The Suburbs Have Secrets by Barbara Wallace

Author:Barbara Wallace
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Barbara Wallace

18

Lindsay and her husband, Carlos, lived on Cartwright Street. Better known in our office as Billionaire’s Woods—the B used to differentiate it from neighborhoods with regular old million dollar homes. Believe it or not, there once was a time when Woodbridge had more land than people. Of course, that was before the housing boom, when the farmers and orchard owners realized they could leave their children a far more lucrative legacy if they sold off their land to real estate developers, making the town the leafy suburb it is today.

The Cartwright land represented the final frontier. Space but with wetlands, pine trees, and some kind of endangered newt. For a long time, that newt made the land undevelopable. But then, out of the blue, the newt stopped being an issue. The zoning laws changed, and Ben Cartwright—yes, like the TV character—decided to cash in. Billionaire Woods was born.

Pulling into Lindsay’s circular driveway, I did my best to swallow the envy rising in my throat. Usually, fancy real estate didn’t bother me. I’d long grown content with my modest little house and what it represented, but there was something about Lindsay’s place that left a longing sensation in my chest.

It wasn’t that her place was overly large or fancy. Jennifer’s house took the crown in both those categories and her house didn’t affect me in the least. No, it was that Lindsay’s house was freaking idyllic. A custom built post and beam, it looked like it had been sitting in Cartwright Woods for two hundred years, just waiting for someone to discover the modern luxury hidden within.

And naturally, Lindsay had been the one to find it. Honest to God, there were days when I was certain her purpose on earth was to make me and the rest of the world look inferior.

“Absolutely not,” Lindsay said when she answered the door. I was about to look over my shoulder when I realized she was talking into her Bluetooth earpiece. “I don’t feel like dealing with those PC nut bags screaming we’re disrespecting the Cherokees or whatever. Bad enough you screwed up the invitations. Use the new logo so we don’t get any complaints.”

She motioned with beige acrylic-tipped fingers for me to come inside. I’ll just be a minute, she mouthed. “And order at least a dozen extra. In case people change their minds and decide to show at the last minute.”

As she carried her conversation toward the kitchen, I hung up my damp coat on one of the hooks that lined the entryway wall and made my way to the great room where we held our meetings. Again, the place was perfect. With its giant stone fireplace and glass windows, the room could have been taken from the pages of a design magazine. Had been, in fact. Lindsay all but admitted as much once after too much Chardonnay. I couldn’t help thinking how Marylou had done the same thing with her living room. Only while Marylou’s room came across as looking staged, Lindsay’s did not.

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