up.
Before she continued her research, Posy called her cousin Maddy.
“The Knoll Retreat and Healing Center. This is Sister Maddy.”
“Maddy, it’s Posy.”
“What’s up? I thought you were on your pilgrimage to Trish’s house.” Maddy’s voice was warm and rich, hinting at the singing talent that had sent her to college for musical theater before she switched gears her senior year and pursued a position in the Daughters of Respite religious order. “How are you?”
“I’m at my mom’s. I guess I’m going to be here for a couple days, helping out. She’s closing Wonders. And selling her house. She met a new guy.”
“When did this happen? Didn’t I talk to you yesterday?”
“It was fast. Did you know about the fundraiser she hosted last month?”
“Someone forwarded the link. I think the retreat center sent a donation.”
As she talked, Posy looked up Chloe Chastain’s It’s a Mad, Mad Mommy blog.
“I’m looking at Chloe Chastain’s blog post about it right now. You wouldn’t believe how many comments and link backs there are.”
“Let me open it up,” Maddy said, and Posy listened as her cousin hit some keys. “Whoa. She looks good in that picture.”
Mixed in with the fundraising posts were Chloe’s regular stock-in-trade photos of her adorable daughters doing adorable things, accompanied by entries written by Chloe, who looked fairly adorable herself at the ripe old age of twenty-six.
“Chloe Chastain always looks good. Bed head is probably afraid of her.”
“It figures she’d have a blog about making life perfect. Remember when we were little and she was constantly making us do pretend weddings?” Maddy said. “You’d get so incensed because she made you be the groom.”
“I would have been happy being the priest. She just liked to make me mad.”
Maddy laughed. “It wasn’t as if she had to try very hard. Two people as competitive as you guys are—the conflict was inevitable.”
Except for her divorce, it sounded as if Chloe Chastain’s life had continued along the small-town-princess line it had been on when they were kids. Trish’s most common cause for complaint was that Posy wasn’t more like Chloe. There’d been a time when Posy would have sold her soul to be like her neighbor. In Posy’s worst memories, Chloe was always there, petite, poised, smart, graceful and so unrelentingly judgmental. Posy never felt more out of step than she did around Chloe.
“Look at the list of people who donated. Most of them aren’t even from here,” Maddy said. “This is huge.”
“My mom stole the money.” Posy was whispering even though no one else was around.
There was silence over the line.
Quickly, Posy went on, explaining how her mom had gotten into trouble. “Now this guy from the foundation is coming and I have to hold him off until my mom gets a loan from my aunt.”
“Oh. My. Goodness.”
“I hope the sisters don’t have your phone bugged.”
“Posy,” her cousin admonished. “Even if the sisters did listen in, they don’t have anything to do with punishing people for their sins. We have God for that.”
“Thank you, Maddy. You’re so kind. I can see why you went into the convent.”
“Does Chloe know?”
“No!”
“Because she won’t blink at the opportunity to bring your mom down. Imagine the traffic she’d get to her blog with that story? Especially if she can make herself look good in the process. Your mom will be crucified.”
Posy didn’t answer. What could she say?
“Sorry,” Maddy said. “That wasn’t helpful.”
“You haven’t met the guy from the Fallon Foundation when he’s been in town, have you?”
“Deacon? He seems very nice.”
“His brother, Wes.”
“I haven’t met that one.” She heard Maddy’s keyboard. “Let’s see what Google says.”
Posy knew enough about the world to know that if you were working for a foundation and you had the same last name as the guy who’d endowed it, you were probably privileged.
She typed his name in, too. Wes. Who named their kid Wes? People who wanted their kid to get beaten up in elementary school, that was who. His parents had made a bad call on that one.
Maddy’s keyboard fell silent and Posy stared at her own screen. Her cousin whistled.
“Your mom stole money from a really good-looking guy.”
There were hundreds of pictures of Wes Fallon, alone. The one that made her look twice was from some kind of formal event and showed a clear shot of his face.
The woman with him was wearing a dress slit up past where her underwear should have started. Her hair was tousled so one thick wave fell over her eye. She was undeniably sexy...and trying really, really hard. Wes had his arm around her waist and he was smiling down at her as if he knew she was being foolish, but he was having too much fun to care. Just a ridiculously handsome guy enjoying himself.
She’d always been a sucker for people who knew how to fit in and have fun.
“Call me tomorrow after you meet him, okay?” Maddy said. “And let me know if I can help.”
Posy hung up, browsed a few more pages of Wes Fallon pictures and then closed the tab. Now that she’d thoroughly depressed herself, she opened her email to send a message to Wyatt, her boss, that she needed to take some time off. An emergency. She rarely used her vacation, so she knew it wouldn’t be a problem. She’d call in tomorrow and talk to him just to be sure.
Four days tops. That was how long they’d estimated it might take for Trish to get to the city, get her aunt’s bank to set up a wire transfer and see the money cleared into her account.
If Posy could keep Wes Fallon and Chloe Chastain in the dark about the crime for four days at the most, her mom would be home free. And then maybe if she got rid of all this stuff and set her mom up with the model-train enthusiast, she could finally put down her load of guilt. The one she’d been carrying ever since the family court judge made the final custody arrangements by looking Posy in the eye and saying, “Pick.”
