Today's Reading
Caroline wondered why the letter wasn't signed. Perhaps this man was afraid Anne would see him writing the letter. He had slipped it into his pocket and hurried down to the mailbox.
She turned over the cheery red envelope. The stamps had pictures of Santa Claus and Mrs. Claus. There was a lump in Caroline's throat. Her mother should have been here to receive it.
Anne had been so excited about the trip to Aspen last June. It was the annual Aspen writers' conference and writers and editors attended from all over the world. In the past, she had served on various panels, and she had worried that she would be too sick to attend this time. When the doctor finally gave her approval, Anne practically glowed with anticipation.
Afterward, Anne never said much about it. Now Caroline understood why. Anne hated to lie, and she would have had to mention that she was there with a man. But why had she kept him a secret? And did he know that she had cancer, or had that been a secret too? What if he waited for Anne at the Little Red Mailbox on New Year's Eve and she never showed up? Caroline had to find out who he was. Then she could contact him and tell him.
She opened her mother's computer and clicked on her credit card statements. There it was, in June. Fourteen nights at the Aspen Inn, 66 Main Street, Aspen.
The photos on the hotel's website looked lovely. Guest rooms with beamed ceilings and roaring fireplaces. A restaurant called the Silver Nickel, with pictures of cozy booths, and smiling couples drinking colorful cocktails.
Caroline tapped the number into her phone.
"I'm calling about a reservation last June," Caroline said when the concierge answered. "The name was Anne Holt."
Caroline told the man what she needed.
"I'm sorry," the man replied. "We can't give out information about our guests."
"Please, it's terribly important," Caroline urged. "My mother is dead; I need to find out who she was staying with."
"I'm sorry, I wish I could help you." The man was apologetic. "We must maintain our guests' privacy, I'm sure you understand."
Caroline hung up. An empty feeling settled over her. He would never know why her mother didn't come, and Caroline would never meet the man who had been in love with her. At that moment, nothing seemed more important. Here was her chance to get a window into her mother's thoughts a few months before her death. Had she been in love with this man? Who was he? Had he made her feel vibrant and alive, even for a short time?
Suddenly she had an idea. She did a quick search on the computer. Then she took out her credit card and entered her information.
She'd go to Aspen and wait for the man in front of Santa's Little Red Mailbox. It wouldn't bring her mother back, but it would be something. And she could read manuscripts on the plane.
The flights might book up if she didn't reserve her ticket, but she couldn't go to Aspen without discussing it with her sister. It was their first Christmas since their mother died, and Caroline didn't want to do anything without Daphne's approval.
Outside the bedroom window, the stars reflected on the tips of pine trees, like the brightest Christmas lights. Perhaps there were a few miracles still out there, and perhaps Christmas wouldn't be a complete disaster.
CHAPTER TWO
When Caroline woke up the next day, it was already midmorning. Her flight wasn't until this evening and she was tempted to curl up with her iPad and stay in bed. But she couldn't do anything without her first cup of coffee. In New York, her drip coffee maker brewed her first cup of blond roast coffee before she got out of the shower.
Her mother had bought the cabin twenty years earlier, when one of her books was turned into a feature film. Walter offered to split the cost, but Anne wanted to buy it on her own. Walter didn't come up as often; he was an ophthalmologist and was often on call during the weekends. Anne rarely missed a weekend in the spring and fall, and she spent the month of August and Christmas at the cabin.
Anne was passionate about New York, but the cabin was the one place she could truly relax. She almost never wore makeup except for her signature orange-red lipstick, and she lived in sandals and loafers. She seldom socialized with the other New Yorkers who owned second homes. Her days were spent reading and walking, and being with Caroline and Daphne when they were there.
The floor creaked as Caroline walked to the closet. The creak had always been there, along with the slightly warped closet door. Anne bought the cabin from a writer who wrote his first novel there at the age of fifty, and Anne refused to change anything. The walls were paneled in teak, and the kitchen had an avocado-green-colored oven.
Caroline's bedroom had the same furnishings it had since Caroline was in high school. A bed with a wooden headboard and a floral comforter. An armchair sat under the window, and there was a desk and a bookcase. The roof was sloped and a paisley rug covered the oak floor.
When she went downstairs, it was quiet. Daphne and Luke must have gone out. She made a cup of coffee and entered her mother's study.
This excerpt ends on page 16 of the paperback edition.
Monday we begin the book The Duke's Christmas Bride by Anna Bradley.
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