Her mother.
Just what she needed.
Blanche was in a private home, where Mavis paid the women who watched after her a small fortune. Yet still her mother called. Maybe with the help of one of the aides. Maybe by herself. Having just celebrated her eighty-fifth birthday, Blanche still had the wherewithal to hit the speed-dial number for her daughter. And only to complain.
“Fabulous,” Mavis muttered sarcastically.
She thought about answering, then decided against it. She wasn’t in the mood to deal with Blanche’s resentful comments about her care.
Not today.
She had her own problems.
Mavis would call back later.
Tonight—no, tomorrow.
She let the phone ring and sipped her drink as the call went to voice mail.
“She’s your mother. My daughter.” Grammy’s reproachful voice was haunting her still.
Well, too damned bad.
Tomorrow morning was soon enough to listen to Blanche’s litany of complaints about the food, the caregiver, the house, her aches and pains … “Ugh,” Mavis whispered just as she heard a noise.
From downstairs?
But she was alone.
Except for Princess, who was still on the bed.
And it was the maid’s day off.
She cocked her head toward the open door of her bedroom and the landing beyond, but the house was still. And getting dark. Shadows of the late afternoon crawling across the floor.
Could Archer have come home?
At the thought, her skin crawled. He was an appalling man who had let himself go to seed. While Mavis toned herself with a personal trainer and worked out with hand weights, took a Pilates class, andeven spent an hour a week doing tai chi, Archer satisfied himself with rounds of golf.
Still, though she found him reprehensible in so many ways, that didn’t mean she would let some little whore come sneaking into his bed as well as his heart and, most likely, his wallet. And, to be honest, he’d been starting to trim down a bit, probably because of thatgirl! And, of course, the horseback riding! Honest to God!
“Hello?” she called down the stairs, still straining to listen.
Nothing.
She ignored the uptick in her pulse.
Was that a soft footfall on the first floor?
“Archer?” she yelled a bit louder, the fading light from the skylight high overhead offering little illumination.
It was times like these when she wished they still had the dog. A Labrador retriever like the one Archer took hunting when they were first married, but Buddy was long gone, and Mavis had refused to have another dog in the house. She didn’t need the dirt tracking in, and then there were the fleas and ticks … no, thank you. Princess was enough of a pet. But now, feeling edgy, she would have liked the dog with his sharp nose and ears.
“Honey—are you home?” she said, forcing the endearment out.
The house remained still as a tomb.
And yet she sensed someone or something in this sprawling manor. She and Archer were long past playing cute little tricks on each other—like surprising each other. That playfulness had only lasted a few months into the marriage.