cookies, chocolate cake, pimento cheese sandwiches, popcorn, peanuts, chips, crackers, and party mix. “I get a stomachache just looking at all that food.”
“Not me,” Sarah said, filling a plate with fats and calories. “I’m starving. I was running late leaving Gunnison, and I didn’t stop for dinner.”
Celeste offered her a kindly smile. “I’ll bet your mother loved her room. Meadows Place is a wonderful facility.”
Earlier today, Sarah had taken her mother to a memory-care assisted-living facility for a week of respite care—Sarah’s Christmas gift from Celeste. Sarah had been reluctant to keep the reservation until Nic and Sage lobbied long enough to convince her that Ellen Reese would enjoy the activities the five-star facility had to offer. “It’s a great place, Celeste, and a too-generous gift.”
“Nonsense. Every woman deserves a week of pampering now and then.”
“Here, here,” Sage said, snagging a cookie off Sarah’s plate. “Now, what’s this big surprise you promised us, Celeste? The one that’s supposed to make us forget we are sitting in footie pajamas drinking hot cider with nary a man in sight on New Year’s Eve?”
Nic tossed a piece of popcorn at her. “Hey, correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t this sleepover your idea? Didn’t you buy these PJs specifically for tonight?”
“Yes. You’re right. My bad. It’s because of the date from hell last New Year’s Eve.”
Sarah spoke to Celeste. “If we stay up late and get silly, ask her to do her imitation of Gareth Hollingsworth the Third.”
“No.” Now Sage threw popcorn back at Sarah. “I promised I wouldn’t make fun of him anymore. It wasn’t kind.”
“He’s a man. You don’t have to be kind.” Nic dropped down into her favorite chair in the room, the wooden rocker that felt like it had been made for her butt. “Except when it comes to Colt Rafferty. I love this chair. The man is an artist with wood.”
Sage wrinkled her nose, her usual reaction to the mention of Colt Rafferty. The woman had a competitive streak a mile long when it came to her art. Nic found it amusing to watch.
“The surprise, Celeste?” Sage repeated before Nic could think of a good way to tease her further about Colt.
Celeste nodded and lifted an envelope from the mantel. “As you may know, a few weeks ago I contacted Jack Davenport in search of any information he might have regarding our Cellar Bride. As a result of that query, he provided me letters written by Daniel Murphy to Jack’s great-great-grandfather, Lucien Davenport. One of them proved quite illuminating.”
“Awesome,” Sarah said.
Celeste continued, “Nic, would you read it aloud for me?”
Nic wiped her fingers on a paper napkin, then accepted the envelope from Celeste. Paper crinkled as she carefully removed a folded sheet of paper and opened it. She read aloud:
Dear Lucien,
I hope this missive finds you and your family well. For my part, I have some hard news to share.
Previously, I mentioned I had met the love of my life, a bonny lass by the name of Miss Winifred Smith, whom I came to call Angel after hearing the sweet, celestial sound of her voice as she lifted her voice to the Lord in church. On the day we were to wed, my angel disappeared. She is lost, Lucien. My angel is lost.
I am lost.
My world is ended and Eternity Springs has assigned the blame to me. They believe she forsook my love for another, and in a jealous fit I pushed her off the falls above town. They name me a murderer. It is a lie, Lucien. A brazen lie. I loved her more than life itself.
I am heartbroken. I am lost. As lost as my lost angel. Please pray for me.
Your friend,
Daniel
“Wow,” Sage said.
Nic blew out a breath. “There’s a photograph in the envelope. Look.”
Nic held up a sepia-toned photo of a lovely young woman. Around her neck she wore a silver locket engraved with the silhouette of an angel’s wings. Sarah said, “That’s the locket Zach found with the remains. It’s her. The Cellar Bride was Winifred Smith.”
“Daniel Murphy’s lost angel,” Sage spoke in a soft tone.
As Nic stared at the photo, sadness filled her heart. “She’s been here all along. At Cavanaugh House.”
“Not Cavanaugh House,” Celeste said. “Not any longer. I’ve been searching for the perfect name for our healing center and spa, and now I have found it. My dear friends, though our winter is far from over, spring waits on the horizon. Old wrongs will be righted and healing will come to