Part 37 (1/2)

”Consider it done.”

When Dana arrived at the hospital, Ellie Jo was in high spirits. Her thick gray hair was brushed and neatly pulled back so that, as she lay against the pillow, it was hard to see the part that was shaved. Her eyes were bright. ”No rehab center,” she announced. Her speech wasn't entirely clear, but it was rapidly improving, certainly enough to convey feeling, which, in this instance, was relief. ”What I lost is coming back. I can use one stick to crochet,” she said, gesturing toward a purple project on the bedside table. ”Two sticks is next, knitting. And walking. Another couple of days and they'll send me home.”

”That's good news, Gram,” Dana said, realizing that she couldn't stay angry at Ellie Jo for long.

”I'll need therapy,” the older woman went on. ”I may have to sleep downstairs. But I'll hold little Lizzie.”

Dana smiled. ”You will.

”And be at the shop. I miss it, Dana Jo.” She took Dana's hand. ”Thank you.”

”No thanks are necessary. You know how I feel about the shop. I've loved covering for you.”

”Enough to do it forever?”

Dana went still. She knew that look. Something was going on in Ellie Jo's crafty old mind.

”I talked with my lawyer,” her grandmother said. ”He'll draw up papers. If you want, the shop is yours.”

”But it's yours.”

Ellie Jo's smile was crooked. ”Would have been your mother's, if she'd lived. Do you want it?”

”Of course I want it,” Dana said excitedly. She was a designer by training, but knitting was in her blood.

Ellie Jo was suddenly serious. ”I won't live forever. This stroke may be the start.”

”Gram-”

”It's the truth. We need honesty. Don't you think?” Her own eyes answered the question. ”I have felt better since we talked about Earl.”

Dana nodded.

”Do you hate him?”

Dana shook her head.

”Or me?”

”For doing what you thought was right?” Dana saw that now.

”He was a good man, and he loved you.”

”And you, Gram. He loved you.”

Hugh left Boston at noon, though only after a long talk with Crystal. She didn't like the idea of going public. She argued-correctly-that he had promised a private settlement. She was terrified that the media would make a spectacle of her.

He urged her to weigh the benefits against the risks. The benefits were obvious-the finest medical care for Jay. And the risks? Losing monetary support for Jay would be bad enough, but Hutchinson on the offense could be worse. He could attack Crystal's character in the press, calling her immoral, opportunistic, and money-hungry. He could paint her as a schemer and himself as the victim, and he could do it with pa.s.sion and eloquence.

In the end, it was Crystal's choice. ”I can't force you,” Hugh said. ”I can only advise you. My advice is that going ahead with this now is the right thing to do.”

She finally agreed. But she wasn't happy. That raised the personal stakes for Hugh.

He wanted this victory for Crystal and her son, but he wanted it for himself, too. He had taken his ability for granted. Clarkes had the golden touch. Knowing now that he was only part Clarke eroded his confidence.

He needed a win now. That meant he couldn't blink when his bluff was called.

When Dana left Ellie Jo, she headed for The St.i.tchery. Once off the highway, though, she turned in the other direction, crossing town to drop in on Corinne. She suspected she was going for her grandmother's sake. After all, Ellie Jo was the one who liked Corinne. Dana did not.

Corinne's property was surrounded by handsome wood fencing that dipped into a low curve on either side of a brick drive. Dana checked the number on the mailbox against the one she had taken from the store's files. Two twenty-nine. This was definitely the right address.

Turning in, Dana started up the drive. The grounds were lavish and well cared for, lawn neatly mowed, flower beds vibrant with the pinks and yellows of fall asters.

The house itself was huge, a stuccoed Tudor with a steeply pitched roof, tall multipaned windows, numerous side gables, and decorative half-timbering. Pulling up at the arched door, she left the car and rang the bell. A melodious chime was clearly audible.

When no one answered, she peered in. Polished wood floors gleamed; an exquisitely carved half-round table stood beneath a piece of art in the alcove of a bridal staircase. Sun spilled through the upper bal.u.s.trade.

There was no sign of life. She rang the bell again.

”Try the cottage,” the groundsman hollered, and pointed behind the house.

Dana headed back. Beyond the garage was a miniature of the main house-same stucco, same eaves, same tall, multipaned windows. The shades here were drawn.

She looked for a bell and found none. So she knocked lightly.

No one answered.

She knocked again and was getting ready to leave when she heard footsteps. One of the shades lifted, and Corinne looked out. At least, Dana thought it was Corinne, though there wasn't much of a swath.

Whoever it was didn't move for a minute or two. Finally the door opened.

It was indeed Corinne, but not the elegantly dressed woman that Dana had known. This one wore no makeup, no diamond studs. Her eyes were hollow, and her auburn hair was sc.r.a.ped back into a messy ponytail. She wore wrinkled jeans and a tee s.h.i.+rt, and looked like she hadn't slept in a while. She was leaning heavily against the door, a hand on the inside k.n.o.b.

”You shouldn't have come,” she said quietly.

”I was worried,” Dana replied.

”That's what Lydia Forsythe said when she showed up yesterday morning, but she wasn't worried. She was snooping. She wondered if I actually lived at this address, because I've never had the ladies here, but she really wanted to tell me that it would be best if I resigned from the board before anyone suggested I do it. She a.s.sured me that they'd be able to manage the gala themselves.” Her voice fell. ”But of course I knew that. I was their token newcomer. I did the grunt work. I was never one of them.”

”Neither am I,” Dana remarked, hoping to make Corinne feel better. ”I saw the piece in the paper. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

”I'm not,” Corinne said sadly.

”What happened?” Back at the shop, Dana had wondered if Corinne was too good to be true, but seeing her now was unsettling. ”You were always so confident.”

Corinne rubbed her eyes. When she dropped her hands, it was obvious she had been crying. ”The way you saw me was the way I wanted to be.”

”Wasn't it true?” Dana asked, actually disappointed. Corinne had added cla.s.s to the shop. ”None of it?”

”Oh, some of it was,” said Corinne. ”I do live at this address, but in the guest cottage, and we rent rather than own. I do drive a Mercedes, though that's a matter of semantics, since it's just been repossessed. I am married to Oliver James, though he's gone so often I sometimes wonder. That'll only get worse now.” She meant with Oliver in jail.