Sweet Lake (Sweet Lake #1)
PRAISE FOR CHRISTINE NOLFI
Treasure Me
“This zesty novel is rife with witty dialogue and well-drawn characters.”
—Publishers Weekly for the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Awards
“A riveting read for those who enjoy adventure fiction, highly recommended.”
—Susan Bethany, The Midwest Book Review
Second Chance Grill
“Nolfi writes with a richness of heart that is incredibly endearing.”
—Renee Fountain, Book Fetish
“An emotionally moving contemporary novel about the power that relationships have to transform lives.”
—Susan Bethany, The Midwest Book Review
The Impossible Wish
“You’ll fall in love with Nolfi’s quirky and slightly irreverent characters. The conclusion is guaranteed to warm your heart.”
—Bette Lee Crosby, USA Today bestselling author
“Fast, fun, and fresh, filled with colorful characters—The Impossible Wish delivers the heartfelt entertainment Nolfi’s readers have come to love!”
—Toby Neal, author of the bestselling Lei Crime series
The Tree of Everlasting Knowledge
“A novel of remarkable, rare substance.”
—Casee Marie, Literary Inklings
“Poignant and powerful, The Tree of Everlasting Knowledge is as much a saga of learning how to survive, heal, and forgive as it is a chilling crime story, unforgettable to the very end.”
—Margaret Lane, The Midwest Book Review
ALSO BY CHRISTINE NOLFI
The Liberty Series
Second Chance Grill (Book 1)
Treasure Me (Book 2)
The Impossible Wish (Book 3)
Four Wishes (Book 4)
The Tree of Everlasting Knowledge (Book 5)
The Dream You Make
Heavenscribe: Part One
Heavenscribe: Part Two
Heavenscribe: Part Three
The Shell Keeper (Kindle Worlds Novella)
The Shell Seeker (Kindle Worlds Novella)
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2017 Christine Nolfi
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Lake Union, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Lake Union are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781503942516
ISBN-10: 1503942511
Cover design by Rachel Adam
For Patricia, Leslie, Stacy, Laurel, and Thomas and the history we share
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
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Chapter 1
Coconuts bouncing down a bowling lane.
Linnie Wayfair woke with a start. She peered through the semidarkness in a vain attempt to locate the disturbance. No, coconuts weren’t the source of the sharp rattling. She didn’t stow tropical fruit in her suite—or own a bowling alley, for that matter.
Wincing, she glanced at the ceiling. Bats in the attic?
Problems galore plagued an inn the size of the Wayfair. Problems multiplied when half of the rooms were shut tight, the air inside growing stale and the four-poster beds lying naked, the Italian linens and the velvet bedspreads packed away. As for the attic, raccoons never waited for an invitation. Bats were also savvy party crashers.
In autumn when Ohio’s temperatures plummeted, Linnie patrolled the attic in her brother’s old football helmet and the wool topcoat her father hadn’t taken to Florida. Neither of her close friends volunteered for the missions. Since she didn’t believe in conscription, she went up by herself armed with a steel garbage lid, a flashlight, and an oversize broom that would make a witch proud. When claws skittered or the flapping of invisible wings zoomed by, she always contemplated adding her brother’s old BB gun to the arsenal.
The thought never led to action. She didn’t have the heart to harm any critter.
Please, not bats. Outside shadows caressed the rolling hills. Farther off, fingers of daylight glittered on Sweet Lake’s teal-blue surface. Linnie was about to pass the sound off as nothing when the rattling started again.
From the corridor Jada Brooks padded in with her ’fro bouncing and her slippers smacking the floor. “What is that?”
The Wayfair’s pastry chef and second-in-command wore yoga pants and a heavy jersey. Despite summer’s arrival, the neglected south wing usually remained chilly until noon. Linnie grabbed her robe from the chaise lounge in a corner of the suite.
“I’m not sure,” she replied, cinching the belt.
Jada gave out a mock shiver. “Not more bats.” Her chestnut-colored eyes rounded. Then she glanced at the ceiling. “Should I wake Cat?”
“To do what?” Linnie ducked beneath the bed, found her slippers. “Cat doesn’t like vermin any more than you do. Let her sleep.”
“It’s June, not October. If the bats have come early, I’m not going upstairs with you.”
“You never go upstairs with me.”
“Well, I’m not starting now.”
“There aren’t bats nesting in the eaves.” More rattling, and Linnie perked her ears. “The sound’s coming from the lake.”
They went downstairs to investigate. Behind the reception desk Mr. Uchida dozed, the carnation pinned to his lapel wilting. His light snoring carried across an area more closely resembling a living room than an austere hotel lobby, with tapestry chairs and thickly cushioned couches. Above the lobby, the main portion of the inn remained blissfully silent.
Linnie said, “Whatever’s going on, it hasn’t woken our guests.” Only the murmured conversation of the morning kitchen staff drifted into the lobby.
Jada frowned. “Do you think . . . ?”
“Oh, I hope not.”
“They usually give us fair warning.”
Linnie’s irritation gained speed. “Usually,” she repeated, fearing the worst. “If they’ve broken the rule, I will not be amused.”
“Relax. Maybe they’re holding a ceremony to place good vibes around the Wayfair. It is the beginning of the tourist season. We can use the help.”
“I don’t need their help.” She wasn’t foolish enough to rely on a group of nutty women to make magical charms in hopes of increasing the inn’s reservations. “They’re supposed to give me notice before holding a meeting on the beach. If they’re here out of a misplaced desire to help, they should’ve given me a heads-up.”
Jada glanced at the clock above the dozing Mr. Uchida’s head. “Stop worrying. It’s barely dawn. They aren’t dancing around naked.”
“And you’re sure because . . . ?” Given the recent fiasco, she wouldn’t put anything p
ast the Sweet Lake Sirens.
Last month, newlyweds honeymooning at the Wayfair had decided to take a midnight stroll around the lake’s dancing blue waters. On the beach, the Sweet Lake Sirens were holding an impromptu meeting. The women, mostly middle-aged or older, had imbibed too many of the mojitos that were a Mendoza family staple. One of the members, certain she’d lost all feminine allure, bemoaned her husband’s golf obsession and lack of sexual interest since his retirement.
Frances Dufour, the group’s oldest member, had arrived at the perfect—and perfectly silly—solution.
During daylight hours, Frances wore a variety of sedate dresses to highlight calves as shapely at the age of seventy-four as they’d been in her twenties. In summer months, she carried a parasol with a design of lilies stamped on the fabric. The care and maintenance of her alabaster skin was a particular obsession, and one that put her at odds with her closest friend and rival, Cat’s mother, Silvia Mendoza.
For her part, once summer’s glorious heat descended on the town, Silvia changed her calendar, choosing only to meet with clients at her accounting firm in the morning hours. This left afternoons free to languidly bronze her skin on the shores of Sweet Lake. The hedonistic pursuit, as well as her flamboyant daywear and abundance of jewelry, provided the spark for many a squabble with Frances. Of course, there were other deeper reasons for the blend of animosity and devotion governing their relationship.
Unfortunately for the newlyweds strolling beneath the waxing moon, Frances had brought along a tin box of embroidery thread to the meeting. She announced that the Sirens could help their troubled comrade by donning the fabric of the natural world. When the newlyweds stumbled across them, the Sirens were sitting naked in the moonlight sewing bikinis out of maple leaves.
The couple, scarred by an eyeful of mature woman flesh, had checked out of the inn the next morning.
The memory propelled Linnie across the lobby. Wandering the grounds in pj’s wasn’t standard operating procedure for her or Jada, but what choice was there? Better to drive the Sirens from the beach before any of the guests awoke. With only half of the rooms booked, she didn’t need more cancellations.
Outside, a peaceful silence cocooned the veranda that wrapped three sides of the inn. Flowerbeds in need of upkeep dotted each side of the stone walkway. The Wayfair perched on the highest point in the area, and Linnie resisted the pull of gravity as they hurried downward to the lake that shared the town’s name.
The golden sands of the beach rested in shadow. She spotted a cluster of the Sweet Lake Sirens huddled in a circle.
“Great. Just great.” She counted ten women. “Are the others coming?”
Jada surveyed the group. “Doubtful. The rest are getting ready for work or readying kids for summer camp.”
Pulling off her slippers, Linnie marched across the sand. Several of the women paused from the ritual to stare at her solemnly.
“What’s up?” she asked, taking care to wipe the amusement from her face.
On their heads, the women wore headbands threaded with hot-pink and sapphire-blue feathers. The colors were undoubtedly symbolic—pink for womanly virtue perhaps, and blue for wisdom. The group shook rattles fashioned from gourds. Zigzags of paint on the gourds resembled African art. The design was probably something Frances had discovered in a fashion magazine.
The eldest of the Sirens held Linnie in an unblinking stare. Jada stepped back, away from the intense scrutiny.
“Melinda Petronia Wayfair,” Frances intoned, “your latent wisdom has drawn you to the Siren’s call. Welcome to our circle.”
“You were expecting me?” A first, since the Sirens only allowed members at their meetings.
“By hearing the call, you have proven yourself worthy.”
Linnie crossed her arms. “For Pete’s sake, Frances. It’s a miracle half of my guests didn’t hear the racket. Will you stop already?”
Apparently the wrong reply because Frances shook the colorful gourd beneath Linnie’s nose with more vigor, as if her exertions might bring the response she desired. “The Siren’s call offers you protection from the danger ahead.”
Danger? A nasty twinge of fear zapped Linnie’s stomach. She brushed it off. The only danger she faced was a return to the near bankruptcy that had plagued the Wayfair for the last seven years.
“Next time you want to wake me at dawn, send an invitation,” she snapped. “I won’t RSVP.”
Silvia leapt forward, giving her rattle a shake. Whereas Frances was tall and slender, the co-leader of the Sirens was shorter and more robust, a voluptuous fireball with flowing hair nearly as long as Cat’s. Like everyone else, Linnie preferred to avoid Silvia’s temperamental outbursts. She also secretly admired Cat’s mother—the aging process had softened, but not destroyed, her sex appeal.
Her eyes drifting shut, Silvia rolled her head back and forth. “Submit to our wisdom! The longer you wait for our protection, the stronger he grows. Submit now!”
“Who’s growing stronger?” Another bad response, since she didn’t really care.
Eyes still shut, Silvia murmured, “I cannot say more until events unfold.”
Linnie blew out a stream of air. “Go home already. Fine by me if you keep the mystery to yourself since I can’t deal with your antics before my first cup of joe.” Approaching, she took a gander at Silvia’s face in the greyish light. “Of all the silly . . . what’s with the eye makeup?” Her lids were covered with greasy blue shadow, and dots of orange lipstick arched beneath her brows. “If I were checking LinkedIn for a new CPA, you would not receive my call.”
The insult yanked Silvia from her pseudo-trance. “How can we lend protection if you won’t heed our wisdom? The peril is great.”
“Yeah? If I can’t raise the occupancy rate at the inn, I’m in peril. Other than that, I’m doing fine without your early-morning voodoo.”
“Do not take these matters lightly. Let us protect you!”
Frances breezed forward. “Take your kettle off boil, Silvia. Are you still taking potions? Sixty-five is too old for hormone replacement therapy.”
A debatable point, Linnie mused. At times, half-moon bruises that looked suspiciously like hickeys appeared on Silvia’s body. Hidden behind an ebony curl near her ear, on a bronzed thigh as she sunbathed—no one in Sweet Lake doubted passion lurked in the Mendoza marriage.
There wasn’t time this morning to contemplate Silvia’s fortunate status. The two Sirens began arguing. This left their comrades frowning with confusion, their feather crowns growing floppy in the rising humidity.
Jada pulled her out of earshot. “Shouldn’t we find out why they think you’re in danger?” Thanks to the Sirens’ bizarre warnings, her caramel-colored skin had taken on an unmistakable ashen hue. “Maybe one of the Sirens had a prophetic dream about you or the inn.”
“No, thanks.” Clearly Jada was buying into their silliness.
“You really should make them tell you.”
“And risk encouraging them? Not on your life. They’ll stuff my slippers with dried herbs or insist on hanging trinkets around the inn.” Linnie waved a hand at the group. “Wrap up the meeting and clear the beach, will you? I don’t want my guests put off their breakfasts if they see you out here. And for heaven’s sake, stop rattling the gourds. This is a vacation town. You’ll wake everyone.”
Frances pressed a hand to her overexcited heart. The dawn ritual hadn’t produced the intended result, a mishap for which she bore responsibility. The Sirens wouldn’t have intervened without her insistence they demonstrate solidarity on what would prove a most trying day. Once the mail arrived at the inn, Linnie was in for a shock.
Helping the young was always a delicate affair. It was easy to overstep or provide counsel without an invitation. Steering a woman toward the discovery of her inner strength was even more difficult in a case such as Linnie’s. Although she’d never voiced the opinion directly, Frances was certain she viewed the Sirens as a group of addle-headed women.
A common misperception, given Linnie’s youth.
Most women were blind to their feminine power until they’d overcome great obstacles. The sudden loss of a cherished job, steering children through the treacherous teenage years, divorce or enduring the death of a loved one, which practically amounted to the same thing—any event capable of breaking a woman could break her open instead, to reveal her true beauty and power.
Such a test now confronted Linnie.
“This has not worked out as intended,” Frances murmured as the girl stalked away.
Once she’d left the beach with Jada at her side, Frances nodded to her comrades. One by one, the women lowered their rattles. Distress passed from one face to the next like a virus. There wasn’t a woman among them who wouldn’t meditate for long hours to conjure positive vibes to guard Linnie.
Silvia, clearly in a funk, spun toward the rolling waves of the lake. The surf bubbled around her toes as she brooded in privacy. Behind the beach, the rising sun painted the forest with rosy light.
Penelope Riddle landed her rheumy gaze on Frances. “What should we do now?” She adjusted her eyeglasses on her perspiring nose.
The owlish proprietor of Gift of Garb, the consignment shop in town, looked ready to weep. All of the Sirens were fond of Linnie, but Penelope was an especially sensitive creature.
Needing to comfort her, Frances said, “We’ll continue to surround Linnie with positive thoughts.”
“Shouldn’t we have told her about the letter from her brother?”
“Certainly not. It wouldn’t please her to learn we’ve been checking her mail.” The Sirens had taken a vote, with the majority deciding it was best to keep Linnie in the dark. “If she’s faced with a crisis, we’ll find a way to intervene.”
Behind her thick glasses, Penelope’s eyes watered. “I wish we knew what the letter contained. I hate the mystery of not knowing.” Her son, the mail carrier for the route that included the inn, had called his mother the moment the suspicious missive reached the post office.