Page 23 of Clara Knows Best

This sounded like very good logic, so she took his advice to heart and cried all the way home.

When they reached the house, her aunt met them at the front door. Liesl whisked her upstairs and into the shower, remarking brightly that the May-queen dress had come through unscathed. But Clara thought it might be time to give the dress to Lorelei, after all.

As soon as she had dressed in sweats and slippers, she headed back downstairs to join her mother on the couch by the fireplace.

“You need to eat,” Dr. Wilder said, tucking a blanket around her. “I can’t cook for you, but I got you a cordon bleu chef.”

“What will it be?” Liesl asked. “I brought apple strudel muffins and jalapeño bacon quiche, but I can make something else if that doesn’t sound good. Chocolate chip pancakes? Mocha latte? Lasagna?”

“I’m not sure I can eat right now,” Clara admitted.

Liesl held up her open hands in a bracing gesture. “Think about it. Meanwhile, look at the cookies you ordered.”

“Oh, you brought them?” she asked, struggling to be interested in something that would have fascinated her a couple hours ago.

But when Liesl showed her the frosted sugar cookies she’d made for the medical practice, Clara felt her enthusiasm rekindling. They were shaped like hearts, decorated in pastels, and bore the classic sayings from conversation heart candy.

“Oh, these look so sweet. How did you get the words to look so neat?”

“Practice.”

“‘Fax Me,’” Dr. Wilder read. “That’s pretty good, coming from a doctor’s office.”

Clara agreed. “Thank you for making these, Auntie. They’re exactly what I wanted.”

“Well, I normally hate working with frosting, but these were pretty fun.”

“Could I really have a mocha?” Clara asked her a little sheepishly.

“Of course. Coming right up.”

Clara recalled suddenly that Jesse had been starving hours ago, and hoped he had gotten something to eat.

7

Clara had told him that Dr. Wilder’s new offices were nice, but he hadn’t really believed her. The old offices had been cramped little rooms in a stucco strip mall, but Dr. Wilder didn’t care about aesthetics. She cared about results.

But the new place had definitely been chosen with aesthetics in mind. At half-past seven on Monday morning, he stood beside the borrowed Maserati, taking in the prospect before him: a freshly painted, meticulously landscaped Victorian mansion.

It was right around the block from Main Street on a corner lot, and the three other houses that shared the intersection were of similar age and style, though not as kept up. The surrounding neighborhood was residential, and the atmosphere was calm and sedate—kind of like Grace Wilder herself.

There was a small parking lot tucked to one side of the house, and a carved wooden sign on the front lawn bore the names of both partners:

ROMEO FAMILY HEALTH

Melinda Pike, D.O.

Grace Wilder, M.D.

Se Habla Español

He went up the wide steps, noting that the massive porch was in perfect condition—everything was—and the brass handle on the mahogany door gleamed in the morning sun.

I’m not buying this place. I’m not falling for this.

A little bell tinkled as he entered the hushed waiting room. Heavy curtains had not yet been drawn back from the large windows; it was too early for patients, and the only other car in the lot had been Clara’s twenty-year-old Mercedes.

The interior of the house was as pristine as the exterior, and he found himself gazing all around in appreciation of the architectural details and subtle, well-appointed décor.

---