The Third Mrs. Mitchell. Lynnette Kent
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she thought the wide porches, fancy columns and wrought-iron fences were charming.
Kate’s home was one of the largest and grandest on The Hill. A semicircular porch graced the front of the three-story white house; the magnolias flanking either side of the brick walk must have been fifty feet tall and a hundred years old. Thankful to be done with driving, Mary Rose parked at the curb and got out, stretching her arms above her head.
As she started across the grass, the front door opened and her sister stepped onto the porch, looking for all the world like a Southern belle from the distant past. A cloud of soft dark curls framed her oval face and graceful neck. She was tall and slender…alarmingly so.
“Have you forgotten how to fry chicken and cook gravy?” Mary Rose took hold of her sister with a tight hug. “You’re skinny as a rail.”
Kate pulled back to laugh at her. “Says the woman who weighs all of a hundred pounds.”
“One thirty-five, as a matter of fact. I’ve developed a passion for frappuccino with my morning bagel.”
“Then it’s a good thing we’ve got a café here on The Hill that makes them perfectly. Come into the house.” They stepped out of warm spring sunlight into the cool, gleaming perfection of Kate’s home.
“This is beautiful.” Mary Rose surveyed the parlor’s rich combination of purple and gold fabric with mahogany antiques. “You do know how to dress a room.”
Kate waved her into a chair on one side of the fireplace. “How was your drive? You must have left early to be here so soon.”
“I drive fast,” Mary Rose said, and then frowned as she remembered.
“What’s wrong?”
“I, um, got stopped by a state trooper just a little ways south of town.”
“Did he give you a ticket?” Mary Rose nodded soberly, but her sister just smiled. “Don’t worry, honey. The D.A.’s wife is a member of my Sunday-school class at church. I’ll get her to talk to him about dismissing the fine.”
“That’s not the worst part.” She took a deep breath. “The trooper was Pete Mitchell.”
Kate gave her a blank stare. “Mitchell? Who…? Oh.” She pressed her fingertips against her lips. “That Pete Mitchell? Did he remember you?”
“He definitely remembered.” And the distance in those cool gray eyes had warned her that the memory wasn’t a pleasant one. “It’s kind of hard to forget being married, even for only a month.”
Kate shook her head. “I haven’t seen him in years. I guess I thought he’d moved away.” She faced the mantel and made unnecessary adjustments to the perfect placement of the Wedgwood teacups arranged there. “Do you suppose you’ll run into him again? I’d hate to have you uncomfortable while you’re here, worrying about meeting up with your ex-husband. That’s so…difficult.” The last word trembled with despair.
Mary Rose came up behind her sister, putting her arms around the thin shoulders. “I’m not worried about it one way or the other. It’s not like I’ve been moping over him for ten years.”
Kate’s head rested heavily on her shoulder. “And then there’s your job. I can’t believe you just up and left, during tax season, no less. Are you sure they’ll let you go back? What about all your clients?”
“All my clients got their taxes filed before the first of April because I pushed and prodded and nagged them to. I filed mine in February. And if the bank doesn’t want me back…well, too bad. I’ve accrued enough leave that I’d have to be here a couple of months before they could legitimately fire me. And they won’t. I make them too much money. So stop worrying about that.” She turned Kate around to face her. “What I’m worried about is you. You look so tired.”
Kate’s smile failed to dispel her very real air of exhaustion. “There’s a lot of yard work to be done, now that it’s spring. Plus the auction at the children’s school, which we just finished up, and the Azalea Festival, not to mention all the usual driving to lessons and practices and such. I’ve been…busy.”
She obviously didn’t want to go into any more detail right this minute, or explain why her husband, even after moving out of the house, couldn’t assume some responsibility for his children.
Mary Rose tapped the pads of her fingers gently on her sister’s pale cheeks. “That’s why I’m here, to take over some of the routine stuff. I can handle the driving, and help you with the garden, and do some cooking, too, though you might be sorry you let me in the kitchen. Just tell me what’s on the list.”
“Well…” Kate bit her lip, hesitating.
“Seriously. What can I do for you right this minute?”
With a sigh, her sister gave in. “If you brought Kelsey and Trace home from the soccer game at school, I could get the laundry caught up. Mama and Daddy are coming for dinner for your first night here and I need to put the roast in—”
“Consider it done. Just give me your keys. I can’t fit two other people in the Porsche.” Jingling Kate’s key chain, Mary Rose headed for the front door. “New Skye High, right? They haven’t moved it or anything?”
“You could drive there blindfolded,” Kate called across the front lawn. “Nothing has changed out that way in the last twenty years!”
“MY TURN.” Kelsey held out her hand for the soda can. Beside her, Lisa took a quick slurp before passing the drink.
“No fair! I bought it, didn’t I? You didn’t even leave me half.” Tipping her head back, Kelsey chugged the rest of the contents, feeling the whiskey burn as it slid down her throat.
“You got the first drink. Anyway, there’s more soda in the machine.” Her friend leaned close, lowered her voice. “And half a bottle of Jack Black in the car.”
“True.” The smoky liquor swirled in her head, and Kelsey smiled. “What’s the score now, anyway?” Out on the soccer field, red and gold New Skye jerseys chased across the grass, blurred into green Clinton High uniforms, separated out again. She couldn’t see clearly enough to make out the numbers.
Lisa squinted into the distance. “Score’s tied one to one.” She hiccuped loudly and then started to laugh. Helplessly, Kelsey laughed with her, leaning against Lisa’s shoulder until they both tilted back on the bleacher bench into the knees of the girls behind them.
“Kelsey? Is that you?”
Oh shit. A teacher. Kelsey straightened up and tried to stop giggling as she turned toward the person standing on the ground, staring up. She blinked hard, bringing the face into focus. It wasn’t a teacher. For a second, she didn’t recognize the woman at all. Blond and thin and tan and…
“Aunt M!” She never knew how she made it to the ground, just that she was there with her arms thrown around her favorite relative in the world. “I didn’t realize you were coming today.”
“Obviously.” Pulling back, Mary Rose looked her sternly in the eye. “Are you all right?”
“Sure. Of course.” Kelsey smoothed her hair back, wished she’d had time to pop a piece of gum. “What are you doing here?”
“Your mother asked me to pick you and Trace up after the game. It looks like that will be a while yet.”
“Um…” Gazing toward the scoreboard, Kelsey couldn’t read the numbers. The ground tilted under her feet and she put a hand on the nearby bleacher support to stay steady. “A few minutes, anyway.”
When she looked at Mary Rose, her aunt’s soft, pretty mouth had tightened and her eyes had narrowed. In that second, Kelsey knew she was doomed.
“What are you—”
“Mary Rose Bowdrey!” Mrs. Gates, the chemistry teacher, sailed toward