“Perfect,” Sara said. “Any more questions? Everyone knows what they’re to do?”
“How’s Sheriff Flynn?” Kate asked. “He’s alone in the house.”
Randal spoke up. “I called his wife, Evie, and she showed up with wine and burgers. The top floor is locked, and Daryl said he has no plan to tell her what’s up there. When I talked to him, he was feeling no pain.”
“Good job,” Sara said. “Jack, will you give me a ride to the storage units? Kate, take my car. Baer’s doesn’t deliver lamps and my back seat folds down. It holds more.” With a wide grin, she started to her room. “I never did take photos of the house. I’m going to do a magnificent before-and-after spread.”
When they were alone, Jack, Kate, and Randal looked at each other.
“I feel like I just survived a tsunami,” Kate said.
“My sister is—” Randal began, but when they heard Sara’s door click, they scurried apart. They had been given work to do.
Six
BARBARA ADAIR
Barbara’s agent sent her a hand-delivered letter. One of the perks of her success was that she didn’t have to answer calls or texts or emails. “If they want me, they know where I live,” she would say. “And if they don’t know where I live, then...” She always dramatically left the end of that sentence unfinished.
“Sell it, baby,” her husband, Harry, used to say. “Remind them of who they believe you are.” He’d died years before, but she still missed him.
She took the envelope into the kitchen. As always, her son was eating. At his age, calories just added muscle. Barbara knew that if she so much as nibbled a tortilla chip the weight would show up in her next film.
“What is it?” he asked, his mouth full.
“Another invitation, I guess,” she said. She knew people didn’t care if she showed up or not, just that the internet said she was there. She slit the heavy vellum open. Her agent believed in elegance. “I’m invited to go to—” When she saw the name “Lachlan,” she felt dizzy. Only years of training made her able to stay upright. What had they found out? If that odious man, Derek Oliver, could discover the truth, others could too. It was so long ago that maybe now it wouldn’t matter. But she knew that wasn’t true. Old scandals were the love of the tabloids—and of that awful thing called “social media.”
She put the invitation back into the envelope, acting as though it meant nothing to her, then put it in the roll out trash bin. Her hands were shaking.
“Someone else trying to use you as a stepping stone?” her son asked.
“How clever you are!” she said enthusiastically. “You always see through to the truth. I, uh... I have to make some calls. Are you going out today?”
“I thought I’d go see Phil and the guys. You’ll be okay alone?”
“Perfectly. Take the Porsche.”
“Thanks.” He smiled at her fondly.
The minute she left the room, he got the envelope out of the trash. He hadn’t been fooled by her act. Since he was a child, he’d been able to tell the actress from his “real” mother. He and his dad used to laugh about it. Sometimes they’d chant, “Real! Real! Real!” and she would drop the facade the cameras so adored. He and his dad loved the woman whose hair tended to fly about, who had circles under her eyes, and liked to tear off her nails. Her favorite outfit was a gray sweat suit with paint stains.
When he read the invitation, his heart seemed to stop. Lachlan? He knew what that meant.
He memorized the date, then carefully put the envelope back in the trash, exactly in the way he’d found it. His mother had an excellent memory for detail. She often corrected the set dresser when things were out of place from where they’d been the day before. She might see that her invitation wasn’t exactly where she’d tossed it. Or, more likely, she’d return to put it in the garbage disposal.
Minutes later, she did just that, but by then her son was bent over his phone and seemingly oblivious to all that was around him. He ignored the sound of the disposal.
That night when she said that she had to go see a site location and that she’d be gone for a few days, he didn’t so much as look up from his video controller. “Sure. See you when you get back.”
As soon as she left the room, he booked a plane ticket. One way, just in case. Like his father had been, he was a great believer in things happening for a reason.
RACHEL MEYERS TOLLMAN
The housekeeper handed Rachel a FedEx envelope, saying she’d had to sign for it to acknowledge receipt.
Rachel murmured thanks and the woman left, closing the door behind her. Rachel was in her office, her sanctuary in the big house. She’d inherited the eighteenth-century desk from her dear grandmother. “A life well lived,” she used to say. “It’s all you can hope for.”
Rachel pulled the tab to open the envelope, and when she saw the name on the letter, she sat down hard. Lachlan House. That conjured up memories that she’d long ago buried. She didnotwant to bring them back to life.
