your mother?”
Branna sighed. “Biloxi, you and your ESP. She’s trying the guilt-trip of the century. Are you going home for Memorial weekend?”
“No. These days, I’m lucky to make it to the big thing—Mardi Gras.”
“So, what’s up with you?”
“The wall of secrecy about your sister seems to be growing. Are you going to tell me what happened? Where is Camilla? I need to talk with her and can’t locate her.”
She paused. Though she usually confided in her cousin, she couldn’t bring herself to utter the words.
“Hello?”
“Camilla is fine,” she answered brightly.
“Don’t give me that sing-songy-sales-person voice. I want the truth.”
“Have you talked to Momma about this?”
“Aunt Macy’s her own PR department with a spin on everything. She offers glibness in place of substance or truth. Always a smile and a perky mood. I know my Aunt Macy, and she’s covering up something. What gives? I want to talk to my other female Lind cousin.”
“Momma received a postcard from Camilla just before I moved. She’s in Cody, Wyoming working for the summer. I think at a diner.”
“Camilla? A diner?” Biloxi laughed hard.
“Momma’s got the address. Seems Camilla somehow lost her cell phone.”
“But Branna, why is she in no-man’s-land Cody, Wyoming?”
“I don’t know. Maybe that’s where she ran out of gas and money.” Or maybe Camilla thought she was far enough away that she could hide from her conscience? She wouldn’t know for sure until she’d actually talked with her younger sister about her latest disappearing act. For the last six months, Camilla hadn’t answered her calls.
“Did something happen between the two of you?”
“We never had a fight.” Thankfully, those words had the added benefit of being true. She might not tell her cousin everything, but she never lied either.
“God! Talkin’ to you is like pulling hen’s teeth. When I get this figured out, you’ll fess up.”
“Nothing to fess-up to. If Camilla’s got a problem with me, you need to go to the source. That would be her. But you can tell her to call me if you find her. Any photo contracts that might take you up that way?”
“No. I’m headed to Tokyo, then Holland for photo shoots. Are all families as complicated as ours?”
That made Branna smile. “Darlin’, we’re not complicated. We’re normal. I’ve got to run to work—Lord, I love saying that—so when you find my sister, tell her to come home and stop breaking Momma’s heart.”
She hung up and finished arranging the newly purchased items in the pantry. She’d never grocery shopped for just one before. They always fed an army at Fleur de Lis. Her first grocery run in Lakeview, and she’d bought the smallest size or quantity of flour, sugar, and other staples. The assembled items looked like accessories for a dollhouse, petite and cute.
A peek out the kitchen window brought her attention to the sun. Or lack of it. A few moments ago, the sun blazed. Shadows that once stretched across the lawn had disappeared.
Typical Florida afternoon. Sun. Rain. Sauna.
An hour later, after changing clothes and checking her makeup for the third time—no telling who she might meet at the bookstore—she headed for the college.
Gray clouds hung low in the sky, so low that in the distance, the clouds appeared to blanket the ground. Dust and debris twirled in gusts of thick moist air that buffeted against her car. She drove past flickering streetlights, thankfully wrapped in the comfort of her Volvo’s air conditioning.
The sky continued to darken and the bank of clouds followed her eastbound.
The wind suddenly stopped, as if to catch its breath, then whipped up again harder. She jumped in her seat when a deep rumbling bass shook the Volvo’s windows. Had thunder really rattled the fillings in her teeth?
She shuddered, and then counted, “One. Two. Three. Four.”
Four miles? The wall of darkening clouds seemed closer. Lightning’s long skeletal fingers could strike from miles away. That’s what she feared most. People died every year due to lightning strikes, and after all, Florida was the lightning capital of the United States. The college would be a safe harbor to ride out the storm—if she managed to make it to the door before it started to pour.
She stopped behind a car at the red light on Highway 90 and gripped the steering wheel. “Change. Change,” she shouted over the music of her favorite classical Bach CD. “Change! Darn it!”
The signal light flickered to green. Immediately after the car ahead moved forward, she made a right turn. She watched the clouds lumber across the sky as