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“Gordon. You’re spying on people!”
“I’m not spying. It’s what anyone would see if they walked by and looked in.”
“No, it’s not. It’s like being a Peeping Tom.”
His face had fallen. “I thought you’d be the one person who would like it.”
“You’re a really good photographer, but I think you should find a different subject next time. Let’s go back.”
They left the room in silence. As crazy as it was, she’d felt sorry for him. He’d seemed genuinely excited about his project, and he wasn’t without talent—but he also seemed to have no idea how violating the project was, and that had bothered her. It still bothered her, but he’d never shown anything but discretion in their business dealings, and he’d never crossed a line with her after that, so she’d kept with the family tradition of having a Barton handle her money. She’d tried to put it out of her mind, and the only person she’d ever told about the incident was Blaire.
Simon put his hand on her back as they all exited Gordon’s office.
“We’re all through, Sylvia,” Kate said.
“Annabelle and Hilda are right down the hall. I’ll take you to them,” she said, and the three of them fell in behind her.
She opened the door, and when Kate stepped inside, her heart stopped. The room was empty. A box of crayons lay on the table, and a half-colored picture had fallen to the floor.
Kate’s heart started pounding, and she felt as if she might faint. “Where is she?” She could barely get the words out. “Where is my daughter?”
“I, I …,” Sylvia stuttered.
Kate felt the room begin to spin, and then she felt her father’s hand on her arm.
“Kate, honey, I’m sure they just went to the bathroom.”
Without a second thought, Kate ran from the room, down the hallway, and pushed open the door to the ladies’ room.
“Annabelle? Hilda?” she yelled, her voice rising hysterically. But there was no answer. A toilet flushed, the stall opened, and a young woman in a suit stepped out, looking confused.
Where were they? Running back out to the hall, she saw Gordon, who was now with the others.
“Kate—,” Gordon began, but before he could finish, the elevator dinged, and the doors opened.
“Mommy, look what Miss Hilda got me.”
Kate spun around and saw Annabelle standing in the elevator, grinning and holding an apple and a juice box.
Kate ran to her, stooped, and picked her up, burying her head in her daughter’s shoulder and shaking with relief.
“Mommy, my juice is spilling,” Annabelle scolded.
Kate brushed the curls back from her forehead. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
“Daddy, look what I have,” Annabelle said, and Simon took her from Kate’s arms. She squealed with delight as he twirled her around.
Kate turned to Hilda. “You scared me to death. Why on earth did you leave like that?” Her tone was sharp.
Hilda shrank back as if she’d been struck. “I’m sorry, Kate. She was hungry, and I remembered there was a store on the ground level of the building. You know I would never let anything happen to her. I watched her like a hawk.” She looked as if she were about to cry.
Kate was furious. Hilda had been told how serious it was that they all be on guard. Kate’s face was still hot, but she held her tongue. She knew too well that spitting out angry words in a tense situation only upped the ante—calmness was an essential element in the operating room. They were all under enough stress as it was, but she was going to have a long talk with Hilda out of Annabelle’s earshot when they got home.
“Everyone’s nerves are a little fragile. Everything’s fine. Now let’s go,” Simon said, giving Kate a reassuring look.
When they reached the parking lot, Kate whispered to Simon and then pulled her father aside.
“What was that all about? Why would Mother want to change her will?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know, but I wouldn’t worry too much about it. Maybe it had something to do with the foundation.”
That made no sense to her. “But why would she ask Gordon to keep it a secret?”
She saw a flicker of anger in his eyes. “I told you, Kate, I don’t know.”
“Mommy, I’m tired,” Annabelle called over.
“Coming,” Kate answered, this revelation about her mother’s wishes still weighing heavily on her mind.
They walked over to where Simon, Hilda, and Annabelle stood waiting. Harrison leaned down to give Annabelle a kiss on the cheek. “See you later, alligator.”
Annabelle giggled. “After while, crocodile.”
Kate put a hand on her father’s arm. “I wish you’d stay with us. I hate thinking of you all alone at the condo.”
“I’ll be okay. I need to be among her things.” He was quiet a moment, then spoke again. “I’m going back to the office tomorrow.”
Kate had joined her father’s cardiology practice after she’d finished her residency and fellowship. There was no way she could concentrate on her patients right now.
She was surprised. “So soon? Are you sure?” She wasn’t sure when she’d be ready to go back, but it didn’t feel like it would be any time soon. There was no way she would be separated from Annabelle while the killer was out there.
“What else am I going to do, Kate? I need to keep busy or I’ll go crazy. And my patients need me.”
Kate nodded. “I understand, I guess. But I can’t. I need some time. I’ve let Cathy know to reschedule my patients for the next few weeks.”
“That’s fine. You take all the time you need. Herb and Claire have offered to take your surgeries until you’re ready to come back.”
“Please thank them for me,” she said, giving him a kiss and going to the car.
As Simon pulled out of the parking lot, Kate listened to Hilda’s gentle voice as she read to Annabelle in the back seat. Before they’d gone more than a few miles, passing Oriole Park at Camden Yards, Annabelle had fallen asleep. The three adults were silent the rest of the trip home, lost in their own thoughts. Kate was glad Blaire was coming over this afternoon. She needed to talk to someone. There had to be some kind of connection or clue she was overlooking, something that she was missing.
6 (#ulink_2cc49b6e-db6e-5957-bc7b-a3e1cc0a5fb5)
The first thing Blaire saw when she pulled into Kate’s driveway was two men in dark suits and coats standing in front of the door. As soon as she parked and stepped out of the convertible, one of them walked over. “Are you expected, ma’am?”
He looked young. Too young to realize that women her age hated being called ma’am.
“Yes. I’m Kate’s friend, Blaire Barrington.”
He held up a finger and opened a notebook. “Your name is here, but I do need to see some ID, please.”
He obviously didn’t read her books. Though the truth was, despite her fame, few people recognized her face. Occasionally, usually at a restaurant, she’d get a request for an autograph. But for the most part, she lived her life in anonymity. Book signings were a different story. She and Daniel were used to long lines and throngs of people, leaving both of them exhausted and with aching hands by the end. Blaire thrived on it.
She pulled out her driver’s license and handed it over, watching as he snapped a picture with his phone, then motioned for her to go ahead. The door opened before she knocked, and Kate stood in the frame, looking pale and drawn.
“What’s with all the guys in black?” Blaire asked.
Kate started to say something, but then shook her head. “Simon hired them. Just in case …”
After Kate shut the door and engaged the dead bolt, she led Blaire from the hallway into the kitchen. Turning to her, she said, “Selby’s here. She came by earlier to check on me.”
Blaire groaned inwardly. The last person she was in the mood for was Selby. They’d barely acknowledged each other at the funeral luncheon; Selby had sat with her husband, Carter, and not with the women. Now she’d have no choice but to talk to her.
When they walked into the kitchen, Blaire looked around in appreciation. It was fabulous, like something you would expect to see in a grand Tuscan villa of old. Beautiful terra-cotta flooring that looked so authentic she wondered if it had been brought over from Italy tile by tile. A skylighted cathedral ceiling with its rough-hewn wood beams cast a golden glow over the polished wooden counters and floor-to-ceiling cabinets. The room had the same refined and antique feel as the rest of the house, but with the added flavor of a bit of old Europe.
Selby was seated at a table that appeared to be a thick slab of wood carved from a single tree, coarse on the edges and elegantly simple. Annabelle was on her lap, and Selby was reading to her. Selby looked up, her expression turning sour.
“Oh. Hello, Blaire.” Selby scrutinized her with the same disdain she always had, but Blaire didn’t care anymore. She knew she looked good. If she wasn’t quite as thin as she’d been in high school, her time at the gym and careful diet assured she could still rock a pair of jeans. And the hair that had been impossible to tame back then was straight and shiny thanks to the modern miracle known as keratin. Selby’s eyes rested on the round eight-carat diamond ring on Blaire’s left hand.
Blaire coolly returned the favor, grudgingly acknowledging that the years had been good to Selby. If anything, she was more attractive now than she had been in high school, the soft waves around her face streaked with subtle highlights that softened her features. Selby’s jewelry was exquisite—large pearl earrings, a gold bangle, and a sapphire-and-diamond ring on her hand, which Blaire knew was an heirloom. Carter had shown it to Blaire a million years ago—before he’d acquiesced to his parents’ insistence that he find a “suitable” prospect to settle down with.
“Hi, Selby. How are you?” Blaire said, turning away from her and pulling a stuffed purple unicorn out of her tote. She held it out to Annabelle. “Annabelle, I’m your mommy’s old friend, Blaire. I thought you might like to meet Sunny.”
Annabelle flew from Selby’s lap, her arms outstretched, and hugged the stuffed animal to her chest. “Can I keep her?” she asked.
“Of course. I found her especially for you.”
Breaking into a wide grin, the little girl squeezed it tighter. Blaire was pleased to see that it was a hit.
“Where are your manners, Annabelle?” Kate gently scolded. “Say thank you.”
Annabelle regarded Blaire solemnly for a moment, then murmured a shy “Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome, Annabelle. Auntie Blaire loves to give presents.”
Selby looked annoyed. “I didn’t realize you were already on ‘auntie’ terms, Blaire.”
Couldn’t Selby put aside her pettiness for one day? Blaire thought. Not about to engage, she instead turned to Kate. “You don’t mind if she calls me that, do you?”
Kate grabbed her hand and squeezed. “Of course not. We were like sisters—are like sisters,” she corrected herself.
“Remember how we used to pretend that we were sisters when we’d go clubbing in college?” Blaire asked her. “And the fake names. Anastasia and …”
“Cordelia!” Kate finished, laughing.
Selby rolled her eyes. “Yeah, it was hilarious.”
Blaire thought back to those years. Despite their completely different coloring, people believed them. They’d spent so much time together that they had begun to sound alike. They’d picked up the cadence and tempo of each other’s speech and even had similar laughs.
Before she’d met Kate, Blaire had always wondered what it would be like to grow up in a normal family, to have a mother who cooked breakfast for you, made sure you had a healthy lunch for school, was waiting when you got home to help with homework or just ask how your day had gone. Blaire had been only eight when her mother had left, and she had quickly become the center of her father’s universe. By the time she was in fifth grade, she’d learned how to cook better than her mother ever had, and relished making gourmet meals for her father. After a while, Blaire even liked taking care of herself and of him—it made her feel grown-up and in control. And then it all changed when Enid Turner came along.
Enid was a sales rep in her father’s company who suddenly started coming to their house for weekly dinners. Six months later, her father sat Blaire down with a goofy smile on his face and asked, “How would you like to have a new mother?”
It had taken her only a moment to understand. “If you’re talking about Enid, no, thank you.”
He had taken her hand in his. “You know that I’ve grown quite fond of her.”
“I guess.”
He’d gone on, that stupid smile still on his face. “Well, I’ve asked her to marry me.”
Blaire had shot off the sofa and stood in front of him, tears of fury blurring her vision. “You can’t do this!”
“I thought you’d be happy. You’ll have a mother.”
“Happy? Why would I be happy? She’ll never be my mother!” Blaire’s mother, Shaina, had been beautiful and glamorous, with long red hair and sparkling eyes. Sometimes the two of them would play dress-up. Her mother would pretend to be a big star and Blaire her assistant. She’d promised her that one day they would go to Hollywood together, and even though she’d gone on her own, Blaire believed her mother would come back for her once she got settled.
She looked for a letter or postcard every day. She searched for her mother’s face in movie posters and television shows. Her father kept telling her to forget about Shaina, that she was gone for good. But Blaire couldn’t believe that she would leave her behind forever. Maybe she was just waiting until she made it big before coming back for her. After a year had passed with no word from her mother, Blaire started to worry. Something must have happened to her. She’d begged her father to take her to California to look for her, but he just shook his head, a sad look on his face. He told Blaire that her mother was alive.
She’d looked at her father in shock. “You know where she is?”
It took him a moment to answer. “I don’t. I only know that she’s cashing her alimony check every month.”
Blaire was too young to wonder why he kept paying the bills after they were divorced. Instead, she blamed him, told herself that he was lying and deliberately keeping them apart. Soon her mother would come for her, or if Hollywood wasn’t what she thought it would be, maybe she’d even come home again.
So when her father told her he’d decided to marry Enid, Blaire had run to her room and locked the door. She’d told him she would refuse to eat, sleep, or talk to him ever again if he went through with it. There was no way insipid Enid Turner was going to move into her house and tell her what to do. No way she was going to take Blaire’s father away from her. How could he even look at Enid after being married to her mother? Shaina was vibrant and exciting. Enid was ordinary and boring. But nonetheless, a month later, they were married in the local Methodist church, with Blaire a grudging witness.
They quickly converted the den, where Blaire’s friends used to come and watch TV or throw some darts, into a craft room for Enid. Enid painted it pink, and then she hung her “artwork,” a collection of paint-by-numbers dog breeds, all over the walls, while Blaire’s games and toys went down to the basement.
The first night after the room conversion, once Enid and her father had fallen asleep, Blaire had crept into her former den. Grabbing a Magic Marker from the dresser, she’d drawn eyeglasses on the cocker spaniel, a mustache on the golden retriever, and a cigar in the mouth of the black lab. Soon, she’d been doubled over with silent laughter, her body shaking as she held it in.
The next morning, Enid’s cries brought Blaire into the room. Her eyes were red and puffy.
“Why did you do this?” Enid asked, looking wounded.
Blaire widened her eyes innocently. “I didn’t. Maybe you sleepwalk.”
“Of course I don’t. I know you did this. You’ve made it quite clear that you don’t want me here.”
Blaire stuck her chin out. “I bet you did it, just so you could blame it on me.”
“Listen to me, Blaire. You may have your father bamboozled, but not me. You don’t have to like me, but I won’t tolerate disrespect or lying. Do you understand?”
Blaire said nothing, and the two stared at each other. Finally, Enid said, “Go on. Get out of here.”
Any time anything happened after that, Enid had blamed Blaire. Her father’s devotion transferred from Blaire to his new wife; he had done nothing to defend his daughter, and it wasn’t long before she hated going home and did anything she could to avoid it. It turned out to be a blessing that they had sent her away—living with Enid for over a year had been more than enough for Blaire. She went home for the summer after eighth grade, but in her second year at Mayfield, Lily had invited Blaire to spend the summer with them at their beach house in Bethany, Delaware. She was sure that her father wouldn’t allow it, but Lily made one phone call and it was all arranged.
Blaire fell in love with the house the first time she saw it—the cedar-shingle dwelling had white decks and porches that stood out against the dark wood, as did the pure-white trim of the large paned doors and windows. It was so different from the boring colonial she’d grown up in, where the rooms were dull rectangles and all the furniture matched. The beach house was filled with breezy white-walled rooms, and big windows that looked directly at the ocean. Soft floral sofas and chairs were strategically placed so the view could be enjoyed while still sitting in cozy groups. But the most intoxicating things were the sound of the crashing waves and the air that smelled of the sea as it floated through the open windows. She’d never seen such an amazing house.
