Unfinished Business by Nora Roberts

Vanessa’s father would never have forgiven her. But why had it severed her relationship with her daughter?
    She had to know. She would know. Vanessa rose and left the books scattered on the rug. She would know today.
    The rain had stopped, and the watery sunlight was already struggling through the clouds. Birdsong competed with the sound of a children’s television show that chirped through the window of the house next door. Though it was only a few blocks away, she drove to the antique shop. Under other circumstances she would have enjoyed the walk, but she wanted no interruptions from old friends and acquaintances. The old two-story house was just on the edge of town. The sign that read Loretta’s Attic was a graceful arch over the front door.
    There was an old-fashioned sleigh in the yard, its metal fittings polished to a gleam. A scarred whiskey barrel was filled to overflowing with petunias, their purple-and-white petals drenched with rain. On either side of the entrance, well-groomed beds spilled over with spring color. A beribboned grapevine wreath hung on the door. When she pushed it open, bells jingled.
    â€œIt’s circa 1860,” she heard her mother say. “One of my finest sets. I had it refinished locally by a man who does a great deal of work for me. You can see what a wonderful job he does. The finish is like glass.”
    Vanessa half listened to the exchange coming from the next room. Though she was frustrated to find her mother with a customer, the shop itself was a revelation.
    No dusty, cramped antique shop this. Exquisite glass-fronted cabinets displayed china, statuettes, ornate perfume bottles and slender goblets. Wood gleamed on each individual piece. Brass shone. Crystal sparkled. Though every inch of space was utilized, it was more like a cozy family home than a place of business. The scent of rose-and-spice potpourri wafted from a simmer pot.
    â€œYou’re going to be very happy with that set,” Loretta was saying as she walked back into the main room. “If you find it doesn’t suit after you get it home, I’ll be more than willing to buy it back from you. Oh, Vanessa.” After fumbling a moment, she turned to the young executive type beside her. “This is my daughter. Vanessa, this is Mr. Peterson. He’s from Montgomery County.”
    â€œDamascus,” he explained. He looked like a cat who’d been given a whole pitcher of cream. “My wife and I just bought an old farmhouse. We saw that dining room set here a few weeks ago. My wife hasn’t been able to talk about anything else. Thought I’d surprise her.”
    â€œI’m sure she’ll be thrilled.”
    Vanessa watched as her mother accepted his credit card and went briskly about completing the transaction.
    â€œYou’ve got a terrific place here, Mrs. Sexton,” he went on. “If you came over the county line, you’d have to beat off customers.”
    â€œI like it here.” She handed him his receipt. “I’ve lived here all my life.”
    â€œCute town.” He pocketed the receipt. “After our first dinner party, I can guarantee you some new customers.”
    â€œAnd I can guarantee I won’t beat them off.” She smiled at him. “Will you need some help Saturday when you pick it up?”
    â€œNo, I’ll drag a few friends with me.” He shook her hand. “Thanks, Mrs. Sexton.”
    â€œJust enjoy it.”
    â€œWe will.” He turned to smile at Vanessa. “Nice meeting you. You’ve got a terrific mother.”
    â€œThank you.”
    â€œWell, I’ll be on my way.” He stopped halfway to the door. “Vanessa Sexton.” He turned back. “The pianist. I’ll be damned. I just saw your concert in D.C. last week. You were great.”
    â€œI’m glad you enjoyed it.”
    â€œI didn’t expect to,” he admitted. “My wife’s the classical nut. I