Secrets by Starlight Read online

  Secrets by Starlight

  J.R. Pearse Nelson

  Copyright © 2022 by J.R. Pearse Nelson

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  * * *

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Also by J.R. Pearse Nelson

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  I stared up at Covett House, my palms starting to sweat on the steering wheel despite the cool breeze coming off Crescent Bay. Climbing pink roses trembled around the ornate railing of the wraparound porch and crawled up one side of the attached gazebo. The morning sun backlit the mansion. The silhouetted gables and turret imposed their shadows on the front of the house. The windows, framed by gingerbread trim in the same soft gray as the fish scale shingles on the third floor, were empty.

  I’d been steeling myself all the way here, but nothing could prepare me for pulling up outside the house that loomed so large in my childhood memories and acknowledging that Nanna Rose wouldn’t be here to greet me.

  No more faint smell of lavender and vanilla that she’d carried everywhere. No more sugar-spice cookies or belly laughs over Monty Python.

  Nanna Rose had lived the longest of all my grandparents, and now I had to say goodbye to her while dealing with my inheritance. This 1888 Victorian house to start with…

  Screw this. I couldn’t face it yet. I needed fortification. I replaced my seatbelt and put my Volvo S90 back in drive. The diner was just a couple of blocks down Agate Street, right across from the Griffin Rose Garden, where the heirloom varieties in full bloom filled the air with sweet perfume I could smell from the car.

  There it was, a cheery butter-colored building with Crescent Cafe in bold blue script on the awning, along with a crescent moon and stars. The wide windows offered a view of blue-vinyl booths and stainless-steel stools pulled up to a long bar. The small tables were about half full, and the line stood a few deep in front of the register.

  I glanced down at my watch. I was supposed to meet the lawyer in twenty minutes.

  Had I said screw it or what? I hopped into line and hoped it would move fast. This place smelled awesome. I could spend all day here, soaking up that small town view. If I had the option, I would get a booth at the front windows and see if I could learn how much the town had changed…

  But no doubt it had changed a whole hell of a lot. I hadn’t been here for more than a single night in almost twenty years.

  I drove down for the funeral early last week, but that whole trip was a blur. The timing had been so poor that even with my sadness over Nanna Rose’s death, I was consumed with the personal crisis unfolding in my life. Sawyer had just delivered the divorce papers, and I’d swiftly returned them, the week before I heard about Nanna.

  I felt so terrible, I attended the funeral and then took myself straight to bed at the Luna Bed and Breakfast. I’d been knocking myself ever since for not greeting the people who’d showed up to the memorial service. I’d heard the next morning at breakfast that the crowd had included most of the older folks in town and a whole lot of neighbors and younger friends. I should have gotten to know Nanna’s friends.

  Especially now that I needed to mix with them as I sorted out her properties. The list I’d scanned this morning had been daunting. It seemed like Nanna owned almost half the town.

  The line moved slowly. I breathed deep, both to relax my nerves and to soak in my fill of the rich scents of cinnamon and butter. I was third in line when a voice called my name. “Naomi? Naomi Monday, is that you?”

  I had just enough time to wonder how my hair was as I turned. David Clark. He was easy to remember. Smiling brown eyes and casual confidence as he held my gaze. Forty looked good on this one, added a bit of sober edge to his sweetness.

  We’d gone on exactly two dates when we were seventeen. That was the last summer I’d spent in Crescent Bay.

  Great. What had it taken me, five minutes to find a reason to avoid the people in this town?

  “Hi, it is you! Hell – it’s good to see you. I know you’re back because of your grandmother. I was so sorry to hear about her death. She was practically an institution around here. Helped everyone out at one time or another. She was a really good person.”

  “Thanks.” Was my expression startled or friendly? Probably startled. This was startling.

  A woman stepped from behind David. “Hi Naomi.” She spoke softly, but her eyes held fire. I held them for a moment. I’d seen jealousy before but had zero clue how I deserved that look at the moment. She threaded her fingers through David’s.

  He chuckled, running a hand through his hair as he gave her a sidelong glance. “You remember Sammy Nolan?”

  “Ah,” I spoke without thinking. The name and face together jogged my brain. I knew this girl from that same summer. She’d worked one of the festivals and gotten us all in after hours for a free pony ride that had devolved into the makings of local legend. Or so it went in my imagination. I’d left long before it could hold such a title. “Yeah. Hi Sammy.” She dyed her hair blonde now and wore a stylish jumper sort of contraption. Maybe she hoped it would make her look younger. It didn’t.

  I was feeling catty now, probably because I hadn’t consumed any calories since a yogurt first thing this morning, before the two-hour drive from Sacramento.

  “Anyway, I just spotted you and wanted to say hi,” David said, throwing a sidelong glance at Sammy before looking me full in the eyes again. He had a bit of a ‘rescue me’ vibe going on, but I wasn’t going to bite.

  I put on an aloof expression and stepped forward as the line moved. “Nice to see you both. You look well.” And I turned back to the front of the line. My cheeks burned as I wondered whether they were still watching me, but I heard them move back toward their table.

  I avoided looking their direction the rest of my time in line, until I was confronted with a fresh-faced server who smiled and said in an unbelievably deep voice for one so young, “Hey, ma’am. What can I get you?” He smiled and, for god sake, he had dimples. Great dimples.

  He was very young.

  I considered the menu, as if I hadn’t had eight minutes to study it. “I’ll have a marionberry scone and a large mocha, please.”

  “Great. Coming right up. What’s the name on that?” He shot me the dimpled smile again.

  “Naomi. Thanks.” I sidestepped and kept my eyes from the general area where I’d run into David. Instead, I drifted toward a wide bulletin board. The colorful signage promised a welcome distraction that didn’t involve eye contact.

  North Star Yo
ga Studio. Rise with the sun and be your best self.

  Marty’s Toys & Trivia. Come Thursdays at 6 for game night!

  Crescent Bay Library. Preschool reading hour Tuesdays at 10. Teen nights on Wednesdays, September through June.

  “Uh...Naomi?” From the tone of voice when I finally noticed, I had to assume dimple boy had been shouting me down for some time. He gave me a short smile and raised his brows, handing over my breakfast order.

  Chagrined, I took it. “Thank you. Have a nice day.” I didn’t look at anyone on the way out.

  Could I be any more awkward?

  On the sidewalk outside, I took a deep breath of that cool ocean air. Then I sipped the mocha and I swear my toes curled. Yum.

  As I moved toward my car, I took in the surrounding small-town ambiance, a brighter mood starting to take hold as the caffeine hit my system, or at least the placebo effect.

  I’d give it one thing, Crescent Bay had character. The downtown blocks were tied together with neutrals and casual beach blues that disappeared into the skyline, drawing the eye to the natural and historic splendor of the area. The same awnings adorned each building, and most of the shops were freshly painted. Petunias and Black-Eyed Susan spilled profusely from streetside barrel planters.

  Someone had taken a great deal of trouble to make the town feel cohesive, to provide a backdrop to dream vacations, no doubt. And in a small town like Crescent Bay, efforts to improve tourism were just as likely to meet with disdain as compliments.

  What had Nanna Rose thought about all this? Crescent Bay had stayed small over the years. It wasn’t a down-on-your-luck sort of place. Quite the contrary. The local business ecosystem provided almost everyone with a good income. People looked out for each other, and for each other’s kids. Business grew from the ground up or moved here small and stayed small. Most folk prospered here. At least, a far greater share seemed to prosper than in Sacramento, where I’d spent the last fifteen years.

  My throat ached a bit suddenly, and I took another drink of mocha as if to deny it even to myself. I wouldn’t be sad. I wouldn’t give my bastard ex-husband the satisfaction.

  Okay. Action, Naomi. Gotta get back on track.

  I turned toward my car, my eyes automatically lifting to Covett House taking up the skyline past the next block. The Griffin Rose Garden filled the space between me and the house with a riot of pinks, oranges and yellows. A gazebo in its center would be an amazing place to take a break. Maybe I’d get a chance later. I reached my car and paused, juggling my drink and scone while I jostled the contents of my purse, trying to find my keys. How did they get lost so fast?

  As I put the coffee on the roof of the Volvo to have better access to my stuff, I noticed someone beyond the rose garden. They’d been standing there the whole time since I stepped outside. I thought it was a woman from their size, but they wore a hat with a wide brim pulled low and a bulky coat in a burnt orange color, so I couldn’t make out a lot of individual characteristics. It was the motion that had drawn my eye. They were pacing, just a few steps, stopping to talk to thin air, and pacing again, back and forth in front of the old museum.

  Oh, jeez. I hadn’t thought about that place in a long time. The Museum of the Odd and Wondrous; yet another of my great-grandfather’s contributions to town. Odd definitely. Wondrous, not so much. There were all sorts of strange objects inside. Some might be genuine relics, but most were forged a hundred years ago to scam people before they could check stories out on the internet. They were still creepy. I’d never been brave enough to look through all the musty old cabinets.

  Another job to look forward to. That place was part of my inheritance, too.

  This time when I parked at Covett House, I went straight inside, like tearing off a band-aid. I had to go in, there was no avoiding it.

  First thing, I noticed that it still smelled the same. A couple of empty weeks couldn’t remove every trace of Nanna’s perfume. I entered through the back door into the kitchen. The remodeled space was warm and bright, with sage green paint and gleaming stainless-steel appliances.

  I’d thought it was so strange a few years ago when Nanna decided on the remodel. She’d expanded the kitchen’s footprint with an extension and opened it up to the original dining room. Kitchens in late 1880s houses were tiny, so the extra space was a real benefit. It was a dream kitchen now, really. But Nanna hadn’t been much of a cook, so it had seemed an odd choice for a project. The cooks in the family were in my generation – my cousin Darcie and I prided ourselves on our blue-ribbon worthy creations as teens.

  I could appreciate a kitchen like this.

  I shivered. But not if it came attached to this particular house.

  Why was this such a struggle? I’d known for years that I’d inherit Covett House. In my family’s tradition, the Crescent Bay property was handed down through the female line. Nanna was the descendant of the original owners, the timber baron Richard Covett and his railway heiress wife, Camille Covett. The male line wasn’t bereft, by any means. My father gained Nanna’s interest in the Monday Foundation, which he’d been running for the past decade, and a whole lot of cash.

  Knowing full well I’d someday own this place, why had I never bothered to consider what happened next?

  I hadn’t expected to be in such a malleable situation right when the inheritance occurred. Life in Sacramento had been so solid. My career was there. My husband was there. For years we tried to add to our family. A hundred tiny wounds had added up over time, tearing the ground out from under me piece by piece, like sand moving as the tide goes out.

  In the beginning, it hadn’t felt like sand with Sawyer. It had felt like I had it all figured out.

  I made my way down the familiar hall, which widened after the butler’s pantry to show the stately entry to the mansion directly ahead. I walked its length and entered the sitting room on my right. The updates hadn’t been as heavy handed on this end of the house, which retained authentic historical period pieces and the original redwood banisters and frames throughout.

  A thin, balding man in a gray suit stood in front of the windows, looking out at the expanse of the front lawn. He turned at my steps, offering a generous smile. “Hello. You must be Naomi.”

  “Sorry I’m late,” I said a bit breathlessly, hoping I didn’t have scone crumbs on my blouse. “You’re Tim Markin?”

  “Yes. Good to meet you. I’m sorry we were unable to meet at the wake.”

  “I wasn’t feeling well.”

  He inclined his head. “Understandable, under the circumstances. It was a surprise, Rose’s death. A terrible surprise.” He made a small gesture with his hands. If he’d been wearing a hat, he’d be clutching it in front of him right now. He seemed genuinely distressed.

  “Did you know her well? How long were you her lawyer?”

  Something flickered in his eyes, and he cleared his throat. “I...I represented Mrs. Monday for nearly three decades.” He looked around the sitting room. “I was a young man when I met her. It was soon after her husband passed.”

  His hands shook and he looked me square in the eye. I felt a confession coming on, and quite frankly, my grandmother’s love life as a new widow wasn’t something I was game to hear about. Not today.

  I smiled gently. “Well, I appreciate you meeting with me today. The will’s contents weren’t a surprise, but I need to learn more details of what I’ve taken on here.”

  “I can help with that,” he nodded. “There are a number of properties, as you know. An apartment building, a few duplexes, and the building that housed Rose’s store, Morning Star Garden and Art. The Covett House property itself is—”

  “What are the chances of selling it?” I interrupted.

  Mr. Markin choked on whatever he was about to say next. “You can’t be...serious?” But taking in my expression, he must have realized that I was. Dead serious. I did not need this house or the family history hanging over me. What good was a three-story Victorian mansion when I couldn’t even h
ave kids?

  “Well...selling Covett House would be complicated. Possible, sure, but it will take time to find the right buyer. You see, the deed to Covett House includes a large tract of woodland and one...ahem...very distinctive local museum.” He looked suggestively in the direction of the—

  Oh, for hell’s bells. “You’re kidding. So, you’re saying to find a buyer for the house, I have to find a buyer for that place too?” I wasn’t proud of the screeching edge that entered my voice.

  Especially because at exactly that moment, one of the caretakers of the property, Mrs. Anderson, walked in. Her steps faltered and her eyes widened. “You’re not... Now, Naomi, please tell me you’re not thinking of selling this house.”

  Another greeting carried out with grace and aplomb. Nice work, Naomi.

  Looking straight into the eyes of the person who would be hurt the worst by my decision, a person who had filled my childhood summers with iced lemonade and cookies, I decided not to mince words. “I’ve already decided. I can’t keep this house.”

  Leaving the condemnation in the middle-aged woman’s eyes behind me, I left the room. But there was nowhere to go in this house that didn’t feel like Nanna Rose was watching me, disapproving of how everything was turning out.

  What a mess. I scowled across the backyard to the sharp angle of the museum’s roof, the only bit of the building I could see from here. You’d think I’d feel free, owning all of this, pretty much as far as I could see right now.

  I did not feel free.

  I’d never wanted any of this. What I really wanted wasn’t possible.