on this cold winter night, all Juliet could see were the looming shadows of the trees and the large stone manor house rising up ahead like some unearthly specter waiting for its next victim.
She swallowed back the trepidation that had been looming over her for months now, ever since Leo Santiago had given her sister Bianca the picture of their late mother, dated after her death. That one act had set in motion a series of devastating events.
Bianca was convinced their mother, who supposedly died not long after Juliet was born, was really alive. Bianca had hired a private investigator to track Mother down, but he had died under suspicious circumstances. Juliet shivered even though the heat in the car was cranked on high. Inside the house her sisters waited for her with more information that they’d uncovered.
Juliet wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Part of her was scared to let her hopes rise, because if their mother was alive, then the question became why did she abandon them?
A secret guilt lived deep inside of Juliet’s soul. She knew that their mother disappeared because of her. If she hadn’t been born, then Trudy Blanchard wouldn’t have slid into postpartum depression and left.
Juliet pulled around the circular drive to the garages on the side of the manor. Popping open the glove box, she hit the button on the little black garage opener tucked inside the compartment. The third door of the six garages slid upward. Juliet pulled in behind her sister Portia’s vintage VW Bug. Her father’s Jaguar and the two black Town Cars were in their customary places.
The parking spots where Bianca’s silver sports car and Rissa’s dark blue Porsche were usually parked when the girls came home were conspicuously empty. They’d probably taken commuter flights instead of driving in because of the weather.
Bianca lived and worked in Boston and Rissa resided in Manhattan. Both women were successful in their chosen fields; Bianca was a trial lawyer and Rissa a playwright. Portia was successful, as well, with her arts-and-crafts shop. And Miranda, who still lived at the manor, wrote poetry and produced unique, handmade books. Juliet’s other sister, Delia, had gone off to college in Hawaii and only occasionally returned. Delia owned and operated a surf shop on the beach.
At twenty-three, Juliet was the only one without a career. This was why her family pressured her to agree to work at Blanchard Fabrics. At least she’d have some work experience to put on a résumé, her sister Bianca had stated as a way to mollify her reluctance.
But the reason Juliet committed to the promise was because it had seemed important to their father, a cold and distant man whose love and approval Juliet coveted, but hadn’t yet obtained.
She hoped by being the one daughter to actually work in the company, her father might finally see her capabilities and show her some respect. And for once she’d have some of his undivided attention by working with him at the factory. So she’d put her own newly found dream of fashion design on hold and had come home.
The garage door rumbled shut behind the car as Juliet grabbed her bags. She’d already had the rest of her personal belongings shipped home. She assumed the housekeeper, Sonya Garcia, would have had everything unpacked and put away by now. Sonya kept a very tidy house and was very strict with the girls. Juliet had a small trinket tucked away in her bag for Sonya, as well as one for Juliet’s spinster aunt, Winnie.
Juliet paused at the door leading into the house. Once she walked in through that door, there would be no going back. She would be fully committed to her promise to start working at Blanchard Fabrics and being embroiled in whatever new drama unfolded concerning their mother.
And their father.
TWO
Juliet took a moment to still her thoughts, praying out loud, “Lord, You are in control and I trust You. Bless me with Your presence and let Your will be done in my life.”
On a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped into the mudroom, though she doubted the tiled floor and porcelain sink had seen much mud since she’d left home at seventeen. She smiled to see her fuzzy tiger-print slippers waiting for her by the door that would take her into the hall of the main floor.
Kicking off her big, clunky boots, she slipped her feet into her slippers and then shuffled into the body of the house. She passed through the stainless steel, state-of-the-art kitchen where the chef and his assistant were busy preparing the evening meal. The smells of spices and savory roasted meat teased her senses and she dropped her bags to see what samples she could snag.
“Ah, Miss Juliet, you are home,” the chef, Andre, boomed before wrapping her in a quick bear hug. Andre had been with the Blanchards for more than a decade and had overseen the remodel that had updated the kitchen.
“What are we having tonight?” she asked, peering into the simmering pots.
“Lamb, herbed rice, winter vegetables and fresh bread,” Andre replied as he resumed his culinary work.
Marco, the newest assistant in a long line of assistants, waved Juliet over. He’d befriended Juliet months earlier when he’d discovered her weakness for desserts. He uncovered a tray piled high with powdered squares. “Lemon bars,” he said and nodded with his head for her to take one.
Mouthing a silent oh, Juliet snagged one from the top and popped the whole square in her mouth. She closed her eyes in delight as the sweet and tart flavors burst against her taste buds. She gave Marco a thumbs-up before grabbing her bags and continuing on through the house.
Every time Juliet came home she was struck by the majesty and castlelike interior of the huge stone mansion, especially the foyer. Dark and forbidding, like some medieval fortress. The huge, round mahogany table, decorated with a large, sparkling crystal vase full of brightly colored, specially grown flowers, sat center stage.
But it was the sweeping walnut staircase that brought a smile to Juliet’s lips as she remembered sliding down the wide, ornate banisters. She and her sister Delia would have such fun zooming down and then racing up the stairs. Their father had hated when they acted like tomboys. Juliet had learned to wait until her father left the house before having her fun.
Now Juliet vaulted, as best she could in her fuzzy slippers, up the stairs, eager to get to her room before facing her siblings. She could hear them gathered in the parlor to the right of the staircase. The echo of their voices followed her, pricking her conscience with guilt for not immediately saying hello to them.
She made it undetected to her bedroom. Airy and light with splashes of color, the room was a welcome relief to the darkness of the rest of the house.
She quickly unpacked and freshened up. The drive from Vermont had been long and especially tiring on such a stormy night. A quiet knock on the door made her cringe. Busted.
She opened the door to find her aunt, Winnie, standing in the hall. Her faded red hair was up in her usual chignon and her warm hazel eyes regarded Juliet with affection.
“Hi, Auntie,” Juliet said as they embraced.
“I was checking on dinner and Andre mentioned you were home.” Winnie held Juliet at arm’s length. “Why are you sneaking around? Your sisters and I have been anxiously waiting to see you.”
“I know. I just needed a moment to get settled, that’s all.” Juliet shrugged
Winnie hugged her again. “Of course, dear. I understand. Now,
