That was why I wouldn’t move there. During the time I was at college in New York, I’d been surrounded by people, but lonely. “Philadelphia would be less anonymous,” I tried. “Or Washington. Both have good spas.”
But she seemed decided. “New York. I want to be nameless and faceless.”
“You do not.”
She gave me a strange look. “Why are you arguing with me?”
“Because I know you—”
“Knowme?” she cut in, as though I had no sense at all. “You haven’t been where I am. You don’t know what it’s like to run. You don’t know what it’s like to feel hunted. There are people in my past who would love to know where I am. You don’t know what it’s like to be hated so much that if the idiot who hates you had a gun he’d shoot you dead.”
No. I didn’t. Other than the accident, I hadn’t known violence. I had never feared for my life.
Her eyes went wide, then she squeezed them tight. “Forget I said that. I’m just hyper-emotional.”
But emotion alone couldn’t explain away real fear. “Is the idiot your ex-husband?”
“Please, Maggie,” she begged, eyes open now, “I shouldn’t have said anything. You know how it is with relationships that go bad, he said she said, two sides to every story, yadda yadda. I shouldn’t have mentioned him at all.”
But she had. I couldn’t imagine why anyone would hate her that much. “Would he come after you?”
She scrabbled the air with frantic hands. “It’s over, finished, just stirred up by this shit with Chris, butpleaseforget what I said. You don’t want to know. Trust me. You’re better off if you don’t.”
She was right about that. Hadn’t Michael Shanahan already asked me about her? The less I knew, the more innocent I remained.
Of course, I knew now that she’d had relationships with the four men whose accounts were hacked, that they all looked like her ex-husband. I knew now that shehadan ex-husband. And here I was, basically helping her hide behind a new head of hair.
That said, violence was something else. I couldn’t shake the idea. Edward had never been violent—had never comecloseto being violent—not once, in all the dark days that had followed Lily’s death.
Considering that, I felt more kindly toward him.
So when he wrote,Can Andrew Russ handle major renovations?I waited only until I finished cutting Grace’s hair to write,Yes. He’s new, smart, state-of-the-art.
I was midway through my eleven o’clock when he wrote,Landscaping? Trees? Moldy basement? Bats in the attic?
Why did you buy that house?I returned when my client asked for a minute to answer a text of her own. The woman in question had just turned sixty-five, hence the lunch in her honor, and she looked so like my mother that I spent extra time with her makeup.
Actually, she didn’t look anything like my mother. The only thing the same was their age.
But I spared nothing—used only my newest products, layered luminous foundation over tinted moisturizer over multiple concealers. I did her eyes in the softest navies and grays, and her cheeks with a dash of peach. Mascara? Only enough to delineate the lashes.
She called me a genius.
I didn’t feel it—should have known better than to encourage conversation with Edward—when I went out to get my next client and he waylaid me in the corridor. He had clearly been to that moldy house, since he had showered and put on clean jeans. He answered my question in a Spa whisper. “I needed a place to stay, and it was for sale.”
Continuing toward the lounge, I whispered back, “You could havestayed at the Inn. It has a Presidential Suite—Bridal Suite—Honeymoon Suite—whatever you call it this week.”
Edward kept pace. “I don’t want the owner’s suite at the Inn. I want a house. This one’s a winner. It just needs a little work.”
“A little? Is that what your text was about?”
“Okay, a lot, but I got the place dirt cheap, so the ROI will be good.”
I stopped walking before we were visible to others. Edward would attract notice. He was that striking.
Quietly, I said, “Andrew Russ can coordinate everything. He’s a great guy.”
“You know him well?”
