“He would have claimed the house if he could have,” Alish said. “It represents everything to him, what he should have been given but wasn’t. It’s the life he should have been born into.”
“Like his grandfather.” Sara stood up. “Jack. There’s something about Jack. Where is Reid?”
“Maybe in the mausoleum. He always liked that place.”
Sara left the cottage and ran across the property to the other end, where the stone mausoleum of James and Mary Lachlan lay, their son entombed beside them. Sara hadn’t seen the place since she and Cal had been there. It had given her cold chills. He’d teased her, saying she usually liked graveyards.
Sara said, “I like history. You find out a lot from reading headstones.” She’d frowned at the big mausoleum. “But this place is different.”
“Haunted by the dead?” he’d asked, still teasing.
“Far from it. It’s still alive.”
Cal had halted, the big shears in his hands as he cut away Florida’s rampant growth. “Okay, that’s it. Tell me your story of dead people who are still alive.”
She’d sat down as far as she could get from the stone structure and made up a story for him, as she often did. She didn’t tell him that her story had nothing to do with the Lachlan tomb. That was real, not made up.
Now she saw that door was open a couple of inches. She hesitated before pushing it fully open. She should wait for others to come. She should...
When she saw a flicker of light, a candle, then heard a sound that seemed to come from Kate, she pushed the door open.
Against the back wall, Kate was tied to a chair, her mouth bound with a gag. It was the sweaty bandanna Reid had used earlier. Her eyes were wild with fear, and she moved her head to the right, directing Sara to look.
Stretched out on the tall stone coffin of James Lachlan was Jack, his arms crossed over his chest. The pose of death.
Sara took a step toward him and put her hand on his heart. He was alive. She gave a nod to Kate.
Through all of this, Sara had not looked behind her, but she knew what was there. Reid was in the darkest corner, a gun pointed at her.
Sara willed her heart to slow down so she could think. She knew about narcissistic personalities, people who believed they were entitled to have whatever they wanted. She also knew how they liked to talk about themselves. It may all be flamboyant, self-loving lies, but they loved the sound of their own voices.
“This should all be yours,” she said quietly. “Why isn’t it?” She was trying to sound caring, even concerned.
“You,” he said.
Sara suppressed the urge to defend herself. “My writing? The searching for the story of your family?”
“That man! He was a boy. That’s all he was. Thenhim!” Reid nodded toward Jack.
Sara didn’t understand, but she needed to stall. “Did you know that the handsome man in the movie,Only Once, was your grandfather?”
That startled him so much that for a moment his hand wavered and the gun went down a bit. “My grandfather was hanged for murder. I was told that by my rich, greedy grandmother. She gave me little.”
Sara bit her tongue to keep from replying. All narcissists thought that there was never enough given to them. “She should have told you the truth.”
“About a movie star relative? Yeah, she should have, but that wouldn’t have helped. He kept it all secret.”
Sara wasn’t sure who “he” was. James Lachlan, maybe? “But Derek Oliver found out the truth?”
Reid gave her an appraising look. “Are you trying to put me into one of your stories?”
“I want to know what Jack has to do with anything,” she said truthfully. To her left she saw a flicker of movement. Kate was trying to work free of her bonds. Sara stepped forward so Reid’s eyes looked at her, away from Kate. “What does Jack have to do with any of this?”
Reid gave a snort of derision. “You think you’re so clever but you didn’t figure it out?”
“No,” Sara said honestly. “I didn’t.”
“The Palm Room filled with Brazilian art? Oliver knew! He searched and snooped and dug into everything. Lachlan had it all in that room.”
