Her First Mistake Carey Baldwin (ereader with dictionary TXT) 📖

Nine

Thursday

The Coopers’ private road stretched long enough to wind, bending its way up a steep hill through a tumult of glorious jacaranda trees, their lavender petals dropping onto Mia’s windshield, carpeting the way.

A flurry of bright white flashes in the rearview mirror made her shoulders tense. San Diego’s chief of police had topped this morning’s news with an announcement that the FBI was looking into a possible connection between Celeste’s disappearance and that of two other women in nearby states—the body of one had been found in a shallow grave, the other was still missing. Reporters, armed with cameras and crew, were camped at the foot of the private road, and not until they faded out of sight did Mia exhale a long slow breath.

Celeste had been gone nearly a week, now, and the sin of snatching her keys seemed more unforgivable by the hour.

After carefully parking her Jetta in the circular drive in front of the house, Mia retrieved Celeste’s dress, now encased in a transparent dry-cleaning bag, then climbed the front porch steps, grasped the door’s brass knocker and announced her presence.

Baxter Cooper himself welcomed her inside. “You must be Mia. Good to meet you.”

Mia recognized him immediately. Though she’d never watched him on television—the reality TV show featuring his pawnbroker business, Once a Pawn a Time, had been off the air for more than a decade—she’d seen plenty of pictures online and in the society pages.

In person, he was even more handsome. His thick, silver hair gleamed beneath the brilliant entryway chandelier. Hardly a wrinkle marred his high forehead, causing her to speculate he might indulge in Botox. He looked far younger than a man approaching fifty and bore a strong resemblance to Isaiah with his deep-blue eyes, aristocratic nose, and square chin.

“Thank you so much for having me,” Mia said.

“Our pleasure.” His perfectly even tone offered no clue as to how he really felt about Alma asking a stranger to dinner at a time like this, but his posture was stiff enough to give her back sympathy pains. A resigned sigh followed his words, suggesting she wasn’t the first stray his wife had brought home.

Footsteps sounded, and Mia watched the stairs hopefully, waiting for Alma to appear and save her from having to carry on an extended solo conversation with Baxter.

Instead, it was Isaiah who descended the staircase.

“I’ll take that.” Baxter suddenly grabbed Celeste’s dress from Mia without asking or giving an explanation. Apparently, Alma had already filled him in on how it came to be in Mia’s possession. He slowly smoothed one hand over the plastic dry-cleaning bag, and then cleared his throat and looked away, obviously choked up over the dress. “You and Isaiah go ahead. I’ll join you in a moment.”

Isaiah offered her his arm and whispered in her ear, “Not to worry. I’m sober.”

As formal dining rooms went, this one was everything. An arched entry led into a large space with hardwood floors softened by a plush creamy rug. A rich-green ficus tree in the corner provided contrast to the room’s muted tones and perfectly complemented the natural wood furniture. Golden light, from a multitude of fixtures embedded in the ceiling like stars, shone down onto a silver box of white hydrangeas centered on the teakwood dining table. Like Alma, the room was beautiful and elegant without being showy.

It’d taken a moment for Mia to catch her breath.

Here she was occupying the seat next to Isaiah, which was normally, she presumed, reserved for Celeste. It was hard to imagine a more bittersweet moment.

Baxter raised a forkful of air, then laid it down. “Celeste seemed excited about your book club, Mia. She had me pick up a copy of Jane Eyre for her.”

The irony of that chased away any satisfaction Mia might have otherwise felt. If only she hadn’t behaved like a jealous schoolgirl, she and Celeste might’ve become real friends. Then Celeste would have been here with her family where she belonged, instead of Mia, who didn’t. “Really, sir?”

“Yes, really. Tell you what, though, how about you stop calling me ‘sir’ and ‘Mr. Cooper’ and that way I won’t have to call you ‘miss’.”

“Agreed.” Still, she couldn’t deny she enjoyed being treated as if she did belong. Even Baxter seemed to be warming to her. And to be on a first-name basis with someone like him—a self-made man who’d started with one lowly pawnshop and then had gone on to become one of San Diego’s most prominent businessmen—it was like a dream.

The Coopers’ standing in San Diego society was one reason Celeste had seemed unapproachable. But now it was clear Mia hadn’t given Celeste the credit she deserved. After all, Celeste wasn’t too stuck up to work as a preschool teacher or to join Mia’s book club. And she’d complimented Mia’s work with Tennyson to her family. Being glamorous and carrying a designer purse didn’t make her a snob. Just like being a minor celebrity didn’t make her father one.

On the contrary, Baxter had managed to be a good host despite his obvious grief and probable reluctance. His eyes were rimmed red, no doubt from crying. All evening, he’d been going through the motions of eating without actually consuming any food. Now, he pierced a piece of roast, shoved it around on his plate, ringed carrots around the potatoes and stared at the new configuration of edibles.

“Honey, you need to eat.” Alma squeezed her husband’s arm. “For me.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s delicious.”

Alma lifted an eyebrow and exchanged a glance with Angelica.

“Leave him be, Mom,” Isaiah said. “He probably filled up on that caviar he’s got stashed in his office bar.”

“Boy’s right. I did fill up on snacks before dinner—but not caviar. I broke out the Chips Ahoy, I’m afraid.” Alma faked a laugh.

But, Mia didn’t read her as phony. Rather she thought of Alma as brave, putting on a front for the benefit of her family, and so what if there was a bit