The Mirror (The Lost Bride Trilogy #2)

“Oh, I absolutely don’t.”

“And I’m very pleased to hear that.” Laughing, Clarice finished off her cappuccino. “I’d have thrown you a bone, but we have a damn good rhythm around here. I will offer you a tour whenever you like.”

“Thanks. I have to get back now. I left a cat and a dog inside the manor. But I’m glad I finally came.”

“So am I. And thank you for this.” She set the compact down. “It not only completes the set, but I find the broken mirror very symbolic. The woman who owned it cared far too much about appearances.”

On the way out, Sonya texted Cleo, then stood in the brisk spring breeze and watched a group of people launch a boat into the bay. Curious, she moved around for a better view as they hauled the boat on some sort of wheeled platform down a long, slanted track.

Voices carried on the breeze as they worked. While she couldn’t hear the words, she caught the accents—pure Maine—a bark of laughter, what sounded like a sharp command.

By the time Cleo pulled up, white sails billowed, and the couple on the deck of the boat shouted and waved to the crew on the dry dock.

The boat glided on the waters of Poole’s Bay.

“I think I just saw someone take their first sail in their new boat.” Smoothing her hair back, she smiled at Cleo. “It’s a process.”

“I want that process with my own. And Clarice?”

“I liked her, Cleo. You’ll like her. She was wearing red On Cloud sneakers with—I’m pretty sure—a classic Armani suit. She probably has gorgeous Italian pumps at the ready. I gave her the compact.”

“You really did like her.”

“I did. She strikes me as the no-bullshit type.”

As Cleo drove, Sonya related the gist of the conversation.

“As strange as this has all been for you,” Cleo commented, “it’s been strange for all of them, too. Learning what Patricia and Gretta did, then having you take up residence, someone they never knew existed. I have a lot of respect for the way Owen’s handled that, and now I can spread that respect to Clarice Poole.”

“I’ll say she was relieved when she asked if I wanted a more active part in the family business and I gave her an unqualified no.”

“I bet. So two new Pooles for you today. And I’d say polar opposites. And now we’re home,” Cleo added as she pulled into the drive.

When they opened the door, Yoda wagged with his ball clamped in his mouth—no doubt courtesy of Jack. Pye leaped down fromwhere she’d perched on the newel post, and from the tablet on charge in the library, Clover greeted them with the Isley Brothers’ “Shout.”

Yes, Sonya thought. Now we’re home.

The rest of the day flowed into a quiet night, and Sonya found her creative juices churning in the morning. Routine settled in, and she welcomed it with enthusiasm.

Neither she nor Cleo mentioned the quiet, as they agreed: Talk about it, jinx it.

On Saturday morning, they did discuss whether or not to go by the yard sale.

“God knows we don’t need anything. But.”

“But,” Cleo continued, “we go to show support, and because we’re part of Poole’s Bay.”

“Same book, same page. How about we plan to leave about two?”

“Okay. That gives me time to give my last illustrations another good look. Then I’m sending them off. Then?” Cleo swiped her hands together. “Done.”

“I want to see them. I’ll come up before we go. I need to do more testing on the Gigi’s job.”

“We have a plan.” As she filled her water bottle, Cleo looked at Sonya over her shoulder. “And it includes you having a little time, which you haven’t, with Trey.”

“He and Owen have been busy with their own work, then the whole yard-sale thing.”

“It shows character they’ve taken the time and trouble to repair some of the things that drunk son of a bitch damaged.”