Victoria described the skill as part of his hot professor vibe. One that he nurtured and used to his advantage, which led to the accusations of his being a serial cheater. A man who lost his mother, then spent a lifetime searching for the affection stolen from him. Craving more than his wife and kids could ever provide.
Back then all of Victoria’s diatribes felt like whining. She had so much and demanded even more. The husband. The kids. The gorgeous wardrobe. The big house. The flashy ring.
In contrast, Patrick came off as misunderstood. He could cry on command. Speak volumes about Victoria’s good qualities, always supporting her even as she left him alone to rush off to attend her charity luncheons and art auctions.
“Why did you call us here to...” I looked at the house and the thatched windows Xavier had updated over a decade ago for historical accuracy. “This house.”
Hanna didn’t say anything for a few seconds. She crumpled the papers in her hands but didn’t seem to notice until the noise jolted her back into talking. “I’ve been getting notes.”
Stella nodded at Hanna’s lap. “Those?”
“What?” Hanna frowned, looking lost. Then she seemed to catch up with the conversation. “No. This is the trust paperwork. The lawyer delivered the information, along with the keys and the alarm codes, earlier. He wasn’t kidding in that room. The house, all of it, goes to Jeremy. It can’t be sold until he’s twenty-five.”
Stella whistled. “Damn.”
Patrick didn’t bring in piles of cash but Xavier had. Decades ago, he’d set up a transportation company and bought cheap land and built warehouses up and down the East Coast. Companies signed with him to get their goods where they needed to be. The business was lucrative and made the family’s lifestyle possible. Allowed Patrick to dabble and write rather than commute to an office or pursue the business degree Xavier preferred he have.
Patrick had opened the bookstore in town, only a few blocks down from where Hanna’s café now sat, but that really was just an extension of his writing career. Victoria once told me it made money because people came to see Patrick and his university colleagues, but it didn’t even need that. Xavier subsidized the whole venture.
Now the major recipient of Xavier’s impressive haggling and hours at work came down to a party of one. Jeremy.
“There’s this odd comment in here...” Hanna fixated on something in the distance. “Who’s that?”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Marni
Stella and I spun around. A figure sprinted across the far end of the grounds along the edge of the pond, following the fence line and disappearing behind an outcropping of stones, into a nest of trees.
The body build looked male, but the all-black outfit suggested the person had dressed to hide their appearance. That meant the trespasser could be anyone.
We all watched. Hanna jumped to her feet. We moved in a huddle away from the fountain and the pool. Deeper into the property, filled with a wealth of subtle hills and valleys. Perfect for hiding.
“Someone being nosy or a reporter? Maybe a kid, hoping to rob the place.” The timing didn’t make sense on that last one, but I said it anyway. “Even though it’s light outside, which I admit sounds odd.”
“Could it be Aubrey?” Stella asked as she strained and scanned.
I didn’t put anything past Aubrey. She absolutely was the typeto stalk her grandfather’s home and cause a new round of trouble, but pinning this on her seemed like a stretch. Why sneak in? She probably had a key or maybe not. Who the hell knew?
“We should follow the person,” I suggested.
Stella snorted. “And do what? Throw a shoe at them?”
Without thinking or agreeing, we walked from the safety of the house and the cars. Not running but not hesitating. Keeping our gaze focused on the last point where the person stood before they vanished.
“Would you prefer we ignore someone spying on us?” I made the idea sound ridiculous but could see the benefit in doing that.
This time Stella rolled her eyes. She had a wealth of annoying gestures at the ready and aimed them with precision now. “You don’t know that’s what’s happening.”
She wasn’t wrong. I didn’t. “Then we’ll call the police.”
Stella stopped, forcing me to join her. We stood, facing each other, lost in a debate. Much safer than chasing after a person who could be armed.
“Great idea. Bring in the police. That won’t shine a spotlight on us and raise questions about what we’re doing here, at this house, together.” Stella shook her head. “Come on. Think.”
For a therapist, Stella sure could whip out the superior teacher voice. Well, I had one, too. “We’ll say we’re worried about Hanna. Something a decent person might say.”
“Okay, but—”
