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  To my granddaughter

  Nadia G. Gonzalez

  Children’s children are a crown to the aged, and parents are the pride of their children.

  Proverbs 17:6

  Chapter One

  Francine Tanner downshifted, decelerating to less than ten miles an hour as the rain came down in torrents, obstructing her view. The rising wind blew the precipitation sideways. The wipers were at the highest speed, yet did little to sluice the water off the Corvette’s windshield fast enough. She maneuvered along Sanctuary Cove’s Main Street before turning off onto Moss Alley and parking behind the Beauty Box; she turned off the wipers and then the engine of the low-slung sports car. It’d been raining for nearly a week and she, like everyone else who lived along South Carolina’s Sea Islands, wondered when they would ever see the sun again.

  Pulling the hood of her raincoat over her head, she sprinted through puddles in the parking lot to the rear of the full-service salon and day spa. It took several attempts before she was able to unlock the door. Her mother had had the locksmith change the cylinder, yet it still jammed. She made a mental note to have him replace the entire lock. Pushing open the steel door, she flipped on the light switches and within seconds recessed and track lights illuminated the newly renovated salon like brilliant summer sunlight.

  Francine had come in an hour before the salon opened for business to take down Christmas decorations and pack them away until the next season. After hanging up her raincoat in the employee lounge, she slipped out of her wet running shoes and turned on the satellite radio to one of her favorite stations. Hip-hop blared through the speakers concealed throughout ceiling panels.

  She took a quick glimpse at her reflection along the wall of mirrors. A profusion of dark red curls framed her face, falling to her shoulders; it wasn’t the first time she realized she’d been so busy styling the hair of the salon’s customers that she’d neglected the most important person in her life: Francine Dinah Tanner.

  Although she normally didn’t make New Year’s resolutions, she resolved she would dedicate this year to herself at the same time she pulled her hair off her face, securing it in an elastic band. Several wayward curls escaped the band, grazing her ears and the nape of her neck.

  She needed a new look and definitely a new attitude but didn’t want to think about all the things she had to do to change her life as she pushed her sock-covered feet into a pair of leather clogs and walked to the front of the shop to check the voice mail. Five days a week Francine helped her mother manage the salon, cut and style hair, and occasionally fill in for the manicurist and/or aesthetician whenever they were backed up. The other two days were now spent helping her grandmother adjust to moving from her Charleston condo to living under the same roof with her son, daughter-in-law, and granddaughter.

  Eighty-one-year-old Dinah Donovan Tanner had protested loudly when her son insisted she give up living independently and move into a wing of his house on Cavanaugh Island. Frank Tanner had installed an elevator so his mother wouldn’t have to navigate the staircase, converted the west wing to include a bedroom suite with an adjoining bath outfitted for a senior, a living/dining room with a sitting area, and a state-of-the-art kitchen. Once the octogenarian saw her new apartment she reluctantly agreed to move to Sanctuary Cove. Even if Grandma Dinah had initially pouted like a surly adolescent, Francine secretly applauded her father’s decision to take control of his mother’s life because it meant she didn’t have to drive to Charleston to see to her grandmother’s physical and emotional well-being. And most nights she ate dinner with her. Dinah, who’d lived up to her reputation as one of the best cooks in the Lowcountry, had settled into a more laid-back life on the island, grinning nonstop because she got to see her only grandchild every day.

  Now that her best friend, Morgan Dane Shaw, was married, they had curtailed their early morning bicycle outings from five days a week, weather permitting, to one or two. She and Morgan had been high school outsiders and had never cultivated close relationships with the other students living in Charleston or on Cavanaugh Island. Even when both left the island to attend out-of-state colleges they never lost contact with each other. She missed hanging out with her friend, but she was glad that Morgan had found her happily ever after with Nathaniel Shaw.

  Pencil in hand, Francine activated the voice mail feature and jotted down appointments in the book spread out on the reception desk. There were messages from regulars who wanted a myriad of services. Then she went completely still when she heard the last two messages. The nail technician and one of the stylists had called to say they were experiencing flulike symptoms.

  Two weeks after Thanksgiving influenza had swept across the island like wildfire. Hardly anyone was left unscathed. Classroom attendance in the schools in the island’s three towns—Sanctuary Cove, Haven Creek, and Angels Landing—was drastically reduced when students, faculty, and staff alike succumbed to the virus. The local health department had declared a health emergency, forcing the schools’ superintendent to issue an order to close the schools four days before the onset of the Christmas recess. Under another set of circumstances students would’ve applauded extending the holiday recess, but most were too sick to celebrate.

  The waiting room in Dr. Asa Monroe’s medical practice had been standing room only. The island’s resident doctor sent his patients home to limit the spread of the virus and made house calls instead. Dinah refused to let Dr. Monroe give her a flu shot, declaring she didn’t like doctors or needles, opting instead to take an herbal concoction guaranteed to offset the symptoms of colds and flu. The elderly woman declared proudly that she was healthier than many half her age because of the herbal remedies that had been passed down through generations of Donovan women. Francine and her parents took the shot and were fortunate enough to avoid the full effect of chills, fever, and general lethargy. However, her mother, Mavis Tanner, like most of the merchants in the Cove, closed the Beauty Box for a week because of a rash of cancellations. She’d used the time to have repairs made to the adjacent space that was now the Butterfly Garden Day Spa.

  Francine disassembled the lifelike artificial tree, putting it and the ornaments in a large duffel bag on wheels. Coming in early had its advantages. She could listen to her favorite stations on the radio before some of the elderly customers gave her the stink eye about her taste in music. They’d grumbled constantly to Mavis until Francine told her mother she wouldn’t be opposed to listening to a station featuring songs spanning the sixties, seventies, and sometimes the eighties because she’d grown up listening to the music from her parents’ youth.

  She’d just wheeled the duffel into the storeroom when the rear door opened and her mother walked in. “We’re down two this morning, Mama.”

  “Who are they?” Mavis asked as she hung her jacket on the wall hook.

  “Candace and Danita have come down with the flu. Don’t worry, I’ll cover for both,” Francine volunteered.

  She watched as Mavis shook the moisture from her shoulder-length twists. Physically she and her mother were complete opposites. Mavis, petite with a dark complexion, claimed the distinctive broad features of her Gullah ancest
ry, while Francine had inherited her paternal grandmother’s fair complexion, red hair, and freckles. However, the special gift she’d been born with to discern the spirit had come from her maternal grandmother.

  Mavis slipped into a black smock with her name and Beauty Box embroidered in white lettering over her heart. “How many customers does Candace have?”

  Francine put on her own smock. “Three. She has two cuts and a color. We can’t afford to turn anyone away after losing a week’s receipts.”

  “We’re going to fare a lot better than some of the other shop owners who rely on folks coming in from the mainland to keep them out of the red until the spring and summer.”

  The Beauty Box, the only salon on the island, boasted a thriving year-round business because many residents didn’t want to drive or take the ferry into Charleston to get their hair and nails done, while most mom-and-pop stores in the Cove and the Creek weren’t as fortunate. They relied on an influx of tourists during the spring and summer months to sample the cuisine, buy local handicrafts, and tour the antebellum mansions and plantations.

  “You’re right,” Francine agreed. She stared at Mavis as she took a large envelope filled with cash out of her tote. Although the salon accepted credit card payments, some of their customers still preferred using cash. “You’re past due for a rinse, Mama.” The neatly twisted hair was liberally streaked with gray.

  Mavis’s dark brown eyes met a pair of shimmering emerald green. “Your mama is fifty-nine. And that means I’m old enough to have gray hair and at least one grandbaby.”

  Francine rolled her eyes. “Please, let’s not start in on grandbabies again, Mama. You don’t hear Grandma Dinah talking about becoming a great-grandmother.”

  “That’s because she’s already a grandmother,” Mavis countered. “Adding great to grandmother is just a formality. I’m the only woman in the Chamber of Commerce’s Ladies Auxiliary who’s not a grandmother and that is something Linda Hawkins is quick to bring up every chance she gets.”

  “That’s because she’s still pissed off that you took Daddy from her.”

  Mavis glared at Francine. “I didn’t take him from her because she couldn’t lose something she never had.”

  “That’s not what she tells anyone who will stand still long enough for her to bad-mouth you.”

  “And you know I don’t entertain gossip or lies.”

  “I know and so does everyone on Cavanaugh Island,” she mumbled under her breath at the same time she took the envelope from her mother. “I’ll put this in the cash register for you.”

  She did not have to be reminded of her mother’s pet peeve; beauty salons were usually breeding grounds for salacious gossip, and because of this Mavis had a hard and fast rule that if any of her employees were caught gossiping with the customers or repeating something they’d overheard it would be grounds for immediate dismissal. Mavis ran her business with the precision of a Marine Corps drill sergeant much to the satisfaction of those who frequented the salon. If someone had an appointment for two, then they were guaranteed to be sitting in a chair at that time or within fifteen minutes.

  Francine knew if she didn’t put some distance, if only temporarily, between herself and her mother, Mavis would invariably bring up the topic of her not dating some of the men who’d expressed an interest in her. Although Mavis claimed she didn’t entertain gossip Francine knew she’d overheard talk about her daughter being linked with David Sullivan.

  The attractive Charleston-based attorney had become a very eligible bachelor once his girlfriend ended their five-year relationship because of his inability to commit. Although she and David were seen together at the annual Island Fair, she was aware their friendship would never become more than that. David was a wonderful catch but not for her. Francine knew her mother’s wish to become a grandmother was overshadowed by her need to see her daughter married to someone with whom she could spend the rest of her life.

  When she married Aiden Fox, Francine believed it would be forever. But, sadly, her fairy-tale marriage didn’t end with a happily ever after. Deceit and mistrust had reared its ugly head once she realized the man who’d declared his undying love had only used her to further his acting career. What had shocked her more than Aiden’s duplicity was that she hadn’t seen it coming. Although she could see someone else’s future in her visions, she could not do the same with her own. She still believed in love and happily ever after, although it appeared to have passed her by. She wanted all of the things she and her best friend, Morgan, had talked about when they were teenage girls. They’d wanted to fall in love and marry men who would love and protect them, who’d become the fathers of their children, and with whom they would grow old together. She hadn’t given up on love, and she was still hopeful she would be given a second chance at finding her own happiness.

  Tapping buttons, she entered the passcode on the electronic cash register, placing the bills in the drawer and then closing it. Staring through the front door’s beveled glass, Francine smiled when she saw pinpoints of sunlight coming through watery clouds. The downpour was letting up. Maybe with the sun her mood would improve. Last night she’d had a vision wherein she heard angry voices; the sound grew louder, reverberating in her head. She then saw gaping mouths from which spewed expletives and threats. What she couldn’t see were the faces of the people in her vision. She knew it was in Sanctuary Cove because she recognized the marble statue of patriot militiaman General Francis Marion atop a stallion in the town square. The vision had vanished quickly, but the uneasiness that had gripped her persisted. This was the second time the vision had come to her. The first was on Christmas Eve, when she’d returned from Charleston after a day of last-minute shopping, and Francine hadn’t thought much of it until now.

  She made a mental note to talk to her mother about it. Mavis, who’d grown up with her own mother talking about dreams and visions, had taught Francine how to interpret her visions, but this one puzzled even her. It was on a rare occasion that she didn’t or couldn’t see the faces of the people in the images and because of that it was more than disturbing. Who, or what, she mused, had set neighbors against one another?

  Francine was six when she realized she was different from other children. A week before she was to enter the first grade she could describe what the school’s new first grade teacher looked like. When Francine recounted the frightening incident to Mavis she reassured her that Francine had been born with a special gift just like her grandmother, but that the gift would have to remain the family’s secret. The second vision didn’t appear until she turned ten, and then they became more frequent as she grew older. Morgan was the only person aside from her family that knew she had psychic abilities.

  Francine unlocked the front door and turned over the sign to indicate the Beauty Box was open for business. Francine returned to the lounge and found Brooke Harrison, the shampoo girl, and Taryn Brown, the aesthetician-masseuse, brewing coffee and setting out an assortment of sweet breads from the Muffin Corner for the staff. The space contained a utility kitchen with a microwave, cappuccino-espresso machine, refrigerator-freezer, half bath, and a table with seating for six as well as a seating arrangement to accommodate eight. It was where the employees came to relax between customers and take their meals. A cleaning service came in twice a week to keep the salon and spa spotless. Mavis spared no expense when it came to creating a relaxing environment for her customers and employees.

  “The coffee smells wonderful,” Francine said as she tuned the radio to a cool jazz station. Brooke smiled and the skin around her robin’s-egg-blue eyes crinkled with the gesture. They teased each other, saying they were sisters from different mothers, because both had red curly hair.

  “It’s a hazelnut blend.”

  Brooke, a recent cosmetology graduate, had offered to assume the responsibility for brewing coffee. She still worked part-time as a Starbucks barista. “Candace and Danita have called in sick, so we’re going to be a little tight today,” Francine
informed the two women.

  “Do I have any cancellations?” Taryn asked Francine.

  “No. You’re good.” Taryn, who’d worked at a spa in Atlanta for more than fifteen years but wanted a more laid-back setting, had applied for the position of masseuse when she’d read that the Beauty Box had expanded to include a day spa. Offering spa services had attributed to a steady increase in the salon’s overall profit margin.

  The chime on the front door echoed and Francine went to greet their first client of the day.

  Keaton Grace knew he couldn’t meet with his attorney and business manager looking like the Wolfman. He hadn’t shaved in more than two weeks and hadn’t cut his hair in four. He’d spoken to Devon Gilmore, who’d arranged to meet him in Sanctuary Cove so he could sign the necessary documents to dissolve the partnership between him and his investment banker slash brother-in-law. At forty-one, he now wanted complete control of his projects: writing, directing, and producing. The dissolution had caused a rift between Keaton and his sister Liana, but he was willing to risk their close relationship in order to control his own destiny.

  Opening the binder on the boardinghouse’s bedside table with listings of shops and services on Cavanaugh Island, he perused it. Reading the advertisement for the Beauty Box, he noted the hours of operation. He smiled. They welcomed walk-ins and that was exactly what he was going to be this afternoon.

  Keaton had spent the past week cloistered in his suite at the Cove Inn because of the rainy weather. He’d ordered room service instead of eating with the other boarders because he’d found himself in the zone when revising a script. His first visit to Cavanaugh Island had been last summer, to survey the region. At that time he’d checked in at a Charleston hotel and drove to the island under the guise of tourist when in reality he was looking to purchase property.

  Cavanaugh Island was one of the many Sea Islands ranging from South Carolina to Florida that Keaton had explored. Either the price of an acre of land on some of the better known islands like Hilton Head, Myrtle Beach, and Jekyll was exorbitant or the zoning laws wouldn’t permit him to erect a movie studio, or both.