Dancing Ladies: The Windemere Series, #1

By Marilyn Gardiner

What if you were a young, single mother, desperate for a place of security after two years of trauma, who moved with her seven-year-old son back to her childhood home, and finds it inhabited by the malevolent ghost of her dead twin sister? Kate Foster finds herself in serious jeopardy, as it appears her twin, Leah, is bent on revenge for an act of Kate's that Leah believes led to her death. Kate has only two allies: her life-long best friend, Bree, and a former heartthrob, Cass Reynolds. The muddy and frightening waters of this terrifying summer are made bearable only by the dawning love between Kate and Cass, and the melding of their lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 2, 2023
• ISBN: 9781597052153

Book preview

What They Are Saying About Dancing Ladies

Marilyn Gardiner has written a spellbinding story, guaranteed to keep you turning pages to see what happens next. Prepare to stay up late with this one. And don’t read it during an intense rainstorm or in a house that creaks at night."

—J D Webb

Shepherd’s Pie

Dancing Ladies is an intriguing story of a mother's love and her struggle to make a new and better life for herself and her son. Fresh and vivid descriptions and an emerging romance makes an enjoyable contrast of normalcy to the bizarre undercurrents of Kate's life.

—Heather Garside

Wings e-Press Author

The Cornstalk

A Hidden Legacy

This paranormal has just the right amount of romance to keep it grounded. The story has that extra something special, and who doesn't love a heroine that is both talented and strong? I looked forward through the tightly woven plot to the last satisfying page. I give Dancing Ladies Four and a Half Beacons.

—Lighthouse Literary Review

Dancing Ladies

Marilyn Gardiner

A Wings ePress, Inc.

Paranormal Romance Novel

Edited by: Lorraine Stephens

Copy Edited by: Sara V. Olds

Senior Editor: Elizabeth Struble

Executive Editor: Lorraine Stephens

Cover Artist: Barbi Durbin

All rights reserved

NAMES, CHARACTERS AND incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Wings ePress Books

Copyright © 2007 by Marilyn Gardiner

ISBN: 978-1-59705-215-3

Published In the United States Of America

Wings ePress Inc.

3000 N. Rock Road

Newton, KS  67114

Dedication

For Fran Priddy,

friend, critique partner and orchid consultant,

and

Lorraine Stephens,

editor and friend,

without whom none of it would have happened.

Acknowledgement

My grateful appreciation to Hausermann Orchids in Villa Park, IL for their generous help in researching the orchids mentioned in this book, Fran Priddy, prolific orchid grower, and Tom Gephart, representing the Springfield IL Orchid Club. My profound thanks.

The Dancing Lady, is a familiar name for all oncidium orchids. The flower comes in many colors: bright yellow and/or brown, lavender, white, etc., flowers about two inches across on this pseudobulbous plant. The full skirt of the blossom resembles a lady in a ball gown gracefully dancing on long stems. Sometimes called Dancing Dolls. Oncidium Varicosum.

One

Dark Secret

Dark purple blossoms with one even deeper purple lip blossom and a hint of yellow in throat. Brassolaeliocattleya Mericlone.

Kate had never met a ghost. If asked, she’d have rolled her eyes and said that, in her opinion, anyone actually believing in ghosts must have been smoking funny cigarettes. So, as she walked up the front walk of the family home with her young son, she was totally unprepared.

She clutched a suitcase in one hand, an overnight bag and Max’s clown pillow in the other. Her eyes were gritty from lack of sleep, she was fighting a losing battle with patience and she was half numb with fatigue.

If she’d known what the drive would be like, she wasn’t sure she’d have bundled her orchids and her silks and her son into the rusted out old van and headed south. Not that night anyway.

But the fact was, she hadn’t known. She’d only thought, gratefully, tiredly, that she had been, at last, going home. From Winettka to Winsom. Home.

The past few hours had been a nightmare. After being strapped in a seatbelt for five hours, Max, who was usually full of bubbles and enthusiasm, got tired and cross. He was sleepy and wriggly, and Kate’s nerves were frayed at the edges. She had struggled to keep a grip. Home had never looked so good.

In the bright light of morning, the sky to the east was a harsh, violent blue-black. A vivid reminder of the storm she had driven through overnight. Sheets of driving rain and wind were pummeling Indiana by now. Her arms still ached from hanging onto the wheel and battling the wind, which had seemed determined to wipe her off the road.

But now, she was here. For Kate, home amounted to finding refuge. Sanctuary. Shelter when she most needed it. In any case, she was grateful. From the front it was apparent that while the house was old, it had been well kept. A dull, deep green, with pale rose shutters, the house was a true Painted Lady spreading her dusty skirts in the heat of summer. On the right a half-circle appendage reached from the ground to a turret tower surrounding the circular staircase inside. The beautiful six-foot windows in every room made the two-story house light and airy.

But now... She frowned. For some reason those giant windows seemed to loom over her like—involuntarily she shivered—like dark eyes, eerie and ominous. What? They were lovely windows, covered with sheer white curtains. Ominous? Where had that come from? Obviously she’d been on the road too long.

Shuddering again, she stepped up onto the porch. It was a wide curving verandah trimmed in intricate gingerbread woodwork and wrapped around both sides, meeting at a huge screened porch in the rear. After their two-bedroom apartment, she and Max would rattle around the ten-room house like marbles in a glass jar.

Mom! Come on. Max was tired too. And hungry, likely.

Kate shifted her bags and dug with one hand through her purse while Max waited expectantly at the door. I’m hurrying. I’m hurrying, she said as she fingered the key and headed across the wide verandah. Max held the storm door open with his flat little bottom while she fumbled at the lock. With a groan, the heavy door swung open and Max shot in, stumbling slightly over the door jam. Kate followed more slowly. The door closed behind her with an audible thunk.

The shades had all been drawn and the rooms lay in shadowed darkness. From a fat round newel post, the polished oak staircase rose to her right, with an octagonal, rose-colored stained glass window spilling a mauve flow of light over the landing.

I can’t wait to slide down the staircase, again! Max exclaimed and then shot straight ahead to the kitchen.

A knife of pain sliced through her. She was amazed that a ten-year-old wound could still cut so deep. She should have known the first thing Max would want to do was slide down the broad railing of the old-fashioned, curved staircase. We polished that banister to a perfect high sheen with our small bottoms, shooting down it in tandem, shrieking in delight, launching off onto the carpet at the bottom.

Kate felt suddenly, inexplicably, odd. The house looked the same. The staircase to the right, the kitchen ahead, and to her left was the living room, a huge parlor and a dining room. But dust motes hung suspended in the heavy air, the silence was oppressive, and the house was shrouded in gloom.

She felt almost as if she were breaking and entering someone else’s home. In her stomach, a curl of something unpleasant unfurled. She stood, arms full, and fought the instinct to back out the door she had just entered.

In spite of the heat outdoors, she was chilly. Gooseflesh raised on her arms. She frowned. There was the weird feeling that someone was breathing down the back of her neck. But that would be ridiculous. She resisted the urge to look over her shoulder. No one was there. The room was empty, but for her.

Somehow the house didn’t feel welcoming as it always had. She’d grown used to security enveloping her like a well-worn robe when she entered. Not today. For some strange reason, she felt... She felt spooked.

She narrowed her eyes against the shadows. An icy curl of air snaked around her legs and her stomach suddenly went weightless. The hair at the nape of her neck stiffened. A strange pressure seemed to bear down on her, as if the house was actually trying to force her back out the door. A cold quiver ran the length of her body.

Kate forced a deep breath into her lungs and blinked her eyes. The house had stood empty too long. That was it. And Mother wasn’t there to greet her. No reason to drape weird thoughts around an empty house. A house was a house. Wood and nails, plaster and paint. That’s all. Get a grip, girl, she thought, this is the house you grew up in. She dumped her bags at the foot of the stairs, hung her purse by the strap over the newel post and followed Max to the kitchen.

He was standing in front of the pantry door. His thin, little-boy arms stuck out of his rumpled Cardinals T-shirt and his hair was smashed to his head on the right, from laying on his clown pillow in the car. He stood stock still, staring at the wide pantry door. His eyes were wide and peering fixedly at one spot. His face was pale.

Max?

He didn’t seem to hear. She had to raise her voice and repeat his name before he responded.

Max! What is it?

He blinked, and then he laughed, a trembly effort. "I thought there was somebody here. For a minute I saw this—this thing, and then it was gone."

Who? Where did you see—?

But Max was thinking of food now, his surprise gone. He jerked a nod toward the pantry door. I’m hungry. Can we go to Macadoodles and get an egg and muffin like you said?

But who was it? Max talk to me.

Nobody. There’s nobody. Can we get breakfast now? He turned.

Reluctantly, she let it drop. Maybe in the shadows he imagined a figure. Whatever it was, it was no longer there. Apparently, the trip had been hard on them both.

For the umpteenth time, Kate hoped moving to Winsom was the right thing. Not that she had a lot of choices, but leaving the big city for a small rural town was a huge upheaval for both her and Max. For Kate the homecoming was more a fact of finding refuge than anything else.

When two years ago Huey had left her with a busy five year old who liked to eat and needed a roof over his head, he also left a pile of bills that he had no intention of paying and a pile of junk he optimistically called a van. And that was pretty much it. Oh, he’d said there was work in Austin and he’d send for her, but Kate knew it was over when he walked out the door.

She had yet to shed a tear.

The last blow was two weeks ago. The ax was quick and razor sharp. Huey called. He wanted Max.

In a falsely confident voice she’d promised him they’d both be making snow angels in hell first, but the threat remained. Huey’s parental instincts had kicked in, and belatedly he’d remembered he had a son. She couldn’t allow custody to go to Huey. On the best of all best days, Huey was not good father material. No. Unthinkable.

Kate went to the deep bay kitchen window and pulled the draperies open. There wasn’t a great deal of lawn in the front, but now as the sunshine poured in she could see the wide expanse of backyard that would need to be mowed. Her back prickled and she glanced over her shoulder. Nothing was there.

She shrugged. In the sudden glare of early morning, being frightened seemed utterly ridiculous. The day was just like any other day. Both she and Max felt a bit strange having been transplanted half way down the state, going from an apartment to a large house, driving all night and entering the house for the first time alone after her mother’s funeral. Some reaction was surely to be expected.

Kate started after Max, then slowly crossed to the pantry door. She put out a hand, hesitated and let it drop, started to walk on, then stopped. What had Max seen? She couldn’t leave without checking it out, at least. Her hand lay for a moment on the brass handle, shaking only slightly, before she clenched her jaw, held her breath and flung the door open.

Nothing. She sagged in relief.

A vague scent hung heavy in the room. Familiar. Overbearingly sweet. Flowers. Although none were in evidence, there must be a bag of dried rose petals in a cranny somewhere, gathered from the rose beds out back and left over from last summer. The smell grew stronger and then abruptly faded away until it was gone.

In front of her stood shelves of canned goods, rows and rows of brilliant jars of her mother’s homemade jellies, over-sized cookers, stewing pots and a stack of salad molds. Pots and pans. Cleaning supplies. She laughed a bit shakily at her own fears. What had she been expecting? A hovering figure in flowing robes threatening them both? A ghost? A knife, maybe floating in the air, dripping blood? This was Winsom. This was her mother’s kitchen, for heaven’s sake.

Of course there was nothing there. Still...

I’m hungry, Max said, again. Let’s go! His appetite, and impatience, was rising. You said we were going to eat.

Right. Let’s go find the local Golden Arches and get some breakfast. We can unload the van when we get back. Reluctant, yet relieved, she let the matter drop.

Where’s my mitt? Did you bring it in yet? Max left the room with a great whoop. Macadoodles, here I come! He caromed off the hall door, righted himself and barreled on down the hall.

She glanced quickly around the room one last time. As a child, when awakened by a storm, her mother had always said, If you listen to the wind long enough, you begin to believe all kinds of things. And she’d listened to the wind all night as she drove, fighting the wheel and wet pavements and her own fears. But she wasn’t quite ready to believe in ghosts.

Max ran ahead, down the steps and out the front door. She heard his feet clattering over the porch and down the steps to the sidewalk. Kate shook her head. Shadowy figures, indeed. Unwelcoming atmosphere. Girl, you’ve got to stop imagining tragedy waits behind every door. The bad stuff is in the past. This is a new beginning.

Following Max, she stopped at the wall mirror across from the foot of the stairs to see how much residual damage was evident from the night. Dark circles around her eyes, likely, from a sleepless night. Her hair would be a mess. Before she faced the public, possibly people she might know, she ought to repair the damages. She searched in her purse for a brush.

The mirror was old. It had come down through, Kate couldn’t even remember how many generations. The glass was wavery and a bit dim, but no one had ever wanted to tamper with changing it. The frame was heavy, ornately carved and quite valuable. Beautiful, exquisite workmanship was evident in every line.

An antique dealer had once tried to dicker with her mother over a possible sale. But Kate and her mother had agreed that it was part of their heritage and were not interested in selling. Now she let her purse strap fall back over the newel post, lifted the brush to her corkscrew-curly hair and turned to the mirror.

Her breath caught in her throat. The strong, honeyed scent of the same flowers she’d smelled in the pantry swept over her. The heavy, cloying smell wasn’t roses at all. It was gardenias. Gardenias! Her heart seemed to stop. A face stared back at her. Her face, but... No, not her own face, but one that looked horrifyingly like her. Dark hair in a loose wanton mass cascaded around an oval face. An oval face with eyes... Eyes...

A bone-crushing, enervating cold permeated her entire body. Gardenias! Leah’s scent! The smell threatened to suffocate Kate. She couldn’t breathe. An icy wash of fear skimmed over her arms and her spine went suddenly slick with terror. In the mirror, the eyes blazed with a hatred so intense Kate was stunned. The enmity was so strong it seemed to shoot, like electricity, from the mirror straight into her soul.

No! The whisper became a silent scream, filling her head, echoing off the walks, lodging like a spike in her head. Oh God, no! Leah, you’re dead!

Two

Clear Morn ‘Awakenings’

Clusters of dainty white blossoms on tall stalks. Cattleya Mericlone.

Somehow—she would never remember the details—she left the house, drove to McDonald’s with Max, and drank a glass of orange juice while he scarfed down two Egg McMuffins. With a queer sense of detachment, she had stopped at stoplights, found a parking space, spoken to people she’d known since the days of skinned knees, and now sat across a table from Max, clutching car keys in her sweating hand. All without having run down any pedestrians or insulted someone who cared about her. It was amazing in a once-removed sense.

Reality set in with Max’s repeated question. "When can we go get him? You said I could have a dog when we got here."

A dog. Dogs did not come back from the dead. Dogs did not frighten you out of your senses by appearing in mirrors where they had no earthly right to be. Dogs were safe. But what in the world had happened? The face that looked back at her from Grandma’s mirror simply could not have been her. Leah. Could not!

"Mom? You promised I could have a dog." The word was surrounded by italics.

With effort Kate brought her mind into focus. We will get a dog, Max. Give us a chance to settle in first, will you?

He was jiggling a leg and all but bouncing in the seat. When? Tomorrow? Can we go tomorrow?

Maybe. Probably. But we haven’t even carried in everything from the van, yet. My orchids are probably overheating and—

We parked in the shade and you opened all the windows.

—and you haven’t yet been up to your room or—

My mitt. Have you seen my mitt?

And that’s another thing. Aunt Bree signed you up for a T-ball league, but we have to call your coach and see about practices. We can do that this afternoon.

Okay. Today my T-ball team and tomorrow the dog. Right?

Max was big on nailing down plans. Everything had to be carved in concrete before he believed it would actually happen. Even then, he wasn’t entirely trusting. This was a recent development. Something else to chalk up to the negligent father-of-the-year, Huey Foster.

I will try. Try my best. This is not a cross-your-heart promise, Max. But I will try very hard to make arrangements so that we can look for a dog tomorrow. That’s the best I can do. Okay?

Max stared hard at her. Okay. Let’s go home so I can find my mitt.

The drive home was all too short. Despite trying to force the thought from her mind while she drove down the pretty road lined with houses bearing flowers in window boxes, it persisted. Would she still be in the mirror, staring back? Would she be in the house? Could she be in the house?

No. Of course not. Maybe she hadn’t been there at all. Maybe Kate had imagined it from all the times in the past when she’d seen a mirror image looking back. A legitimate mirror image. She had over-reacted in the extreme and that was the end of it. All the stress from the past few months, past few years actually, had added up and she’d simply imagined something that hadn’t been there at all. Period, as her dad used to say. Period. End of discussion. But, the gardenias...

A sign in a yard caught her attention as they passed. Reynolds Construction. Cass’s father had been in construction. Could one of the half dozen men working on a partially built house be Cass? She wasn’t sure she’d know him after all these years and, in any case, she’d gone by too fast to get a good look. Maybe one of them was his dad. She had no idea where Cass was these days. Not likely in town. The thought of him brought a warm rush of memories. He’d been a good friend, years ago. Though, in Cass’s case, friend seemed a rather pallid word.

She’d had plenty of dates back then, but the one she’d most wanted to come calling, never did. Cass. Once she and Leah had fought fiercely over the tall, broad-shouldered high school football hero who had never shown either of them more than a cursory romantic glance. Well, there had been that one night. A night that was engraved on her memory for all time. But he’d never called afterward. Nor had he appeared to have any recollection of what Kate thought of as a landmark experience. So much for high school crushes.

For whatever reason, Bree never mentioned Cass. He could be living in Australia with a wife and ten kids for all she knew. Or right around the corner with a mother-in-law, raising buffalo in the backyard. Maybe—No, she wouldn’t go there. That was in the past and had no part of today. None at all. Still, memories didn’t change, and there was no harm in thinking of what happened a decade ago. Cass. Wonder...

Mom! Stop!

She braked hard. What? What?

The sign. See the sign in that yard? It says ‘Free Puppies.’ I can read it good. Free puppies. Can we go look?

Oh Max. She peered into the back seat expecting all her orchids to be on the floor after the sudden stop, but thankfully, the van was packed so tight they hadn’t moved an inch. But the dog. Now. Today. Max...

They were three blocks from home, the car was still laden with bags and boxes and orchids to carry into the house and they were both tired. But Max had been so apprehensive of the move to begin with... And she had, after all, promised him a dog and it was, after all, a familiar house. She knew the owners. Knew them well. All right. We’ll take a look.

The people had been friends of her parents. They were the Dixon sisters, twins actually, unmarried and getting close to retirement age. Unclaimed treasures, her dad had called them. They’d run the bakery and tea room downtown since she was a child. Ruby June and Pearly June. A bit eccentric, well maybe a lot eccentric, but lovely women. Their car with its distinctive license plate, WUPEDO, sat at the curb. She’d known them all her life. Run in and out of their front door with almost the same regularity she’d run in her own.

The Junes, as they were known around town, came out the front door to meet them, arms open. How nice to have you home where you belong. That house is too nice a place to remain empty and fall into decay. It deserves someone to love it. Besides, we’ve missed you.

Pearly June added, Everybody in town’s glad you’re home. Why, T. Roy Blankenship was saying just yesterday, how nice it would be to have you back where you belong.

Ruby June chimed in. T. Roy’s become a local politician. Knows everything in town worth knowing. But then, everyone we know is pleased you’re back.

Pearly June said, And your friend at the school, Gabrielle. I ran into her at the grocery the other day. Besides, this to Kate, with a hand on Max’s head, you always loved my sugar cookies and I’ll bet this young man of yours likes them too.

Kate remembered Pearly June from grade school days. She made melt-in-the-mouth cookies, but cheated at double solitaire something fierce. She needed to tell Max to be on guard. Pearly June loved to play cards and so did Max.

Ruby June’s eyes twinkled. I’ll bet he’d like to see Roxy’s babies, wouldn’t he?

Max’s eyes had gone wide at the thought of homemade cookies and even wider at the mention of puppies. He nodded enthusiastically all the while allowing himself to be led toward the rear of the house.

In a sunroom behind the kitchen, they found a large, three-sided box full of sleeping brown and white puppies. Max fell to his knees, his mouth open in wonder.

Ruby June knelt beside him. It’s all right, Roxy. This nice little boy isn’t going to hurt your babies. He just wants to get to know them. Can we show off how pretty they are? The mother dog’s nose sniffed Max’s hand cautiously. Then her tail wagged and she licked his palm, accepting him. The puppies stretched, and yawned, and crowded around Max vying for attention.

They’re even house broken, because we just couldn’t bear to part with them, Pearly June said. They’re almost six months old.

Ruby June nodded. But we want to be certain they go to good homes, so we’re being real picky.

They aren’t pure-bred, Pearly June explained. But, she giggled, they’re smart. Our Roxy backed up to the side of a hill so that Nutmeg could get the job done. He’s smaller than she is.

That means the puppies aren’t likely to be any larger than our Roxy, Ruby June chimed in, so we aren’t talking about a full-grown Godzilla to feed.

Within fifteen minutes it was agreed that the Dixon sisters would keep the young male Max chose until they could pick him up the next day, Max finally tore himself away from his dog, a curly-haired, brown and white puppy with floppy ears and a waggly tail, and they were back in the car. He could hardly contain himself.

I’ve got to get a good name for him. What do you think?

How about ‘Trouble?’ That sounds good to me.

Mom! Max was offended. He won’t be no trouble!

Kate knew better, but let it go.

For three blocks Max kept up a running chatter with possible names. Caesar. Attilla. They had been reading graded classics and it was plain to see he’d picked up on the names of the big guys. Then came Bubba and Bruiser and Killer.

At wrestlers from World Wrestling Entertainment Federation, Kate drew the line. Max was considering the hugely muscled Neanderthals with so much wild hair in their faces no one could see what they looked like. Uh... Hang on. I don’t think...

How about Babe? You know the big ox. I like Babe.

Babe is usually a girl’s name.

It can’t be. Paul Bunyan wouldn’t have no girl ox! I like Babe.

Kate refrained from mentioning the famous pig by the same name. You have all night to think about it.

Yeah. I have to be sure it’s the right name, though. You know? It’d be awful to be stuck with a dorky name.

Right. No dorky names.

And then they were at the house.

Not giving herself time to consider the panicky rush in which they’d left only an hour ago, Kate picked up a pot containing a large flowering orchid in each arm, hung a bag containing two bolts of silk over a wrist, and followed Max up the walk.

Carry something in as you go, she called as Max scrambled out of the van.

I need my mitt and my cars.

They’re in the back, in a big plastic box. Blue lid. It isn’t heavy. Can you manage it?

What if Leah was still there? What if she was in the mirror when Kate looked again? But she wouldn’t be there. I wasn’t possible for her to be in the mirror again! Of course, it wasn’t possible for her to have been there to begin with. Kate told herself she’d simply over-reacted to what she thought she saw. Some kind of imaginary—something.

On the top step she stopped to shift the Cattleya bearing clusters of dainty white blossoms to a spot higher on her hip, and glanced up. For a second, for one split second, she thought there was a shadow behind the curtain. It was gone almost before it registered and the automatic blink of her eyes only confirmed the sheer white curtain hanging quiet and opaque. Undisturbed. She was left wondering if she’d seen anything at all. Maybe a reflection from the street? But no cars had driven past.

An air current, she thought, if anything. Something ordinary. She had to stop seeing things that weren’t there. It simply wasn’t possible for anyone to be in the house. The front door was still locked, Max couldn’t get the knob to turn, and they hadn’t opened another door while they’d been inside earlier. It was simply not possible for anyone to be inside.

You’re being paranoid. Just turn the key in the lock and go in. There’s nothing there. Slanting her eyes right and then left, she did. Slowly. Cautiously. At the sill, she hesitated as tingling fingers of apprehension crawled up her back. Her feet didn’t seem to want to move. Max ran past her.

Max!

What? His voice drifted down the hall.

Max, wait for me! Max, don’t go—

I’m in the kitchen. Can’t hear you.

She moved then. All the way in. No swirl of icy cold around her ankles. No pressure to push her back out the door. The house actually felt welcoming as it always had in the past. She realized with relief that whatever it was, was gone. The house was empty. Somehow, in her bones and tissue, she knew it.

And, thank God, there was no other image in the mirror. Jaw set, willing herself to be strong, she made herself look, first thing—the stunning, white Cattleya orchid in one arm and a yellow blooming Oncidium in the other—knowing she’d not relax until she did, and then went limp with relief when only her own face appeared.

In happier days, Cass had called her hair the color of good Scotch. That had been before she had known, first hand, what good Scotch looked like. She smiled. Her cork-screwy hair, pulled back in a silver clasp, was the same tawny brown and vigorously curly, but more controlled than Leah’s had been. Her chin was a tad more pointed, not enough that anyone else ever noticed, but they’d always known. The two of them had walked with the same stride, worn the same jeans size, liked the same foods. They did not, however, have the same temperament.

In the mirror, Kate examined the