“I heard she burnt the recipes on her deathbed,” Essie hypothesized. “Lord knows that’s what I’m doing with my diary before I croak.”

“She always was the secretive type.” Renee studied the sample portrait as if she were a student of Monet’s. “She was quick to share a dessert but never a recipe. And lord knows I asked more than once.”

“So true. Not that I can bake to save my life but I remember even I begged her once or twice for her vanilla-peach pie secrets,” Dot admitted.

“I remember how she always arrived at the annual Fourth of July celebration with countless whoopie pies as well as seven different pies,” Sadie said.

“Why was it always seven?” Renee asked.

“Her lucky number, I guess?” ventured Sadie. “My favorite was the cranberry-caramel. Yum!”

“Yes to that and all the other six, please!” Bree declared, making everyone laugh.

“What I remember most was the way she smelled.” Sadie sighed. “Sugar and vanilla, all the time. I could use a little of that magic right now.”

The women all grew quiet, not quite sure what to say.

Of course Essie broke the silence. “And how are your parents doing? Every time a new listing comes on the market, I send them a quick email. I always thought they’d be back in Cranberry Cove by now. I mean, D.C. is exciting and fast-paced if that’s your scene, but few places are as special as the Cove.”

“I thought so too,” admitted Sadie, her voice small. “But my dad has his dream job, and now they have their dream house. No, I don’t suspect they’ll be back anytime soon. Maybe never. But, um, they visit, of course.”

“Of course,” Renee replied.

Sadie’s parents had been high school sweethearts and homecoming king and queen. They had married right after college, settling in their hometown. Christopher had been a financial adviser with kind eyes and a broad smile, both of which Sadie had inherited. Melissa had worked in his office, always sporting the impossibly neat good looks of a Stepford wife.

Her parents had led a polished, practical life and they’d expected nothing less from Sadie. They’d kept an immaculate home and yard. They’d made an appearance at every important fund-raiser, always donating the perfect amount of money—not so little as to look stingy, but not so much as to look ostentatious. And the family had never missed a Sunday service at the local Episcopal church, wearing freshly ironed clothes, of course.

To Renee’s knowledge, they now visited Cranberry Cove once each year—usually in the summertime—while the Landrys made the trip down to D.C. when they could.

It wasn’t enough time, not in Renee’s opinion.

When Tansy was two, Renee called her mother approximately twelve times a day. Plus, her mom lived just down the road and would stop by at least a few times each week, always with a casserole, fresh flowers, or an interesting article she’d cut out of a magazine. And she’d also had Bree and a husband who didn’t spend half the week in Boston.