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“Trust Cleo. You’ll like him,” she repeated. “He manages to be rock steady and easygoing at the same time.”
“The point is, you like him. I’m glad you’ve found someone you like. I’m glad you look happy, you sound happy.”
“I am happy. It’s been strange, okay? Getting used to the move,then the haunted thing. When we go up after dinner—which I’m going to start in just a minute—we’re going to find your bed turned down, your fire lit. Mom, I haven’t hired a cleaning service because apparently I inherited one.”
“I see.”
“Do you?”
Winter drank wine, rubbed Yoda when he planted his front paws on the stool. “When I finally got you to sleep the night after the horrible day your father died, I didn’t know how I’d cope. How I’d get through the next hour, much less the next day, next week, next year.
“And I saw him. I went into our room, and he was there. He told me we’d be all right, that he’d loved me every minute of every day since we met.”
“You never told me that.”
“No, I never did. I thought it was grief. But it wasn’t, not only. Sometimes I’d feel his hand on my cheek as I fell asleep. I still do now and then. Or hear his voice inside my head when I’m struggling with a decision or problem. ‘Trust your gut, babe, then check in with your heart.’”
Smiling, she set down her glass, reached for Sonya’s hand.
“If I believe there’s an after, and I do, why not believe that whatever made that person who they were, the essence of them, could linger?”
“Is that why you never remarried? Because you felt he was still here?”
“It might have played a part, but no. What your dad and I had, it was… magic.” On a sigh, a loving one, Winter laid her free hand on her heart. “Right from the start, we had magic. I never felt that with or for anyone else. Why would I settle for less?”
She squeezed Sonya’s hand. “Still, you’re so much alone here. Excluding you,” she said to Yoda. “Are you afraid?”
“Sometimes. And I’m glad Cleo’s moving in. Because Cleo, and it’ll be nice to have someone here. Add we’ll use more of the house, because Cleo. I have to remind myself not to burrow in the library.
“There’s a lot more. I’ll tell you while I make dinner. You’re not helping.”
“I’m topping off my wine, and will sit right here, a fascinated observer.”
Because she did know her mother, Sonya built her way to the more frightening incidents. Maybe toned them down, just a little.
When the water boiled for the pasta, she slid it in. And set a timer before continuing as she prepped the scallops.
Set a second timer there.
“You saw the mirror. The one your father dreamed of.”
“I can’t say for absolute, but I believe I did absolutely. And I know I saw Astrid Poole’s murder, I saw Catherine die in a blizzard. I saw Marianne deliver twins and die. And each time, I saw Hester Dobbs.”
“Since you seem to have the cooking miraculously under control, I’m going to set the table.”
“The small one there. The dining room’s grand and glorious, but intimidating unless you’ve got a group.”
As they worked together, she told Winter about the night Trey saw Clover again. As she began, the tablet played “Whatta Man,” and made her laugh.
“She can’t help herself.”
“And that really doesn’t give you a chill?”
“Not anymore. I’m telling you all this because I don’t want you to freak if anything happens while you’re here. And because I want you to know I’ve got a handle on it. There’s a salad in the fridge.
“I hope this works, hope this works.”
She heated the skillet on low, dumped in the carefully measured lemon juice, added salt and pepper—no measurement given—then spread the drained pasta on a pretty platter.
