Free Ms. Simon Says by Mary McBride

“Please.”
    “Yeah. Okay,” he grumbled. “Whatever.”
    “Thank you.” She pointed ahead. “Turn right at the stop sign. The lake is just a mile or so down the road.”
    Well, maybe it was a mile or so to a crow, Mick soon discovered. Once they turned off the blacktop, the final half mile to the lake wound its way through a deep forest of pines that looked damned near virgin timber to his untrained eyes. Hey, if Shelby Simon had to hide out for a while, the forest primeval was probably the perfect choice.
    She was sitting forward in the passenger seat, her nose practically pressed to the windshield, unable to disguise her excitement over this homecoming.
    “Turn here,” she said, pointing right.
    He swung the Mustang into a pebbled drive that crunched under his tires, then finally pulled up in front of some sort of fancy detached garage. Well, it seemed fancy until his gaze encountered the house not too far away up a sloping lawn.
    “Whoa,” he murmured. “That’s some house.”
    “It is, isn’t it?” she responded, already halfway out of the car. “God, it’s good to be back. I had no idea how much I missed it until just this minute.”
    The place was lit with spotlights that angled up from the front yard, making it nearly bright as day. He’d never seen anything like it in his life.
    “What do you call it?” he asked, still eyeing the house while he opened the hatchback for the luggage. “Victorian?”
    “Uh-huh. Well, technically, it’s Italianate. At least I think so. My sister is the authority on that.”
    Maybe it seemed so big because it sat—loomed, actually—on the crest of the sloping lawn. The sucker had to be ten or twelve thousand square feet or more, all three stories of it. A deep, columned porch ran around the first floor. All the windows were tall and arched and elaborately framed. Every possible surface was carved, or turned, or somehow decorated. Mick half expected to see a sign out front saying “Historical Society.”
    Shelby, standing beside him, seemed to be regarding it with an awe similar to his own.
    “I haven’t been back since my sister finished all the renovations. I can’t believe how fabulous it looks.” She squinted. “Beth must’ve used five or six different colors of paint. Amazing. It used to be just a flat, fairly boring white with green trim.”
    Not anymore. In addition to a basic pale gray, Mick picked out touches of navy blue, maroon, and even some gold.
    “Well, the lights are on, so I guess they’re expecting you,” he said, pulling her suitcase out of the trunk.
    “Actually, they’re not. I couldn’t reach them this afternoon to tell them I was coming. But that’s okay. They’re pretty good about surprises.”
    “Oh, yeah?” He angled his head toward the front door where a female figure had just emerged and stood, fists on hips, staring their way. “If that’s your mother, I’d say she doesn’t look all that pleasantly surprised.”
    Actually, the woman looked pretty much like a deer in headlights.
    Surprise!

CHAPTER FIVE
    “S helby!”
    Her mother looked great, absolutely stunning tonight in a pair of beige wool slacks and one of her own designer sweaters, this one a gorgeous turtleneck concoction of nubby beige yarn and black silk ribbon. Nobody ever said Linda Simon didn’t know how to dress to show off her perfect size six figure and to set off her meticulous blond pageboy. Aside from her fabulous appearance, though, Shelby couldn’t quite discern the expression on her mother’s face.
    Was she surprised?
    Taken aback?
    Flummoxed?
    All of the above, Shelby decided as she ascended the veranda stairs with Callahan a few steps behind her.
    “Shelby!” her mother exclaimed again, coming forward to kiss her. “My goodness! What a surprise! Why didn’t you call, honey?”
    “I did, Mom, but nobody answered. I didn’t leave a
    “ message because...Well...” She sighed. “It’s complicated.”
    At the moment her mother was