CHAPTER SEVEN

The Other Mrs. Cearley.

After seeing Veronica that morning, Cullen sat in the old lodge with Hillman, both with steaming coffee and a pile of blueprints in front of them.

“So you own all of this?” Hillman glanced at the vast acreage that came with this lodge and campgrounds.

“Yes,” Cullen said. “The lodge is four thousand square feet with eight guest rooms and as many bathrooms. They all need cleaning and updating, of course.”

“And you’re keeping the lodge?” Hillman took a chug of coffee, then bit into the apple-cheese bread he’d brought for their meeting.

“I haven’t decided,” Cullen replied. “I have to admit, my first plan was to tear it down and build chateaus and mountain retreats, with walking paths and a new lakefront park and beach, the works. A private, upscale neighborhood.”

“You must know half the town would be against that. You don’t build nouveau riche in a town grounded in the descendants of the founding fathers who came here from Ireland and Scotland.”

“I did take that into consideration and kind of liked that challenge. You know, sticking it to the establishment.”

Hillman tilted his head, a wry smile on his face. “And what’s your second plan, Cully?”

Cullen gave his friend a sheepish grin. “You knew right away, didn’t you?”

“Not at first,” Hillman said. He took his coffee and went to the big rectangular windows with a panoramic view of the lake. “But when you said you don’t like to be alone at Christmas, it all came back. Little Cully Nolan.”

“Cullen Murdock now.”

“You took your grandmother’s maiden name.”

“I did. I wanted neither my dad’s name, nor my grandfather’s. They were both horrible men. I wanted nothing to do with them or their names.”

“Your grandmother died when you were in high school, right?”

“My sophomore year,” Cullen said, thinking of the little cabin she’d brought him to after his mother died. “I quit school the day I buried her. Found odd jobs here and there until I could leave and go home to Ireland.”

“So you’re a self-made man?”

“I guess you could call me that. My past ended the day I left Hidden Mountain. I’ve made sure no one knows anything about me before then. I don’t want my da trying to find me.”

“Is he still alive?”

“He is. In Ireland. I have people who watch over him, provide for him, and report to me.”

“You still have that rebellious, ruthless streak, I see.”

“And that’s what kept me alive.” Cullen came to stand by Hillman. “I did go back to get my GED and took courses in college. I loved renovating houses, so I worked on a construction crew in Ireland for a few years. Then the boss wanted to retire, so he asked if I’d like to buy him out. By then, I had legally changed my name and I had become his right-hand man. I said yes. It wasn’t easy, but I studied when I could, hired good people, and Piedmont Industries was born.”

Hillman nodded. “So, why did you come back here?”

Cullen got more coffee and turned to stare at the map. A hundred acres on a lake with a private shoreline that followed the curve in the lake. Houses lined the shore across the water and stood out against the granite hills and high bluffs on the other side of the water. But this side in the curve of the lake held the campgrounds, small cabins, and this huge lodge.

“I thought I’d returned for revenge, to show everyone here that I’d survived and made it in life.”

Hillman chuckled. “But—”

“But . . . after some research and eavesdropping in the coffee shop—the best place to hear things in a small town—I had a change of heart. Most of the people I wanted to impress were either gone or dead. Except you and Trudy. And then, something else happened.”

Hillman rocked on his brogans and gave him a side glance. “Veronica?”

Cullen pushed a hand through his hair. “Yes, but it’s not what you think. I mean, she’s attractive, but the woman is unavailable emotionally and so am I. We’re both too bruised and scarred, and . . . when I went to the Cearley house to leave my flyer, I wanted Mrs. Cearley to find it.”

“Mrs. Cearley.” Hillman stilled. “Nadene?”

“I thought when I heard some women talking about Mrs. Cearley, that Nadene lived there alone. For some reason, the revenge factor kicked in. I wanted the woman who’d treated everyone with such disdain to know I’d made it big. Ridiculous, since I’m sure she would have tossed my invitation in the fire.”

Hillman nodded. “Always hard to deal with—she test-drove every car on my lot and tested my patience right along with them. That woman did not like to spend her old money.”

“She’s dead now,” Cullen said. “I didn’t know that. She was the only one I didn’t vet ahead of time.”

“So you got the other Mrs. Cearley instead.”

“Yes, a pleasant surprise, and now a tragic bit of irony, don’t you think?”

Hillman considered that. “I don’t know. You two might be good for each other.”

“No. Oil and water. Or oil and fire.” Cullen stared at the map, his mind centered on Veronica. “I’m intrigued by her, I have to admit. But I need to get her out of my head.”

“Okay, so you can still do what you came to do. You got me here, and Trudy. She hasn’t figured you out yet.”

“She and I never knew each other but she said something to me long ago that changed my life.” Cullen lifted his hand. “And I didn’t invite your two here for revenge. I heard about your wife dying and . . .I overheard rumors about the whole mistress and divorce thing about Trudy. So I really wanted to see both of you. If you showed up, fine. If not, I planned to try to see you in a more conventional way.”

“You always did like a bit of mystery and intrigue,” Hillman replied. Then he asked, “Where does Bethany fit in?”

Cullen glanced at the beamed ceilings in the lodge dining hall. “I invited her as a favor to a friend.”

“I see.” Hillman took that in. “And you don’t want to say more. I’m guessing you want to keep this whole conversation between you and me.”

“I’d appreciate that. My grand plan had been to reveal myself at the last party. After what happened at the first one, I think that plan has changed too.”

“But you’ll still need to explain a lot. The ladies will want to know. Veronica is already on it. She worked for the newspaper a couple of years when she was first married. I’d forgotten that myself until she started grilling you.”

Cullen tapped his ink pen on the table. “There is one more very important reason I can’t be involved with Veronica Cearley.”

“Oh, and what’s that?”

“I plan to buy her house.”

Veronica sat out in Trudy’s massive sunroom, feeling the warmth of the sun in spite of the cold temperatures that hovered near forty-five degrees. She’d worn a blue cashmere sweater and black pants with black boots. Josh had given her the sweater a few Christmases ago. She’d also dragged out a designer purse, a soft leather in light blue.

Inside, the wide, marble-floored foyer held a beautiful Christmas tree with a few gifts underneath. But the usual trappings she’d seen at the formal party Trudy and her husband had held each year were nowhere to be found.

They sat in the sunroom, where the atmosphere leaned toward casual. Trudy wore a long blue-and-green-plaid sweater tunic that had to be St. John, with flowing green pants. A heavy necklace of various stones completed her look.

Surrounded by windows across the front and on both sides, this sunroom, a true conservatory, looked out over an impeccably landscaped winter garden. Potted palm trees and thriving bird-of-paradise plants graced each corner of the long, wide room located on the back of the mansion. Orchids, rich in purples and pinks, flourished against the back wall. Aged wicker furniture stuffed with floral cushions filled each corner, while a matching four-top dining table with high-backed, cushioned wicker chairs took center place. A giant portrait of a sunny faraway beach, centered on the wall between two sets of open French doors leading back into the spacious den, brought it all together.

“It’s like we’re away from Hidden Mountain,” Bethany said, her tone low and full of awe. “So, this is what it’s like to be rich.”

Veronica glanced back toward the big kitchen where a fire burned softly in a giant fireplace by the dining area. Everything here spoke in superlatives of big and over the top.

“Yes, but Trudy’s not snobbish. Selective, yes, snobbish, no.”

“Does selective mean she has excellent tastes and looks and acts like a queen?”

“Yes, I guess it does,” Veronica said.

They both giggled and listened while Trudy gave her maid directions in her precise, cultured voice. “Not too much pepper on the chicken salad, Katie. And please bring the amuse-bouche first, since it needs to be served hot.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the young maid said.

“What does that even mean?” Bethany asked, tugging at her long ponytail. She wore a pretty, dark-green loose sweater over black leggings. Cute and young. Pregnant and afraid.

Veronica longed for her daughter.

Maybe you need to help this young woman.

“It means small bites—finger food.”

“Oh, finger food I can handle,” Bethany said. “Is that French?”

“Oui,” Veronica replied in a haughty tone.

They were still giggling when Trudy brought out a wooden tray with their drinks. “Okay, ladies, I have one iced tea with lemon, unsweetened, and one fruit punch with a twist of lime. Bethany, my fruit punch is made with freshly squeezed lemons, limes, and orange, with a hint of cranberry, and sweetened with honey. A nonalcoholic sangria and much-needed vitamin C for the baby.”

“Thank you, Trudy,” Bethany said. “I love sangria, alcoholic or not.”

Trudy handed Veronica her tea, then took her own glass of fruit-infused mineral water sparkling in a crystal goblet. “Now, what’s so funny out here?”

Bethany looked frightened.

Trudy made a soft slap against Bethany’s arm. “Relax. I promise I’m not on the bench today. We’re three friends getting together for a mutual cause.”

Bethany bobbed her head. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And, darling, don’t call me ma’am.”

“Yes. I mean, okay, Trudy.” Bethany’s smile hovered with uncertainty.

Veronica went with honesty. “We were trying to speak in French since we heard you talking about amuse-bouche. Small bites.”

Trudy gave them a mock-frown. Then she enunciated, “emooz-booSH. Did I sound pretentious?”

“Not if you know how to prepare the real thing,” Veronica replied. “And pronounce it.”

“I do know how to prepare it, and you will soon see,” Trudy said, lifting her glass in a toast. “I’m a gourmet cook because I took lessons early. I like to cook everything from soul food to French cuisine. Here’s to learning. New things. New friends. New food. New words.”

“To learning,” Veronica said, thinking she hadn’t studied anything involving learning in a long time. Except her own pity-party, of course. She’d lost that epic curiosity that used to get her into all kinds of trouble when she worked at the Gazette. But she’d been good at her job, even if the stories involved small-town robberies and heated city council meetings.

“I like to learn new things,” Bethany said. “If I ever finish my business course at the community college, I’d love to work in administration or be an executive assistant.”

“Does Troy know about your plan?” Veronica asked, liking Bethany’s idea. She wished now she’d fought harder to stay on at the newspaper. She might be running the place by now. But she’d caved to the stay-at-home-mom thing. She’d caved to a lot of things, thinking her world was perfect.

“I’ve told him,” Bethany said. “But being pregnant might put a kink in me working full time. He doesn’t believe in me. He’s never said that, but I’d like to have his support on my career and our child.”

“I need to seriously give your Troy a talking-to,” Trudy retorted, her heavy golden earrings playing against the sunrays.

“No. I’ll have to be the one to do that,” Bethany said. She looked out over the garden. “He’s so smart. He’s always talking over my head and correcting me in front of people. Which only embarrasses me more because I’m smart on some issues and I can speak for myself. Do you think that’s why he stays gone all the time?”

“Let’s focus on you for now,” Trudy suggested, giving Veronica a knowing glance. “Then we’ll figure out Troy, but I don’t think he’s avoiding you. He’s avoiding the tug of work and the tug of responsibility. You said he likes to travel. Maybe he will reconsider that once he finds out he’s going to be a daddy.”

“I need to tell him about the baby soon. I’m almost three months pregnant now.”

“And he has no idea?” Veronica asked, remembering the day she’d told Josh she was pregnant with Elle. They’d been so happy, so ready to bring a child into the world. A few months later, however, both he and his mother suggested she should stay home and raise Elle. It hadn’t been hard to agree to that. She’d worked from home doing freelance feature articles for a while. But that fizzled out once Josh told her she needed to be more like his mother.

Bethany shook her head. “He’s focused on work. Always on his phone or his computer, even when he is at home. I’m surprised we even had sex, let alone got pregnant.”

“Maybe it’s not you, darling,” Trudy said. “It could be him. Stressful work can change a person. He’s the man of the house and he has to provide. That’s what they all think.” Then she stopped. “Remind me again why I should be giving anyone marriage advice?”

Veronica smiled at that.

“Maybe he’s growing and I’m not,” Bethany said, completely missing Trudy’s self-deprecating sarcasm. “Except here.” She rubbed her little tummy.

“I think you know how to talk to your husband,” Veronica said. “You have to find your backbone and consider your worth. Men are scared of commitment, and a baby means commitment. But if Troy is committed to work, he can also be committed to his wedding vows. Men handle stress differently from women. Be firm with him. Tell him you need to discuss an important matter.”

“Amen to that,” Trudy said as Katie brought in the crisp little cuts of bread covered with spicy olive oil and fresh basil with melted goat cheese. “I have some how-to and self-help books I’ll give you, Bethany. Read ’em and learn.”

Then she got down to business. “Ladies, let’s have our lunch and then we’ll go over our first task—to clean out our closets and take some clothes to the local clothing shelter. Hillman has agreed to help us load everything once we’re finished. He’ll bring a pickup truck tomorrow.”

“Clean out closets?” Veronica was more than willing to coach Bethany on being more assertive, but she didn’t want to clean out closets. She still had Josh and Jay’s clothes in their closets. Safe and sealed away.

“Yes, Veronica. Clean out closets. You know it’s time,” Trudy said in a Judge Trudy way.

Veronica didn’t want to think about that. She grabbed a chunk of bread and tried to chew her worries away. “This is good,” she managed without choking. But she was choking. With fear and guilt. How could she face this task and get it done when she couldn’t even open either one of those closets?

“What?”

Trudy studied her as if she were a puzzle. “You need to be ready for this.”

“I might not ever be ready for this, but we do have homework, right?”

Trudy gave her the Judge Trudy stare.

“You think I need to get on with my life, and I’m trying.”

“I’m not judging,” Trudy said while Katie served chicken salad croissants surrounded by fresh fruit. “I’m suggesting. This is where the healing starts. You know that, but you’re avoiding it. Remember, your daughter needs to see some movement on your part.” Then Trudy turned from judge to friend. “Elle is here on Earth, Veronica. She’s let you know in a firm way what you need to do.”

Veronica pushed at her fruit, her appetite suddenly diminished. “If I pack away all of their clothes, will my daughter finally speak to me?”

“If you let her know you’re trying and you really take that step, she’ll begin to come around.”

Bethany took a bite of lunch. “I’m sorry, I’m starving.” She chewed her food, then glanced at Veronica. “It has to be painful, but keeping their clothes won’t bring them back.”

Veronica pushed her plate away. “I can’t do this.” Her hands shook, her head pounded. She wanted Lulu. She needed to run away. “Why did I even think I could?”

Trudy grabbed her hand. “You can do this, Veronica. I knew you were suffering. I noticed how the house had gone down, but I didn’t bother to check on you. I had my own issues happening. God brought us together for a reason and part of that reason is so Bethany and I can save you from yourself.”

“I don’t need saving,” she said, yanking her hand away. “I don’t need this. I don’t want this. Letting go of their things means I’m letting go of them too.”

Then she started crying, sobbing the ugly sob, which only mortified her more. Embarrassed and devasted, she couldn’t move. “I should go.”

“Don’t you dare leave this house.” Trudy got up and came and knelt down beside her. “Here.”

She opened her arms wide, and Veronica fell into them and cried even harder. Bethany’s gentle hand touched her back, rubbing it. Why did people do that? Rub someone’s back when their heart held all the hurt?

Katie walked in with tissues and put them on the table. Trudy handed one to Veronica. “Get it all out, honey. I have sweet potato pie for dessert.”

Veronica cried, snorted, and then started laughing, her mascara streaming down her face. She couldn’t stop laughing. “How did you know I needed a piece of pie?”

Trudy got up, but pulled her chair close. “You kept staring at the one Hillman brought to our meeting. So I baked one fresh and Katie helped—she’s learning too.”

Katie smiled. “I’m not her maid, by the way. I’m her protégé.” She grinned, her pixie red hair shining. “Judge Trudy is fostering me, in a way.”

Veronica stared at the young woman standing there, looking so refined. Then she glanced at Trudy. “Did she start you off with pie?”

“She did,” Katie said. “Coconut cream.”

“And now she knows how to cook her own pie, and she’d got a good job at a local restaurant,” Trudy said with a hint of pride.

“I can’t wait to read those books you mentioned.” Bethany kept rubbing Veronica’s back. “But I need pie. Why are pregnant women always hungry?”

That made Veronica laugh even more. “Pie and pregnancy. So natural, so average, so true. I want that kind of life again. I’ve made such a mess of my memories, I’ve lost the joy of the good stuff.”

“Nothing pie and the Lord can’t fix,” Trudy said. “Now, Katie’s going to show you the powder room. Go wash your face and put some color on those lips. Katie, you join us for pie and coffee. After that, we’ve got work to do.” Trudy’s gaze centered on Veronica. “I think it’s best that you start this alone, and we’ll come over to help later.”

Then she nodded to Bethany. “And while you clean your closets, you decide how to get you and your husband back on the right track.” Her boss-attitude as elegant as her voice, she quipped, “Says the woman whose husband is on a yacht near Key West with his mistress.”