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  “All the doorways are arched,” I add. “If you think this is cool, wait until you get a load of the toad window.”

  We enter the kitchen; Ruby goes around the stump table and poses next to her sparkling yellow and chrome stove.

  “Eve and I have tried”—she points a perfectly manicured nail—“to count how many rings are in this stump, but as you can see, it’s simply too wide.”

  “How in the world did this ever get in here?” Ryan asks, walking around it. “It must weigh tons and get a load of this ancient refrigerator.” Ruby grimaces at the word “ancient.”

  “Hey, I do this,” Helen remarks, reaching over to the windowsill. “I have rocks from all sorts of places I’ve been—in my windowsills, too.”

  For some reason, I can barely find my voice, but I do. Stepping toward her, I say, “That one’s from Eau Claire and—”

  “Wait a minute—I did my undergraduate there,” Helen says and my mouth drops open. “Where was your salon?”

  “Water Street,” I croak out. This is too weird. “It’s still there—Eve’s Salon, next to—”

  “Avalon’s,” Helen finishes. “I can’t believe I never saw you—maybe I did. I hardly left campus, though.”

  “Very disciplined, this one,” Ryan adds.

  “Check this out.” Ryan is standing in the living room. “A two-story great room and who shot all these animals? Ruby—did you?”

  “Good heavens, no.” She walks over to the cabaña bar tucked in a corner. “Ryan, darling, when you’re done looking at all those dreadful stuffed things, could you assist me?”

  “Sure. This is like a north woods dream,” Ryan comments. “A river-rock fireplace—all that’s missing is a library.”

  Suddenly Helen and I hear an enormous POP! Ruby and Ryan are laughing like crazy, so we investigate.

  “Ryan,” Helen starts to say and then shakes her head. “Never trust that man with a loaded bottle.”

  “No harm done,” Ruby assures us. “Has it simmered down a bit, darling?”

  “I think so,” he says, then pours bubbling champagne into four matching flutes and hands them all around. “I propose a toast.” He adjusts his glasses, thinking. “To new beginnings, to new friends, to you—Eve Moss—and you—Ruby Prévost.”

  We all step forward into a circle and clink each other’s glasses, several times, and then sip. I catch Ryan’s eye and he winks back. I think he’s fine just the way he is. Those big blue eyes, what would their children look like? Maybe one of them will have red curly hair. Maybe they’re just good friends and I should quit jumping to conclusions—right.

  “Much better,” Ruby declares, refilling everyone’s glass a smidge. “I know you two can’t stay for supper, so I’ve prepared some scrumptious nibbles. But you’ll have to follow me as I’ve set them out in the”—dramatic pause—“library. Ryan, be a love and tote along the bubbly.”

  “Wait a minute,” I blurt out. “We have to go to the dock first.”

  “Oh, certainly,” Ruby adds. “How could I have forgotten?”

  “What are you talking about?” Helen asks.

  Ruby cuts her off. “You are family, darling.” Ruby faces Helen and I notice that her eyes are tearing. “It’s tradition—you must greet the lake when you first visit. Now come along, the both of you.”

  She links her elbow with Ryan’s and we head to the French doors. I fling them open and we set out across the verandah, down the wooden steps leading to the path. The sun is still high in the sky. A lone gull swoops over the lapping lake water; it shimmers around the dock invitingly ahead of us.

  “I can’t believe you live here,” Helen says with awe in her voice. “A wooden dock—all this water.”

  We file to the very end of the dock. Ryan puts his arm around Helen and pulls her close. Ruby and I sigh and gaze out toward the lake, the sky and the possibilities.

  Just then Rocky comes racing down the path making a bee-line straight to us! I turn to look, ’cause he’s making a nasty growling sound. Oh boy, there’s what looks to be a head of something dangling from his mouth; it’s bloody and really disgusting. Then I spy the look of sheer terror on Ryan’s face—he’s nearly green and Rocky is headed right his way! Before I can do a thing, Rocky has carefully laid a limp mouse on his polished brown loafer.

  Ryan steps backward and before I can yell “Holy shit,” he’s flying back, his arms flailing windmill-like with wild motions, until he splashes into the ice-cold water!

  I turn to Helen, who’s obviously trying not to burst out laughing, and ask, “Can that man swim? Or does Ruby have to get in there and save him?”

  “He was a champion swimmer,” Helen calmly replies. “But the poor man hates mice.”

  We watch as Ryan free-styles to the shore in record time. He stands up and meekly waves at us, then turns and dashes up the path toward the cottage. Ruby trots on up in tow, and they go inside.

  “How’s he with dead people?” I ask. “I mean, isn’t forensic medicine all about the dead?”

  “I guess dead people don’t bother him, but he’s just got this thing about mice,” Helen says and starts to giggle. “But I had no idea how much—did you see the look on his face?” We lose it and cackle and it feels fabulous.

  “When I saw Rocky heading this way,” I blurt out, “and then saw what was in his mouth and then watching his fancy shoe get covered in goo…” We giggle some more.

  After a time, I suggest we go in and see what can be done for the now-soaking-wet Ryan. We find him and Ruby in the kitchen. He’s perched on a stool in front of the open stove, wearing my yellow terry-cloth robe and bunny slippers, sipping a mug of something. They’re chuckling. Rocky is nowhere to be seen.

  Ryan, looking very sweet, coyly says, “I thought a swim was in order. Hope it’s all right I’m wearing your robe.” We laugh. “I may keep these slippers, though…Let’s continue with the tour.”

  “They do suit you, darling,” Ruby offers. “I’ve popped Ryan’s clothing into the dryer, won’t be long until they’re good as new. Follow me then, shall we?” Ruby leads us toward the hallway, then halts in front of the first door on the right and opens it.

  “Howard, our neighbor next door,” Ruby begins, “has just finished putting the final touches on this tiny salon for Eve to keep us looking—ourselves.” She pats her hair.

  “Very nice.” Helen peeks her head in. “My mom has one of those dressers. It’s called a waterfall, isn’t it? Works great for your station. I have a sister who does hair in Duluth, tries to anyway.”

  “I brought it from my salon,” I offer. “That’s where Ruby and I first met, ten thousand years ago.” I stroll over, pick up a framed picture and hand it to Helen. “Ruby was my first client.”

  “Your first client?” Helen asks. “And you didn’t even cash this check?”

  “You kidding?” Ruby says. “That’s a canceled check, darling. For years and years, the prices she charged me, I kept Eve in food and drink! Now come along.”

  We move on farther down the hallway. Passing several doors on our right (potty and a spare room), we end up in front of the huge, floor-to-ceiling toad window, which is just starting to light up with late afternoon sun.

  “Good God,” Ryan marvels. “I’ve never—this place is filled with surprises. Now what’s the story here?”

  “’Tis a long one, dear,” Ruby says, giving the toad’s crown a tap. “Basically, you’re looking at the original logo from this cottage’s rather exotic past.” Ruby turns to face us. “This way.” She turns left and dramatically pushes open the door and then steps into the library. “The library,” she announces.

  “Oh man.” Ryan lets out a laugh. “I must be dreaming.” He wanders off to look at the hundreds of spines.

  Helen heads over to one of the window seats and cautiously sits down next to a ball of gray fur.

  “So you’re Rocky, the mouse catcher.” Helen lets him smell her hand; he looks over toward me.

  “Helen�
�meet my favorite guy—Rocky.” I come over and sit on his other side. “Have you a cat?”

  “I did.” Helen lowers her eyes, petting Rocky. “I had just recently moved into my condo and my cat, Newton, kept running back to my old apartment and then one day…he was gone.”

  “That’s simply dreadful, darling,” Ruby offers. She scoops up one of the several “tasteful” trays displayed on the round table in the middle of the room and comes over. “Care for a finger sandwich? The open ones are crab with my special dill sauce, this is liver pâté and onion, and these are avocado.” She hands Helen and me paper napkins covered with leprechauns doing the cancan. She then saunters over to Ryan.

  “She’s really wonderful,” Helen comments. “This place is wonderful. I’m so glad you invited us over. Sorry about dinner, but I’m meeting with some associates and—”

  “Don’t be silly.” I wave away her apology. “Rocky loves girls—don’t you, honey.” I give his head a good rub; he lets out a happy “meow.” “He also loves mice and squirrels and bats—other things, too.”

  Ruby and Ryan come over, arm in arm. “Ryan tells me he’s about to get his doctorate in forensic psychology and I thought I’d give him some pointers, seeing as I’m an expert and all. Besides—you two need to chat in private and he needs to get re-dressed.” They turn to leave and I hear Ruby ask him if he’s ever heard of her dear friend, Kay Scarpetta. Oh boy.

  We settle back into cushions, facing each other, with Rocky all snuggled among our legs. Helen’s are so long, she hangs them over the edge, I watch as she straightens her perfectly creased jeans. Can you believe it? She irons her jeans.

  “So, you went to college in Eau Claire?” I ask, taking a sip. “Watts, she works at my salon, does all the college kids. Maybe you went to her? ’Course I would have remembered—I never forget a face.”

  “No, actually,” Helen tucks her hair behind an ear, “I’ve always had long hair, so I don’t have it trimmed very often. My sister cuts it several times a year.”

  “It is long.” I study her and notice some curly hairs underneath. “Do you straighten your hair?”

  Damn it, I didn’t mean it to come out so accusingly, but it did. I love my curls; we made peace years ago, mainly ’cause I’m too lazy to pull them straight with a blow dryer. It’s way too much work.

  “I do.” She absently runs her fingers through her hair. “Ever since I discovered a paddle brush and now there’s all these great products and—I just don’t feel polished with it curly. No offense, it looks great on you, but not on me.”

  “You certainly needn’t apologize,” I say apologetically. “It’s a relief, in a way. I mean, all I could really recognize on you was my nose, so now you’ve got my hair, too.” We grin.

  “To our shared gene pool,” Helen offers, raising her glass.

  “Indeed,” I say. “This is a long shot—but did you ever have a Professor Moss? He mainly taught religious studies—”

  Helen chokes on her champagne and turns a horrible red. I leap up and dash over to her side. I take her glass and then smack her on her back a couple of times. She catches her breath.

  “Oh my GOD! Why didn’t I put it together when you told me your last name? Of course—Moss. My God,” she sputters out. A bewildered look crosses her pale face.

  “I take it you have heard of him, of my dad, that is.”

  “Yes, certainly. I had your father for a class on religious history. I really enjoyed it, and as I recall, he was unusually passionate about his subject.”

  “That would be my dad. Professor Moss takes his religion very seriously.”

  I sit down opposite her, hand her her glass back and take a really big sip from mine. I’ve read about stuff like this, the adopted kid living next door to the birth mother, blah-blah, interview at ten, but this is fricking spooky. I mean, this is my story.

  “I have to admit,” I offer. “This certainly has thrown me, but I’ve heard it’s not that unusual, you know, that our paths have crossed—sort of anyway—but it sure seems as though we were supposed to meet, you know?”

  “I believe that, too,” Helen says really quietly. “Tell me—about your father. Not the professor part, even though it was a huge lecture hall class—I think I can remember what he was like in that regard—but the parent part.”

  “Well, let’s see.” I finish my glass, set it down and fold my arms over my chest. “I was raised Catholic—which I’m totally fine with.” I undo my arms and gaze at my nails for strength. “So things were rather strict growing up and then, when I got pregnant, well, he was horrified. I mean, he was so concerned about what the neighbors would think, not to mention my parents’ church. So I was whisked away to a convent.”

  “Whisked away?”

  “They never even came to see me, not once. After I had you, they picked me up and we simply went back to our safe little lives. I guess I’ve never really forgiven him for that. My mom, she was so torn. After she died, my dad quickly remarried a Mormon widow with six kids. Can you imagine?”

  “A Mormon?” Helen ponders this for a moment. “With six kids? My God, that’s, that’s so many kids, and for a strict Catholic to convert to Mormonism is truly amazing. She must be…” Helen hesitates, and then cracks a smile.

  “Parents don’t have sex—oh God, I can’t imagine…maybe she’s a really good cook or something…” We giggle.

  Helen lets out a whistle. “I’ve encountered so few Mormons, I can’t really imagine…seems to me, from what I’ve read, they tend to keep to themselves.”

  “I really haven’t any problem with the Mormon part, I suppose, but he, he leaped into an entirely different life and…never looked back…for me.” I shudder and realize I’ve held this in for so long and now, well, it just makes me sad.

  “Maybe I don’t want to meet him. Do you know where he lives?”

  I shrug. “Last time we spoke, which was quite a few years ago, he and Kate were living on Altoona Lake, in Eau Claire. I guess he’s ill and—well, I think it’s time to—”

  “Hit the road!” Ryan states, strolling back into the library all dressed in his now dry clothing. “You two look more like sisters than mother and daughter.”

  “You bring him with you any ol’ time,” I say and mean it. “Next time you come, you have to see the boathouse and meet the crew and—”

  “Thank you—for—finding me,” Helen stammers and we tear up again.

  Isn’t it funny how sometimes the very thing you’ve been looking all over for is so close by? I reach over and give her arm a pat. Ruby just smiles and smiles.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Several weeks pass by; fall winds have blown away just about every last leaf off our trees. Now the woods are boasting a brilliant carpet of yellow, gold and red. Since many of the trees between the barn and that little cabin out back are naked, you can just barely make out the outline of it. Sam and Lilly aren’t interested in taking a look, but the boys are gung ho. Besides, Sam reminds us, she can see things just fine in there and suggests we leave well enough alone. Right.

  “Phew—my heavens, what a week,” Ruby says, her back to me. “I’ve a mind to put in a complaint with the management.”

  “Wouldn’t do you a lick of good,” I remark. Parting the lace curtain, I peek out toward the barn. “This rain has been pelting the island for hours; thank God this place was built on a hill.”

  “Perhaps, darling, we should put off our haunted cabin adventure until next weekend. What with this dreadful rain and all.” She tosses a golden crepe into the air and catches it perfectly in her favorite copper pan. “I wonder where the boys are off to?”

  Just then Howard and Johnny come bursting into the kitchen, covered with rain and gasping from their run.

  “The power of this rain,” Howard says, handing me his dripping wet yellow slicker, “is fantastic. I only hope our roof holds.”

  “I thought you’d only just replaced it recently,” Ruby comments, “or was it that you were planni
ng on replacing it?”

  “The latter,” Johnny adds. “We’d like to figure in solar panels, so it’s in the research and research some more mode.” Johnny nods toward Howard, then takes his slicker from me and hangs them both on the back of the basement door. “Here’s where our umbrellas are.” He points to the vast collection hanging there. “I can’t get over all these doorknobs, it’s so clever to use them to hold things.”

  “Yet another cottage innovation,” Ruby boasts. “Now how about some tall, handsome fellow fetching me down those plates, hmm?”

  Howard lumbers over to the cupboard Ruby’s standing in front of and takes down four plates and starts setting the stump table. Not a one is matching, and yet, there’s something rather telling about that. I turn one, admiring the oriental pattern.

  “While you two get our feast set up,” I say, “Johnny—I’ve been wanting to show you something up in my bedroom, seeing as you’re interested in architecture.” Ruby and Howard both raise their eyebrows.

  “Why, Eve Moss,” Johnny chides, coming over to my side and putting his arm around my shoulder. “I appreciate your kind offer, but I just washed my hair and I can’t do a thing—”

  “For me—no, you can’t,” I say, deadpan, and he gives me a brotherly squeeze.

  We head out into the living room, toward the wooden stairs. Rocky passes us, heading down toward the kitchen, no doubt.

  “Someone wake up on the wrong side of the bed?” Johnny asks.

  “He was up all night; thunder drives the poor guy crazy.”

  We’re standing in my bedroom now; I cross the hardwood floor and head over to a corner opposite my bathroom. Blended into the faded wallpaper is actually a small door. I pull it open and motion for Johnny to follow. We climb up a narrow flight of stairs and end up inside the perfectly square tower room. All four walls are half windows with a wooden bench running all around underneath. Covering the floor is a magnificently ornate directional thing, a giant compass, really. The arrow pointing north is painted to resemble a torch; flames are bursting from its point.