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  For David and Rebecca Jones, with love and all best wishes for your own happy-ever-after

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  So many people to thank as I finish up this thirty-ninth (fortieth?) book! First and always, I must sing the praises of the absolute best editor on the planet. No one knows how to pull the best from me the way Lauren McKenna does, and I am so grateful for the opportunity to work with her. She is beyond gifted, and I am forever in her debt. And so many people at Gallery Books who work so hard to make every book look (and sound!) their very best: everyone in the art department, production, marketing, sales, audio. Your efforts are more appreciated than you know.

  Many thanks to Judith Worrell for giving me the opportunity to support the fund-raising efforts of Laurel House, a comprehensive domestic violence agency that provides supportive and preventive services throughout Montgomery County, Pennsylvania. By virtue of her winning bid for the chance to have a character in this book named for her, she is now the proud owner of The Goodbye Café. Judy, I hope you like to cook!

  Many thanks to those friends whose love and encouragement keep me sane, especially the Writers Who Lunch bunch: Terri, Carolyn, Gwen, Martha, Kate, Gail, and Helen. Very special thanks to Jo Ellen Zelt Grossman, friend since (gulp) kindergarten, and whose mother, Bea, was a woman I loved and admired. Jo, see if you can find the shout-out to your mother (yes, I know I was her favorite!).

  Not the least of my gratitude to my family: my husband, Bill, who feeds me when deadlines get too close and puts up with my blank stares into space and muttering lines of dialogue that make no sense to anyone but me; my beautiful girls, Kate and Rebecca; my wonderful sons-in-law, Michael and David; and my adorable grandloves, Cole, Jack, and Robb.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Desdemona Hudson stood in the lobby of the old Art Deco theater in Hidden Falls, Pennsylvania, and raised her eyes to the water-damaged domed ceiling. Flares of color—red, gold, green—shot out overhead in geometric patterns from the elaborate crystal chandelier that hung from the center of a large plaster medallion.

  “I’m sure the roofers had insurance. I remember seeing a certificate with the contract.” Des couldn’t take her eyes off the disaster. “Damn it. We finally got our new roof, and the first big wind to come along takes some of it.”

  Joe Domanski, the contractor who’d been hired to oversee the renovation of the Sugarhouse Theater, stood with his hands on his hips, a look of resignation on his suntanned face.

  “This isn’t their fault, Des, and this wasn’t just a ‘big wind.’ This was a massive storm with hurricane-strength winds, a hundred-year storm. It’s what you’d call an act of God, and I don’t know of any insurance policy that doesn’t exclude those.”

  “You called the roofers?”

  “Called them before I called you. They should be here within the hour to check out the damage and make some temporary repairs in case we get more rain before they can replace the missing shingles.”

  Des nodded slowly. There was nothing she could say to Joe that he wasn’t thinking himself.

  How much was this going to cost? How long will this delay the renovations?

  She was pretty sure the roof itself could be repaired, and maybe Joe could talk the roofers into replacing those missing shingles for free as sort of a goodwill gesture. The real problem was going to be restoring the intricate and decorative painting on the damaged ceiling.

  A shard of plaster drifted downward, stuck in her auburn curls, and dangled over her forehead. She swatted it away and frowned at the patches of color that had scattered onto the floor.

  “Crap,” she muttered. She wiped sweat from her forehead with a tissue she’d pulled out of her bag. The air inside the theater was stifling and hot.

  “I’ll do what I can,” Joe told her.

  “Just . . .” Des sighed. “Get me the estimate and let me know how long it will take to fix it.”

  She whistled, and a white flash darted out from the audience seats and ran up the aisle. “Time to go, Buttons,” she said to the mixed-breed stray she’d rescued and taken in, pulling a pink leash from her jacket pocket. Des leaned over and snapped it onto the little dog’s matching collar.

  “Aren’t you going to stay until the roofers get here?”

  Des shook her head. “Cara should be on her way down here soon. She’d have come if she’d been back from her run when you called. Just have the roofers replace whatever flew off and let Cara take it from there. The actual building repairs are her department. I came because the money is my problem. Getting it fixed is Cara’s. Paying for it is mine.”

  “Des, I . . .” Joe began, but she waved away whatever comment he was about to make.

  Really, there was nothing more to say.

  It wasn’t Joe’s fault that an early summer storm had blown through the Pocono Mountains over the weekend and sent several shingles flying onto the library’s parking lot next door. While Des didn’t hold Joe personally responsible, the last thing she needed was one more problem to strain their already tight renovation budget. She walked through the lobby and out the front door into the unseasonal heat, Buttons hustling to keep up. It was barely ten in the morning, and already the rising temperature and the humidity made for an uncomfortable walk.

  It would still be spring at her home back in Cross Creek, Montana. The trees behind her log house would be budding, and the bulbs she’d planted last September would be in bloom. Here, peonies were nearing the end of their cycle, and local strawberries were piled high in green cardboard containers in the roadside markets that were springing up along country roads. In the Montana mountains, winter could be reluctant to leave. Here in the mountains of Pennsylvania, summer was already knocking on the door.

  She slowed her pace as she walked by trees that had already leafed out, letting Buttons dawdle and sniff and paw at whatever caught her fancy. Cara drove by and stopped long enough to get the rundown from Des before taking off for the theater.

  Des took her phone from her pocket to check messages. Usually, by this time in the week, she’d have heard from her friend Fran, who ran the dog rescue shelter Des funded back in Cross Creek. Still no messages. Des typed a quick Everything okay there? before tucking away the phone. Even though there were many miles between Des and Cross Creek, she kept her finger on the pulse of the shelter that was so near to her heart. She wanted to know what was going on with new dogs, animals that had been adopted, any staff that had been hired in her absence, and chatty Fran was always good for the information.

  It was tough to be away from her home and her work for so long, especially after she’d established that shelter, funded it, and personally worked to rehabilitate the neediest of the abused. Every dog she’d worked with had taken a little bit of Des with them when she sent them off to their forever home. It had been several years since she’d decided that rescuing dogs was her calling in life, and she’d invested a lot of herself in making that happen.

  And yet here she was, a couple of thousand miles away, deep into the renovation of a ninety-year-old theater in a town she’d never heard of while someone else ran her shelter and worked with her dogs.

  What was wrong with this picture?

  Then again, back in Cross Creek, she hadn’t kept a
ny of the dogs she’d loved, because she’d loved them all. Here in Hidden Falls, she’d been able to keep Buttons, who’d quickly found her way into the hearts of everyone in the Hudson family.

  Still, a day didn’t pass when Des didn’t wonder which place was really her home.

  Gee, thanks, Dad.

  Dad was the late Franklin—Fritz—Hudson, Hollywood agent and father to Des and her sister, Allie, via their mother, Honora—Nora—Hudson, the actress, who’d died four years earlier. Unbeknownst to them until recently, he’d also been father to Cara, whose mother, Susa, may or may not have been Fritz’s legal wife. Things were a bit fuzzy where his marriages were concerned. Had he divorced Nora before marrying Susa? The paper trail was spotty, and Fritz’s best friend and attorney, Pete Wheeler, hadn’t been able to shed any light on the situation when it came time to sort out the legalities. After Fritz died, it had fallen to Pete to introduce Des, Allie, and Cara to each other, and to break the news to all three daughters about their father’s dual families. Once the shock had begun to subside, Pete’d dropped the other shoe: To inherit Fritz’s estate, the three women had to live together in their father’s family home in Hidden Falls, Pennsylvania, until they completed the restoration of the family’s boarded-up, run-down theater. If any one of the three refused or left before the restoration was complete, the entire estate would be donated to a charity of Pete’s choice. Since Fritz’s daughters each had her own reason for needing the money, they’d agreed to the absurd terms.

  But it turned out that Fritz had kept other secrets.

  There was that little matter of Fritz’s sister, Bonnie—known to everyone in Hidden Falls as Barney—who’d been living in the Hudson family home. While Fritz’d never told his daughters about her, Barney had known all about them and the terms of her late brother’s will, and was waiting for them with open arms when they arrived. It had been impossible not to love Barney, and they’d all taken to her immediately. Barney was not only smart, she was wise, loving, and had a heart of gold. She’d cheerfully filled in her nieces on the family history their father had neglected to share. Des knew her life was so much richer for having Barney in it.

  And the more Des got to know Cara, the more she cared about this half sister who was down-to-earth and fun, and had been blessed with common sense, a logical mind, and an abundance of heart. She and Des even looked a little alike, both having the same curly auburn hair and heart-shaped face. Together they’d studied the family portraits displayed in Barney’s front hall, trying to figure out which ancestor they resembled.

  Cara was easy to get along with, certainly more so than Allie, who was the oldest of the three, and the tallest. She was slim, and her blond hair was long and straight. She had cheekbones that a model would envy, and features that guaranteed that more often than not, she’d be the most beautiful woman in the room. Allie had an innate sense of style that Des admittedly lacked. And while as a child Des had been the star of her own TV show, Des Does It All, she’d always felt invisible when Allie was around.

  It had been years since Des and Allie had lived beneath the same roof, and Des still wasn’t sure this was going to turn out to be a good thing. It was a source of pain to Des that the big sister she’d adored as a child had barely been in contact for over half Des’s lifetime. Des knew the distance between them was Allie’s way of never letting Des forget her resentment over the fact that long ago, Des had been chosen for the television role that Allie had desperately wanted. Ironically, Des had only auditioned because their mother had forced her—she’d never wanted to act, had never wanted the spotlight to shine on her. The crazy thing was that Des was a natural. The other side of the crazy coin was that Allie had no talent whatsoever, and for that, she’d blamed and never forgiven Des.

  With the death of their mother, even the occasional contact the sisters once had fell by the wayside. Des had tried a number of times to bring Allie back into her life, but nothing had worked. She was hoping that during the time they spent together in Hidden Falls, she and Allie could work out their problems and become real sisters again, the way they’d been before envy and resentment had become more important than the bonds of sisterhood. At least, that was Des’s plan.

  When Des reached the edge of the vast front lawn of the spacious Victorian house that occupied one entire side of the first block of Hudson Street, she let Buttons off the leash. The little dog loved to dash to the porch and bark while she danced around the front door until someone opened it to let her in. Today Des’s steps were slower than usual, and she could feel Barney’s eyes on her as she approached the porch.

  “That bad?” Barney held the door until Des stepped inside.

  In her seventies, Barney had declared herself too old to wear shorts, so on days when the temperature soared, she donned a cotton knit dress that reached her knees and was really little more than a long T-shirt. With her blunt-cut blond hair and her trim, youthful figure, Barney could carry off the look at any age.

  “Cara’s down there now waiting for the roofers. Until we get their report, we won’t know how extensive the damage is. I have no idea what those repairs are going to cost. But oh, Barney, some of that beautiful hand painting is ruined, and that beautiful peacock-blue ceiling has patches missing.”

  Des followed Barney into the sitting room, where the older woman had obviously been reading. A book lay open, facedown on the sofa, and a cup of tea cooled on the coffee table.

  “Where’s Allie?” Des asked.

  “She came down earlier and made breakfast and took it back up with her, as she’s been doing every day about this time since Nikki left. I do sympathize. If Nikki were my daughter, I’d want her to be with me, not on the other side of the country with her father. But that’s the arrangement Allie and her ex agreed to. Of course, at the time, your sister had no idea she’d end up here. It’s hard to blame her for being unhappy.”

  “Unhappy and unpleasant are two different things.” Des leaned against the doorjamb. “At her best, Allie falls just a notch above Elphaba.”

  “Who?”

  “The Wicked Witch of the West. You know, from Wicked? The play? The wicked witch from The Wizard of Oz?” Des grinned. “You know, the one who said, ‘I’ll get you, my pretty . . .’ ”

  “ ‘And your little dog, too.’ ” Allie finished the quote from the front hall. “What’s going on over at the theater?”

  “Nothing that a flock of flying monkeys couldn’t fix.” Des quickly filled Allie in on the water damage at the theater. “Once Cara gets back, we’re going to have to figure out what our next step is going to be.”

  “If she’s down at the theater with Joe, maybe she’ll make it back by dinner. Maybe.” Allie leaned on the jamb across from her sister.

  “You’re just jealous because Joe has a thing for Cara and not you.” Des wondered if perhaps there wasn’t a bit of truth in that. Cara had barely arrived in Hidden Falls before she’d caught Joe’s eye, and all three Hudson sisters had agreed that the tall, buff blond contractor was not only good-looking, but a genuinely nice guy. Des herself had wondered what it would be like to have a guy like Joe crazy about her.

  “Oh, please. Like I’d be interested in Joe.” Allie rolled her eyes. “He’s so not my type.”

  Des laughed. “Joe Domanski’s every woman’s type. Every woman with a pulse and an active libido. The man is hot by anyone’s standards.”

  Allie pretended not to hear as she headed for the stairs. “Give me a shout when Cara gets back.”

  Des watched her sister climb the steps to the second floor, then turned to Barney and said, “I’m going to get something to drink, then I’m going into the office. I should call our insurance people about the mess at the theater. Feel free to join us when we finally get everyone together.”

  “I’ll be in after I finish this chapter.” Barney held up her book. “I’m itching to see if Maude gets away from the kidnappers. Buttons can stay here with me. She really has no head for business.”
<
br />   The dog stared up at Barney, wagging her tail expectantly.

  “Oh, all right.” Barney patted the sofa cushion next to where she sat. “Come on.”

  The dog hopped, rolled onto her back, and gave Barney her rub my tummy face.

  Des sighed. “I’m wondering if any of us have a head for business. This is not as easy as we thought it would be.”

  “By ‘this’ you mean restoring the Sugarhouse?”

  Des nodded.

  “If it were easy, my brother would have completed the renovations before he died.” Barney resumed reading, one hand absently rubbing the dog’s tummy.

  Des had just walked into the kitchen when Cara came in through the back door and hung up her car keys on their designated hook.

  “So how’d it go? The roofers show up?”

  Cara nodded. “They went up onto the roof and found several shingles that needed to be replaced. They also checked the plywood underneath. It’s wet, but that can easily be replaced as well, which the roofers are going to do, no charge. But the damage to the ceiling looks pretty bad. Joe’s going to have scaffolding erected inside the lobby. The roofers said they’d take care of that. They’ll bring in as much scaffold as they have, but they said they don’t have nearly enough to go all the way to the ceiling. They did agree to beg, borrow, steal, or rent whatever else is needed to reach the top so we can inspect the ceiling. We won’t know more until that’s been done.”

  “I guess it’s time to call our insurance agent. I’m happy to hear the roofers are willing to step up to replace the shingles and the wood sheathing—which they definitely should do—but I don’t know who’s going to pay for the damage to the ceiling, the roofer’s insurance company or ours, but we need to put in a report.”

  Cara pulled the elastic from her long auburn hair, a few shades lighter than Des’s and only a little less curly. “Let me grab a drink and I’ll come in and we’ll check the coverage on the policy.”