"A fascinating tale of murder and romance blended with a bit of paranormal creates a delightful novel."
Reviewed by Viki Ferrell
Posted January 16, 2010
Romance Contemporary | Paranormal | Mystery
Lucy Valentine finds herself forced to run her father's
business while he is away recuperating from a heart attack.
It's the last thing in the world she wants to do. You see,
her dad owns Valentine's, Inc., a successful matchmaking
business in Boston. He possesses a "gift" for reading auras
and matching couples, but Lucy does not have that
particular gift. How is she going to run his business and
make the right matches? Lucy's special "gift" is finding lost articles. When she
shakes the hand of a person who has lost something while
they are thinking about that item, she can see exactly
where the item is located. And how is that going to help
her make matches? As her first client gets ready to leave her office and she
shakes his hand, she sees the engagement ring he gave a
long-lost love on a skeleton buried in a local park. Her
interest in reuniting her client and his lost love is
immediately peaked and leads her to enlist the help of
their upstairs tenant, a private investigator. But as she
goes up to talk to him, she finds that he is away as well,
and his brother, Sean Donahue, is running the business. As Lucy and Sean are digging up bones and traipsing across
two states in search of her client's lost love, as well as
answers to the dead body they found, another "gift" emerges
that really frightens Lucy. She can see glimpses of her
future with Sean -- and it scares her to death. This is
because she thinks she possesses the "Cupid's Curse" that
everyone in her family seems to have. No marriage in the
Valentine family ever seems to work out, even if the
couples stay together. Heather Webber has woven a fascinating tale of
murder and romance, while blending it with a little of the
paranormal to create a delightful novel. You'll laugh at
Lucy's antics, her grandmother Dovie and her friends and
family as this story unravels and reveals the true identity
of the murderer and the murdered.
SUMMARY
Lucy Valentine is as smart as can be, as single as you can
get, and so not qualified to run a matchmaking service. But
when her parents temporarily step down from the family
business, Valentine, Inc., it’s Lucy’s turn to step up and
help out—in the name of love. Plus, her rent is due. Here’s the problem: Lucy doesn’t have the knack for
matchmaking. According to family legend, every Valentine has
been blessed by Cupid with the ability to read “auras” and
pair up perfect couples. But not Lucy. Her skills were
zapped away years ago in an electrical surge, and now all
she can do is find lost objects. What good is that in the
matchmaking world? You’d be surprised. In a city like
Boston, everyone’s looking for something. So when Lucy
locates a missing wedding ring—on a dead body—she asks the
sexy private eye who lives upstairs to help her solve the
perfect crime. And who knows? Maybe she’ll find the perfect
love while she’s at it…
ExcerptChapter OneThere comes a time in every girl’s life when she realizes
her father isn’t perfect. For me that discovery had come many years ago and recurred
with shocking regularity. Most recently the realization struck again after my father
had a near-fatal heart attack while partaking in the
horizontal tango on a Marblehead beach with a woman other
than my mother. He being with someone else wasn’t the shocker. It was the fact that he’d been on a beach. My father
detested sand. Luckily, his current flame must have had experience with
the occasional cardiac arrest because she had seen to it
that my father was in an ambulance and on his way to Mass
General before any permanent damage to his ticker had taken
place. That had been two weeks ago. Currently I watched him pace his spacious designer bedroom,
trekking back and forth from his walk-in closet to the bed,
where two T. Anthony leather suitcases sat open atop the
rumpled duvet. Sunlight filled the room from a bank of
floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Boston Harbor, making
it seem bright and cheerful when the atmosphere was
anything but. My father, Oscar Valentine, was handsome in a distinguished
old-fashioned movie star kind of way. He’d turned fifty-
five in August but could pass for late forties easily.
Standing six feet tall, he had a slim, trim build thanks to
his regular workouts at his exclusive condominium gym and
his health-nut lifestyle. The heart attack had come as
quite a surprise. “Stop it, Lucy,” he ordered me. He ran a hand through his
silver-streaked dark hair and looked around the bedroom for
anything he may have forgotten. I tried not to notice how pale he appeared against the
chocolate brown walls. “Stop what?” “Staring at the bed that way.” I had been staring. As much as I tried, I couldn’t stop
thinking about how many women had been in it with him. And
why he’d risk his stellar reputation by getting caught with
a bimbo on the beach. After twenty-eight years of having him as a father, I
should be used to his behavior by now. I wasn’t. I’d always
known my father had women on the side, but I’d never seen
one, never heard him speak of one, and honestly, I wished I
was still living in denial. “And you,” he said to my mother, “you can stop smirking,
Judith.” My mother, Judie, fanned her face with an Architectural
Digest magazine. At fifty, she was smack-dab in the middle
of menopause and losing the battle with hot flashes. “A
beach, Oscar? You couldn’t have ponied up for a decent
hotel?” “You do have more than enough money,” I piped in. As one of
the country’s wealthiest men, money was the least of his
worries. “Fifteen Beacon is a nice place. Or the Charles.” The pages of the magazine flapped, creating a cool
breeze. “I’ve always been partial to the Ritz-Carlton. Ooh,
or the Boston Harbor Hotel. All are discreet. Much more so
than a public beach.” My father stopped mid-pace and took a good long hard look
at us, shook his head as though he were a man long-
suffering, and resumed packing. He folded an Armani shirt
into a neat square and placed it on top of the other six
he’d already packed in the suitcase. “You two are not
amusing.” “Oh, we are too,” my mother countered. Her elbow poked my
ribcage. “Aren’t we?” I agreed. “We’re nothing if not amusing.” I think my father mumbled something about thanking God he
was getting away. Running away, was more like it. Because in the eyes of the public, Oscar Valentine, the
country’s premier matchmaker, had blatantly forsaken
monogamy. He’d been caught, quite literally, with his pants
down. And if he couldn’t find everlasting love, then how
could his clients? There was nothing like a scandal to
obliterate his nearly perfect matchmaking track record. The papers, especially the Herald, were having a field day.
Reporters were still calling, trying to garner an exclusive
interview with the King of Love himself. His mistress-of-the-week had already sold out. Her
interview hit newsstands last Thursday. It didn’t take
long for my father to suddenly decide he needed a little R
& R. In St. Lucia. What the public didn’t know was that my parents had been
happily leading separate lives for close to twenty-five
years now. Sure, they were married, but in name only, both
agreeing that a renowned matchmaker seeking a divorce would
be bad for the family business and, therefore, their bank
accounts. So my mother, Judie, had claimed the manor house in
Cohasset, and my father, Oscar, had kept his penthouse
condo in Boston’s exclusive Waterfront district. They’d
remained close friends, sometimes lovers, and constant
companions. They were great parents, if a bit odd. No wonder I turned out as I did. What the public also didn’t know was that although the
Valentines had been able to successfully matchmake for
generations, they were hopeless at matching themselves.
Every single Valentine marriage had failed. It was the
family’s best-kept secret. Well, almost. My father zipped one suitcase, set to work on the other. He
snapped his fingers. “Forgot my bathing suit.” “Lord, I hope it’s not the thong,” my mother whispered,
shuddering. “No man over fifty should own one, let alone
wear one. Someone should tell him.” “Don’t look at me,” I said. My father popped his head out of his huge walk-in closet,
stared at us. He raised a silver streaked eyebrow in
question and then he disappeared again. However, not five
seconds had gone by before he said, “Now listen, Lucy.” His
voice rumbled. “I’ve left a detailed list with Suzannah.
She’ll get you settled.” I straightened. “Settled?” Out popped his head again, like a mole in an arcade
game. “Yes. Settled. At the office.” “Office?” He sighed, heavy and deep. I’d heard that sigh many times
in my life, starting with when I wanted to dye my blond
hair magenta all the way to when I told him I wanted to
make it on my own, without the trust fund he’d set up for
me. But mostly when I decided to forsake the family
business and go into hotel management. The magenta hair had been spectacular. Turned out, he was
right about the hotel thing. It wasn’t for me. Neither was
my stint, among other things, as a dental hygienist,
barista at Starbucks, personal assistant, or more recently,
day-care worker. And sometimes I missed the money. Like when my rent was
overdue. Like now. “Are you listening, Lucy?” I realized he’d been chattering away. “No.” He sighed again. Twice in one day. This was a personal
record. Pulling the strap down over my heel, I slipped off my
shoes. “It’s silly for me to take over the business. You
know I can’t—” “You’ll start,” he glanced at his Cartier roadster
watch, “in an hour. Suzannah is expecting you. You have
meetings with clients all afternoon.” Sure, I was currently between jobs but knew the family
business would be better off without me. He had to know it,
too. “What do you mean?” “You,” he said slowly, losing patience. “Meetings. What
don’t you understand, Lucy?” “Me,” I said slowly, echoing him. “Taking your meetings.
That’s what I don’t understand. Haven’t you been listening
to me?” He adopted his stern voice, one saved for my most egregious
errors. “You, Lucy Juliet Valentine, have an obligation to
this family.” “Now, Oscar.” My mother fanned furiously, her cheeks fire
engine red. He held up a hand. “You know as well as I, Judie, that a
Valentine must be at the helm of the business. Otherwise it
will sink. Think of all the love lives out there that will
flounder without our help leading them in the right
direction. I’ve already missed too much work as is, with
the attack and all. Someone needs to take over while I’m
gone. And that someone is you, Lucy.” I rose and strode to the windows, the thick carpet
squishing between my bare toes. Outside, the sun was losing
its battle with a thick layer of clouds. Snowflakes whirled
in a mesmerizing pattern, floating downward, disappearing
into the dark choppy water of the harbor. Soon it would be
Thanksgiving and then Christmas. People hated to spend holidays alone. Business would be
booming, all those lonely hearts looking for love. Coming to me for help. The thought turned my stomach. “How? You know perfectly
well I don’t have—” He cut me off. “Fake it.” “Don’t you think that will lose clients faster than someone
else running the company?” “The key to our success is in our genes. Our DNA. It has to
be a Valentine running the company. You’re it, Lucy. The
last in a long line of Valentines— until you have children
of your own.” For a second there, I thought he was going to lecture me
about having babies. I heard enough of that from my
grandmother, Dovie, every chance she got. It was true every Valentine had the ability to matchmake.
We’d been blessed with the ability to pair lovers for
centuries. Rumor in the family was that the gift had been
bestowed on an ancestor by Cupid himself. But my dad left out one small detail. Every blood Valentine possessed this gift except me. Mine had been zapped right out of me by an electrical surge
when I was fourteen, only to be replaced with an
extrasensory talent of a completely different sort. My mother set down the magazine, looked at me. “You don’t
have to do it.” “I heard that!” my father shouted. “Glad your hearing wasn’t affected by the infarction,” she
snapped playfully. I loved the way they bantered with each other. Actually, if
they weren’t so busy pretending their marriage was a sham,
they could probably make a decent go of it. The mistresses not withstanding, of course. “Dammit! I can’t find my swim suit. Lucy?” He appeared,
blinking dark brown eyes at me. My mother shook her head, pleading with me not to do it. I looked between the two of them, seeing my own eyes in
theirs. I had my mother’s slightly downward shape, and a
blend of their colors—a golden brown. I could see a little
of myself in each of them, some traits I liked, some I
didn’t. But I knew one thing for sure. In a battle of
begging, my father would win hands-down every time. It was
the big, brown-eyed puppy-dog look that did me in. “Oh, all right,” I said to him. He held out his hand, and I took it between both my own. In
a flash, I saw the suit. “Third drawer on the right,
smushed behind the stack of Playboy magazines.” His cheeks colored. “Traitor,” my mother murmured as he went in search. Fighting the wave of dizziness that hit whenever I had a
vision, I sank next to her on the down loveseat. “Sorry.
Are you all packed?” “My bags are downstairs. We’ll take the water taxi over to
Logan.” “You don’t have to do it,” I said, echoing her words to me. She tucked a strand of hair that had escaped my ponytail
behind my ear. Tucking my hair had been a habit of hers
since I could remember. “Who can turn down a trip to St.
Lucia this time of year? I’d be a fool to say no. Plus,
there’s all that sand. I can’t resist the temptation to
tease your father.” “All right, but don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. And maybe
you should have Dad take a blood test when you get to the
island.” I looked at the bed. “Maybe two.” She eyed me suspiciously, the golden flecks in her hazel
eyes sparkling. “Is there anything you would do? You
haven’t had a date in three years.” “I’ve had plenty of dates.” “Just the ones Dovie’s set you up on. Those don’t count.” They really didn’t. “Maybe it’s time to find someone for you, LucyD,” she said,
using her pet nickname for me. “Why bother?” There hadn’t been a single Valentine marriage
that had escaped without divorce or separation. In our
family the inability to stay happily wed had become
depressingly known as Cupid’s Curse. It was truly a painful
irony—to have the ability to match…everyone else. My mother’s nose twitched. It did that when she knew I was
right but didn’t want to admit it. She dropped her head
onto my shoulder, cuddling. The gelled spikes of her edgy
pixie-styled blond hair pricked my cheek. “Better to love
and lose than never love at all?” “Good try, Mum.” “Aha!” Dad shouted, thong bikini in hand. My mother straightened. “Had you, of all people, doubted
her?” “Not at all. But it still amazes me.” “It” being my ability to find lost objects. My family liked to play up the Cupid part of our history,
but the truth was that every single Valentine had been
blessed with the psychic ability to read auras. A gift,
generations ago, my family capitalized on by professionally
matching lovers based on their colorful auras. The ability has always been kept secret. No one within the
family wanted to battle public perception. We knew of other
psychics labeled charlatans and frauds, and great pains
went into keeping the family name above reproach. Inquiries
as to our success rate were simply brushed off as being too
pedantic to answer. In turn, most thought my family snobby.
Simply not true, but a notion that was fostered to keep
curiosity at bay. When the electrical surge transformed my aura-reading
abilities into the gift of finding lost objects, a type of
ESP, it was also kept quiet because one revelation might
lead to another. Only a few within the family knew my
secret. And only a few trusted outsiders knew about the
auras. My dad held out his hand again and said, “Passport?” I took his outstretched palm, held it. Dizzying images
flashed. “In your library. Top desk drawer, right side.” “Thanks, Lucy. Are you sure you’re okay about taking over?
I know I can be pushy—” “Manipulating,” my mother corrected. He ignored her. “But the pay is good, plus you’ll be doing
your old man a favor.” “Lordy, not the guilt, too.” Three thin gold bangle
bracelets on her arms clanged as she shook her finger at
him. He shot her a look, then softened his gaze as he met
mine. “Lucy?” My rent was due. I had bills to pay. And besides, how long
would it be for, anyway? How many love lives could I screw
up in the span of a week or two? And maybe, just maybe, I
could use this time to figure out what I really wanted to
do with my life. “Okay.” He pulled me into a hug, squeezed tight. “That’s my girl.
Everything will be okay. Just go with your instincts.” My instincts stunk, but I kept that tidbit to myself. “You’re welcome to stay here, as well. Closer to the
office.” I thought about it for a split second before declining. I
loved my cottage, despite the fact that I rented it from
Dovie. Besides, if I lived here, I wouldn’t be able to
bring Grendel with me, since Dad was allergic to
cats. “Have you spoken with Dovie yet?” My grandmother had been vying to try her hand at
matchmaking for thirty years but had been denied since she
had married into the family and didn’t share the Valentine
gift. She wasn’t going to take well to my being in charge
of the business since she knew full well I lacked any
ability as well. “I’ll handle Dovie,” my mother said, standing. Tall and
pleasantly plump, she wore a flattering tunic top and dark
denim jeans. She slipped her feet into gold ballet slippers
and fastened her beautiful cream-colored cashmere wrap with
a chunky gold broach. My father zipped his last suitcase. I gave them both hugs,
elicited promises to send postcards, and made a snarky
comment about staying off the beaches. “Don’t look so grim, Lucy,” Dad said, ignoring my
jibe. “You’re dealing with matters of the heart. It’s not
like it’s life or death.” “I suppose you’re right.” But I couldn’t help but feel that
he was wrong. Dead wrong.
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