Page 8 of Trouble Walked In

Mattie lowered the mug and leaned forward, looking concerned. “She’s at the inn? What do you mean skipped out?”

“I mean she wants to quit. She said, and I quote, ‘I don’t want to be me anymore.’”

Mattie frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Lizzie shrugged. “No idea. It’s been two days, and I don’t know any more than that. She’s here with me in upstate New York, cleaning toilets.”

“Cleaning toilets? Della? Oh, wow. That’s mean.” Mattie giggled and put her hand over her mouth.

Lizzie grinned and shrugged. “She wanted to be someone else so I’ve turned her into a maid. I thought maybe if she saw how real people live she might reconsider and go back to the tour.”

“Is it working?” Mattie’s eyes danced with amusement.

“Not so far, no. Got any ideas why she ran away?”

Mattie bit her lip, then shook her head. “No. Last time we talked was my birthday, and that was only for five minutes, if that. She’d been nominated for that favorite artist something-or-other award and seemed really happy about it.”

The sound of Della rising and shining upstairs made Lizzie hurry up the conversation. “I have to get moving. If you think of any reason why she’d be doing this, let me know?”

Mattie nodded. “Sure.”

“Whatever’s going on with you, I’m here if you need me, okay?”

“I know. Don’t worry, if I need help you’re my first phone call.” Mattie raised the mug in salute. “Call me later?”

Lizzie frowned, torn between the needy sister upstairs, the one on the phone who clearly had something going on, and the need to get to work before the rest of her world imploded.

The inn won.

“Be good, Mattie Cake.”

“Always.” Mattie ended the call.

Lizzie got to work putting breakfast together for her unexpected houseguests.

Forty-five minutes later, Della and Jordy had managed to get dressed and appear at the small round table in the little nook off the kitchen that Lizzie called the rotunda. A cushioned bench hugged the wall in the cozy round space, and the high ceiling and windows let in the morning sun. It was one of her favorite places to linger over coffee or tea when she had the chance, and a haven that let her organize her thoughts and chores for the day.

Now, it was filled with two women arguing over their pancakes while Lizzie listened to the back-and-forth from the kitchen.

Jordanna picked up three pancakes from the platter in the middle of the table, dumped them onto her plate, and then reached for the butter. “Your friends miss you. Can’t you see that?”

“My so-called friends probably haven’t even noticed I’m gone,” Della said. She snagged two pancakes for herself and reached for the jar of peanut butter. “That group doesn’t worry about anything except the next party.”

“Is that why you left? You were partied out?” Jordanna spoke over a mouthful of cakes coated in syrup.

“Why can’t you drop it, Jordy? You’ve spent two days flogging that dead horse and I’m not going to change my mind. I’m not going back. That part of my life is over. Done. Just let it go.” Della poured a lake’s worth of syrup over her peanut butter-covered pancakes and took a huge bite. “Oh my God, Lizzie. I haven’t had pancakes in ages. So good.”

“Thanks,” Lizzie said. She sipped her coffee and wondered for the hundredth time why Della had come to the place she used to refer to as Lake Exile. Della craved spotlights, audiences, and attention, and she wouldn’t get any of that in upstate New York.

Jordanna speared a bite of pancake with her fork and held it aloft like a baton. “The thing is, Della, you signed a contract with Self Evident. It’s a huge problem if you don’t honor it. It’ll mean lawyers and penalties, not to mention a whole lot of people will be out of a job if you don’t do the tour.”

“There’s an out clause in the contract. The lawyer made sure of that. And I’ll pay the crew myself. Hey, they can come here to clean.” Della shoved more pancakes into her mouth winked at Lizzie.

Her tone was defiant, but Lizzie detected the telltale tic along the side of her right eye that indicated her sister felt guilty about something.

Lizzie sat down at the table so she could look her sister in the eye. “They’re musicians, Della, not housekeepers. They don’t belong here.”

Della avoided her gaze. “Then I’ll pay them for the tour anyway, and they can move on to the next gig early. They won’t mind that.”

---