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    Hideaway
    Hideaway
    Hideaway
    Ebook113 pages2 hours

    Hideaway

    By Fern Michaels

    4.5/5

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    About this ebook

    First in the three-part series featuring four old friends and a house with a haunted past: “Reading Michaels is always a rewarding experience.” —RT Book Reviews

    The best of friends, Toots, Ida, Mavis, and Sophie have been there for each other through thick and thin. Now Sophie needs the rest of the Godmothers to help her through something they’ve never faced before . . .

    There are no secrets between best friends. At least, Teresa “Toots” Loudenberry has always believed that. In the decades since she, Sophie, Ida, and Mavis met in Catholic school, they’ve shared all the joys and hardships of their colorful, extraordinary adventures. But right now, Toots can tell that Sophie is hiding something.

    Sophie wishes she could confide in Toots. But she can’t reveal her hunch about her home’s history and the unhappiness that still seems to linger there. There’s too much at stake, including the safety of Toots’ daughter Abby and her twin girls. But though Toots, Ida, and Mavis are all entering new phases in their lives—and love lives—they won’t let Sophie face this challenge on her own . . .

    Praise for Fern Michaels and The Godmothers Series

    “Pure recession-proof fun.” —Publishers Weekly

    “Michaels’ engaging version of the Golden Girls.” —Booklist

    “Grab some tissues as you read the latest installment of the outstanding Godmothers series, which contains an abundance of poignancy, wit, charm and laugh-out-loud moments. Reading Michaels is always a rewarding experience.” —RT Book Reviews, 4.5 Stars on Classified

    “The camaraderie of the four friends remains very powerful in the latest Godmothers contemporary . . . Fans will enjoy Breaking News.&rdq
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherKensington Books
    Release dateApr 25, 2017
    ISBN9781496712066
    Author

    Fern Michaels

    This New York Times bestselling author has a passion for romance that stems from her passion for the other joys in her life — her family, animals, and historic homes. She is usually found in New Jersey or South Carolina, where she is either tapping out stories on her computer or completing some kind of historical restoration. Legions of fans around the world thrill to the romantic stories Ms. Michaels creates in every one of her novels.

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      Book preview

      Hideaway - Fern Michaels

      Chihuahua.

      Prologue

      Dabney House

      Florence Dabney waited at the top of the staircase while Theodore said goodbye to their guests. They had celebrated their one-year wedding anniversary tonight, and she couldn’t wait for the evening to end. Just couldn’t wait to be alone with her husband.

      Her low-waisted, bright scarlet dress, with a full, just-below-the-knee hemline and bodice typical of the times, fell around her, yet when she tried to grasp the silky material, her hand appeared as though it was passing through her dress. Again, she tried to touch her dress, yet she still could not feel the material in her hand. She remembered dressing earlier tonight as she prepared for their evening dinner party. Ruth, her personal maid, had made sure that the way her dress fell around her hid the slight burgeoning of her waistline. She recalled Matilda Watson’s remark last week, pointing out that Florence was no longer as thin as Cora Russell, and that maybe she should not overindulge in Cook’s sweets. Florence had smiled, knowing full well that there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for her thickening midsection.

      Tonight, she would tell Theodore all about that reason. Though she was unsure of exactly what his response would be to her important news, she took heart. Ever since their nuptials, he’d talked of nothing else but having an heir. Possibly, he would visit her rooms later tonight—after he learned she was with child, carrying his much-desired heir.

      Though Florence had dreaded that part of their marriage once she and Theodore were betrothed, she knew it was required and gave Theodore his needed relief. As a child, when her mother entertained guests, she’d very often overheard whispered discussions about what took place on one’s wedding night. Truthfully, being raised as she had been, until her own wedding night, she’d been completely unaware of what happened between a husband and a wife. Though it had not been as pleasurable as the hushed whispers had suggested, making her wonder what all the fuss was about, other than experiencing a moment of intense pain, she had found the experience not entirely unacceptable.

      Again, she reached for the luxurious silk, and, for the second time, she was unable to feel the soft texture of the fine material that had been shipped all the way from Spain. For a moment, she felt a slight tremor of fright, but then disregarded it. There was nothing for her to fear. Her evening had been pleasant if somewhat long. The Hamiltons had been very impressed with Cook’s baked quail and peas. Conversation about the arrival of goods for use in a new method of using waste products to fertilize the fields had dominated the evening. Theodore was quite excited about the new shipment arriving and could hardly talk of anything else. Actually, she thought it was distasteful dinner conversation, but it was not her place to voice an opinion.

      Downstairs, she could hear Theodore bid a final goodnight to the Hamiltons. As she waited for him, she smiled in anticipation, suddenly even more excited. A child would make Theodore happy. As of late, their marriage had not been quite as pleasant as it had been those first few months, since dear Theodore had so many responsibilities running the plantation he’d inherited from his father on the day of their wedding in June of 1921. Florence adored her position as the lady of the manor and took her duties as a wife quite seriously.

      Taking a deep breath, she suddenly felt chilled, and the air around her had become icy, unlike anything she’d ever known. It was so cold, and as she exhaled, she saw wafts of air come from her mouth. Again, she felt frightened and desperately wished that Theodore would finish up with whatever was taking him so long and come upstairs. She peered down the stairs in search of him, but the scene before her was not what she expected to see.

      The staircase, which should have displayed a brilliant polish on the gleaming oak surface, seemed aged and in need of repair, dilapidated. The rich tapestries that had been hanging on the walls were no longer there. The sconces, lit when she’d come upstairs, were not only snuffed out but were no longer even visible. Florence moved her hand toward her chest. It felt strange. She looked at her hand as she placed it across her heart and saw it as an eerie luminescence, more like a misty fog than her own flesh-colored appendage. As she pushed her hand harder against her chest, waiting to feel the reassuring beat of her heart, she became still when she felt absolutely nothing other than her hand slowly gliding through her dress and right through her flesh.

      Dear Lord, she must be dreaming. Taking a deep breath, she was sure this must be a result of her condition. She was having a nightmare and would wake up in the morning, at which time she would tell Theodore all about this, and the two of them would have a good laugh discussing the utter silliness of her dream.

      But no, this was different. She felt as though she was wide-awake. Theo, she called out. Again, she felt cold, and again, she saw wisps of a white, smokelike substance coming from her mouth. Theo, please, where are you? I am quite frightened.

      Suddenly, another frigid blast of cold air swirled around her. She observed the phenomenon as though in shock. The cold gust swirled around her, then stopped as quickly as it started. Theodore?

      And, suddenly, Theodore was there, right in front of her. Then a cruel, cackling laughter emanated from the man. But it wasn’t her Theo standing there; he wasn’t the man with whom she had dined earlier. No, this was some evil form of Theo. His finely tailored clothes hung in shreds, and his eyes glowed, as though a candle were lit behind them. If this is a dream, please wake up, she said aloud. I don’t like this.

      She reached out for the image of Theo before her. Her hands went right through him. She yanked them away, so frightened now that she backed away from the evil image and tried grabbing the banister for support. As she tried to steady herself again, her hand seemed to melt right through the wood. And before she knew what was happening, she felt a heavy hand at the small of her back, a hand with great power.

      Theodore’s hand? Except it wasn’t as comforting as she remembered. No, this was forceful. Before she could turn around and ask him to please remove his hand, she felt him shove her forward, toward the staircase. Theodore! Those were the last words Florence Dabney uttered before everything went totally blank.

      Chapter One

      Sophie jerked upright in the bed, stunned. Her heart drummed against her chest, sweat dampened her forehead, and the back of her neck was slick with perspiration. Unsure whether she had just experienced a vision by way of a dream, she reached for the lamp on the bedside table. Turning it on, she could see that she was safe in the master bedroom, with Goebel snoring contentedly beside her. They’d celebrated their first wedding anniversary that evening. Poor Goebel! He rarely drank, and had imbibed one too many celebratory glasses of champagne. Not wanting to wake him, she grabbed her robe from the bedpost and tiptoed out of the room, not bothering to turn out the light. She knew that Goebel wouldn’t hear her. His soft snores were comforting as Sophie crept out of their room and headed downstairs.

      She didn’t even want to begin to analyze her dream, or rather her vision, until she’d had a cigarette. As usual, Goebel had been after her to quit, and, as usual, she said she would think about it. Downstairs in their newly renovated kitchen, Sophie found her cigarettes and lighter on the counter by the back door. Just like at Toots’s house, she thought. Except she didn’t have a coffee can full of sand in which to stub out her cigarettes. She’d actually bought one of those ashtrays used in public places, the kind where you dropped the cigarette in a small hole and it went out as soon as it began to suffer from oxygen deprivation.

      Sophie stepped outside on the screened-in veranda, into air almost oppressively thick with humidity. Goebel’s bubble-gum tree filled the air with its sweet

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