Once in a Blue Moon Read online

  Stacy shrugged. “You need to be a little more grounded in reality. Clothing is not as important as other things, like say...family?”

  “Since you don’t have one, how would you know?”

  Stacy rolled her eyes. “Just because I don’t have kids doesn’t mean I don’t have family.”

  “You don’t have a husband, either.”

  Stacy glanced pointedly at Melissa. “And you probably won’t have one for much longer, since you treat him so badly.”

  Melissa glared. “Richard likes the way I treat him.”

  Stacy snorted. “Did you want something when you came out here? If so, tell me what it is so I can get it for you and you can go back to work.”

  Melissa tapped a Gucci-clad foot. She didn’t dare threaten to fire Stacy. She had a hard time keeping employees and Stacy was good at her job.

  Stacy smiled. “Are you going to have a tantrum? Because if you are, I think I’ll take my break now and let you take it out on my desk.”

  Her composure drove Melissa crazy, but she actually liked her; liked that she wasn’t intimidated; cowards drove her insane. She’d take lippy over weak any day.

  Melissa looked around. “Where’s Kari?”

  “She went home, sick.”

  Melissa made a depreciating noise. Speaking of cowards, Kari was a big one. Melissa had never once in her entire career let anyone chase her away with her tail between her legs. She’d come back for more until she’d been taken seriously. “What about the Montgomery line?”

  “Kari left instructions. It’s all under control.”

  Melissa wasn’t sure she believed that. She glanced out into the general area where sewing machines hummed. She could see newly made dresses and slacks hanging from the post, and the burnt orange material of the jacket for the fall line. She nodded. “Keep your eye on the progress and let me know if it gets behind schedule. Have you got anything else for me?”

  Stacy handed Melissa a clipped newspaper article. “Here. It’s an article from the Los Angeles Times. Brilliant Melissa Kendal, yada yada yada.”

  Melissa took the article. “What else?”

  “Also...” Stacy dug around in a stack of junk beside the desk, lifted a wrapped package, and handed it to Melissa.

  “You got a present from that weird Russian guy. You know, the one who had a fit when you couldn’t use real zebra skin on his cowboy hat?”

  Melissa opened the card and read it.

  ‘Dear Marvelous Melissa. Very pleased with your work. Will be back again. Please accept this token of my appreciation.’

  Melissa tore off the wrapping paper and revealed a western coffee table book. Hmm. A check would have been nicer. She flipped through it quickly: saddles, horses, branding irons, old barns, ropes, dusty cow trails, cowboys in slickers. “Yuck.” She dumped it onto Stacy’s desk. “Messages?”

  “Your mother-in-law’s been calling.”

  Melissa curled her lip. “No doubt she wants to talk about dead people or buried treasure.”

  Stacy’s smile was wry. “Well, I don’t know about any treasure, but a lot of people are interested in their genealogy. I hear once you get bitten by the bug you can really get into it.”

  Melissa rolled her eyes. Since the space on her own birth certificate for ‘father’ was blank, Melissa didn’t see herself ‘getting into it’ anytime soon. And though her mother-in-law was nice enough, Carol Kendal drove Melissa insane with her quest for discovering information about generations past. “Anyone else call?”

  Stacy handed over a list, which Melissa quickly glanced over. Several clients wanted her to call back, and there were five messages from Jeremy.

  “You do see that your son has called five times?”

  Just then the phone rang and Stacy answered. She pulled the phone away from her ear, cupping the mouthpiece. “Make that six.” Stacy raised her brows and the phone.

  Melissa didn’t move to take it. “Is he bleeding?”

  Stacy just stared at her.

  A twinge of guilt speared through Melissa and she sighed. “Oh, all right.” She held out a hand and took the phone. “Yes? What is it?”

  “Mom, did you forget about tonight?” Jeremy sounded panicked.

  “What about tonight?”

  “The blue moon?”

  “Jeremy, what are you talking about?”

  Jeremy sighed loudly. “My science fair project? Remember? As part of my grade my parents have to watch me give my presentation at home. You said you’d watch tonight.”

  “I did?” She vaguely remembered something about it.

  “Look, just forget about it. I have. Here, Dad wants to talk to you.”

  “Melissa?” Richard’s deep voice came down the line. “Hold on just a sec.”

  She could hear him telling Jeremy to shut the door.

  “Okay, what’s going on?” He sounded irritated. “Aren’t you coming tonight?”

  Melissa sighed. “I have so much work to do.”

  Richard sucked in a breath. “Look. Jeremy is showing some responsibility for a change. He’s actually trying to bring his grades up. The blue moon only happens tonight and he needs the score this project will give him. Encourage him, will you?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Melissa,” his voice lowered another octave. “You’d better do more than try. Be here by nine o’clock.” He banged the phone down hard.

  She winced and, chest tight, lowered the receiver and stared at it. What had just happened? Richard never lost his temper. With a hand that trembled slightly, she handed the phone back to Stacy.

  Stacy’s lips curved into an insincere smile. “Problems?” she asked sweetly.

  Melissa’s eyes narrowed and she raised her chin. “Just do your job and keep them away from me. If they persist, remind them I’m here so I can contribute to our family. I make more money than my husband; you’d think that would count for something.”

  Stacy gazed at her with something like pity. “Money isn’t everything.”

  Melissa returned the pity with a razor sharp smile. “Oh, but it is everything. It’s control.”

  The pity increased in Stacy’s expression and she shook her head. “Tell your family that and see what they think.”

  Melissa’s lips tightened. She didn’t want to hear this. She was a wonderful wife and mother. She didn’t drink until she passed out, didn’t throw up on the floor, didn’t embarrass her family with her appearance and didn’t force her children to wear rags.

  Something was obviously bugging Richard, so she’d try her best to make it home early tonight. However, all that meant was she’d be working at home instead of the office.

  The phone rang again and Stacy answered. “It’s Miriam Bertram, the model.”

  Melissa turned. “This call I’ll take in my office.” She stopped, turned back and picked up the coffee table book. She’d take it home to Richard. He’d enjoy it. And even though she hadn’t done anything wrong, perhaps a peace offering was a good idea. What could it hurt?

  Chapter Two

  Melissa drove easily around a blue Mustang and accelerated the Lexus past the worst of the traffic. “Don’t worry,” she spoke into the hands-free phone. “The designs are beautiful, and I can’t wait to show them to you on Monday.”

  “I’m looking forward to it,” said Tamara, in her trademark breathy voice. “See you day-after-tomorrow.”

  “All right, until then.” Melissa pushed the off button and grimaced. The designs weren’t even close to being finished; but she wouldn’t disappoint the up-and-coming actress. They’d be done on time.

  Glancing at the briefcase on the seat, she blew out a long breath. With tons still to do, she should have stayed at the office, but with Richard angry, didn’t feel she had a choice.

  She’d just have to get home as fast as possible, watch Jeremy’s silly science presentation, then work on the designs until they were done. It wouldn’t be her first all-nighter, and her clients needed to be kept happy at
all costs.

  She glanced at the time; nine-fifteen. She sped up. Twenty miles out of downtown Los Angeles felt like forever on some nights, especially when traffic was bad. Why couldn’t they live in a condo like everyone else she knew?

  She turned on the radio. “Go outside and take a look at the blue moon tonight--”

  She pushed the off button, sick to death of hearing about the stupid blue moon. When she finally pulled off the freeway she glanced at the time and calculated she’d be home by nine-forty-five, which made her late. Tension and resentment gripped her. She’d tell Richard it was his fault. If they didn’t live so far out in the sticks she could have arrived home much sooner.

  And living out here was Richard’s fault. He’d insisted. He’d inherited the property before they’d married and always planned to build on it. At least she’d selected the house plan; very modern, very happening. If he’d had his way they’d be living in a ranch house. Or worse, in the cabin. She shuddered at the thought. How had this part of her life turned out the way it had?

  Sometimes she wondered if she’d made a mistake. She only had one life, but was she living it the way she wanted? Here she was, practically dwelling in the country, with a husband, and two twelve-year-old children. She still wondered how children, plural, had happened. She’d agreed to a child, one child, and ended up with twins.

  Guilt tightened her chest. Of course she loved her children. She did! But she’d been so young when she and Richard had made the decision to get pregnant, and she hadn’t been as focused then.

  Finally, pulling up to the house, she parked in the driveway and, hands on the steering wheel, looked at their home; a combination of old-him and new-her. She had to admit it wasn’t bad.

  The front yard was beautifully landscaped, the aspen and pine trees complemented by short bushes and flower beds. From the driveway she could see around to the back yard and the large, grass covered hill behind it. At its base, a swing hung from the large oak tree, and that she could have done without. The tree too. But when she’d insisted on having the ugly old thing cut down, Richard had dug in his heels and refused.

  If it were light, she’d be able to make out the roof of the log cabin that Richard’s ancestors had built on the other side of the hill. It was falling apart, but still there after all these years and Richard was wasting time trying to restore it. Another point of contention between them. The structure needed to be razed. Of course, only over her mother-in-law’s dead body.

  Clasping her briefcase, she got out of the car and noticed the moon shining brightly in the sky, not a cloud in sight. A wave of dizziness and a sudden ringing in her ears made her stumble. She clutched the car door and continued to stare at the moon, feeling almost hypnotized.

  She couldn’t look away.

  She couldn’t breathe. Her muscles locked tight as the dizziness grew worse until she actually fell, first to her knees, then face forward onto the grass, finally able to yank her gaze from the sky.

  Gasping air, she fought the nausea, swallowed, fought to retain consciousness. Fear beat at her, and she forced herself to her knees, her heart thudding hard in her chest. What was happening to her?

  She pressed a hand to her stomach as it wrenched. Dear God, help me! She tried to scream the words, tried to cry out for help, but couldn’t. She needed a doctor! Abandoning her briefcase on the lawn, she crawled slowly toward the front steps, fighting for each inch gained. Was she dying? Was she having a heart attack from too much stress?

  Her white ruffled skirt caught under one knee and she fell to the grass again, rolling onto her back, hands pressed to the grass on either side. The ground rolled underneath her--an earthquake?-–and the ringing in her ears grew louder.

  Nauseous, stomach heaving, her eyes once again focused on the moon as it swam into her line of vision; it seemed to vibrate, pulsate, its shape distorting like a huge white heart in the sky.

  The blue moon.

  Fear, primal and intense, grabbed hold of her as she remembered the words of the weatherman. Strange events supposedly occurred on the night of the blue moon. She had to get up! Get out of the moonlight!

  Through sheer force of will she rolled herself over, pulled up her skirt, and resumed crawling toward the steps, until finally, after eons, she reached them.

  She tried to cry out, to get help, but a choking sensation allowed only a squeak to pass through her lips. She hauled herself up the stairs, scraping arms and legs painfully, until she was on the porch and out of the moonlight.

  Immediately the weakness faded, the world straightened out, the nausea diminished, and the ringing in her ears receded. Breathing heavily, gasping for air, she lay curled in a ball on the front porch for several minutes, until finally she grabbed hold of the doorknob and pulled herself up.

  She stood, shaken. What had just happened? Taking a few steps, she leaned against the stucco and tried to catch her breath. Again she thought about what the weatherman had said. Strange events occurred on the night of the blue moon.

  A chill ran up her spine and she shuddered, shoulders jerking. She stood for a moment, letting her breath regulate, then finally reason took over and she shook her head. She was being ridiculous. She needed to make an appointment to see the doctor. Obviously she was under too much stress, or perhaps wasn’t eating enough.

  She glanced across the expanse of grass; her car door was still open, the briefcase abandoned on the lawn, one high-heeled shoe half-way between.

  She was a little shaky, but other than that, felt fine now. She took a step toward the stairs, but stopped just short of where the moonlight hit the porch.

  Panic hit hard. She didn’t dare go. Making an impatient sound in her throat, she glared at the briefcase. She needed it, and she needed to pull herself together, not dwell on hocus pocus. She took one more small step, but still couldn’t make herself walk down the stairs.

  She rubbed her hands over her face and let out a shuddering breath. Fine. It was fine. She was sick and shouldn’t go back out there anyway. She turned, walked slowly to the front door and opened it.

  As she walked into the house, she stumbled, grabbed at the wall to hold herself up, and almost knocked the painting by the front door to the floor.

  She righted the landscape, then stared at the lame depiction of a field, trees, and some rolling hills in the background. The artist was some ancestor of Richard’s, a guy who’d moved to Europe to learn to paint before coming back to the area.

  Her lip curled as she read the signature. Andy Sullivan, California, 1890. Andy should have stayed longer and worked harder at his craft. And Melissa should have let the picture fall. If she ruined it, perhaps they could put some modern art on the wall. Richard usually left the decorating to her, but occasionally turned stubborn over the strangest things.

  “Are you all right?” Claudia, the new maid, stood by the stairs in the huge entryway, a scarf tied around her head. A chubby German woman in her fifties, she held a big Tupperware bowl, a plate of cookies, her handbag, and was obviously just leaving. She hurried forward.

  Melissa waved a hand to ward her off. “Of course. I’m fine.”

  The maid looked into her face, glanced down at her shoeless foot, then into her face again, a look of skepticism in her blue eyes. But she only nodded. “Your dinner is in the oven.”

  Melissa opened her mouth to announce she’d already eaten, then hesitated. After the weird experience she’d suffered, she’d better actually eat something. Besides, she needed the energy to finish her designs later. She closed her mouth and nodded. “Thank you. Did you get everything done on my list?”

  Claudia nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Melissa raised her brows skeptically, glad to have something else to focus on. “The bathrooms? Did you use a toothbrush around the faucets? And the cupboards in the kitchen are washed down?”

  “Yes, ma’am. That’s why I’m here so late. I finished everything you gave me to do. Mr. Kendal seems very pleased with my work.”

&
nbsp; “Richard is easy to please.”

  Claudia lowered her gaze. “Yes ma’am. Is that everything?”

  “I’ll have a new list of chores on the kitchen counter for you tomorrow.” Melissa hesitated, and suddenly uncomfortable, she lifted her head high, looking over the top of Claudia’s head. “Uh. I left some things on the front lawn. My briefcase and a shoe. Could you bring them in and shut my car door before you leave?”

  The maid was silent, and when Melissa finally glanced at her, Melissa noted her surprise and glanced away again. Claudia finally answered. “Yes, ma’am,” and opened the front door.

  Melissa took a deep breath and glanced in the ornate mirror behind the front door. Her small, angular face was pale, causing her green eyes to stand out and look larger than usual. The red lipstick she wore slashed brilliant color against her white skin. She ran a hand through her short, spiky black hair and turned away. The shaking had almost stopped. She glanced toward the den, drawn by the muted sounds of the television. She’d better talk to Richard.

  Taking off her remaining shoe, Melissa dropped her hand from the wall and moved toward the partially open door. The phone in her skirt pocket rang at the same time her daughter Jessica vaulted down the stairs.

  Jessica took one look at Melissa, turned and walked back upstairs. Irritation flared. Didn’t she even rate a hello? “Jessica, come here.”

  Jessica stopped, her back to Melissa. “Mother--”

  The phone rang again and Melissa dug it out. “Come down here, I want to talk to you.” She checked the screen. It was a client. “But give me just a minute, I have to take this.” Melissa lifted the phone to her ear.

  Jessica sighed loudly and stomped down the stairs, turned off her music and pulled out her ear buds.

  Melissa talked for a moment, reassuring and bright, as she watched Jessica cross her arms and tap her toe, major attitude emanating from her.

  Claudia came in, quickly deposited Melissa’s things, shot Melissa one last glance, and left.

  Finishing the conversation, Melissa hung up the phone and studied Jessica. With her long blonde hair, light skin and vibrant blue eyes, she didn’t resemble Melissa or Richard. She wore all black, as usual. Melissa made her vast amounts of classically beautiful clothes and still Jessica chose the gothic grunge look. At least she hadn’t dyed her hair, yet, but her eyes were outlined in black too, and she oozed bad attitude. She was twelve going on sixteen, completely skipping the sweet years. Melissa refused to rise to the bait. “Have you practiced your piano? Done your homework?”