“Most everyone, I imagine. Gwen reached across the distance that separated them and pushed the sides of Delaneys hair behind her ears.

Delaney half expected her mother to wet her fingers and make spit curls on her forehead as shed done when Delaney had been a child. Shed hated it then, and she hated it now. The constant fixing, as if she wasnt good enough the way she was. The constant fussing, as if she could be made into something she wasnt.

No. Nothing had changed.

“Im so glad youre home, Laney.

Delaney felt suffocated and pressed the electric window switch. She breathed in the fresh mountain air and let it out slowly. Two days, she told herself. She could go home in two days.

Last week, shed received notification that she was named in Henrys will. After the way theyd parted, she couldnt imagine why hed included her. She wondered if hed included Nick, too, or if he would ignore his son, even after his death.

Briefly she wondered if Henry had left her money or property. More than likely it was some kind of a gag gift, like an old rusted fishing boat or a stuffed mackinaw. Whatever it was didnt matter, she was leaving directly after the will was read. Now all she had to do was gather the courage to tell her mother. Maybe shed call her from a pay phone somewhere around Salt Lake City. Until then, she planned to look up some of her old girlfriends, hit a few local bars, and wait it out until she could head home to the big city where she could breathe. She knew if she stayed more than a few days, shed lose her mind—or worse, herself.

“Well, look whos back.

Delaney set a plate of stuffed mushrooms on the buffet table then looked into the eyes of her childhood adversary, Helen Schnupp. Growing up, Helen had been a thorn in Delaneys side, a rock in her shoe, and a colossal pain in the ass. Every time Delaney had turned around, Helen had been there, usually one step ahead. Helen had been prettier, faster in track, and better in basketball. In the second grade Helen had unseated her for first place in the county spelling bee. In the eighth grade Helen had beaten her out for head cheerleader, and in the eleventh shed been caught at the drive-in with Delaneys boyfriend, Tommy Markham, riding the bologna pony in the back of the Markham family station wagon. A girl didnt forget a thing like that, and Delaney took silent pleasure in Helens split ends and over processed highlights.

“Helen Schnupp, she said, hating to admit to herself that except for the hair, her old nemesis was still pretty.

“Its Markham now. Helen grabbed a croissant and stuffed it with sliced ham. “Tommy and I have been happily married for seven years.

Delaney forced a smile. “Isnt that just great? She told herself she didnt give a damn about either one of them, but shed always entertained the fantasy of a Bonnie and Clyde style ending for Helen and Tommy. The fact that she still harbored such animosity didnt bother her as much as she thought it probably should. Maybe it was time for that psychotherapy shed been putting off.

“Are you married?

“No.

Helen gave her a look filled with pity. “Your mother tells me you live in Scottsdale.

Delaney fought an urge to shove Helens croissant up her nose. “I live in Phoenix.

“Oh? Helen reached for a mushroom and scooted down the line. “I must not have heard her right.

Delaney doubted there was anything wrong with Helens hearing. Her hair was another matter, however, and if Delaney hadnt already planned to leave in a few days, and if she were a nicer person, she might have offered to snip some of the damage. She might have even slapped a protein pack on Helens frizzy hair and wrapped her whole head in cellophane. But she wasnt that nice.

Her gaze scanned the dining room filled with people until she located her mother. Surrounded by friends, every blond hair in perfect order, her makeup flawless, Gwen Shaw looked like a queen holding court. Gwen had always been the Grace Kelly of Truly, Idaho. She even resembled her somewhat. At forty-four, she could pass for thirty-nine and, as she was fond of saying, looked much too young to have a daughter who was twenty-nine.

Anywhere else, a fifteen-year age difference between mother and daughter might have raised more than a few brows, but in small-town Idaho, it wasnt uncommon for high school sweethearts to marry the day after graduation, sometimes because the bride was about to go into labor. No one thought anything of teenage pregnancy, unless of course the teen wasnt married. That sort of scandal fueled the gossip fires for years.

Everyone in Truly believed the mayors young wife had been widowed shortly after shed married Delaneys biological father, but it was all a lie. At fifteen, Gwen had been involved with a married man, and when hed found out she was pregnant, he dumped her and she left town.

“I see you came back. I thought you might be dead.

Delaneys attention was drawn to Old Mrs. Van Damme hunched over an aluminum walker and teetering toward a deviled egg, her white hair plastered with finger waves just as Delaney remembered. She couldnt recall the womans first name. She didnt know if shed ever heard it used. Everyone had always referred to her as Old Mrs. Van Damme. The woman was so ancient now, her back bowed with age and osteoporosis, she was turning into a human fossil.

“Can I help you get something to eat? Delaney offered, standing a little straighter while counting back to the last time shed had a glass of milk, or at the very least a calcium-enriched Tums.

Mrs. Van Damme snagged an egg, then handed Delaney her plate. “Some of that and that, she directed, pointing to several different dishes.

“Would you like salad?

“Makes me gassy, Mrs. Van Damme whispered, then pointed at a bowl of ambrosia. “That looks good, and some of those chicken wings, too. Theyre hot, but I brought my Pepto.

For such a frail little thing, Old Mrs. Van Damme ate like a lumberjack. “Are you related to Jean-Claude? Delaney joked, attempting to interject a little levity in the otherwise somber occasion.

“Who?

“Jean-Claude Van Damme, the kickboxer.

“No, I dont know any Jean-Claude, but maybe they got one living in Emmett. Those Emmett Van Dammes are always in trouble, always kicking up about something or another. Last year Teddy—my late brothers middle grandchild—got arrested for stealing that big Smokey the Bear they had standing in front of the forest service building. Whyd he want something like that, anyway?

“Maybe because his name is Teddy.

“Huh?

Delaney frowned. “Never mind. She shouldnt have tried. Shed forgotten that her sense of humor wasnt appreciated in redneck towns where men tended to use their shirt pockets for ashtrays. She sat Mrs. Van Damme at a table near the buffet, then she headed for the bar.

Shed often thought the whole after-the-funeral ritual of gathering to eat like hogs and get drunk was a bit odd, but she supposed it existed to give the family comfort. Delaney didnt feel comforted in the least. She felt on display, but shed always felt that way living in Truly. Shed grown up as the daughter of the mayor and his very beautiful wife. Delaney had always fallen a little short somehow. Shed never been outgoing or boisterous like Henry, and shed never been beautiful like Gwen.

She walked into the parlor where Henrys cronies from the Moose Lodge were holding down the bar and reeking of Johnnie Walker. They paid her little attention as she poured herself a glass of wine and stepped out of the low heels her mother had insisted she borrow.

Even though Delaney knew that she was sometimes compulsive, she really had only one addiction. She was a shoe-aholic. She thought Imelda Marcos got a bad rap. Delaney loved shoes. All shoes. Except little pumps with stubby heels. Too boring. Her tastes leaned toward stilettoes, funky boots, or Hercules sandals. Her clothes werent exactly conventional, either. For the last few years shed worked at Valentina, an upscale salon where customers paid a hundred dollars to get their hair cut and expected to see their stylist in trendsetting clothes. For their money, Delaneys customers wanted to see short vinyl skirts, leather pants, or sheer blouses with black bras. Not exactly proper funeral attire for the stepdaughter of a man whod ruled the small town for many years.