The House Guests

  Praise for the novels of Emilie Richards

  “Infinitely readable and emotionally deep. In A Family of Strangers, Emilie seamlessly mixes intrigue, romance and emotional drama as she puts family ties to the test with a protagonist you won’t soon forget... A page-turner to the end!”

  —Diane Chamberlain, New York Times bestselling author of Big Lies in a Small Town

  “A Family of Strangers is an absolutely riveting, thrilling read. I could not put it down. The suspense starts with the first line and does not let up until the last sentence. Emilie Richards writes electrifying family drama. There are deep emotions and startling secrets on every page. This one will keep you up all night.”

  —Jayne Ann Krentz, New York Times bestselling author

  “Richards deftly shifts from women’s fiction into domestic suspense, but she doesn’t sacrifice the emotional acuity that her fans expect... Readers of relationship-focused domestic-suspense authors such as Lisa Jewell will enjoy Richards’ pivot into the genre.”

  —Booklist on A Family of Strangers

  “I emerged at the last page as a better and more thoughtful person.”

  —Catherine Anderson, New York Times bestselling author, on When We Were Sisters

  “Emilie Richards is at the top of her game in this richly rewarding tale of love and family and the ties that bind us all. One Mountain Away is everything I want in a novel and more. A must-buy!”

  —Barbara Bretton, New York Times bestselling author

  “Richards creates a heart-wrenching atmosphere that slowly builds to the final pages, and continues to echo after the book is finished.”

  —Publishers Weekly on One Mountain Away

  “Emotional, suspenseful drama.”

  —Library Journal on No River Too Wide

  Also by Emilie Richards

  A FAMILY OF STRANGERS

  THE SWALLOW’S NEST

  WHEN WE WERE SISTERS

  The Goddesses Anonymous Novels

  THE COLOR OF LIGHT

  NO RIVER TOO WIDE

  SOMEWHERE BETWEEN LUCK AND TRUST

  ONE MOUNTAIN AWAY

  The Happiness Key Novels

  SUNSET BRIDGE

  FORTUNATE HARBOR

  HAPPINESS KEY

  The Shenandoah Album Novels

  SISTER’S CHOICE

  TOUCHING STARS

  LOVER’S KNOT

  ENDLESS CHAIN

  WEDDING RING

  THE PARTING GLASS

  PROSPECT STREET

  FOX RIVER

  WHISKEY ISLAND

  BEAUTIFUL LIES

  SOUTHERN GENTLEMEN

  “Billy Ray Wainwright”

  RISING TIDES

  IRON LACE

  EMILIE RICHARDS

  The House Guests

  USA TODAY bestselling author Emilie Richards has written more than seventy novels. She has appeared on national television and been quoted in Reader’s Digest, right between Oprah and Thomas Jefferson. Born in Bethesda, Maryland, and raised in St. Petersburg, Florida, Richards has been married for more than forty years to her college sweetheart. She splits her time between Florida and Western New York, where she is currently plotting her next novel.

  To Michael, first and always. Thank you for all our amazing years together.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Reader’s Guide

  Questions for Discussion

  1

  AMBER BLAIR HAD SPENT most of her thirty-four years trying not to think about luck. Her daddy had told her there were only two kinds. Either you came into the world with the luck of the early bird or the early worm. The kind he’d been born with was obvious. Nothing that had gone wrong in all his years had to do with simply hanging around the edges of life, waiting for something good to fall in his lap. It was all about luck.

  Her mother, tight-lipped and seething, had rarely voiced opinions. As a receptionist at the Halfway to Paradise motel, she had been too busy checking people in, and giving out room keys—and probably a little extra—to worry about luck.

  Like most people, Amber had acquired something from both parents. She had inherited her father’s early worm luck, oddly coupled with her mother’s work ethic. Against tremendous odds she had scrambled to support herself and her son on her feet in restaurants, instead of on her back in cheap motels. Her mother had been remote and disinterested, but years of watching her determination to survive had helped.

  “Haven’t seen you for a while.” The manager at the cash register of Things From the Springs greeted Amber with a wide smile. She was middle-aged and overweight, refreshingly unaware that spandex and sequins weren’t good choices for minimizing either. Her plastic nameplate read Ida, but Amber had never told Ida her own name, a habit she’d developed after leaving home at sixteen. Still, Ida never forgot a face.

  “It has been a while,” Amber said.

  “You feeling better?”

  Amber wasn’t surprised that Ida remembered the day two months before when she had fainted facedown in the women’s clothing aisle, strawberry blond hair spread wide on a table stacked with shorts and T-shirts. The manager had insisted Amber go right to the hospital. Amber had thanked her, then headed to work instead. Three days later, though, she had seen a doctor after Will, her son, gazed at her in horror and announced that her green eyes were rimmed by an ominous yellow.

  Of course, the news hadn’t been good. Hepatitis A had arrived with a flourish, and she had been so dehydrated that, despite all her protests, she’d been hospitalized for a day, a bill that had nearly sunk them.

  Health insurance was a luxury she had never indulged in.

  “Yes. Definitely better,” she said now. She didn’t add that she still tired easily or that she was struggling to regain the weight she’d lost. Jaundice, the colorful bonus, was finally gone, and she was back at work.

  “You were caught up in that hepatitis thing, weren’t you? The one at that restaurant...” The manager snapped her fingers. “Electric something?”

  “Dine Eclectic.”

  “You closed for a while, right?”

  Because two of the kitchen s
taff had also been infected, Dine Eclectic, the much promoted addition to restaurants in Tarpon Springs, Florida, had closed until health inspectors had given permission to reopen. Amber had been forbidden to go back to work until the jaundice and other symptoms disappeared. During most of the weeks of illness, she had been far too sick to work even if she’d wanted to. She certainly had needed to, because from an armchair in the apartment she shared with sixteen-year-old Will, she’d watched the savings she had so carefully hoarded dwindle to nothing.

  “We’ve been open again for a while now,” she said. “We’ve passed all the inspections. The problem was an infected line cook. Luckily hepatitis A is almost never fatal.”

  “I imagine the publicity wasn’t good for business.”

  More customers arrived, and Amber headed for the rear of the store and the men’s section.

  Things From the Springs was smaller than many thrift stores she’d frequented. They were loosely affiliated with a local children’s charity, and volunteers did much of the sorting and pricing.

  She liked visiting Things because she could be in and out in less than an hour, often with vintage clothing she could cut and use for crafts to sell in her Etsy shop. An example was tucked securely in her purse today, a zipper pouch created from a brocade jacket and embroidered with the name of her landlord’s wife. It had turned out so well she posted a photo on her shop’s page, hoping to get orders for more.

  The pouch bulged with money, mostly tips she had carefully collected to pay one of the two months of back rent she owed. Even after she’d showed her suspicious landlord a letter from the health department, he had begun eviction proceedings. She had managed to stave him off, promising to pay the first month today and the second in two weeks. She hoped the additional gift for his wife might make him feel better about his decision.

  Her son had been more than patient during her months of unemployment. Will was a straight A student at the local high school and held down a part-time job stocking shelves at a local grocery store. He had taken on additional hours during her illness and brought home expired or damaged food that was destined for salvage stores or landfills. He had treated his quest like a treasure hunt and never wished out loud that his life was more like the easier ones of the other teens in his advanced placement classes.

  Will wasn’t perfect. He was sometimes messy, sometimes oblivious, often determined his way was best, but they’d been a team, just the two of them, from the very beginning of his life. And Amber knew her son would do anything for her, just as she had done everything for him. Much more than Will knew.

  Today if she had early bird luck, she was going to buy him a surprise. Things From the Springs had a special rack dedicated to sports teams, and there was always a good selection. She was hoping to find one with the pirate flag of Will’s favorite professional football team, the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. For the first time, her tips from the night before had been nearly as large as pre-hepatitis days, and she was hopeful she might be digging her way out of trouble. She would be happy just to pay rent on time, put a full tank of gas in the car and buy fresh food at the grocery store now and then.

  Fifteen minutes later she was on her way back to the front of the now-empty store, a paper-thin but appropriately logoed T-shirt clutched under her arm. The size and price were right, and while Will wouldn’t get much wear before it fell apart, he would be delighted.

  She was starting to feel lucky. Her landlord had begrudgingly given her a little time to settle their account. After everything she still had her job, and restaurant traffic showed signs of improving. Today she had just enough extra to buy the shirt.

  “You found something,” Ida said. “I saw you heading to the back.”

  “It’s for my son.” Amber laid the shirt on the long counter. “He’s a Bucs fan.”

  “These have been going fast. Apparently, he’s not alone.” She rang up the amount as Amber reached down to unzip her purse.

  Only the purse wasn’t zipped.

  She spread it wide and peered inside. Without ceremony and with more than a touch of panic, she dumped the contents on the counter. Keys fell out. A pack of tissues. Her tiny coin purse, which held the extra money she hadn’t put into the zip purse destined for the landlord and his wife. Nothing else.

  “Run into a problem?”

  Amber gazed at the concerned woman’s face. “I had a zipper pouch in here, dark green silk, a name embroidered across it.”

  Ida read her expression correctly. “Did you open your purse here in the store? Could the pouch have fallen out?”

  Amber knew she’d had the zipper pouch when she left her apartment. She’d so carefully slipped it inside the purse. Surely she’d zipped it closed. She always did. She had lived in cities with pickpockets. But by now panic had obliterated all memories of the past hour.

  “I had it when I left my house.”

  “We’ll look together.” As Amber scraped her belongings back into her purse, the manager walked to the door, turned the lock and flipped the Closed sign. “That will buy us some time. We’ll find it.”

  Half an hour later, though, they were still empty-handed. They’d looked under tables, sorted through all the shirts in the back, followed Amber’s route through the store four separate times peering at the ground.

  “I’m so sorry,” Ida said. “But I have to unlock the front door. The high school lets out about now. They’ll start banging on the glass. I just know you’re going to find it somewhere. Your house or car maybe?”

  Amber knew she wasn’t. The truth was a tight knot in her stomach, all too familiar. She’d been slapped down again. The landlord wouldn’t believe her, and who could blame him? He probably didn’t need the money right away, but he would be furious she’d lied to him.

  She and Will would see that eviction notice after all.

  “Thank you for helping me look.” Amber cleared her throat. “I don’t think I’ll buy the shirt.”

  “Why don’t I just let you have it?”

  “No.” Amber took a breath and softened her tone. “But thank you.”

  She followed the manager to the front door as she unlocked it. “You’ll let me know when you find it?” Ida asked.

  Amber managed the tiniest of smiles. But in her mind she saw the early worm being swallowed, inch by wiggling inch. And somewhere, after the meal, a fat, happy robin was looking for more just like it.

  2

  SAVANNAH WESTMORE HATED TARPON Springs. She hated the cloying, inescapable heat; the tourist shops devoted to sponge diving; and most of all Coastal Winds, the public high school where she’d been parked by her stepmother, Cassie Costas, to finish her education without friends or allies.

  Until now she’d spent every one of her fifteen years in Manhattan, where stores were filled with colorful designer merchandise, and she could stroll and shop Fifth Avenue with a wide circle of friends. She had attended Pfeiffer Grant Academy, an elite private school, studied creative movement at the School of American Ballet and Shotokan karate with an internationally acclaimed black belt.

  Karate was something she had done with her father. It had been his idea to take classes together, just the two of them. Mark Westmore had steadily progressed with his daughter, learning kata, kicks and punches, and practicing together until he injured his back on his sailboat and was banned from returning.

  After his death Cassie had urged Savannah to keep attending classes because she thought karate would be an outlet for her grief and anger. She’d even volunteered to go with her, although martial arts had never interested her in the past. Savannah had seen straight through the offer. Cassie wanted her forgiveness. She wanted the world to think she was struggling through her own grief to help the girl she treated like a real daughter.

  But Savannah knew the truth. Cassie was responsible for her father’s death.

  Now one of the two girls standing next to h
er at the edge of the parking lot pulled out cigarettes, selected one and slid it between her lips. Savannah watched her dig in her purse for a lighter, long green fingernails scraping against the sides. Witchy hands went perfectly with the girl’s purple fauxhawk, neck tattoo of a phoenix and perpetual scowl.

  The other girl tossed a waterfall of black hair over one shoulder and began to buff her nails against a white T-shirt tied at the waist. She inclined her head toward a store across the parking lot. “There’s a bunch of cool stuff in there. I found a denim jacket at the beginning of the summer, ripped in all the right places.”

  As far as Savannah could tell, it would always be too hot in this excuse for a town to wear any kind of jacket. Every morning she pulled her long brown hair into a knot on the top of her head to keep her neck from melting. Instead of the uniform she’d worn at the academy, she wore shorts or capris, shirts that barely covered her navel, skirts that just skimmed past her underwear.

  But even though she’d always yearned to toss her school uniform aside, her new freedom meant nothing. She would never fit in. The girls here had some kind of secret code, and nothing she wore, did or said made the grade. She was reasonably pretty, with large hazel eyes and no feature overwhelming any other. She wasn’t short or tall, fat or skinny. Once someone had told her she was 1960s small-town cheerleader material. It wasn’t a compliment.

  Minh, the girl buffing her nails, had told Savannah she was trying too hard. Minh’s family had come from Vietnam when she was still in elementary school, and after they moved to Tarpon Springs, she’d just watched and waited until she figured out what to do and who to do it with.

  From what Savannah could tell, Minh hadn’t exactly grasped the rules. The girls she hung around with were, for the most part, losers. Helia, the purple-haired outcast, who was now taking deep drags on her cigarette, was the prime example. At least Minh was smart enough not to draw attention to herself. Helia reminded Savannah of a pit bull. Stocky build and a suspicious squint made more sinister by thick black eyeliner. Of course pit bulls could be loyal and funny, but Savannah was pretty sure Helia was neither.