Pinewood Veterinary Clinic Meadow View Drive
Quail Ridge, Illinois
Saturday, October 29, 5:45 p.m.
Present day
"Wow." Bea Evans, who'd been on the living room couch consulting the television listings for the evening, sprang to her feet. "You look absolutely positively fabulous."
Mira Larken, Doctor of Veterinary Medicine, acknowledged this with a self-deprecating smile. "I look different, Bea."
"Absolutely positively fabulous." The retired school nurse made a twirling motion with her fingers. When the lilac-gowned Mira complied with a 360-degree turn, she added,
"From every angle."
"Well. Thanks. Okay, so you know where I'll be."
"The Starlight Ballroom at the Wind Chimes Hotel. I have the number right here."
"I'm also taking my pager."
"Why? You'd never hear it over the gala sounds."
"I've set it on vibrate."
"Where is it?"
Mira pointed to the gown's satin sash. The pager was thin, the bulge scarcely visible.
But Bea was having none of it. "Hand that over, Dr. Larken. If I need you, I'll find you. Besides, our girl's on the mend."
Their girl was a calico cat named Agatha. Thirty-six hours post-op from the removal of an infected gallbladder, she was doing so well Mira hoped to release her at noon tomorrow.
For the moment, Agatha was indeed "theirs." Bea was the best veterinary assistant Mira had ever known -- and the best mother.
Mira's biological mother, Marielle, was flourishing in Palm Beach. She would've approved, as Bea had, of Mira's Pearl Moon gown, but for a very different reason -- relief that her fashion-averse daughter was dressed appropriately for the charity ball.
To Marielle DuMonde Larken, appearance was all. Beatrice Evans didn't give a hoot about appearance. Her enthusiasm was purely for Mira. Bea simply hoped she'd have an enjoyable evening out on the town.
Mira hadn't appreciated what she'd been missing in the mother department until the nurse she'd last seen during her school days at Hilltop Elementary wandered across Meadow View Drive to welcome Mira -- and her in-home veterinary clinic -- to Pinewood.
That was three months ago. Bea had been mothering her and the creatures in their care ever since. And Bea was right.
Agatha was on the mend. Besides, if the calico so much as turned a whisker, Bea would be on the case.
Mira relinquished her pager to Bea's outstretched hand. "I'm not sure when I'll be home."
"Whenever Vivian's ready to come home. And not a second before. Or after."
There wasn't an ounce of criticism in Bea's remark -- or in Mira's reply. Facts were facts. "Good point. Unless, of course, Blaine wants to stay until the very end. He might, since it's a hospital event and he's in his final days as chief of staff. If so, Vivian will agree. She's pretty happy doing whatever Blaine wants, as long as they're together."
"Do you suppose she'll ever thank you for introducing her to the man of her dreams?"
"No. Which is fine. It was a referral, not an introduction. And let's face it, Bea, matchmaking couldn't have been farther from my mind when Blaine asked me if Vivian would be a good choice for the kind of legal advice he wanted. He already knew she specialized in family law, and might well have contacted her on his own. I'd never have predicted they'd fall in love -- much less within a second of laying eyes on each other."
Mira hadn't known either of the lovebirds very well, not the once-divorced fifty-two-year-old psychiatrist or her twice-engaged never-married thirty-four-year-old sister.
But she was thrilled for the deliriously in love -- though no less judgmental -- Vivian and the equally in love Blaine Prescott, M.D.
"So don't worry," Bea said. "I'll see you when I see you. If I get sleepy, I'll take a nap in the guest bedroom. What would you like me to do if you-know-who calls? I'd be delighted to give him a piece of my mind."
"I know you would, Bea. I was thinking it might be best to let voice mail pick up any calls. Maybe he'll leave a message, something the police could use if it comes to that. With luck, it won't."
Bea's expression was sympathetic but stern. The man had warned he'd call again. "You are going to discuss this with Blaine and Vivian."
"Yes -- " Mom " -- I am."
Her sister and brother-in-law's undivided attention wasn't the reason Mira said yes when Vivian suggested they make the drive downtown together. Mira had initially declined -- as, she felt sure, Vivian knew she would.
It was one of those safe offers, like inviting people to a dinner party when you knew they had other plans. You got credit for the invitation without incurring any risk that the invitees might actually appear.
It was the black-tie -- not the charity -- aspect of the Harvest Moon Ball that virtually ensured Mira would say no. Dress-up for Vivian's sister meant jeans instead of scrubs.
For years, and with a request of anonymity, Mira had made generous donations to the Grace Memorial Hospital benefit. This year, and unbeknownst to her until the program for the evening's silent auction arrived in the mail, Blaine had added Mira's name to the Chagall he and Vivian were donating. The painting, purchased in the south of France during Blaine's first honeymoon, had no place in his marriage to Vivian.
Mira had been a little miffed when she'd discovered her name had been included without her consent. But she'd decided against making an issue of it. Blaine's intentions were admirable. He'd undoubtedly decided that linking her and Vivian in print was a first step toward the real-life reconciliation he hoped to orchestrate.
Either that, Mira mused, or the psychiatrist renowned for his commitment to women's mental health had developed a scholarly interest in aberrant relationships between sisters.
Whether his motives were altruistic or academic, Blaine was going to be disappointed.
There wasn't a previously unrecognized disorder to be unearthed here, a deviation so profound it should be added to the psychiatric watch list. The Larken sisters' lives rarely intersected, rarely had, and when they did, the contact was glancing at worst, without damage of any kind.
For the same reason, an emotional reconciliation wasn't in their future. It was hard to be estranged from a stranger.
If ever baby Mira had reached for her three-year-old sister, only to be rejected, she had no memory of it -- no memories whatsoever of longing for closeness to the sister who'd always been far away.
Faraway sister. Faraway mother. Faraway father. That was Mira's family. The family of Quail Ridge. The Larkens gathered for photo ops -- the annual Christmas card portrait, Marielle's frequent Mother of the Year honors, Vivian's similarly frequent academic awards.
The "ideal family" pretense hadn't bothered Mira. Not that she'd perceived it as pretense. That was the way her family was, and she was a happy child. Besides, she found a family of her own in the neighborhood dogs. The enthusiastic creatures gave her the unconditional love that wasn't available in the Larken mansion. Mira reciprocated in kind. And, although she had no deep, dark secrets, her canine companions provided an attentive audience for whatever she had to say. It was to her tail-wagging friends that Mira first revealed her joyous plans for her life. She'd spend it with animals, caring for animals -- like them.
Mira hadn't missed having a mother, until she met Bea. She hadn't missed having a sister, either...had she? If so, she didn't know it. Nor did Vivian.
As Blaine would discover.
In the meantime, he was welcome to assume it was his addition of her name to the donated Chagall that persuaded her to attend the Harvest Moon Ball. Blaine didn't need to know -- even Bea didn't know -- it was another revelation in the auction booklet that had changed Mira's mind.
Snow Ashley Gable was returning to Chicago.
Snow Ashley Gable. The woman who'd broken Luke Kilcannon's heart.
Appearances mattered to Marielle Larken's eldest daughter. Vivian's relief when she saw Mira's gown translated into such a relaxed atmosphere inside Blaine's Lexus that Mira decided to defer, perhaps for the entire trip, the subject of the obscene phone calls she'd received.
If she didn't raise the topic, it wouldn't get discussed. Bea alone knew about the calls. Mira hadn't even told Luke. She'd been preparing to tell him, steeling herself against what would be his instant advice -- move out of that house -- when the auction program arrived. With it had come the more daunting prospect of informing him that Snow was returning home.
Mira would be in the advice-giving business then. Friend-ship's a two-way street, she'd remind him when he greeted with silence her suggestions about Snow. If you can give me advice about my life, Luke, I can give you advice about yours.
Knowing Luke, he'd smile at that. It would be a thoughtful smile, and an appreciative one -- an acknowledgment of her concern, whether he intended to follow her advice or not.
Knowing Luke...Mira did knowhim. Better, he'd confessed to her, than he'd ever let anyone know him who wasn't Snow. And Luke knew her -- better, she'd confessed to him, than any other two-legged creature she'd ever known.
They'd met five years ago, when Luke appeared at Hilltop Veterinary Clinic with a chocolate lab he'd rescued from a sink hole. He'd waited to hear Mira's assessment -- the muddy pup would be fine -- by which time the dog's grateful owners had arrived and the clinic was closing for the night.
Luke asked Mira to join him for a drink. They'd both ordered coffee, and more coffee, and talked. And talked. Five years later, they were still talking, still sharing, usually by phone during the late-night hours when their long workdays were through and they were too keyed up to sleep.
For the time being, conversations with Luke were on hold. Like every other available firefighter in the tri-state region, he was battling the floods in southwest Illinois.
Besides, Mira had come up with her own approach to Snow's return. If Luke knew of her plans, he'd kill her -- figuratively speaking. Despite what some Quail Ridge towns-people might think, including perhaps a sister in this very car, Lucas Kilcannon wasn't a killer.
"That's a grim thought, Mira." Blaine looked at her in the rearview mirror. "Want to share?"
She made an immediate decision. "As a matter of fact, Blaine, I do. In the past week, I've gotten two obscene phone calls."
"That's just terrific," Vivian weighed in. "But honestly, Mira, what did you expect when you moved there?"
"I expected exactly what I've found. A lovely home, a welcoming neighborhood, an ideal location for my practice."
"A lovely home," Vivian repeated in a tone very like Luke's when Mira had told him she was buying the property where he'd lived until that fiery night.
Mira had used the term "property" advisedly. The Kilcannon house had burned to the ground. In an effort to erase all traces of the structure, the builder had jackhammered the existing footprint todust, poured a new foundation and constructed a sprawling rambler a substantial distance from where the two-story craftsman had stood.
And, its bloodied contents hauled away, the pool had been filled with topsoil and planted with roses.
Three families had lived in the rambler on Meadow View Drive. Three families, and not a single tragedy. Or even a minor mishap. Still, the families had chosen to leave...as if the ground itself was a graveyard to haunted spirits.