That Old Flame of Mine (10 page)

Chapter 11

“What do you think?” she whispered, looking down at the unconscious woman.

“Not bad. I’ve had worse.” He slid his hand over her body.

“Can you do it?”

“For fifty million dollars? Piece of cake.”

W
hen Stella woke up again, it was morning. Her head felt clearer. She’d had some strange dreams. She hadn’t made it home, despite her attempt at a dramatic exit. Instead, she was back in bed with a blanket tucked around her and her ruined clothes missing again.

Mrs. Waverly was gone. So was her grandfather.

Benton Carson. Her grandfather
.

The idea of this place being a part of her family background made everything seem surrealistic again. She wasn’t sure if what she’d heard was true.

If it was, how could her mother have kept something like this from her? Thinking back, she recalled wondering many times why her mother never spoke about relatives from her side. There were never pictures or heirlooms, as her father’s big Irish family had. She sort of assumed her mother’s family was dead.

Why had her mother allowed her,
encouraged
her, to come here and not tell her? Surely it had occurred to her that not saying anything was worse than giving her some kind of heads-up.

She got out of bed. The dizziness and nausea were gone. Her legs didn’t feel shaky. Her ribs and head still hurt, but the discomfort was tolerable.

In the bright sunlight, the room was even more impressive. Stella tried to remember everything she’d heard about the owners of the pepper company. She had to admit to not being particularly interested. All that came back to her was that they had a big house on a mountain outside of town and they were rich.
Filthy rich.
Almost everyone hated them.

Tory hadn’t hated them. She’d been one of those who’d apologized for Ben Carson being out of town at her arrival. “I know he wanted to be here. Something came up. He’ll be back soon,” she’d told Stella.

Did everyone else know that Benton Carson was her grandfather? She already understood about everyone in town being in everyone else’s business. People knew the intimate details of everyone else’s life. Was it possible they had all kept it from her?

Why had Mom left?

She’d probably been treated like a royal princess. People in town hated the Carson family, but they also put them on a pedestal. Why would her mother leave the family pepper empire and estate behind and struggle on the streets of Chicago?

Not that her father didn’t earn a good living. Her mother worked too, as an accountant. Their little house was nothing compared to this. Stella could remember times in her childhood when things were tight for them.

She looked out of the big windows again, admiring the daytime view. The Smoky Mountains seemed to roll on forever in the distance, the flawless blue sky above them.

She was less confused, better prepared to deal with the situation today. Her clothes, boots, and cell phone were gone again. Her grandfather and Mrs. Waverly must have been afraid she’d wake up again and leave without them knowing.

Clearly she wasn’t going anywhere in the old nightgown. She also had to admit to a little curiosity about this new side of her family. She took the time to look around the huge bedroom, finding pictures of her much younger mother with her grandfather and another woman who had to be her grandmother. She was amazed at how much she looked like the other two women.

There were tons of notebooks with drawings and writing in them—all of them signed “Barbara” in a swirly girlish hand. Stella realized that this had been her mother’s childhood bedroom.

She went through the old party dresses and skirt and sweater sets she found in the closet, which was the size of her whole room back home in Chicago. Her mother had such tiny feet. None of the hundreds of pairs of shoes would fit her.

Stella found a blue sweater and a pair of jeans that were a little snug but wearable. She went into the eye-popping bathroom, which had a pool-sized marble bathtub and a separate shower. There were mirrors everywhere and a small chandelier in the ceiling. All of the fixtures looked gold-plated, and the press of a button made the floor warm beneath her feet.

Now, this was the life.

She put aside all of her questions, along with what she believed to be her mother’s nightgown, and took a long hot shower. She was careful not to scrub her head too hard even though she was worried that there might be blood caked in her hair. A look in the mirror when she got out told her it was clean. Her face was a little bruised on the same side as the cut. Otherwise, she seemed to be fine.

Stella smiled at her mother’s underwear, each pair of which was embroidered with her name. She had to do without the bra she’d found—that was a little too snug. She was hungry and feeling more benevolent toward her new family when she walked out of the bathroom.

Her grandfather was waiting for her. “You look so much like Barbara, which is to say you look like your grandmother, Abigail.”

The name immediately jogged her memory of the encounter she’d had when she’d first reached Sweet Pepper. “I’ve heard that before.” She explained her meeting with Deputy Chum.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “That seems a little melodramatic. Chum’s a fine officer, but has that problem sometimes. I don’t know why he’d act that way.”

“Maybe you should’ve clued him in on the plan too.”

“I apologize, but not everyone in Sweet Pepper knows you’re my granddaughter, if that’s what you’re thinking. You’re angry about being kept in the dark on this. Your mother told me she’d never even mentioned to you that she had a family. I wanted you to meet us and decide for yourself whether you want to be part of the family. I didn’t know if she might color your opinion.”

“Why? Were you afraid she was still angry?”

He stopped smiling at her. “You’re a quick study.”

Her observation seemed to bother him. “You said I was stubborn like her. Mom and I think alike many times.” She shrugged. “It made sense. Why was she angry?”

“Let’s talk over breakfast. I’d like to show you the house and grounds.”

“Impress me with your pepper wealth?”

“Exactly. Maybe you’d like to stay around for a while.”

“I need shoes. I can wear Mom’s old clothes but not her shoes. I think her feet have grown. We wear the same size back home. When did she leave?”

“She was only seventeen.” He opened the door and called out to a young woman in the hall. “Get me a pair of shoes, Felicity.”

“What size?” the woman asked without looking at Stella.

“Eight.” Stella wondered how often this woman had to find shoes for people.

Felicity nodded and headed down the hall.

“Why did my mom leave?” Stella continued as though their conversation hadn’t been interrupted.

“I think you should ask her that. I’ve never really understood. It came at a very bad time in both our lives. Her mother had recently died—”

“Died?”

“Yes. She was young. It was tragic.”

Stella didn’t hear any longing or leftover grief in his voice. In all fairness, it
had
been a long time. Apparently he had moved on.

They passed several doors in the long hallway, plush gray carpet underfoot. She felt like she was in a hotel. The hall ended in a large stairway that swept down into an impressive foyer.

“Wow! You must sell a
lot
of peppers.”

Felicity reached them with four pairs of shoes in her hands. “I hope these will work for you.”

“Thanks.” Stella chose the new black tennis shoes. She smiled awkwardly as she put them on.

“Box up the other pairs, and she can take them with her,” her grandfather said.

“No. That’s okay. I have shoes at the cabin.”

“Nonsense. You might as well have the others too.”

Before Stella could protest again, an attractive woman in a fashionable white suit walked to the bottom of the stairway. “Ben, are you bringing her down for breakfast? I have to leave in a few minutes for church. I wanted to meet her before I go.”

“We’re on our way, sweetheart. We had a shoe emergency that I’m sure you can appreciate.” He held out his arm to Stella. She took it, smiling at his old-fashioned charm, and they walked down the wide, carpeted stairs together.

The woman was blond, very elegant, and chic in a way Stella couldn’t imagine being. Up close, she looked like she was in her fifties—a lot younger than Benton Carson. Maybe closer in age to Stella’s mother.

Everything on her seemed to sparkle with gold and diamonds, from the clasp in her upswept hair to the necklace and earrings she wore. Her makeup was flawless. She was poised and self-assured as she held out her hand to Stella. “Hello. I’m Vivian Carson. It’s so nice to finally meet you, even though the circumstances are terrible. I hope you’re feeling better this morning.”

“Yes. I’m fine. Thanks.” Stella barely touched her cool, delicate hand. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

There was something familiar about Vivian’s voice. It felt as though she’d heard it in a dream. “
What do you think?
”

Stella shook her head to clear it. She was probably imagining things.

There was no doubt that Vivian was the mistress of the house. The way she’d emphasized her last name made it clear that she was Stella’s grandfather’s wife now. It was a friendly, subtle reminder. Stella felt sure future reminders would be less friendly.

She wished she could assure Vivian that she had no desire to interrupt their lives. She still wasn’t really clear on why she was there after her mother had left her family behind so long ago. Obviously, a conversation on that subject was long past due.

They walked into a sunny room where breakfast was laid out on a small white wicker table. Vivian had taken hold of her husband’s arm as they’d left the foyer. Stella took the hint and walked alone. She didn’t understand the gesture. It was hard to believe that the older woman felt threatened by her, but that was the way she was acting.

“Eat up.” Her grandfather pointed out the large buffet of several types of eggs, fruits, jams, and pastries. “The cook always makes enough to feed an army. Vivian and I are usually the only ones up this early.”

Stella was about to ask how many other people lived with them when they were joined by another man—clearly Vivian’s son. He had to be in his late thirties, very good-looking in a cosmopolitan way. He had sun-bleached brown hair and his mother’s blue eyes. He was dressed casually in jeans and a white sweater.

“This is my son, Martin Lawrence.” Vivian introduced them. “Martin is my son from my first marriage.”

“Vivian and I have only been married a few years,” her grandfather wryly added.

“Call me Marty.” The younger man shook her hand warmly and smiled down into her eyes. “That’s a nasty cut. Does it hurt much?”

“You’re the one who found me after the wreck.” Stella recalled the nurse telling her.

His voice was familiar too—“
Piece of cake.”

“That’s right. It was pretty bad. I was worried about you for a while there.”

“Thanks. It doesn’t hurt much now. Any idea what happened to my bike?”

“I’m afraid not.” Marty took the seat beside hers. “I was in a hurry to get you out of there and make sure you were all right.”

“Did you see what hit you?” Her grandfather buttered his toast.

“Not really.” Stella thought back on the moment. “It was dark. Someone was driving down the road without their lights on.”

“I understand you’re a member of the family.” Marty sipped his coffee. “Ben didn’t even tell us about you until the day we got back from Switzerland.”

“There was no reason for anyone to know besides me,” her grandfather said. “I didn’t tell you because I planned to approach Stella and tell her who I was. I didn’t want you to screw it up like you always do.”

“Really, Ben, that’s a little harsh considering that Martin saved Stella’s life,” Vivian protested.

“That’s okay.” Marty smiled. “I’m glad I could play the Good Samaritan anyway and save my . . . I guess we’re not really related, are we?”

“I don’t think so,” Stella said.

“Don’t get any ideas either,” Ben warned his stepson. “She’s got better prospects!”

Vivian protested again. Marty drank his coffee and seemed to ignore their bickering.

It was a relief for Stella when her cell phone rang. She walked out of the breakfast room, leaving them to argue.

“Hey, Chief. It’s Ricky. Just wondering where you are and if you’re okay. It looks like your bike took a hell of a beating last night. We found it in the ditch next to Firehouse Road.”

“
I
found it,” John said, grabbing the phone. “Are you all right? Where are you?”

“I’m fine,” she said. “I could use a ride. I’m at Ben Carson’s place. Could you come and get me?”

Ricky had the phone again. He let out a long low whistle of surprise and repeated what she’d said to John. “What are you doing up there?”

“It’s a long story. Can either you or John come and get me?”

“Sure,” Ricky said. “I’ll be right there. Tell them so they don’t shoot me at the gate, huh?”