The Cook's Secret Ingredient. Meg Maxwell

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СКАЧАТЬ not a whiz with technology.” He pulled out his smartphone. “I’ve got a map of every hair salon in the county with digital pushpins of ones I’ve visited.” He held it up. “If there’s no green-eyed Sarah, I’ve marked it red. I’ve got nineteen salons to visit tomorrow in two counties.”

      Carson rolled his eyes and shook his head. “What about the fund-raiser you’re supposed to speak at tomorrow? What about the board meeting to prepare for?”

      “Carson, I’m your father. Not the other way around.”

      “Dad, I—”

      “Dinner is served,” Leanna sang from the doorway with Danny in her arms. “Danny helped make dessert.”

      “Ert!” Danny called out.

      “Dessert monster!” Edmund said, rushing over and tickling him and carrying him over his shoulder. Danny squealed with laughter.

      This ridiculous quest to find this nonexistent green-eyed hairstylist was just another example of how much his father had changed, especially since Danny was born. For Danny’s sake, Carson liked the devoted, fun grandpa his formerly workaholic, bank-before-family father had become. But this silly search to find a gold digger masquerading as a predicted great love? No. Not on Carson’s watch.

      He had about forty-five minutes to shift this conversation back his way. And Olivia Mack was his only hope of stopping his father from ruining his life.

      * * *

      In the biggest dining room that Olivia had ever been in, she sat across the huge cherrywood table from Carson. At the head sat Edmund Ford with little Danny in a high chair beside him. Watching grandfather and grandson did a lot to ease the tension that had settled in Olivia’s shoulders ever since she’d arrived. Edmund clearly adored the toddler, and baby talk—Who ate all his chi-chi? My widdle cuddlebomb did, that’s who! C’mre for your cuddlebomb!—was not beneath the revered banker. Olivia hadn’t known what to expect from Edmund Ford, but this warm, welcoming man was not it.

      The three generations of Fords looked quite alike with their dark thick hair, though Edmund’s was shot through with a distinguished silver. The three shared the same intense hazel-green eyes.

      “Edmund, how did you happen to become a client of my mother’s?” Olivia asked. She smiled up at Leanna, who walked around with a serving platter of roasted potatoes. As the woman put a helping on Olivia’s plate, she wondered what it would be like to live like this every day. Maids and butlers and a family room the size of the entire first floor of Olivia’s house.

      “When I moved to Blue Gulch four years ago, a year after my wife passed,” Edmund said, “I would hear this and that about a Madam Miranda and didn’t give it a thought. To me, fortune-tellers were about crystal balls and telling people, for a fee, what they wanted to hear.”

      “And you were right,” Carson said, fork midway to his mouth.

      Edmund ignored that. “But then I overheard a few conversations that stayed with me,” he continued, taking a sip of his white wine. “A very intelligent young equity analyst at the bank was telling another employee that she went to see Madam Miranda about her previous job and whether she should dare quit without having another lined up first. Madam Miranda advised her to quit immediately because an old college friend who worked at Texas Trust would call about an opening there and she would apply, interview and be offered the job with a significant increase in pay. Oh, and she’d love working there. The analyst risked quite a bit by taking that advice. Three days later, an old college friend called. And the rest is history.”

      Carson was doing that thing again where he rolled his eyes and shook his head. The double dismissive whammy.

      “I would catch some stories like that,” Edmund said, “and I just sort of tucked them away, not having any interest in paying Madam Miranda a visit.”

      “What changed your mind?” Olivia asked, taking a bite of the rosemary chicken. Mmm, that was good. So well seasoned. Olivia hadn’t had a meal she hadn’t cooked herself in a very long time.

      “About two months ago, I overheard two young women talking in the coffee shop,” Edmund said. “I was waiting for my triple espresso, and I heard a woman say that Madam Miranda’s prediction for her had come true, that if she’d find the courage to break up with her no-good, no-account boyfriend, she’d find real love with a handsome architect whose first name started with the letter A.”

      “Oh, come on,” Carson said, shaking his head.

      Edmund kept his attention on Olivia. “The young woman went on to say she’d been dating the terrible boyfriend for two years but Madam Miranda’s prediction gave her something to hope for, even if it was silly and couldn’t possibly come true, despite being so specific. She dumped the guy, and three months later, she struck up a flirtation with a young man doing some work in the new wing of the hospital where she worked as a nurse. An architect named Andrew.”

      Carson put down his wineglass. “Madam Miranda probably heard his firm would be working on the new hospital wing. She put the idea in the nurse’s head that she and this guy belonged together and voilà, instant interest when she might have otherwise ignored him.”

      “Talk about far-fetched,” Edmund said to his son.

      “I have a million of those stories,” Olivia said. “I’ve seen much of it firsthand. And my mother may have been a lot of things, but a liar or a cheat wasn’t among them.”

      Carson put down his fork. “Right. So my father’s second great love is a stranger named Sarah standing in a hair salon giving some guy a buzz cut. Come on.”

      “Why not?” Olivia asked. “Why isn’t that possible?”

      Carson sighed. “Because it’s hocus-pocus. It’s nonsense. It’s make-believe. It gets people to pony up a pile of money for malarkey—and just like that nurse said, it gives hope where there’s none. It doesn’t mean a damned thing.”

      “Watch your language,” Edmund said, covering Danny’s ears. The boy giggled.

      “Larkey!” Danny shouted gleefully.

      “How much did you pay the madam for this fantasy?” Carson asked his father. “Hundreds, no doubt, once she knew who you were.”

      “I’ve told you at least three times that she refused to accept money from me,” Edmund said, taking a bite of his chicken. “She told me she thought my bittersweet story was deeply touching and that was payment enough.”

      Olivia knew her mother often didn’t charge those who clearly couldn’t afford her services. But Edmund Ford was a zillionaire. His story really must have touched Miranda—or had her mother known that he was destined to become part of the family because of Aunt Sarah? Hmm.

      “But,” Edmund continued, “considering that her fortune-telling parlor was inside her home, which was on the small side, a postage stamp, really, I left her a thousand dollars in cash anonymously. She deserved it.”

      The head shaking was back. “Right, Dad. I’m sure that’s how she hooked, lined and sunk her wealthy clients, pretending to care, finding their pasts just so touching, and fully knowing they’d load up her mailbox with cash and gifts. Payment enough—ha.”

      “Could you be СКАЧАТЬ