“I can ring you—” At the sight of Harper, the woman’s jaw tumbled open like a book falling off its shelf, the pink gum teetering on her lower lip. “You must be Angeline’s daughter.”
Her mother’s name, spoken so rarely these days. Strange how a name could bring both healing and pain to one’s ears.
“You are the spitting image of your mama.” The woman caught the bubble gum with her tongue, staring at Harper as if she were a ghost. “Deidre said Gerald and Marcia’s niece was visiting, but I thought it must be one of the many from Gerald’s side.”
“You knew my mom?”
The woman spit her gum into an envelope and dropped it somewhere below the register. “Angeline was my nemesis at the spelling bee.”
“That sounds like her.”
“I was really sorry to hear—”
“Thank you.”
“I’m Betsy Keith, lifelong resident of Catawba.” Harper shook the woman’s outstretched hand. “I remember when you visited Marcia ages ago. Running around town with that ruffian son of hers.”
Harper smiled. “The ruffian who’s now a lawyer?”
“I preferred the earlier version.”
Instead of ringing up the sale, Betsy studied theLady of the Lakecover. “I didn’t know we had Via Belle’s biography.”
“It was shelved with her novels.”
“Ah, a runaway.” Betsy held the book a moment longer as if she wanted to read it herself. “We all called her Mrs. Ashe back in the day since she was the wife of Reverend Ashe, but now everyone calls her Mrs. Belle.”
“So Via Belle was a pen name?”
“I think it was her maiden name. I don’t remember much about her, but she and my mother were friends from church.”
“How wonderful,” Harper said. She’d much prefer spending time at the home of a novelist like that than with a houseful of Hollywooders.
“I suppose it was.” Betsy glanced out the window like she could watch the memories unfold. “I used to play at her house when I was a kid. A whole group of us would congregate there on the occasional Saturday afternoon for tea before her first husband died. My mom tried to call on her a few times in the 1940s, to inquire about her well-being, but her gate was always locked. Some people would say she wanted her privacy, but I still wonder if it was more—especially after, you know...”
Harper shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“After she disappeared.”
Harper froze. “What do you mean she disappeared?”
“Gone.” Betsy snapped her fingers. “Just like that. No one seems to know what happened to her.”
Harper studied the older woman with sugar-and-cinnamon-spiced hair, wearing a milky-brown velour tracksuit. Like a cup of chai. In her curious gaze, Harper saw a kindred spirit who knew how to lose herself in her imagination.
Betsy tapped buttons on the electronic register. “Total is eight dollars and fifty-eight cents.”
A bargain to learn about Via Belle.
“Have you readMoonflower Lake?” Betsy asked.
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, you have to read it. That was her bestselling novel.”
“I didn’t see it upstairs.”
“It’s hard to find nowadays, but for Angeline’s daughter, I’ll see what I can do.”
