As soon as he leaves and I’ve locked up again, I flop back onto the couch, pulling the spread over me. My mind is churning so fast, though,I know I won’t be falling back asleep anytime soon. What was that kiss supposed to mean? Did Sam just feel a sudden rush of affection because of our unified goal in finding Jamie’s killer? Or was he trying to say that there’s an attraction on his side, too, that the awkwardness I’ve always sensed from him was due to his feelings for me?
Or what if “If only I’d met you first” was him telling me that any chance for us has come and gone?
I WAKE EXHAUSTED, AND AFTER TAKING A QUICK SHOWER ONautopilot, I sit down to a simple breakfast in the kitchen. I’m starting a second mug of coffee, hoping to defog my brain, when my phone rings, and the screen flashes a number I don’t recognize—one with a local area code.
“Katherine Reed,” I answer, wondering if it could possibly be one of the police following up on their cell phone.
“Kiki, hello, it’s Mel Weber,” a woman’s voice replies. “Drew Larsson’s assistant.”
I know exactly who she is—I’ve met her in passing on several occasions. In addition to helping Drew run his portrait painting business, she apparently organizes his personal life with Heather—their calendar, any events they host, even their vacations. I assume she helped plan the memorial for Jamie, too.
“Hello, Mel,” I say, my senses on high alert. “How can I help you?”
“I’m calling on Drew’s behalf. He’d like to speak to you, and he’s hoping it can be sometime today.”
My stomach tightens. “Did he say what about?”
“He didn’t, no.”
I suspect she’s not totally in the dark, however. Jamie once remarked that Mel had an advanced degree in eavesdropping, so even if Drew hadn’t come right out and told her, she might have a clue.
“What he did say,” Mel adds, “is that he’d love you to come to the house. Heather will be there, too.”
Okay, that makes all the difference in the world. If Heather’s included and the meeting is held in their home, this get-together must be meant to be cordial. Obviously, Sam’s call had an impact, and Drew wants to hear about the dog rescue directly from me and delve deeper into my suspicions.
“Yes, today is fine, whenever works. I look forward to seeing both of them.”
“Let’s say four o’clock, then. Do you need directions to the house?”
“No, that won’t be necessary.”
How sad that Mel’s lost sight of how often I visited or assumes my relationship with Jamie is a distant memory to me. But the meeting is a very good sign, and I feel more upbeat than I have in days.
After we sign off, I pour a fresh cup of coffee and retreat to the dining room. I’m suddenly energized, eager to be at full throttle again and get back in sync with my work. The first thing I do is fire off an email to the disgruntled father saying that though I believe his son could benefit from my guidance, there’s no point in the two of us working together if he isn’t comfortable even trying my advice. I will release him from the contract except for the next two sessions—because it’s too late for me to fill those time slots with other clients.
For the next hours, I work pretty much uninterrupted, my most productive day in over two weeks. If my meeting with Drew goes well, I think, maybe I’ll finally feel up to drafting a letter to Ava’s agent friend, and then send the proposal by the end of the week.
I’m so immersed in work that when I finally check my watch, I realize it’s past the point when I should have started getting ready for the meeting. I quickly freshen up, apply makeup, and change into the freshest looking of the cotton dresses I brought from the city.
By three thirty I’m in the car, headed back to Sharon. I’m still feeling optimistic, but at the same time I’m a little nervous. If Drew seems on the fence about pushing the police to do more, I’m going to have to be as convincing as possible.
And then there’s the question of Liam. There’s no way I can even drop a hint about that today, let alone come right out and share what I’ve uncovered. Knowing Drew, he’d probably feel compelled to confront his nephew immediately, which would give Liam an opportunity to cover any tracks he hasn’t taken care of so far. But it’s going to be hard to sit on the information I have.
I end up parking directly across from the house, and after climbing out of the car, I take a few seconds to smooth my dress and hair. As I head up the front sidewalk, the windows on either side of the front door offer a look into the living and dining rooms, both of which appear to be empty. The house also seems incredibly quiet from the outside. It almost seems as if I’ve arrived at the wrong time or on the wrong day, but I know I heard Mel correctly. I press the bell.
No one responds at first, but just as I’m about to ring again, I hear footsteps echoing in the wide front hall, and the door opens. Mel’s been sent to greet me. She’s an attractive woman, probably close to fifty, with short, closely cropped black hair that accentuates her height—which must be close to six feet.
“Hello, Kiki,” she says. Her tone is polite enough, but not what I’d call friendly.
“Mel, hi, nice to see you.”
“Drew and Heather are in the back,” she says, which probably means the family room off the kitchen. “Please follow me.”
I trail behind her, flooded as I walk with memories of my times in the house. The decor is traditional but not fussy or dated, and many walls are lined with the striking landscapes Drew enjoys paintingwhen he isn’t doing commissioned portraits. Some are scenes from rural Litchfield County, and others depict Nordic farmhouses and fjords, inspired by trips he’s taken to Norway over the years.
I feel a stab of sorrow recalling Jamie’s hoped-for trip to Norway to see the northern lights and reconnect with his roots, a voyage he’ll never get to take.
“Here we are,” Mel says as we reach the kitchen, gesturing for me to enter the family room to the right. As I turn to thank her, I see that she’s already retreating back toward the front of the house. Drew has obviously told her this is a private conversation, but her departure still sends a ripple of unease through me.
