Dear Friends,

Welcome to the fictional world of Winter Cove, Florida, and especially to Flamingo Diner, which was inspired by my own favourite Florida breakfast place.

Years ago, after moving to Key Biscayne, an island community that is worlds away from downtown Miami yet right across a causeway, I discovered the Donut Gallery. OK, OK, I know I have no need to be eating doughnuts, but the truth is there are very few doughnuts on the menu any more. What this tiny restaurant has – aside from the usual scrambled eggs, bagels and sausage – is the pulse of a community. Over the years there I’ve met everyone from a confidante of President Nixon’s to a career lifeguard, from a federal prosecutor to caddies for some of the men on the seniors’ golf tour, from the captain of a charter fishing operation to snowbirds from all over the world. Birthdays and babies are celebrated there, deaths mourned. Over the years, that got me thinking about what would happen if a tragedy struck the family who owned such a place. Would these very diverse people pull together to support them? And in Flamingo Diner they do, just as I know they would at my own favourite spot.

I wish all of you happiness and, for those times when you despair, a good friend to listen and a strong family to lean on…and a place just like Flamingo Diner, where people care about their neighbours.

All the best,

Sherryl Woods

Also by Sherryl Woods

THE BACK-UP PLAN

FLIRTING WITH DISASTER

WAKING UP IN CHARLESTOWN

STEALING HOME

Sherryl Woods

Flamingo
DINER

www.mirabooks.co.uk

To all of my friends at Key Biscayne’s Donut Gallery, who are every bit as diverse, warm and wonderful as the characters in Flamingo Diner. Thanks for inspiring me and entertaining me on a daily basis.

1

The July humidity was as high as it possibly could be without rain pouring from the sky. Despite recent power company improvements, another manhole had exploded just down the block in Washington’s Georgetown area, shooting flames into the air and shutting off power to several blocks of boutiques and restaurants. Without air-conditioning, Fashionable Memories felt like a steam room in one of those fancy spas their customers were always running off to.

Emma wiped her brow and cursed the fact that today of all days five crates of antiques had arrived from an estate sale in Boston. Normally she regarded the arrival of new treasures with the excitement of a kid on Christmas morning, but today the unpacking seemed a whole lot more like hot, sweaty drudgery. And naturally her boss was nowhere to be found. Marcel D’Avignon, who was about as French as country ham and grits, preferred spending money to the hard work of earning it. He left that to Emma.

In fact, in the five years she’d been at Fashionable Memories, Emma had taken over most of the day-today operations of the high-end antiques business, while Marcel concentrated on acquisitions. For a woman who’d grown up in a small Florida town more prone to wicker and plastic, she had an innate ability to spot priceless pieces of old furniture, silver and porcelain and then sell them at a ridiculously high profit to the interior designers and bored Washington society housewives who made up the bulk of their clientele.

Today, with the temperature in the shop approaching ninety, she could probably have gotten a better price for ice. Her friends here still marveled that a woman who’d grown up in Florida could have any complaints about the Washington summers. They didn’t seem to understand that back in Winter Cove, power outages from outdated infrastructure weren’t kicking off the air-conditioning every couple of weeks.

Just thinking about home made her long to hear the sound of her mother’s voice. Rosa Killian had been born in Miami, but her parents had come from Cuba. Rosa had spoken Spanish before she’d learned English, and traces of the accent lingered, along with strong beliefs about family and principles of strict child rearing. Emma had learned at an early age that her father, Don, was a much softer touch than her mother when it came to doling out punishment, especially to the daughter he adored.

Emma sighed thinking about how heartbroken he’d been when she’d announced her intention to leave Winter Cove to attend college in Washington, then stayed on to work for Fashionable Memories. Hurting her father was her only regret about the decision she’d made. Otherwise, it had been the exact right choice for her. She’d come into her own here, away from the watchful eyes of family and neighbors, all of whom thought they should have a say in her life.

She loved Washington and the nearby rolling Virginia countryside. Being at the center of things in a city that hummed with excitement and power filled her with an energy she had never felt in the small Florida town where she’d been born. Winter Cove had its charms, but she’d felt as if she were growing up in a glass bubble with everyone watching everything she was doing, every misstep she made. Here she could make a monumental mistake and there were thousands of people who’d never have a clue about it.

Not that she made that many mistakes. She lived a fairly sedate and uneventful life. No messy relationships. No wild nights. Not even a speeding ticket.

Sweet heaven, she was barely twenty-six and she was boring, she thought with a sudden attack of dismay. Wasn’t that precisely the fate she’d left home to escape? And wasn’t that exactly what Marcel had been saying to her the week before when she’d turned down yet another blind date? She’d argued the point rather emphatically at the time, but she could see now that her boss had pegged her life exactly right. Fulfilling work that she loved was one thing. Having a life was something else entirely, and it was time she did something about grabbing one. Otherwise all that independence she’d moved to Washington to claim would be totally wasted.

Spurred on by the thought, she reached for the phone to call her best friend before she could change her mind.

Kim Drake had a social life that a Hollywood starlet would envy. Emma, however, had never felt the slightest twinge of envy, because she knew that the one thing Kim craved—a family—was still as elusive as ever. She called Emma after nearly every date for a postmortem to analyze whether the latest man in her life could possibly be the one. So far none had even passed Kim’s three-dates-and-he’s-out test. Their Sunday morning get-togethers at a trendy Georgetown coffee shop had become strategy sessions for meeting better candidates. Thus far Emma had doled out plenty of advice on the topic to Kim, but followed none of it herself. Today Emma intended to change that pattern.

“Do we know anyone who has a swimming pool?” Kim asked plaintively as soon as she heard Emma’s voice.

“I’m sure any number of men in your life live in singles complexes with pools,” Emma told her.

“Given the disgustingly boring crop of men in my life at the moment, it’s not worth it,” Kim said. “I’d prefer to swelter. So, what’s up? I thought you were going to be hip deep in dusty antiques today.”

“I am, and it’s given me too much time to think.”

“Uh-oh. What’s on your mind?”

“I’ve decided I need a social life.”

“Well, hallelujah! Isn’t that exactly what I’ve been saying for months now? Even Marcel, who’s oblivious to most things that don’t involve him, thinks you’re a hermit,” Kim said. “Do you want to go out tonight? I have a date with a Congressional aide. I’m sure he has friends he could call. We could double.”

“Which date is this for you and the aide?” Emma asked suspiciously.

“Second, why?”

“That’s okay, then.”

“What are you talking about?” Kim demanded. She sounded genuinely perplexed.

“If it were your first, then you wouldn’t know yet whether his friends are likely to be awful,” Emma explained patiently. “If it were your third, you’d probably be breaking up at the end of the evening and that could put a real damper on things for those of us relegated to being witnesses.”

“I am not that predictable,” Kim protested.

“I could run through the list,” Emma teased the woman she’d known since their first year of college when they’d shared a dorm room. “We could start with Dirk, freshman year in college. I believe you made a list of his attributes and flaws after the second date and canceled the third. The pattern has been repeated more times than I can count.”

“God, I hate having a friend who knows my entire life inside out,” Kim grumbled. “Do you want a date tonight or not?”

Emma hesitated. “A Congressional aide, huh?”

“He’s mine, but I imagine that’s where his pool of available friends comes from.”

Emma hated politics. Living in the nation’s capital had given her a jaundiced view of the men—and women, for that matter—who wielded power as if it were their God-given right. They might come to Washington full of high ideals, but it seldom took long for them to learn the art of backroom deal making. As fascinating as it was to watch it all unfold, she had no desire to get too close to that particular fire.

“Never mind,” she said finally. Another dateless night wouldn’t be so bad. She had a great book sitting on her nightstand. “Call me when you’re going out with an investment banker.”

“You’re too picky,” Kim said, a charge she made frequently.

“And you’re not picky enough,” Emma retorted, as she always did.

“But at least I play the game. You can’t find gold if you’re not willing to sift through all the other stuff. Trust me, the right man is not going to fall from the sky.”

“Try telling that to my mother,” Emma said, laughing.

The story of the night her father literally fell into her mother’s arms on a dance floor was family legend. Don Killian and Rosa had been inseparable from that moment on. That was probably what had fueled Emma’s romantic expectations. She wanted that same kind of bolt-from-the-blue feeling to strike her one day. It wasn’t likely to happen with a guy who had one eye on the restaurant door to see if anyone important was coming in, and the other checking out his next day’s schedule on his handheld computer screen.

“Kim, do you really like this guy you’re going out with tonight?”

Her friend hesitated, then sighed. “He’s handsome. He’s smart. And he’s very nice. What’s not to like?”

“Handsome is superficial,” Emma said, dismissing it. All of the men Kim dated were handsome. They were all intelligent, too. Some weren’t so nice. She was relieved to hear that this one was. “Nice is fine. Nice can be terrific, in fact, but I worry that you’ll decide that’s the best you can do. You deserve spectacular. You deserve fireworks.”

“I know,” Kim said, her good cheer back as quickly as it had faded. “Which is why I keep looking. Stop worrying, Emma. I won’t settle for anything less. If I were willing to settle, I’d have married Horace Dunwoodie the Fourth. He was handsome, nice and disgustingly rich.”

“But boring,” Emma reminded her.

“My point exactly.”

“Okay, then. Now I’ve got to get back to these boxes,” Emma said. “Have fun tonight.”

“If I didn’t think I would, I wouldn’t be going on a second date with the guy. I have less patience than I used to. Some men don’t even make the cut after the first date.”

“By the way, why haven’t you told me his name?” Emma asked. “Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure the last time you told me the name of one of your dates was back in college. In fact, it was old Horace, who followed Dirk. There have been dozens and dozens of nameless men parading through your life since then.”

Kim laughed. “Why make you remember somebody who’s not likely to last, anyway? This way, if I ever do call a man by his name, you’ll know we’re at least to the fourth-date stage. If I introduce you, you’ll know that picking a wedding date is imminent. If you recall, I had five dates with Horace.” She uttered an exaggerated sigh. “I had high hopes for him for a time. It must have been the size of his bank account that blinded me to his obvious flaws.”

“At least you have a sense of humor about it,” Emma said. “If I had to endure as many bores as you do, I’d be totally depressed.”

“There’s no point in crying, not when all it does is leave your eyes red and puffy. By the way, did you really call because you’re worried about your social life or is something else on your mind?”

“Just a little homesick,” Emma admitted. “I couldn’t wait to get away from Winter Cove and Flamingo Diner and my family, but there are still times when I miss it all like crazy.”

“Then you should have called home, instead of calling me,” Kim chided. “Do it now and tell your folks hi for me. Are they doing okay?”

“They sounded good when I spoke to them over the weekend. I need to get down to Florida, though. I really do miss them.”

“Then go,” Kim said, suddenly serious. “Take it from someone who’s lost a parent, you don’t get a second chance. I’ll come with you. It’s been a long time since you’ve taken me down there for a visit. There’s not a restaurant here in town that can make arroz con pollo as good as your mom’s.”

“We’ll do it,” Emma promised. “The weather starts to break down there in October.”

“October’s good. We’ll talk about the specifics when I see you Sunday morning. Bye, sweetie.”

Emma hung up feeling better than she had before she’d called, even if she was facing another dateless night alone with a good book. There were worse fates. She could list at least a hundred of them while she was checking in the rest of the new inventory.

But before she could get back to work, the phone rang. Wiping the sweat from her brow, she picked it up and tried to inject a gracious note into her voice. “Good morning, Fashionable Memories.”

“Sis, is that you?”

“Andy?” Her sixteen-year-old brother was a quiet, well-mannered kid who was not in the habit of making long-distance calls to chat with his big sister. “Is everything okay?”

“I guess.”

“You don’t sound very sure. What’s happened?”

“Can you come home, Emma? Please.”

If hearing her brother’s voice had been a surprise, hearing him plead for her to come home sent a shudder of alarm through her. “Andy, what is it? Is Mom sick? Dad?”

“No.”

“Then what? You don’t call out of the blue and ask me to fly down to Florida unless there’s a reason. Talk to me.”

He sighed. “I guess it was a mistake to call. I’ll see you.”

“Wait!” Emma shouted, suddenly afraid he was about to hang up on her before she could get to the real explanation for his call. “Andy?”

“I’m here,” he said.

“Come on, talk to me. You obviously didn’t call just to chat. Something’s going on. Spill it. If Mom and Dad are okay, is something up with Jeff?”

Her other brother was in college in a town not far from Winter Cove, but was home for the summer. It was a point of friction with her father that this year Jeff had refused to work at Flamingo Diner, the family business, choosing instead to work at a clothing shop at the mall. He’d had a dozen valid excuses for the decision, but the unspoken reason was his inability to get along with their father. He thought Don Killian was too controlling, the family business too confining. The truth was, Jeff hated Flamingo Diner even more passionately than Emma had.

“Jeff’s okay, I guess. He’s not around much.”

“Are you disappointed about that? I know you like having your big brother around during the summer.”

“He’s not as much fun as he used to be,” Andy said. “Besides, he and Dad fight all the time, so it’s better when he’s gone.”

Emma was running out of ideas to explain her brother’s unexpected call. “Tell me about you,” she said finally. “Are you having a good summer?”

“I guess,” he said without enthusiasm.

“Got a girlfriend?”

“Not really.”

She searched her memory for the name of the pretty girl Andy had had his eye on. “What about Lauren Patterson? I know you like her. Have you asked her out?”

“No.”

His refusal to answer in anything more than monosyllables was getting to her. “Come on, sweetie,” she pleaded. “Help me out here. I know you called for a reason. Tell me.”

“I did tell you. I asked you to come home,” he said.

He sounded angry, maybe even a little frantic. It was so unlike her easygoing brother, Emma was more alarmed than ever. “Okay, I hear you,” she said carefully. “Why is it so important to you that I come home?”

He hesitated. “It’s Dad,” he said finally. “He’s acting really weird.”

If Andy was an even-tempered kid, it was a trait he’d inherited from their father. Don Killian never raised his voice. When he was angry or disappointed, he managed to convey it without shouting. Jeff had always been able to push him to his limits, but Andy and Emma rarely ruffled his feathers.

“Weird how?”

“He and Jeff are getting into it all the time, but that’s pretty much par for the course,” Andy said. “Now he’s getting on my case all the time, too. It’s not like I do anything bad, but he jumps all over every little mistake and he does it in front of the customers. He’s been snapping at Mom a lot, too.”

“Mom and Dad are arguing in Flamingo Diner?” Emma asked, genuinely taken aback. They’d always prided themselves on running a neighborhood restaurant where the customers were considered guests. They’d done everything they could to ensure that the regulars who’d been coming since they opened the doors nearly thirty years ago felt welcome. Family squabbles—what few there were—were to be kept at home.

“A lot,” Andy said. “And Dad looks kinda sad, too. I’m scared they’re gonna get a divorce or something.”

“Oh, sweetie, that’s not going to happen,” Emma reassured him. “Mom and Dad are as solid as any two people I’ve ever seen. They have a strong marriage. I talked to them both over the weekend and they sounded great.”

“Sure,” he scoffed. “You talked to ’em for how long? Ten, maybe fifteen minutes? Anybody can put on a good show for that long.”

Stung by the suggestion that she no longer knew what was going on with her own family, Emma thought about her last conversation with her parents. It had been brief, but surely she would have sensed any unusual tension. “Andy, I think you’re reading too much into a couple of little arguments.”

“It’s more than a couple,” he insisted. “I’m telling you that something’s not right. I even asked Mom about it, but she brushed me off just like you’re doing. She says everybody has bad days.”

“Well, then, there’s your answer. If she’s not worried, why should you be?”

“It’s not one day,” he said, his voice rising. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me. Jeff didn’t, either. He says Dad’s always been short-tempered, but he hasn’t been, not with me and never with Mom.”

“I’ll call Mom—how about that?”

“She won’t tell you anything,” Andy said. “You need to be here and see for yourself. They can’t hide it if you’re here for a whole week, or even for a weekend. Please, Emma.”

“I was just talking to Kim about trying to get down in October,” she said.

“That’s too late,” he said. “You need to come now.”

Emma heard the urgency in his voice, but none of what he was saying made any sense. She’d picked up on none of the weird vibes he claimed had become commonplace.

“I’ll get home as soon as I can,” she promised finally.

“This week?”

“No, but soon.”

Andy sighed heavily. “Yeah, whatever.”

“I will get there, Andy. Meantime, try not to worry.”

“I know. I’m just a kid. If the grown-ups are having problems, they can fix them.” He sounded like he was reciting something he’d already been told, probably by Jeff.

“That’s true, you know. Mom and Dad have been married a long time. I’m sure they’ve had their share of ups and downs. They’ll weather this one too.”

“Whatever,” he said again.

“I love you,” Emma said, her heart aching for him. It was obvious he’d blown a few incidents out of proportion. He wasn’t used to being criticized by their father, so he’d taken whatever their father had said to him to heart. “Everything will be okay, Andy.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you’d been around here,” he said, sounding defeated.

Before she could try one more time to cheer him up, she heard the phone click and realized Andy had hung up on her.

“He’s exaggerating,” she told herself as she placed the phone back in its cradle. “He has to be.”

There was just one problem with that theory. Andy was the most conscientious, levelheaded kid she’d ever known. And he was scared. There had been no mistaking the fear in his voice.

Maybe she could get home sooner than October. She pulled out the calendar of auction dates and other appointments that were already scheduled for her and Marcel. July and August, the supposedly dead days of summer, were crammed with commitments. Early September was even worse. Maybe by the middle of September, she concluded, penciling in her trip on a weekend that looked clear at the moment.

But even as she went back to unpacking the new inventory, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she ought to find some way to make that trip sooner.

2

There weren’t a lot of big-time criminals in Winter Cove, and that was just the way Police Chief Matthew Atkins liked it. After working in the worst sections of Tampa for nearly ten years, he’d been more than ready to come home to Winter Cove, where arguing with citizens over parking ticket fines seemed to fill the bulk of his days.

Because most of the people in town had known him since he was in diapers, they seemed to think he owed them a favor. Hell, maybe he did. They’d all done their part to make sure he stayed out of any serious trouble, even after his no-account father had headed off to jail and his mother had all but disappeared into a bottle of booze.

No one in town had been kinder to him than the Killians. Rosa Killian had seen to it that he had something to eat and Don had given him not only work, but a strong sense of the man he could become despite his background. Together, the two of them had taught him that a marriage didn’t have to be volatile and that there was no place for violence in love.

Flamingo Diner had become Matt’s refuge, a place to go in the morning before school for a healthy meal and in the afternoon to avoid home and the steady parade of men who passed through his mother’s life. It had given him a surrogate family, not only the Killians, but all of the regulars who came there each and every day for food and gossip before work. He’d also met tourists from all over the world, which had broadened his view of life and reminded him that what he’d endured at home wasn’t the way it had to be.

The diner had also been the place where he’d fallen in love. Emma Killian with her huge brown eyes and cloud of dark hair had been sweet and sassy, and completely oblivious to the fact that Matt was head-over-heels crazy about her. She’d treated him with the same easygoing affection she showed her brothers. Even now, thinking about the torment of it made him sigh.

Of course, it was just as well. It had been clear from the start that the one thing in life Don wouldn’t give Matt was his approval for the often reckless, troubled young man to date Emma.

And, Matt was forced to admit, Don had been right. Not only was he four years older than Emma, but at that point he hadn’t proved that any of her father’s lessons had stuck. He’d had his father’s quick temper and his mother’s lack of self-esteem. It had been a dangerous combination. Back then, he’d needed to leave town and find his way in the world, to make something of himself before he could possibly have anything to offer a woman.

It had taken him a year of working odd jobs in Tampa before he’d been drawn into police work. During his training, he’d learned to defuse his own temper at the same time he’d learned how to defuse a tense domestic standoff.

Now he was back home with a respectable job, more than ready to settle down and raise a family, and Emma was still out of reach. And since it had been nearly ten years since he’d seen her, his feelings for her were more nostalgic than real. She was like an illusion, one he couldn’t seem to shake. Every time some other woman caught his attention, every time he considered making a commitment, an image of Emma popped up and forced him to reconsider. It was not only pathetic, it was damned annoying.

As annoying as it was, though, it had been motivation enough to get him to say yes when he’d been approached about the police chief’s job in Winter Cove a few months back. It hadn’t hurt that the mayor had sent Don Killian to Tampa to do the asking.

Over the years Matt had come back to Winter Cove from time to time, so there had been little in Don’s practiced pitch that surprised him. He’d seen for himself that the sleepy little Central Florida town was growing, that its downtown was turning trendy with sidewalk cafés and the sort of unique little boutiques that appealed to tourists. The trailer parks and orange groves on the outskirts of town were slowly dying out and being replaced with golf courses lined by expensive townhouses. There were Sunday concerts by the lake during the cooler spring months, a winter arts festival, and an old-fashioned strawberry festival that now drew thousands, but somehow managed to maintain its small-town appeal.

Don had mentioned all of that when he’d come to Tampa to see Matt. He’d handed over a fancy, four-color brochure touting Winter Cove’s charms along with a packet of promotional material and statistical information put together by the mayor’s staff.

“Pretty slick stuff,” Matt had noted, watching closely for Don’s reaction.

“Bunch of damned nonsense,” Don had replied succinctly. “You’d think Habersham would know better. This isn’t the kind of thing that’ll get you to come back to Winter Cove.”

Matt had grinned. “What do you think will get me back there?”

“A chance to prove that you’ve made something of yourself,” Don told him without hesitation. “Not that you need to prove anything to anybody, but I’ve known you a long time, son. You’ve had a chip on your shoulder thanks to those folks of yours. This is your chance to get rid of it once and for all, especially now that your mother’s moved on to Orlando.”

That had been news to Matt. He’d made it a point not to stay in touch with her. “When did that happen?”

“A few months back.” Don had regarded Matt intently, then added, “When your daddy got out of jail.”

Matt had felt as if he’d been sucker punched. “She’s back with that lying, scheming, abusive son of a bitch?”

“Hiding out from him, more than likely,” Don replied. “He’s come through town once or twice asking questions about her and about you, but he’s been smart enough not to stick around. He knows people in Winter Cove haven’t forgotten what he did to your mother and to you.”

Clyde Atkins had been a mean drunk. He’d have gone on using Matt’s mother for a punching bag, if Matt hadn’t stepped in between them one night. Not yet thirteen and scrawny, Matt had been no match for his bigger, angrier father, but the resulting commotion had drawn the attention of neighbors and the police. A whole slew of charges had been filed against Clyde, and this time they’d stuck. Matt had seen to it that his mother didn’t withdraw them at the last second as she had in the past. And even if she had, his own bruises, carefully recorded by the police the night of the incident, would have been enough to convict the bastard.

Until that moment when he’d learned of his father’s release from jail, Matt thought he’d put all of that behind him, but the swell of anger and bitterness in his chest had told him otherwise. His father had made his childhood a living hell, and his mother hadn’t done much to help. He’d spent every day since trying to live down the reputation he’d inherited from the two of them.

He met Don’s understanding gaze. “You think I should take the job, don’t you?”

“I think you should give it some serious thought, for your own sake and for the town. Winter Cove can use a man with your experience, but more than that, it can use a man who knows what the town was, as well as what it can be. Personally, I don’t want to see us drift too far from our roots. We’re already dangerously close to doing that.”

Matt had frowned at that. “I’d be coming to keep law and order, not to block change.”

“Sometimes it’s the same thing,” Don told him.

“Haven’t the changes been good for your business? Aren’t you busier now than ever at the diner?”

“True enough, but I don’t know everyone who walks through the door the way I used to,” Don had lamented. “Especially not in mid-February when all the snowbirds are tying up traffic and taking up tables where my regulars like to sit. One of these days we’re going to have a fistfight over that. I can see it coming. Habersham’s likely to be in the thick of it, too. The mayor’s got his favorite table in the corner where he can be seen by everyone. Three sweet little old ladies with blue hair and stretch pants were sitting there when he came in the other morning and he stood there glowering down at them. I thought he was going to have a stroke, especially when one of them responded to his intimidation tactics by beaming up at him and inviting him to join them.”

Matt chuckled. “And you want me around to personally keep the peace in your restaurant?”

“I want you around because Rosa and the boys and I miss you,” Don had said. “We consider you part of the family and you haven’t been home nearly enough.”

The fact that he hadn’t mentioned Emma spoke volumes in Matt’s opinion. Or maybe Don had just been wise enough to know that any reference to Emma would have been taking unfair advantage of old feelings.

Matt hadn’t been able to resist the opening, though. “You didn’t mention Emma. How’s she doing these days? Is she still in Washington?”

“Yes, more’s the pity,” Don said with a shake of his head. “I don’t understand what she sees in the place, much less in that man she’s working for. He’s got sneaky eyes, if you ask me. And you’ll never convince me that Marcel D’Avignon is his real name. More likely, Marty Birdbrain, straight out of rural West Virginia. Maybe I should get you to check him out.”

Matt would have liked nothing better than to investigate any man in Emma’s life, even if theirs was only a working relationship, but something told him Don was only half-serious. “Say the word and I will,” he’d told him.

“And have her come down here and tear a strip out of both our hides? I don’t think so,” Don said with obvious regret. “And if she didn’t, Rosa surely would. No, Emma’s got a good head on her shoulders. I just have to have faith that she can look out for herself and not let the man take advantage of her.”

“Does she get home much?”

“Not nearly often enough.” Don had given him a knowing look. “But maybe you could change that.”

His words were tantamount to a blessing and gave Matt the hope he’d never had before where Emma was concerned. The slimmest possibility that Don could be right had been an added incentive for him to take the job once it was offered.

Maybe if the mayor had sent someone else, maybe if Matt hadn’t handled way too many domestic disturbance calls on his last shift, he might have been able to turn the offer down flat. As it was, he’d jumped at the chance to explore going back to Winter Cove in a respectable position. The salary and benefits had hardly mattered. Don had pegged him exactly right. Matt had wanted a chance to prove something to the people of Winter Cove. And he’d clung to the likelihood that sooner or later, he’d catch a glimpse of Emma and see if he’d finally outgrown his infatuation.

His first few months on the job had gone smoothly enough. Even without a visit from Emma, he had no regrets about his decision to come home. Don had been right about the number of strangers around, but there were still a lot of familiar faces, and Matt had made it his business to get to know the strangers, as well. Little went on around town that he didn’t observe or hear about.

Like the scene he’d witnessed in Flamingo Diner that morning. It wasn’t the first time Don had lost patience with Andy lately. Nor was it the first time he’d snapped at Rosa, but each troubling incident took Matt by surprise. Years ago Don would never have taken that tone with any of them. In fact, over the years, whenever Matt thought of the Killians, all he remembered was the laughter and Don Killian’s gentle, persistent way of teaching all of them the right way to do things. The little displays of temper, mild in comparison to what Matt had lived through in his own home, were still worrisome because they were so totally out of character.

But as much as Matt loved the family, as much as he’d always been made to feel as if he were part of it, he wasn’t sure if it was his place to step in and ask Don if anything was wrong. Maybe he didn’t want to admit that his mentor might have flaws. Besides, people had their bad days. Even he could be short-tempered, snarling at anyone who crossed his path. But until the last few weeks, he’d never witnessed Don saying an unkind word to anyone, especially a member of his own family.

Matt wasn’t the only one concerned, either. Since that morning, half a dozen people had stopped him on the street and asked if he knew what was on Don’s mind. Having everyone know about every little mood swing was both the blessing and the curse of a place like Winter Cove. There was something comforting about knowing how many people cared, but it could be disconcerting, too. Matt was still getting used to all the teasing questions about his own social life, which was nonexistent at the moment since he’d recently broken off a brief flirtation with a local investment adviser because she’d been more serious than he was.

Fleetingly, he considered calling Emma and filling her in on this new tension at the diner, but he knew in his gut that his motives weren’t entirely pure. Why stir her up over something that she wasn’t here to fix? As genuine as his concern was, it was a pretty pathetic excuse to hear the sound of her voice and see if it still had the power to make his knees weak.

He uttered a rueful chuckle. Here it was after midnight, and unable to sleep, he was cruising along the lakefront dreaming up ways to make contact with a woman he hadn’t seen in a decade. Even more absurd was the fact that he was still carrying a torch for a woman he’d never even kissed, a woman who’d been little more than a girl the last time he’d seen her.

He sighed. He really did need to get a social life. The next time Jessie Jameson offered to fix him up with her granddaughter, he just might take her up on it. Everyone knew that Jessie Three, as the younger woman was known around town, was always up for a good time. Maybe that was what Matt needed, a little uncomplicated sex and a few laughs.

In the meantime, he could definitely use a distraction. Catching a burglar in the act would be good. Even a traffic violation. But the streets of Winter Cove were quiet at this hour. Few people were stirring.

He was almost relieved when he finally spotted something out of the ordinary, a glint of something metallic at the edge of the lake, picked out by his headlights as he rounded a curve. It could be nothing more than a piece of debris that had washed ashore, but it also wouldn’t be the first time that some crazy kid had taken the curve at excessive speed and wound up in the water.

Feeling a sudden sense of urgency he screeched to a stop, grabbed his flashlight and ran across the grassy slope toward the edge of the water. As he got closer, there was no mistaking the fact that what had caught his eye was the chrome of a bumper. The car itself was almost fully submerged. Unless the accident had happened minutes earlier, unless the driver had managed to break a window and swim free, there was little chance anyone had survived.

Matt radioed for help, then, still clutching the waterproof flashlight, he waded into the water, preparing himself for the sudden drop-off that would then level out at about six-feet deep. The lake wasn’t as dangerously deep as many of the nearby canals, where cars could disappear completely, but it was deep enough to kill, especially if the driver didn’t have the presence of mind or the tools to free himself.

Keeping one hand on the car as a guide, he sucked in a deep breath and went beneath the surface, praying as he’d never prayed before that he’d find a broken-out windshield and no one inside.

Shining his flashlight he caught a glimpse of the car’s color, the same dark blue as Don Killian’s five-year-old sedan. Matt’s pulse kicked up a notch. He told himself it couldn’t be Don’s car. Don would never be out at this hour, not when he had to be up before dawn to do the baking at Flamingo Diner. Nor would Jeff or Andy have taken Don’s car. They both had their own, bought and insured with their own money at their father’s insistence. Matt had gone with Andy to look at pickups just a few weeks ago, right after he’d gotten his license.

Sucking in another deep breath, Matt dove back below the surface and made his way toward the front of the car. The beam of the flashlight cast an eerie glow through the water-filled interior. There didn’t seem to be anyone in the back seat, or even on the driver’s side, and for an instant a wave of relief washed through him. Maybe the car had been stolen and then ditched, he thought as he broke through the surface of the lake and gasped for air.

Even though his theory was a good one, Matt knew he couldn’t take chances that the driver of that car was still trapped inside, especially if there was even the remotest chance it was Don Killian. Even as he heard the wail of sirens in the distance, he dove back beneath the surface and shone his light slowly from back seat to front. Logic told him that if the driver had been able to free himself, he would be in the back, seeking the last little pocket of air as the car filled with water. Unfortunately the damn lake water was murkier than it should have been and all he could make out were shadows and the faint shape of something large and solid on the passenger side of the front seat.

Matt was a strong swimmer but his lungs were near to bursting when he made the discovery. As desperately as he wanted to take a closer look, he forced himself to the surface again.

By then the shoreline was swarming with policemen and rescue workers, including a team of divers.

“There’s someone in there,” he said, coughing up water. “Front passenger side.”

Not ten minutes later, the divers were back, hauling the victim out of the water, their expressions grim. At Matt’s questioning look, they shook their heads.

“Too late,” diver Dave Griffin told him. “We’ll have to wait for the medical examiner’s report, but I’d say he’s been down there awhile.” His expression turned sympathetic. “Sorry, boss. I know you two were close.”

Matt felt his heart clench. “Then it’s…?” He couldn’t bring himself to complete the thought.

“Don Killian,” Dave said. “Damnedest thing, too. He was all strapped in. It was like he never even tried to get out.”

Matt’s head shot up and he stared at the dive team leader. “He was strapped in?”

“Snug as could be,” Dave confirmed.

“I could have sworn he was on the passenger side,” Matt said.

“No. Driver’s side. It just looked like he was on the other side because of the way his body was leaning toward the console.”

Why the hell wouldn’t Don have made some attempt to free himself? “Could Don have been dead when the car went into the water?” Matt asked, knowing that Dave wouldn’t have the answer. It was something the ME would have to decide.

“No visible wounds,” Dave told him. “He was strapped in too tight to have hit his head on the windshield. Can’t rule out a heart attack or a stroke, though.”

What the hell did he have on his hands? Matt wondered. An accident? That seemed like the obvious answer, but given Don’s behavior lately and that secured seat belt, he couldn’t rule out suicide. Whichever the case was, he dreaded having to be the one to tell Rosa, Jeff and Andy that Don was gone.

One thing was for certain, until he had conclusive proof otherwise, he intended to give the family the small comfort of thinking that Don had died in a tragic accident.

3

Suicide was such an ugly word. Maybe that was the reason it was seldom spoken above a whisper, Emma thought as she arrived in Florida, still dazed by the call that had come in the predawn hours. The officer who’d called her in the middle of the night had been very careful to describe her father’s death as an accident. Emma wished she believed him.

In fact, she desperately wanted to be convinced that her father had somehow missed a curve that he’d driven every day of his life for thirty years or more. Ever since she’d hung up, she’d prayed that the medical examiner would find evidence of some sudden condition that had sent him careening off the road or that the police would find dents in the car to indicate he’d swerved after being hit by another driver. At the very least, she wanted the ME to find absolutely nothing to disprove the idea that her father’s death had been an accident.

But remembering Andy’s call only two days earlier made her think otherwise. She didn’t want to believe that the weird behavior her brother had described had anything at all to do with her father’s death, but she couldn’t dismiss the possibility, not as easily as she would have liked to.

So far, she hadn’t mentioned anything to the police about her concerns. She excused her silence by telling herself it wasn’t as if she actually knew anything. Besides, it would be better if they formed an unbiased opinion based on the evidence.

If only she’d been able to talk to her mother, but Rosa had been too distraught to take her calls. It was hours later and Emma still hadn’t spoken to her. Rosa had been sedated and Jeff and Andy were nowhere to be found when Emma had called to let her family know when she would be arriving. She’d been assured by Helen Lindsay, her mother’s best friend, that someone would be at the Orlando airport to pick her up and drive her to Winter Cove, but she had no idea who it might be.

The flight had been endless, giving her far too much time to sort through the scant information she had, too much time to twist the facts inside out and come up with theories about how and why her father had died.

An accident, she repeated firmly. It had to be. She was still telling herself that when she walked into the luggage claim area. With her gaze intent on the luggage carousel, she almost missed the tall, lanky man in faded jeans and a snug-fitting, white T-shirt who pushed away from a railing, but something about the lazy, sexy way he moved caught her eye. In fact, on any other occasion, she would have given his muscular body an appreciative once-over, noting the details to share with Kim the next time they talked. Now they barely registered and she tried to make sense of the fact that he was moving directly toward her.

“Emma?”

She took off the sunglasses she’d been wearing to hide her red-rimmed eyes to get a better look. Finally recognition dawned and with it came a vague sense of relief at finding a familiar face amid the crowd of strangers. “Matt Atkins? What on earth are you doing here? I thought you were working in Tampa.”

“I’m back in Winter Cove now, as the police chief, no less. I’m surprised your family hadn’t told you.”

“Who would have thought…” she began. A grin almost formed then faded as it dawned on her that he knew, had to know, about her father, that in fact that was what had brought him here. This wasn’t an accidental meeting, after all. Tears, never far away over the last few hours, welled up again. “You’re here because…” She couldn’t finish the thought.

“I came to take you home,” he confirmed quietly, clearly as uncomfortable with mentioning her father’s death as she was.

Before she knew it, Emma was in his arms, gathered close against all that solid, reassuring strength. After feeling cold and empty since the call had come, it felt good to feel so much heat and energy, to feel alive.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as he held her tight. “You can’t imagine how sorry.”

Emma couldn’t answer. The words wouldn’t come. Instead, the tears just continued to fall, soaking his shirt, ruining what little was probably left of her makeup, and not doing a damn thing to wash away the hurt.

Matt didn’t seem to mind. He let her cry herself out, until she finally gave him a watery half smile and apologized.

“Don’t you dare apologize,” he said, his own voice thick with emotion. “Your dad is…was like a father to me. I owed him more than you’ll ever know. I’m sick about this.”

Emma pulled a wad of tissues from her pocket and blotted ineffectively at her face. “What happened? Do you know? Has the medical examiner made any sort of ruling?” she asked. “Did Dad have a heart attack?”

Matt’s mouth formed a grim line. “Let’s get your bags and get out of here. We can talk on the drive home.”

Emma wanted to argue, but what was the point? The answers wouldn’t be one bit different ten minutes from now, an hour from now…a lifetime from now. And in the end, what difference would they make, really? Her father—the man who had made up stories to chase the monsters from a little girl’s bedroom—would still be dead.

They were twenty minutes into the ride when she decided she was ready to know everything Matt knew. “Matt, tell me what happened.”

“I wish I could. The ME doesn’t have anything conclusive yet. Maybe by the end of the day, maybe not for a few days till all the toxicology reports come in.”

“Toxicology reports?”

“To see if there were any drugs or even alcohol in his blood.”

“Don’t be absurd. Dad rarely drank and he certainly never took drugs.”

“Not even medications?” Matt asked.

Emma realized she didn’t know. He could have been on a dozen different prescriptions and no one would have thought to tell her. She sighed. “I don’t know.” She regarded him evenly. “What do you think happened? Did he miss the curve?”

“That’s what I want to believe,” he said tightly, but he wouldn’t look at her.

She heard the same doubts in his voice that had echoed in her head for hours now. “Matt, there’s something else, something you’re not telling me, isn’t there?”

“Not now, Em. Let’s wait for the reports.”

“I need to know, dammit!”

He gave her a look filled with sympathy. “I know you do. We all do, but what good is it to have speculation? You need facts, not theories.”

She drew in a deep breath and asked the question that had plagued her all the way home. “Could he have driven into the lake on purpose?”

“Don’t go there, Emma.”

“Is it possible?” she asked again.

“Anything’s possible, but he didn’t leave a note, at least not that we’ve found so far. There wasn’t one in the car, at the diner or at the house.”

“Then you did search for one?” To her that was damning proof that Matt thought there was something odd about the way her father had died.

“Of course.”

“So you believe suicide’s a possibility, don’t you?” she asked, pushing the point because she had to.

“It’s one of them,” he admitted with obvious reluctance. “Why would you think that, though?”

“Andy called me a couple of days ago. He was really worried about Dad. He said he’d been acting weird for a while. He wanted me to come home.” She blinked back tears. “I told him no.”

Matt reached for her hand. “And now you’re blaming yourself,” he concluded. “Don’t. What good will that do? We don’t know what happened last night, Emma. Until we do, cut yourself some slack.”

“Have you talked to Mom yet?”

“Not really. She…” He sighed. “She was in no shape to be questioned last night.”

“Andy or Jeff?”

“Andy’s scared. He’s not making much sense right now. He’s blaming himself.”

“And me,” she said, half to herself. “He must be blaming me.”

Matt shook his head. “Not aloud, anyway. He’s too caught up in his own guilt. He thinks if he and your father hadn’t fought at the diner yesterday, everything would have been okay. He’s sure your father was still upset, too upset to be behind the wheel of the car.”

“What do you think?”

“That’s grief talking. I was there when they fought. It was nothing, just the usual father-teen spat, but Andy’s not ready to hear that yet. As for Jeff, all I got from him was attitude.”

Emma regarded him with surprise. The way she remembered it, her younger brother had idolized Matt. “Jeff was giving you attitude?”

“I asked him to stay with your mom while I came to get you. He told me I wasn’t his boss, that somebody else could do it, that he had things to do.”

“Jeff said that?” Emma was genuinely shocked. “What things does he have to do that could possibly be more important right now?”

“He’s angry and confused. It wasn’t personal,” he said, making excuses for Jeff. “He’s just taking it out on the only person available. He can’t very well yell at your mom. He’ll be okay.” He glanced sideways at her. “You’re going to have to step in and take charge, you know. Your mom’s in denial. She kept telling me I was making it up, that I was lying to her just to hurt her for some reason. I think a part of her is absolutely convinced that your father will walk in the door any second now.”

Emma regarded him ruefully. “I felt the same way when one of your officers called me. I kept telling him he had to be mistaken, that my father couldn’t possibly be dead.”

“I’m sorry I had a stranger call,” he said. “I wanted to do it myself, but I had my hands full with your mother at that point and I thought you needed to know right away so you could make plans to get down here.”

“It’s okay. I doubt the news would have gone down any easier, if you’d been the one delivering it. If Jeff refused to stay with her, who’s there now?”

“Helen hasn’t left, though your mother won’t see her. She won’t see anyone. She’s locked herself in her room.”

Though it was out of character for her normally strong mother to hide out, Emma couldn’t really blame her. If she’d been able to hide and pretend this hadn’t happened, she would have. “I just don’t understand how this could happen. I can’t believe he’s really gone. I’d just spoken to him over the weekend. He sounded great, as upbeat as ever. Andy said he was faking it.”

“I have to admit, I agree with Andy. Your father has been a little short-tempered lately,” Matt explained. “No, I take that back. He’s been very short-tempered. People have been commenting on it. That scene with Andy yesterday morning wasn’t the first. He’s even been snapping at your mother over nothing.”

Hearing Matt echo what Andy had tried so hard to tell her made it that much worse that she hadn’t listened to her brother.

“That’s so unlike him. He’d rather strip naked and run through Winter Cove at high noon than lose it in front of the customers,” she said.

“I know. We all thought it was out of character,” Matt said. “I kept thinking I ought to talk to him, but I wasn’t sure it was my place. If…” His voice trailed off.

“Say it,” Emma demanded. “If he killed himself, what?”

Matt frowned. “If that’s what happened, then I’m as much to blame for letting this happen as anyone in the family. We all knew something wasn’t right, but this was your dad. He always worked things out for the rest of us. I suppose none of us believed he wouldn’t be able to work out whatever was going on with him.”

Emma fell silent, thinking. What could have been weighing on her father’s mind to change his personality so dramatically? There had been no hint of a problem in their conversations; or, as Andy had accused, had she simply been oblivious to it? Had she been so caught up in her own life that she’d ignored some sign? She’d certainly been eager to ignore the warning signals Andy had described. She couldn’t help feeling that she’d let down not only Andy, but also her father.

She was still tormenting herself with what-ifs when Matt pulled the car to a stop in front of the Spanishstyle stucco house with its red-tile roof where Emma had lived practically her whole life. Before she could get out, he tucked a hand under her chin and forced her to face him.

“This is not your fault,” he said emphatically. “Or your mom’s. Or your brothers’. There’s still every chance in the world that this was a tragic accident. Remember that.”

“I’ll try.”

Slowly, he released her. “Just in case, I’ll be around to remind you,” he promised.

Tears welled up in her eyes and she reached for his hand, clinging to it for one last reassuring second before she went inside to face the reality of her family’s unthinkable tragedy.

Rosa refused to get out of bed, refused to eat. She feigned sleep every time anyone came into her bedroom. If she was asleep, no one could say anything about Don. No one could tell her he was dead. She could pretend that it was all a terrible nightmare and that when she woke up, he would be right there beside her. He would hold her, maybe make love to her, and their day would begin as every other day had begun, with a mad rush to get to Flamingo Diner before the first customers began arriving at 6:00 a.m.

But as the sun began to set and shadows filled the room, she could no longer deny the harsh reality that she’d awakened to just after one in the morning when Matt had come knocking on their door. She’d shouted at him to stop his lies, that Don was not dead, that he knew that curve in the road, that he would never drive so recklessly that he’d wind up in the lake, but Matt hadn’t changed expressions even once. He’d just led her to a chair, then hunkered down beside her and held her hand, pleading with her to tell him who he could call, what he could do.

Rosa hadn’t known how to answer. For nearly thirty years, whenever there had been any kind of trouble in her life, she had turned to her husband. Who else could she possibly call? Who else could offer consolation and support and love? She had the children, of course, but they were young. They would need her support, even Emma, who would be devastated that her beloved father was gone. She needed to be strong for all of them, but she wasn’t strong, not without Don beside her.

Finally Matt had awakened the boys and told them the same awful lies about Don. He’d called Helen and asked her to come over. He’d made sure Emma was notified. He’d done all the things Rosa should have been doing, but had been too paralyzed to do. And she’d hated him, because he’d made it real.

That’s why she’d retreated to her room, so she could pretend that it had been nothing more than an awful nightmare.

A light tap on the door startled her. She thought everyone had given up, had decided to let her grieve in private.

“Mama?”

It was Emma. Rosa sat up in bed, flipped on the light, drew in a deep breath, then called out for her daughter to come in.

As the doorknob turned, Rosa realized she wasn’t ready for this, would probably never be ready for this. From the moment her children had been born, they had looked to her and to their father for answers. Now there were no answers, at least none that made any sense. She doubted there ever would be again.

While Emma was in with her mother, Matt watched Jeff warily. The kid was on edge. He hadn’t said a word, but Matt knew Jeff was craving something that would take away his pain. Maybe he’d turn to alcohol, maybe drugs. Either way, Matt could have told him that the pain would still be there. He’d made his own share of mistakes along those lines. He knew the signs and he knew there were no easy answers.

“I’m going out,” Jeff announced to no one in particular.

“Where?” Matt asked.

“None of your business.”

“Your brother needs you.”

“Andy’s fine.”

“Oh, really? He didn’t seem that fine to me when he left the house.”

Jeff’s belligerent expression faltered. “He’s not here?”

“No.”

“He was right here. Why’d you let him leave?”

“Frankly, I thought you’d go after him. I thought maybe you’d see that he was hurting. We’re talking about your kid brother, Jeff. He needs you.”

“He’s probably outside,” Jeff said, half to himself, as he headed for the back door.

Matt considered leaving it to Jeff to look out for his brother, but he didn’t entirely trust him not to run off. He followed Jeff outside. He had a pretty good idea where Andy had gone. Years ago Don had built his sons a tree house in a sprawling banyan tree in the backyard. Matt had spent many an hour up in the hideaway with the younger boys.

With its twisted trunk and gnarled branches, the tree had inspired Jeff and Andy to claim that the tree house was haunted. At night, the fantasy had been especially easy to believe. It had been years since Matt had climbed up into that old tree, but that was the first place a distraught Andy would think to go.

Sure enough, even from the ground, Matt could hear Andy’s choking sobs. Jeff deliberately made as much noise as he could crashing through the higher branches until he emerged on the rotting platform that had once been the scene of their greatest childhood adventures.

From below, Matt could see that Andy deliberately looked away, as Jeff carefully picked his way over to sit beside him, legs dangling over the edge. Matt moved to a spot just out of sight, there if they needed him, but willing to let the brothers work through this painful time on their own.

Sitting on the back step, Matt barely resisted the urge to light up a cigarette as memories flooded through him. As kids, they’d thought they could see the world from up in that tree, but it had turned out that the world was a much bigger place than they’d ever imagined. It wasn’t half as idyllic, either. The past twenty-four hours had proved that.

He listened for the sound of voices and was relieved when Jeff finally spoke.

“It sucks, doesn’t it?” Jeff said.

“I don’t get it,” Andy said, his voice choked. “Dad never drove fast. He couldn’t have missed that curve.”

“Well, he did,” Jeff said angrily.

“Do you think…? Was it because I messed up yesterday morning? I was trying to get up the nerve to ask Lauren Patterson on a date, and I wasn’t paying attention to the customers the way I should have been. He got really mad at me. Maybe he was still mad. Maybe he shouldn’t have been driving.”

“People don’t have accidents because their kid messed up,” Jeff said, poking his brother lightly in the ribs with his elbow. “Otherwise, every mom and dad in the world would be dead before their kids get out of their teens.”

Below, Matt bit back a grin. There was a world of wisdom in Jeff’s words and more than a hint of cynicism.

“Then why did it happen?” Andy asked again. “I don’t get it.”

“Dammit, Andy, give it a rest. Dad’s dead. That’s all that matters,” Jeff said bitterly.

Silence fell then and once again Matt felt an urge to light up the one cigarette he kept in his pocket as a safety net.

“Jeff?”

Andy’s voice was soft and scared, the way he used to sound in the dark of night when he thought there were monsters hiding under the bed. Matt had spent enough nights at the house to recognize it.

“Yeah, kid?”

“What’s going to happen to us?”

“We’ll stick together,” Jeff said finally. “You, me, Emma and Mom. We’ll figure things out.”

“Do you think Emma will stay?”

“Sure,” Jeff said.

“I called her and told her things were all messed up around here and she wouldn’t come home,” Andy said. “What makes you think she’ll stay now?”

“She will, that’s all. She’ll have to.”

Matt wondered if Jeff was right. Would Emma stay? He’d heard the guilt and self-recrimination in her voice earlier and guessed that she would hang around, if only because of that. But he hated that it had taken something like this to get her home.

“Well, I don’t want her to,” Andy said heatedly. “I don’t want her here. She wouldn’t come when I asked her to and it’s too late now.”

He scrambled down from the tree house and ran. Matt stepped in his path and caught him.

“Don’t take this out on your sister,” he told Andy quietly. “She’s hurting, too. You all need to stick together now.”

Andy uttered a curse Matt had never expected to hear cross the boy’s lips.

He leveled a look straight into Andy’s eyes. “What would your dad think if he’d heard that?”

“Well, he’s not here, is he?” Andy retorted, then brushed past Matt and went inside.

Matt sighed. Whatever had happened at the lake the night before, this family’s world was never going to be the same again.

4

Emma was stunned by her mother’s appearance. No matter the time of day or the occasion, Rosa had always taken such pride in herself.

“No one wants to be greeted by someone looking haggard and disheveled when they come in the door for breakfast,” she’d told Emma more than once, when Emma would have settled for a hastily combed ponytail, a pair of jeans and a wrinkled T-shirt to work at the diner. It didn’t matter to her mother that grease and spills were likely to ruin clothes faster than playing outside in the dirt.

Rosa always wore bright colors, skillfully applied makeup and a ready smile, even at 6:00 a.m. And even after a tiring, ten-hour shift at Flamingo Diner, she usually looked as energetic and tidy as she had when she’d greeted the first customer in the morning. Somehow she never spilled anything on herself.

Tonight, though, her thick, dark hair was in disarray, her cheeks were pale and she was wearing the rattiest old robe in her closet, the one she usually wore when she scrubbed the floors. Emma was as shocked and dismayed by that as she was by the lost look in her mother’s red-rimmed eyes.

“Oh, Mama, I can’t believe it,” Emma whispered, crossing the room to take her mother in her arms. Rosa, whose figure she herself had always referred to as pleasingly plump, felt fragile to Emma, as if all the familiar strength had drained out of her overnight.

“Neither can I,” her mother said, clasping her hand. “I’m so sorry, Emma. I should have been the one to call you, but I couldn’t find the words. I didn’t want to believe it had happened. I still don’t.”

“Neither do I, Mama.”

Rosa’s gaze drifted away, as if she were looking at something Emma couldn’t see. “I keep waiting for him to come home,” she murmured, half to herself. Her gaze once again sought Emma’s. “He should be here by now. Don’t you think so?”

Alarmed by her mother’s refusal to accept reality, Emma squeezed her hands. “Mama, he’s not coming back. You know that.”

Her mother regarded her with a bewildered expression. “But that can’t be. He had an appointment after we closed and he said he’d be home right afterward. I’ve been waiting and waiting.”

“Daddy’s gone,” Emma said quietly but firmly. “He’s dead.”

The unexpected sharp slap of her mother’s hand against her cheek shocked her.

“Don’t say that,” her mother said furiously. “He’s not dead.”

Emma was too shaken to respond. Her mother had never hit her before, had never really lost her temper. As kids, they’d always known when Rosa was angry. Patches of color would flare in her cheeks and her eyes would flash, but her words were always cool and reasoned. There had been times when Emma had wished that she would simply yell at them, because that icy disappointment in her tone had been devastating.

Touching her cheek gingerly, Emma stood up and moved away, wanting to cry, but terrified that once she started, she’d never be able to stop. Obviously her safe, secure world was never going to be the same again, not with her father dead and her mother so distraught that she would actually slap one of her own children.

“Emma, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that,” Rosa said, sounding as shaken as Emma felt.

“It’s okay, Mama. You’re not yourself right now. None of us are.”

“It is not okay. I just…” She shook her head, as if to clear it. “I can’t think straight. I don’t want to think at all. Could you get me another one of the pills the doctor left? They’re in the bathroom.”

Emma retrieved the bottle and read the label. She had no idea what sort of medicine it was. “What are these?” she asked as she brought them into the bedroom.

“Sleeping pills,” her mother said. “They’re good. They keep me from remembering.”

“I thought you hated taking pills,” Emma said, worried by the eagerness with which her mother was reaching for the plastic bottle.

Her mother frowned at her. “I’ve never been in this situation before. The doctor prescribed them. It won’t hurt to take them for a few days, just to get through this.” She swallowed two and drank some water.

“You mean the funeral?” Emma asked.

“All of it,” her mother replied. “I want to sleep through all of it. I don’t want to wake up until the nightmare ends.”

Alarmed, Emma reached for the bottle, but her mother held fast. “You can’t hide from this, Mama. None of us can. There are decisions to be made.”

“Then you make them,” her mother told her, sliding beneath the covers and turning her back. It was like watching a turtle slowly retreat into its protective shell.

“What about Jeff and Andy? They’re going to need you. I need you.”

“You’re strong, Emma. You’ll do just fine. Maybe Kim can fly down and help you.”

“Kim has to work, Mama.”

“Then you’ll manage. I know you will.”

This was the second time someone had told Emma she was going to have to handle things. She wasn’t ready for that kind of responsibility. Panicked by the prospect, she said urgently, “No, Mama. You’re the strong one. We’re counting on you.”

“Don’t,” her mother said flatly.

Emma stood where she was and stared at her mother’s back, feeling more shut out and alone than she ever had in her life. Her mother was overcome with grief, totally in shock. That’s what it was. It had to be. Rosa Killian wasn’t the kind of woman to turn her back on her family, on her responsibilities. All her life she had taught her children to be caring and generous with their support for friends in need. This retreat from reality wasn’t like her at all.

Was it possible that her mother had guessed it hadn’t been an accident? Was that what she really couldn’t face? Sooner or later, they would have to talk about it, all of it, but obviously not tonight.

Leaning down, she pressed a kiss to her mother’s damp cheek. “I love you, Mama.”

She waited for her mother to say, as she always did, “I love you back,” but there was only silence.

Outside the door to her mother’s room, Emma leaned against the wall and let the tears flow unchecked down her cheeks. She was beginning to fear that when her father’s car had gone into the lake, she’d lost not only him, but both of her parents.

Matt couldn’t make up his mind whether to go or stay. After Andy had charged past him, he’d considered leaving, but something told him that Emma was going to need him after she saw her mother. Rosa wasn’t herself. Not that anyone could blame her, but she was deliberately shutting everyone out, her kids included. Jeff and Andy had never needed her more, but she hadn’t reached out for them after Matt had delivered the news about Don. When Matt had refused to deny the news of Don’s death, she’d simply gone into her room and closed the door behind her. He doubted it would be any different with Emma. His heart ached for her, for all of them.

He’d been ready for the tears when he’d met Emma at the airport, but not the underlying vulnerability. The Emma he remembered had been strong, resilient, like her mother. She’d had a biting wit and a confidence that came from knowing that she was well loved. He’d figured the years would only solidify those traits. But if confidence had failed Rosa at a time like this, it was only reasonable that it would have failed Emma, too.

After all, this was hardly a normal circumstance. For all he knew, Emma could take on the world under most conditions.

He found the coffee in the kitchen cupboard and started to brew a pot, then decided tea would be better. Hadn’t he heard somewhere that tea was supposed to be soothing? Or was that just herbal tea? God, why didn’t he know these things? Why wasn’t he better prepared to help this family he loved get through this crisis? In his years on the police force, he’d somehow mustered the courage to deliver bad news, but he’d rarely been left to deal with its aftermath. With friends involved, however, he couldn’t walk away. He felt like he owed it to Don to stay and cope with the fallout from his passing.

He was still standing in the middle of the kitchen, boxes of tea spread out on the table, when Emma walked in. Her face was streaked with tears, her expression shattered. Matt would have reached for her as he had at the airport, but there was something about her rigid stance that told him she wouldn’t welcome his embrace a second time. In fact, she looked as if she were holding herself together by a thread. He didn’t want to do anything to shatter what was left of her composure.

“I was going to make…” He hesitated, then shrugged sheepishly and gestured at the boxes of tea and coffee he’d dragged from the cupboard. “Something.”

Her lips curved into a fleeting smile. “Couldn’t make up your mind?”

“It’s a little late to be drinking coffee. I thought tea would be better, but I don’t drink the stuff, so I wasn’t sure what kind to make. So, can I get you a cup of something? You tell me.”

“Chamomile tea would be wonderful,” she said, slipping into a chair at the table.

Matt noted the exhaustion in her eyes. “Would you rather go to bed? You’ve had a tough day. You don’t have to entertain me. I can take off.”

“No, stay, please,” she said urgently. “I don’t want to be alone just yet. I won’t be able to get to sleep.”

“Okay, then,” he said, pouring hot water over the tea bag, then setting the cup in front of her.

He pulled out a chair across from her. “How’d it go with your mother?”

“She’s in bad shape. She doesn’t want to deal with any of this. She says I should do whatever I want.” She regarded him with despair. “How can I make the kinds of decisions that need to be made? I have no idea what sort of funeral to arrange. She’s our mother. He was her husband. These are her choices to make. I don’t know if they have burial plots, a particular funeral home they prefer. How could I know that? I thought it would be years and years before I needed to know details like that.”

“She’s still in shock,” Matt said. “She’ll be better in the morning. Then you can all make the decisions together. You need to include Jeff and Andy in this, too. They’re feeling lost right now, too.”

“I’m sure they are, but they have each other at least. I was the one who always relied on Mama. She was my role model.” Emma looked at him, a mix of hope and doubt on her face. “Do you really think she’ll be better in the morning?”

Matt wanted to believe it. He knew Emma needed to believe it, so he reminded her, “Your mother’s a strong woman.”

Emma shook her head. “I always thought so, but she’s retreated to someplace I can’t reach her.” She touched her cheek. “She slapped me.”

Matt stared, spotting the faint trace of pink in Emma’s pale complexion. “Why on earth would she do that?” he asked, genuinely shocked.

“I told her that Dad was dead, that he wasn’t coming back. I insisted that she face the truth and she slapped me.”

He reached for her hand. “I’m sorry. I really am. You know she’s distraught. She’ll feel awful tomorrow.”

“She apologized. As for tomorrow, I’m not sure she’ll feel anything. She seems determined to sleep through everything.” She regarded him with a look filled with hurt and confusion. “What do I do if she’s not better? Do I make the decisions without her?”

“Nothing has to be decided right away,” Matt reassured her. “If she’s not up to it in the morning, you, Jeff and Andy can talk things over and decide what you want. I’ll help in any way I can, too. I can talk to the funeral home, make the arrangements, whatever’s necessary.”

“It’s not your responsibility,” Emma said.

Matt met her gaze evenly, refusing to be shut out. “I loved him, too, you know.”

Her expression instantly apologetic, she squeezed his hand. “I know you did.” She sighed heavily, then glanced around. “Where are Andy and Jeff? Have you seen them?”

“Andy’s in his room. Jeff’s outside, unless he decided to take off after I came back in.”

“He’s in the old tree house, I imagine. They used to love that place. I was barred from ever going up there.” She gave him a faint smile. “I used to sneak up when they weren’t around. In fact, I had my first kiss up there.”

“Oh, really?” Matt said, feeling an unmistakable trace of envy for the lucky boy. “Who was it?”

“Owen Davis,” she announced, her voice a conspiratorial whisper.

“You’re kidding me,” he said, shocked. “You had a thing with Owen Davis? Did your father know about it?”

Emma chuckled at his reaction. “Of course not. He would have been appalled. Owen was not only two years older than me, he rode a motorcycle. He was every girl’s fantasy of a very dangerous guy.”

“More than me?” Matt inquired, wondering just where he’d shown up on her personal radar.

“You weren’t dangerous,” she said as if the idea were ludicrous.

“Your father thought I was.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You were one of the family.”

Matt wasn’t sure whether to be pleased that he’d been so readily accepted in her view or insulted by her complete lack of appreciation for the qualities he’d shared with Owen Davis. If he’d had any idea she was drawn to dangerous boys, maybe he would have made his move back then despite Don’s disapproval. He decided to leave that particular discussion for another day. It wasn’t possible to change the past, anyway.

“So,” he began, forcing a teasing challenge into his voice, “was Owen a good kisser?”

Her expression turned nostalgic. “At the time I thought he was a fantastic kisser,” she admitted.

Matt barely contained a curse at the response. He was being ridiculous. Here he was jealous of a boy Emma had kissed more than a decade ago. Obviously it had never led to anything. He doubted they’d even been in touch in years.

“Have you seen him lately?” he asked anyway.

She stared at him blankly. “Why would I have seen him?”

“You said yourself he was a fantastic kisser.”

“A short-lived opinion. I grew up and discovered that really good kissing involves more than some guy sticking his tongue down your throat,” she said, chuckling. “Owen would not even make my list of top ten kissers today. Probably not even my top hundred.”

Top hundred? What the hell had she been doing up in D.C.? More important, he wondered if he would make the cut. Under other circumstances, he would be tempted to find out. He would be tempted to sweep her into his arms and demonstrate the many nuances of a great kiss. He’d had a lot of years to practice just in case an occasion like this ever arose. He looked up and caught her staring at him curiously.

“What are you thinking?” she asked, her voice vaguely breathless, as if she had a very good idea where his thoughts had wandered.

“You don’t want to know,” he said grimly, deciding to make that coffee after all. If he was going to sit here discussing Emma’s past escapades with the hundred greatest kissers in her life, he was going to need something a whole lot stronger than tea. Liquor was out of the question, given his exhaustion and the fact that he’d have to drive home soon.

“Matt?”

“What?”

“Did I say something to upset you?”

“Of course not. You can say anything you want to me.”

“I always thought I could,” she said, sounding suddenly uncertain.

“You still can,” he insisted, even if listening killed him. He would go through the tortures of hell, if it would distract her for a while from the reality of her father’s death.

“You’re a good guy,” she said.

She said it the way she might say it to an older brother. It grated on Matt’s nerves. He’d worked damn hard to become a good guy, and now he didn’t want to hear it. How ironic was that?

“That’s me, all right.” He poured himself a cup of strong coffee, then sat back down. “Tell me about your life in Washington. You work in an antiques store?”

“Fashionable Memories,” she said at once, her eyes brightening. “It’s a great place.”

As she began to talk, the years fell away and Matt could remember sitting in the backyard by the pool, listening to her spin her dreams for the future. He was pretty sure that back then there had been more talk of Hollywood or piloting a jetliner than selling antiques.

“When did you develop this fondness for old things?” he asked. “I thought you wanted to be an actress or maybe a pilot.”

She laughed. “How on earth did you remember that? I’d almost forgotten. I guess by my senior year in high school I’d figured out I wasn’t cut out for the silver screen, since I never once got chosen for the school play. As for being a pilot, once I understood how much technology was involved, I realized I was more interested in seeing the world than in actually flying a plane.”

“It’s still a big leap from either of those careers to selling antiques,” Matt said.

“While I was in college, I used to wander around Georgetown when I had some free time. There was this great thrift shop next door to a coffee shop I liked. I started poking around in there, looking for things to decorate my dorm room. One day I found a piece of porcelain. Even under all the grime, something about it made me think it might be valuable. I paid a few bucks for it, cleaned it up, then took it up the street to Fashionable Memories. Marcel bought it from me for a hundred dollars, then sold it for twice that. He told me he’d buy any other treasures I stumbled across. Next thing I knew, I was haunting thrift stores and going to flea markets and garage sales all over town. He suggested I start taking some appraisal courses. When I graduated, he offered me a job.”

She grinned at him. “Believe it or not, that’s the short version.”

“And the long version?”

“You don’t want to hear it. I go on and on about the thrill of the hunt, about trying to discover the history behind a particular piece, about feeling connected to the past. It’s pretty boring stuff.”

Matt gazed into her shining eyes and felt that familiar spark of desire, that tug of longing to know everything that went on in her head. She had the kind of enthusiasm that was contagious. “I can’t imagine anything you have to say ever being boring,” he said honestly.

“Then one of these days before I go back to Washington, I’ll take you with me to explore a few thrift shops around this area. I guarantee I’ll have you pleading for mercy by lunchtime,” she promised, barely stifling a yawn.

Matt laughed. “I’ll hold you to that.” He stood up. “I really do need to get out of here and let you get some sleep.” He searched her face. “Think you can now?”

She nodded slowly, looking vaguely surprised. “Actually, yes. Thank you.”

“For what? Making you sleepy?”

She stood up and touched his cheek. “No, for distracting me for a little while.”

“My pleasure. I’ll be back in the morning. If you need anything in the meantime, my home number’s on the back of this card.” He handed it to her, noting the beginnings of a smile tugging on her lips. “What?”

“Matt Atkins, Chief of Police,” she said with a shake of her head. “I guess we really are all grown-up now.”

He shrugged. “So they say.” For the last few hours, he’d felt like a teenager again, awkward and uncertain in the presence of a girl on which he’d had a secret crush forever.

When she reached up to give him a kiss on the cheek, he turned so that her lips brushed his. It was just a fleeting, unexpected caress, but it was enough to send fire shooting through his veins.

When he looked into Emma’s eyes, he saw by her startled reaction that the kiss had done something to her, too. Then her gaze turned shuttered, as if she’d suddenly remembered that her father had just died, and Matt cursed himself for being a jerk. The woman was in mourning and he was sneaking kisses just to prove something to himself.

And what had he proved? That he could coax a reaction from her? That he still felt a powerful pull where Emma Killian was concerned? Or simply that he was about as sensitive as a sledgehammer?

He considered apologizing, then decided that would make way too much of what had been little more than a friendly peck on the lips.

“Get some sleep,” he ordered brusquely instead.

“You, too. You must be exhausted.”

He had been, but then he’d met Emma at the airport and he’d caught a second wind. “I’m used to long hours.”

“But not to finding a friend drowned in the lake, I imagine,” she said quietly, a quaver in her voice as if the haunting image had lodged in her head.

“No, not to that,” he agreed. “Don’t focus on that, Emma. It doesn’t do any good.”

“How can I not?” she asked wistfully. “I’m afraid when I close my eyes that’s what I’ll see. It’s just been words up till now, but I’m afraid if I try to sleep, I’ll see what you saw.”

To be honest, Matt shared the same fear. The scene was indelibly inscribed in his head. Even without having been the one to pull Don from that car, he’d seen him in the murky water, still and lifeless. If it had been horrifying for him, how much worse would it be for Emma? Thank God he’d been the one to discover Don, and not someone in the family who would be haunted by the image forever.

“Come on, then,” he said, making a decision.

Swearing to himself that this was not a totally self-serving act, he led the way into the living room and pulled Emma down on the sofa beside him.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, but she didn’t resist. “Matt, you don’t need to stay. You need to go home and get some sleep.”

“I can pretty much sleep in any position, especially after being up more than twenty-four hours straight,” he said, gently tugging her until her head was resting against his shoulder. “Now, go to sleep. I’ll be right here, if you start to have nightmares.”

“I can’t let you do this,” she protested sleepily, but her eyes were already drifting closed.

Eventually he felt her relax against him, heard her breathing ease. Then, and only then, did he turn off the light and let himself fall asleep.

5

“Well, if this isn’t just fucking terrific!”

Emma was awakened by the sound of Jeff’s disgusted voice. “What’s going on?” she mumbled sleepily. She squinted and caught a glimpse of her brother’s outraged expression. “Jeff? Is everything okay?”

She felt something shift beneath her and realized that she was resting not against a pillow in her own bed, but against Matt’s chest. At her sudden movement, he groaned and stirred.

“Dad’s dead, and the two of you are making it in the living room,” Jeff accused. “Yeah, looks to me like life’s just peachy, at least for you.”

“We are not making it,” Emma said calmly, straightening her blouse as she stood up. Jeff was clearly looking for someone on whom to take out his anger. She refused to let him goad her into such a ridiculous fight.

“You could have fooled me,” Jeff said. “Dad thought you were such a saint. I guess now that he’s gone, the truth’s out.”

Emma fought against the tide of hurt that crashed over her at the reminder that her father was dead. Somehow during the night, wrapped in Matt’s arms, that reality had slipped away. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. It was Matt who filled the silence.

“Don’t speak to your sister that way,” he ordered curtly, scowling at Jeff. “You owe her an apology.”

“For what? Telling her the truth?”

“Nothing happened here, Jeff,” Matt said quietly, “and you know it. We’re both fully clothed. And don’t you think if we were making it, as you put it, we’d have gone someplace a little more private and comfortable? Your sister was upset. I stayed. End of story.”

Emma saw the anger and confusion in Jeff’s eyes and knew that what he was really upset about had nothing to do with finding her in Matt’s arms on the living room sofa. He might be twenty, but he was still a scared kid who’d just lost his dad. She could certainly relate to that. Her father’s death had shaken her world to its very foundation, and she was six years older and had been on her own for some time now.

Determined to fix things between them, she crossed the room and hugged Jeff tightly. At first he simply stood there, rigid and unresponsive.

“Have you shed even one tear?” she asked him, rubbingrown-upg his back as she’d seen her mother do when Jeff was little and came home fighting tears after some schoolyard incident.

“I’m not crying over him!” he retorted furiously, every muscle still tense. “I’m not. He was on my case all the time. Why should I be sorry he’s dead.”

“Jeff, he was our dad. Sure you fought. All kids fight with their parents, but there’s no denying that you’ve lost someone very important to you. It’s natural to feel some anger, because this is the last thing any of us were expecting to happen, but you also have a right to be sad.”

His lip quivered then, but he fought it. When tears welled up in his eyes, he turned away. “I am not crying,” he said staunchly.

She bit back a grin at the brave words. “Okay, then, how about going into the kitchen and starting breakfast while I take a shower?”

“Alone?” he asked, the bitterness back in his voice as he scowled in Matt’s direction.

“Yes, alone,” she said, giving him a smack on his arm. “Stop acting like such a jerk. You know perfectly well nothing’s going on between Matt and me. Matt’s been like a big brother to all of us. Now, go.”

She turned to find Matt staring after Jeff, his expression worried. Or was that some other emotion in his eyes? Sorrow, possibly?

“You’re going to have to keep an eye on him,” he warned, turning back to her at last, his expression composed. “He’s furious and he hasn’t figured out what to do with all that rage yet.”

“I don’t think any of us have,” Emma responded, admitting for the first time aloud that she, too, was furious. This should never have happened, and if her father was gone because he’d chosen to die, it would be a thousand times worse.

“Yes, but you’re not a twenty-year-old boy who’s still finding himself. I’ve been there,” Matt reminded her. “I know what the choices are and exactly how easy it is to make the wrong one.”

“You never made any bad choices,” Emma said.

Matt regarded her with a rueful grin. “Oh, yes, I did, but your dad was around to steer me back onto the right path. Jeff won’t have that kind of guidance.”

Emma deliberately met his gaze. “He’ll have you, won’t he?”

Matt looked momentarily taken aback that she was placing her faith in him, but then he nodded slowly. “I’ll do what I can, but it won’t be the same. And based on the way things have gone here this morning, I’m not sure he’ll listen to me.”

Emma sighed. “No, it won’t be the same, but it will be more than good enough. Jeff idolized you once. When he calms down, he’ll turn to you. I’m counting on that.”

Their gazes remained locked for what seemed an eternity before Matt finally looked away. When he looked back, there was a once familiar spark of mischief in his eyes.

“You know, Jeff did have an interesting idea a minute ago,” he said mildly.

“Oh?” she said, instantly suspicious.

“You know that shower you’re about to take? We could cut expenses and save on water, if I were to join you.”

Emma laughed at the outrageous suggestion, though the sound of her voice seemed a little unsteady, even to her. More than once since she’d returned there had been this little shock of awareness with Matt, something that proved he no longer fit neatly into that surrogate big brother slot she’d always kept him in.

“In your dreams, Atkins,” she said tartly, trying to mentally push him back where he belonged.

He murmured something as she left the room, something that sounded a little like, “You’ve got that right.”

* * *

Matt spent the day at the Killians’ fielding calls from the medical examiner, who still had precious little information to offer about Don’s death beyond ruling out a heart attack or stoke, from his colleagues and from concerned residents of Winter Cove who wanted to express their condolences to the Killians. None of the family, though, were up to taking the calls themselves. Matt made note of everyone who called, so Rosa and the family would know how many people in Winter Cove truly cared.

Emma was clearly overwhelmed. Andy had once again retreated to his tree house and Jeff had taken off for parts unknown right after breakfast, mumbling something about a girl named Marisol expecting him. As for Rosa, she had refused breakfast, then sent Emma away, insisting that she had no intention of taking part in the planning of her husband’s funeral.

“Do whatever you want,” she had told Emma.

That had been her final word. Nothing Emma or even Matt had said could persuade her to reconsider. Nor would she see any of the steady stream of visitors who appeared at the front door bearing casseroles, fruit baskets or homemade cakes and pies. The dining room table was beginning to sag under the weight of all that food and Emma was starting to sag under the weight of her burden.

“I don’t know what to do,” she said, regarding Matt helplessly. “Should I just go ahead and make the arrangements? Obviously they’d never made any plans for something like this.”

“You tell me what day and time you want the service and I’ll do that,” Matt told her. “Why don’t you call a couple of your mother’s friends and ask them to come over here and talk to her? Maybe it would be easier for her to talk to one of them than it is for her to face you.”

“Why on earth would she feel that way?” Emma asked.

“Think about it,” Matt said. “She must have the same questions that have occurred to you and me. If she suspects Don’s death wasn’t an accident, she must feel as if she let down not only Don, but all of you.”

Emma nodded at once. “I’ll call Helen. Mama turned her away this morning, but I’ll plead with Helen not to give up this time. Helen’s been through this kind of thing herself.” She sighed. “I take that back. Her husband died after a long illness. It’s not the same thing at all, is it?”

“She was still left to cope with her grief,” Matt said. “And make no mistake, your mother is grieving.”

“Matt, are we ever going to know what really happened at the lake?” Emma asked. “Or are we going to live with this uncertainty?”

“Will a ruling from the medical examiner that it was an accident satisfy you?”

Emma’s expression went from thoughtful to sad. “That’s what I want more than anything, but to be honest, it won’t erase the doubts. I need to know what really happened. If there’s any chance at all it was a suicide, I need to know why he did it.”

“Then you intend to pursue this?” he said wearily. “I figured as much.”

“Will you help?”

“I’ll do what I can. But Emma, until we know something more, I don’t think you should share your doubts with your family.”

She nodded. “I agree.”

He studied her intently. “You going to be okay here? If so, I’ll run on over to the funeral home.”

Emma looked torn. “I should go with you.”

“Please, let me spare you this part. I’ll go over everything with you afterward, and if something’s not the way you want it, we’ll change it.”

“Thank you,” she said finally, her relief obvious.

He tucked a finger under her chin. “You’ll get through this. You all will,” he said emphatically. “It’ll just take a little time.”

Emma gazed down the hallway toward her mother’s closed door and sighed again. “I hope so. I really do.”

Matt intended to do everything he could to see that she had all the support she needed to get through the tough days ahead.

Rosa would not go to the funeral of a man who’d betrayed her, betrayed all of them, by taking his own life.

There, she thought with a touch of defiance, she’d admitted it. She knew in her heart that Don’s death hadn’t been an accident. The police could say whatever they wanted, but he wasn’t a careless driver. Besides, there had been too many signs that he was unhappy. She hadn’t wanted to see them, but now they were impossible to ignore.

Not that she was about to say a word to a living soul. How could she? What he’d done was a sin. It was horrible enough that she believed it, without admitting it to the whole world and destroying his reputation.

Still, she couldn’t bring herself to go to his funeral. She’d been telling Emma that from the moment the arrangements were made, but Emma hadn’t listened. Now it was less than two hours until the service, and she still hadn’t budged from her bed. She knew she was upsetting her daughter, but this was the way she felt.

Suddenly the door to her room burst open and Helen came striding in, trailed by Emma. They were both dressed in black. Emma’s complexion was so pale, her eyes so haunted that for an instant Rosa felt guilty for causing her more anguish.

“Rosa Killian, I am ashamed of you,” Helen said, scowling down at her. “I never thought of you as a coward.”

Rosa didn’t have the strength to counter the charge. Maybe that’s exactly what she was, a coward. Maybe she didn’t want to face all those stares, all that conjecture. Maybe she didn’t want to face the fact that her husband was really dead. So what? She had a right to hide out if she wanted to. When it came to being a coward, her husband had just set her a fine example.

“No argument?” Helen demanded. She got a firm grip on the covers and ripped them out of Rosa’s grasp. “Get up at once. This day is going to be difficult enough on your children without them having to go through it without their mother. Stop being so damned selfish!”

Rosa stared at her. Helen never cursed. That she had done it now spoke volumes about just how upset she was with her friend.

“I can’t do it,” Rosa said simply, huddling where she was, wishing she’d taken another of those sleeping pills.

“I didn’t think I could do it when Harrison died, either, but I managed. You were there. All my friends were there. And my children needed me. I concentrated on that and somehow I got through the day.”

“Maybe you’re just braver than I am.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Emma, tell her how strong she is.”

“You are, Mama. You’re the strongest woman I know,” Emma said quietly.

“Perhaps I was, once,” Rosa conceded. “Not anymore.”

“Inner strength doesn’t disappear,” Helen chided. “It just gets buried for a while. It’s there when we need it.”

Rosa looked into her friend’s eyes, then into her daughter’s. They were both expecting more than she had to give. “I honestly don’t know if I can do this.”

“You can and you must,” Helen insisted. “You take a shower and fix your hair. I’ll find you something to wear.” She turned to give Emma a reassuring smile. “It will be okay now. Just give us a half hour.”

“Are you sure you don’t need me?” Emma asked, her gaze on Rosa.

Rosa thought of the burden she’d left on her daughter’s shoulders for days now and forced herself to shake her head. “Helen’s right. It’ll be okay. Could you make me a cup of strong tea with some sugar?”

Looking relieved, Emma nodded and left the room.

“You should be proud of your daughter,” Helen said. “She’s heartbroken, but she’s doing what needs to be done. And Matt’s been a godsend. He’s been right by her side. Do you suppose that after all this time…?”

“I can’t even think about that now,” Rosa said, cutting her off.

“Maybe it would do you good to think about something besides yourself,” Helen retorted.

Guilt rushed through Rosa. “I have been selfish. I know that. I just can’t face this. I can’t face any of it.”

“You can,” Helen repeated. “We’ll be right beside you. All of your friends are just waiting for you to reach out to us. Jolie and Sylvia are heartsick that you haven’t let them in. After today, we’ll be right here as you start to pick up the pieces of your life. I can tell you from experience, you do it one day at a time. You’ll have good days and bad ones, but you will go on. And eventually life returns to what passes for normal.”

There was only one thing wrong with Helen’s promise, Rosa thought as she went to get ready. Without her beloved Don, she had no life.

Matt remained by Emma’s side throughout the funeral, but he kept his eye on Jeff. During the service Jeff stayed dutifully beside Andy, but the instant it was over, he began drifting away from the crowd. Matt made his way toward him and clamped a firm hand around the back of his neck.

“You about ready to head back to the house?” Matt asked, keeping his tone friendly enough.

Heat flooding into his cheeks, Jeff regarded him angrily. “What’s it to you?”

“Your mom and Emma will be expecting you,” Matt said. “Are you going to let them down?”

“The whole damn town’s going to be hanging out at the house. Who needs it?” he retorted. “This whole funeral thing is a crock.”

“It’s a ritual,” Matt corrected. “It’s a way for people to say goodbye, a way they can offer comfort to those left behind. Doesn’t it feel good to know how many people loved your dad?”

“They weren’t here today because they loved him,” Jeff said scathingly. “They were here to gawk at us, to watch us bawling our eyes out.”

“You don’t really believe that,” Matt argued. “People were here because they care about all of you. Your family’s a real part of this community. Flamingo Diner isn’t just another restaurant. It’s a home away from home for a lot of people. Maybe you can’t appreciate that now, but someday you will.”

“If you think this town is so great, why’d you leave?”

Matt smiled. “For the same reason you did, I imagine. I needed to figure out who I was and how to make something of my life. Once I’d done that, I came back.”

“You came back because you’ve always had the hots for my sister,” Jeff retorted.

“If that were the case, why wouldn’t I have moved to Washington? That’s where she lives these days,” Matt reminded him mildly.

Jeff apparently had no answer for that. But it didn’t stop him from saying, “I know what I know. I’ve seen the way you look at her.”

“Your sister’s a beautiful woman. Any man who doesn’t take a second look has to be blind.”

Jeff shook his head in disgust. “And Dad always thought you were a straight shooter. You can’t even tell the truth about a little thing like this.”

“Maybe because any feelings I might have for any woman are private,” Matt replied. “That’s a lesson you should learn, kid. Never kiss and tell. Now let’s get on over to the house.”

“I have other plans with my friends.”

“They can wait,” Matt said, his gaze unyielding.

Jeff tried to stare him down, but he was no match for a cop’s steady gaze. “Yeah, whatever,” he said finally.

He started to walk away, but Matt clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“One more thing,” he said. “If these were your real friends, they would have been here today.”

“Like I told Andy, they didn’t even know my dad.”

“But they know you, and they could have come out of respect,” Matt said pointedly. “That’s what real friends do. Maybe you ought to think about that before you get too tight with these people.”

“Lay off, okay?” he said, still defiant. “I’m not a kid and you’re not my boss.”

“Maybe not,” Matt agreed, keeping his gaze perfectly level. He knew how disconcerting that could be when someone had something to hide. “But you step out of line, and I can make you regret it. Your mom and your sister and brother don’t need that kind of grief right now, know what I mean?”

“Whatever,” Jeff said, but he looked just a little shaken.

“I’ll see you at the house, right?” Matt called after him, still not letting up.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Jeff said with a one-fingered salute.

Matt forced himself to ignore the gesture. “It’s a ten-minute drive,” he told Jeff. “I’ll give you fifteen before I come looking for you.”

“I said I’d be there,” Jeff said.

Matt nodded slowly. “I’m trusting you to keep you word.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Jeff said, but when he climbed into his car, he turned it toward home.

6

Rosa should have felt gratified. There had been so many people at the funeral, so many sincere expressions of sympathy. Every word spoken to her had been filled with very real dismay over her loss. Even the mayor had come by the house to offer his condolences. Though Rosa listened skeptically, for once his remarks seemed to be genuine, rather than calculated for maximum political benefit.

“Don Killian was a tremendous asset to this community,” Owen Habersham said, clasping Rosa’s hand in his. “Whenever I had a problem, I knew I could come to him for clear thinking.”

Rosa had always felt the same way about her husband, had thought he felt the same about her. So why hadn’t Don come to her with whatever devastating problem had been on his mind at the end? She’d always believed there was nothing they couldn’t discuss, nothing they couldn’t work out.

The early years of their marriage had been filled with trials—business struggles, a miscarriage, the loss of his parents, then hers—but they had met each test together. Even before they’d married, there had been a few serious ups and downs. One rift had almost broken them up permanently, but they’d mended it and been stronger than ever.

She sighed at the irony in the mayor’s comment. If her husband had been thinking clearly, would he have killed himself? She was ashamed of his actions, even more ashamed that she hated him for them. One act, one instance of craziness, had destroyed everything she’d felt for him, all the love in her heart. It had turned her into a liar and a hypocrite. She was keeping her suspicions—her certainty—that Don had purposely driven into that lake from the police and, more important, from her family. She simply couldn’t bring herself to add to the devastation that Emma, Jeff and Andy were already feeling. And even now she felt a tremendous sense of loyalty to Don. She wanted to protect his reputation, which was more than he’d seen fit to do when he’d decided to drive into the lake.

Hearing so many people say such nice things should have been gratifying, but it wasn’t. She felt like a fraud, as if she didn’t deserve their sympathy because she was so horribly angry with the man they were bent on praising. Worse, she felt she didn’t deserve any compassion because it was plain to her, at least, that she had let Don down in some real, meaningful way. Why else would her husband take his own life?

“Excuse me,” she said to the mayor, when she could take it no longer. Hurrying from the room, ignoring those who spoke, she made her way to the comparative quiet of the kitchen.

Helen, who’d rarely let Rosa out of her sight, rushed after her. “How are you holding up?” she asked.

“Can you get these people out of here?” Rosa pleaded. “I’m not sure I can handle it if one more person tells me how wonderful Don was.”

“He was wonderful,” Helen replied, her tone chiding Rosa for thinking otherwise even under the current circumstances.

“I always thought so,” Rosa said, feeling the rage once again begin to build in her chest. “But wonderful people do not suddenly decide to kill themselves one day. They do not abandon their families and leave them with a million questions.”

Helen gasped. “Rosa, what on earth are you saying? Don’s death was an accident. No one’s said otherwise.”

“I know better,” Rosa said. “He drove into that lake on purpose. Nothing else makes sense.”

“Stop that. Stop it right now!” Helen said. “You can’t be saying such a thing. You can’t even think it.”

“I don’t think it. I know it,” Rosa insisted, then sighed. “But you’re right, I can’t say anything to another living soul.” She gazed at her friend. “But I have to talk to someone, Helen, or I’ll go crazy.”

“Then you can talk to me,” Helen said decisively. “If you need to work through this, then you can say whatever you want to me and it will go no further.”

Rosa nodded. “You knew Don. How could he do such a thing?”

“If—and I’m not saying I believe it for a minute—if he committed suicide, then something terrible obviously drove him to it. Anyone can reach a breaking point.”

“Of course they can,” Rosa agreed. “But what was Don’s breaking point? Can you tell me that? Was he having an affair? Did some other woman dump him or threaten to tell me what was going on? Was he sick? Was he trying to spare us months of suffering? Or was he just tired of everyday life with me and the children?”

“I don’t know,” Helen said, looking utterly helpless. “I wish I could give you answers, but I can’t. I can’t even accept the possibility that you might be right. You may have to resign yourself to not knowing.”

“I can’t live with that,” Rosa said angrily. She searched her friend’s face and voiced just one of her fears. “Helen, do you think he was involved with another woman? Someone at the diner, maybe?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Helen scolded. “Don would never have an affair right under your nose. He would never have an affair, period. He loved you. If there’s one thing I do know, it’s that.”

“How do you know that?” Rosa scoffed. “I never thought he’d kill himself, either.”

Helen obviously had no answer for that. She merely returned Rosa’s gaze, her expression distraught.

“I know one thing,” Rosa declared. “I am not setting foot in that diner ever again, not when there could be someone there who was sleeping with my husband.”

“Rosa, you’re talking crazy now,” Helen said impatiently. “Listen to me. There was no other woman. I am as sure of that as I am that the sun will rise tomorrow morning. You love that diner. You’re its heart and soul. People come there for a kind word from you. They can get a decent omelette or pancakes anyplace, but they can’t see their friends or be welcomed like one of the family anyplace else in Winter Cove. Besides that, it’s your livelihood. Who’ll run it, if you don’t?”

Rosa faltered at that. Don had always taken care of the finances. She had no idea what sort of money they had, but she doubted it was much, not with Jeff in college and Emma out only a few years. Don had believed in building up the equity they had in Flamingo Diner. Every spare penny had been put back into the business. That equity ought to be worth something. And it was on a prime piece of real estate now that downtown Winter Cove was turning trendy.

“I could sell it,” she said slowly.

“You wouldn’t,” Helen replied with shock.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Rosa challenged. “Emma and Jeff aren’t interested. That leaves Andy, but why should I tie him down to a business he might not even want? Why not sell it and invest the money?” She was already warming to the idea. In fact, she could move back to Miami to be closer to her sisters. No one there would stare at her with pity the way so many of her friends had today. Of course, she wasn’t as close to her sisters as she was to Helen, Sylvia and Jolie, her three best friends.

“And do what?” Helen asked. “How would you spend your days?”

Right now the only thing that appealed to Rosa was sleeping through them. “I’d find plenty to do,” she said confidently. “Especially if I went back to Miami. I could work in my uncle’s restaurant. I could have Sunday dinners with my family, go to Mass at the church where I had my First Communion.”

And best of all, there were few memories of Don in Miami. They had met there, but the courtship had been brief and tumultuous. Then, immediately after the wedding, they’d moved to Winter Cove and opened Flamingo Diner, using every penny of both their savings to invest in their future.

Helen was staring at her as if she didn’t even know her. “Would you honestly rip Andy out of school here, just before his senior year? Would you be that selfish?”

Rosa felt Helen’s jab hit its target. She couldn’t do that to Andy. It would destroy his chances of getting into a good university with the football scholarship they were counting on. She sighed heavily, filled with regret.

“You’re right,” Rosa admitted reluctantly. “I’d have to wait.” She met Helen’s gaze and added defiantly, “But it’s still something to consider.”

“If I learned nothing else when Harrison died, I learned that it is not wise to make any sort of major decision when you’re grieving,” Helen told her. “Whatever you do, don’t make any hasty decisions. Promise me.”

Since Rosa didn’t feel capable of deciding what clothes to put on, much less what to do about the future, she nodded. “I promise.”

“That’s good, then,” Helen said, linking her arm through Rosa’s. “Now let’s get back out there. This will be over soon.”

“Not nearly soon enough,” Rosa said grimly.

Matt hovered in the background as the gathering at the Killians’ finally began to wind down. People had been coming and going for a couple of hours now, sharing stories about Don, reminding Emma and her mother of how much Flamingo Diner meant to them. He could see from the weariness in Emma’s eyes and the distance in Rosa’s that the words weren’t really registering. As for Jeff and Andy, they had disappeared back into the tree house. Matt had reassured himself on that point the second he’d realized they were gone. As long as Jeff focused on getting Andy through his grief, he couldn’t be somewhere else getting into the sort of mischief that could ruin his life.

Matt glanced around at the few remaining guests, most of whom were longtime friends. He wondered if any of them had any inkling of what had gone wrong in Don’s life. If they knew, would they eventually share what they knew with the family, stirring up the doubts about Don’s death that were already plaguing Emma?

If it was a suicide, then finding a motive wasn’t really his job, but Matt felt compelled to investigate, because Emma wouldn’t be at peace until they had one. She was going to push this, no matter where it led.

He spotted Gabe Jenkins and Harley Watson huddled together in a corner and wondered if they knew anything about what had tormented Don in his last weeks. Gabe was a cranky old geezer on his good days, but he and Harley somehow managed to get along, and Don had always found a few minutes to sit with them once the breakfast rush had died down at the diner. Matt doubted they’d exchanged any deep, dark secrets, but after knowing each other for a lot of years, there was no telling what they talked about. Matt wandered over, hoping to pick up some tidbit of information on the sly, but they were on to him at once.

“Might’s well come all the way over here, if you expect to hear what we’re saying,” Gabe told him irritably.

Matt grinned at having been caught. “I thought I’d wait to see if you were talking about anything interesting. I don’t want to be bored to death listening to you two moan about your prostates.”

Harley gave him a dark look. “We’re talking about life and death, if you must know. Can’t figure out how Don missed that curve. He drove along the lake twice a day at least, sometimes more. He knew the road. Was there any evidence that he was hit by another car?”

“None,” Matt admitted.

“He was smart, too,” Harley added. “I’d bet there was one of those gizmos in the car that can crack a windshield in an emergency. Why do you suppose he didn’t use it?”

Nothing in the report Matt had gotten just that morning indicated that there was a tool to shatter glass inside the car, but he agreed with Harley that it was the kind of thing Don would have, given the number of canals around Central Florida. He needed to check on that.

He tuned back in to what Gabe was saying.

“I just don’t get it. He had a great business, a terrific family—what more is there?”

“Nothing I can think of,” Matt agreed.

“You think the mob was after him?” Gabe asked with more enthusiasm than usual. “Maybe they ran him off the road.”

“Are you crazy?” Harley retorted. “What’s the matter with you, old man? Have you been watching The Sopranos again?”

“Only sopranos I know sing in the choir at church,” Gabe responded. “But everybody knows the mob likes to pokes its nose into all sorts of places asking for protection money. Maybe Don wouldn’t pay up.”

“Protection from what?” Harley demanded. “What kind of crime do we have in Winter Cove? Matt here sees to it that we don’t have a lot of criminals on the loose.”

“He does his part,” Gabe agreed with a nod in Matt’s direction. “Doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a little help. You never know.”

“I know,” Harley retorted, scowling fiercely.

“You don’t know everything.”

Matt decided it was time to step in before the two men came to blows. “I think we can safely assume that there was no mob involvement in this. I know a little bit about organized crime.”

Gabe nodded enthusiastically. “It’s rampant in the big cities, am I right?”

“I wouldn’t say rampant,” Matt countered. “But it does exist. I just don’t happen to think it’s made its way to Winter Cove, certainly not to the point where our residents are likely to be the target of a hit that’s made to look like an accident.”

“Maybe it wasn’t an accident at all,” Gabe suggested. “Maybe he killed himself because they were after him.”

“Oh, give it a rest, you old coot,” Harley said, regarding him with disgust.

“You got any better ideas about why a good driver like Don would wind up in the lake?” Gabe asked, clearly annoyed that his theory hadn’t been taken seriously. He turned to Matt. “You think there’s something funny about the way he died, too, don’t you?”

Matt refused to answer. He didn’t want to send their already wild imaginations into a frenzy. Who knew where that could lead?

Gabe regarded him with disgust. “Okay, don’t say it, Matthew. I can see the truth written all over your face. That’s what brought you sneaking over here to listen in on our conversation. You don’t think it was an accident any more than we do.” Before Matt could respond, Gabe turned to Harley. “I suppose you’ve got a theory.”

“A woman,” Harley said without hesitation. “When a man goes off his rocker, there’s always a woman involved, believe you me.”

“And you would know, wouldn’t you?” Gabe retorted. “What’s it been? Three marriages? Four?”

Harley frowned. “Five, if you must know, so yes, I think I know a thing or two about what a woman can drive a man to do.”

“Don had Rosa,” Gabe reminded him. “You ever seen two people more in love?”

“They’d been together a lot of years,” Harley persisted. “Sometimes a man gets to a certain age and decides to take a look around. Don was a friendly guy. A lot of women who came in the diner probably took a second look at him.”

“Any one in particular?” Matt inquired casually, even though he couldn’t imagine Don ever looking at anyone besides Rosa.

Harley looked pleased as punch that someone was taking him seriously. “Maureen Polk, maybe. She’s been looking to get married again. She’s even cast her eye in my direction.”

Gabe rolled his eyes. “Just shows the sort of taste she has. Don would never give a woman like that the time of day.”

“Anyone else?” Matt asked.

Harley’s expression turned thoughtful. “You know he was huddled with that Sawyer girl an awful lot.”

Gabe hooted. “Are you crazy? Jennifer Sawyer is young enough to be his daughter. She went to school with you, didn’t she, Matt?”

Matt nodded slowly, unwilling to comment. His own relationship with Jennifer hadn’t been common knowledge. He’d seen the financial consultant at Flamingo Diner just about every morning, but few people had suspected that they hadn’t simply bumped into each other there by accident. When Jennifer had wanted their relationship to go public and Matt had broken it off, he’d managed to avoid her. In all that time, Matt couldn’t recall Don paying any particular attention to Jennifer. Besides, Don wouldn’t so much as innocently flirt right under Rosa’s nose, much less start a torrid affair with a woman half his age. Matt wouldn’t believe it of him, not without hard proof. And for a while there, Jennifer hadn’t had time to be involved with another man. He could swear to that.

Harley’s expression turned sour. “Don’t either of you think that Don was above such a thing. There’s not a man on the planet who can’t be tied up in knots by a female, and that’s the truth. You talk to her, Matt. I’m willing to bet that Sawyer woman knows something.”

“Bet what?” Gabe demanded at once. “Put some money on the line and make it interesting.”

“The only place I bet is the racetrack,” Harley retorted piously. “And Gabe Jenkins, you should be ashamed of turning this into some sort of sleazy way to make a couple of bucks.”

Gabe did have the grace to look abashed by the criticism. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

Matt regarded them both sternly. “I hope neither of you let Rosa or Emma hear your wild ideas. This has been difficult enough for them. Right now Don’s death is considered an accident, period. Are we clear on that?”

“Absolutely,” Harley said at once, obviously horrified that Matt would think he might share his speculation with the family.

“She won’t hear a word from me, either,” Gabe assured him.

Satisfied, Matt left them and went in search of Emma. She’d left the room a half hour earlier and hadn’t reappeared.

He found her out by the pool, sitting on the edge, her bare feet dangling in the water, her cheeks streaked with tears. The vulnerable expression in her eyes when she looked up tore at him.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked.

She shrugged.

Matt kicked off his shoes, ripped off his socks and rolled up his pants legs before dropping down beside her. The pool was bathwater warm. On any other occasion, he’d have been tempted to search for a spare bathing suit inside the house and jump right in.

“A swim would feel good about now,” he said just to make conversation.

“Believe me, I thought about jumping in with my clothes on, but I figured everyone would panic and think I was trying to drown myself,” Emma retorted with a wry glance in his direction.

“Emma, no one would make comparisons with what happened to your father. As far as most of the people here are concerned, he died in an accident.”

She gave him a skeptical look. “I saw you huddled with Gabe and Harley. They were good friends of Dad’s. Do they think it was an accident?”

“Gabe and Harley are bored. They’re always looking for excitement,” he said carefully.

“In other words, they think there’s something off with the way he died, too,” she said. “What do they know?”

“They don’t know anything,” Matt insisted. “They’re just speculating.”

She started to get to her feet. “I need to talk to them.”

“Not now,” he insisted, catching her hand and pulling her back down beside him. “I know everything they know and it’s nothing we can do anything about right this second. I’ll follow up on it tomorrow. You need to get some rest.”

“As if I can,” she said wearily. “Do you think any of us will be able to look at anyone else ever again without wondering if there’s some dark secret at work? If my dad could kill himself, is there anyone who’s not susceptible to suicide as a way out?”

“You,” Matt said with certainty. “And I wish you would stop saying that your dad killed himself. We don’t know that.”

“I do,” Emma said. “I don’t want to believe it, but I can’t ignore what my heart is telling me. As for me not being likely to kill myself, I don’t see how you can say that. Everyone always said Dad and I were a lot alike.”

“And you were, but you have your mother’s strength. Problems don’t daunt you. You pitch in and look for solutions.”

Emma seemed surprised by his analysis. “What makes you say that?”

Matt grinned. “Remember the time you broke your brother’s bike? You’d borrowed it without permission, then ended up smashing it into a tree. I’ve never seen such a mess, but when I came along you weren’t crying or wringing your hands. You looked me straight in the eye and asked me if I could sneak back to the house and get some tools and help you put it back together.”

She leaned into him for a second. “You were definitely my hero that day.”

Matt gazed into her eyes and barely resisted the desire to sigh. If only he could have stayed her hero.

Then again, maybe he was getting a second chance now, though he wondered how she’d feel if she knew he’d carried on a brief, but torrid affair with the woman Gabe and Harley thought might also have been linked to her father.

“You’re doing the same thing now,” he told her, forcing himself to focus on the present, not the past. “You’re trying to fix this, doing what needs to be done, even though your heart is breaking.”

“I suppose,” she said. “But it’s one thing to come home and organize a funeral, to get meals on the table, and try to lift everyone’s spirits. It’s quite another to know what to do next.”

“You’ll figure it out. When the time comes, the answer will come to you.”

She regarded him skeptically. “What if I don’t like the answer?”

He knew what she was really worried about. She was terrified that she was going to be needed here indefinitely, when her life—the life she loved—was elsewhere.

“Then you’ll come up with a better one,” he said confidently. “Or if there’s only one solution, then you’ll make peace with it.”

“You make it sound so easy,” she said, sounding wistful.

“Not easy,” Matt corrected. “I know nothing about this is easy, but I have every confidence that you’re up to the challenge.” He glanced over and saw the sad, lost expression on her face, and decided that what Emma needed more than anything right now was to get her mind off the future. He elbowed her gently in the ribs to get her attention.

“Last one to the other end is a rotten egg,” he taunted, already shoving off the edge of the pool.

She stared after him in shock. Then a grin slowly spread across her face and she, too, pushed off.

Emma was a strong swimmer, more than strong enough to be a match for his greater height and head start. They touched the far end of the pool at the same instant and came out of the water laughing.

“You’re crazy,” she said, but her eyes were sparkling for the first time since she’d returned home.

Matt figured that ruining his best suit pants in all that chlorine was a small price to pay to see Emma happy. It might be a very temporary fix, but at least it was a reminder to both of them that life went on, that laughter was still possible even in the face of tragedy.

Just then she reached up, her hand cool against his cheek. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

“For?”

“This. Everything.”

Matt turned his head and pressed a kiss to the palm of her hand. “Anytime, darlin’. Anytime.”

Still soaking wet and dripping all over the tile floor in the kitchen, Emma ran smack into her mother, who regarded her with a horrified expression.

“What on earth were you thinking?” Rosa demanded. “We’ve just buried your father and you’re jumping into the pool with your clothes on. What will people say?”

Before Emma could reply that she didn’t give two figs what anyone thought, she sensed Matt stepping up behind her.

“It’s my fault,” he told her mother. “I fell in and Emma had to rescue me.”

Rosa scowled at both of them as if they were fourteen again. “As if I’m likely to believe that. Emma, go change your clothes. Jack Lawrence wants to talk to us. Matthew, go up to my room and find something of Don’s to put on before you go home.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Matt said meekly, then winked at Emma as he passed by.

Emma stood where she was, shivering in the air-conditioned room. “Why does Mr. Lawrence need to see us tonight?”

Rosa sighed. “It’s about your father’s will.”

“Can’t that wait?”

“He says not.”

Emma touched her mother’s pale face. “Are you up to this?”

“No, but it appears I have no choice. Now, hurry and change, please. Let’s get this over with. Jeff and Andy are already waiting.”

Emma changed clothes quickly and ran a comb through her damp hair. She said a quick goodbye to Matt in the hallway, then drew in a deep breath before joining her mother and brothers in the living room.

Jack Lawrence, her parents’ lawyer, had a sheaf of papers in front of him and a somber expression on his face that made her catch her breath. He nodded when Emma walked in, then began to speak in what she assumed to be the tone he deliberately chose for sad occasions. No normal human being talked in such a low, falsely soothing monotone.

“As you know, I have been this family’s attorney for many years now. As soon as I heard the terrible news about Don, I began gathering the information I knew you would need to move on with your lives. I have his will here, which is simple enough. If it’s all right with all of you, I’ll dispense with a formal reading and just explain it.”

“Please,” Rosa said, as if she would agree to anything that shortened the proceedings.

“Okay, then,” the attorney said. “Everything is left in your name Rosa, with provisions that it be divided equally among Emma, Jeff and Andy after your death.”

Emma glanced at her mother and noted that she’d clenched her hands so tightly that the knuckles were white.

“What exactly are our assets?” Rosa asked. “Don had insurance policies.”

The attorney looked uncomfortable. “I’ve looked into those. Because his death hasn’t…” He stopped, censored himself, and tried again. “Because Don’s death hasn’t officially been ruled an accident, they won’t pay. Not yet, at any rate. Of course, once there’s an official ruling, I’m sure that money will come to you.”

Emma watched her mother’s face as the attorney spoke. She showed no reaction to his pointed remark about the death not having been ruled an accident. Once again she wondered if her mother shared her suspicions about it being deliberate. Was that why she’d been so angry, why she’d refused to see her friends? Because she didn’t want to voice her fear that her husband had committed suicide?

“I see,” Rosa said, her voice weak and clearly strained. “What do we have?”

“There’s your joint checking account. A small retirement account. This house and, of course, Flamingo Diner. Rosa, I’m sure you have a better sense of your cash flow than I do, but as long as the diner stays operating, I imagine you’ll be just fine financially. The mortgage payment is a little higher than I anticipated, but you’ve been managing for months now, so there’s no reason to assume you won’t be able to continue to do so.”

Her mother’s complexion paled. “We can’t possibly have a high mortgage payment on the diner. We took out that loan nearly thirty years ago. We should be within months, maybe a year, of paying it off.”

The attorney looked taken aback by her claim. “Rosa, I’m afraid there’s been some mistake. According to the records I have, the loan won’t be paid off for another fourteen years. Don refinanced and took out a fifteen-year note on the diner just a year ago.”

Emma reached for her mother’s hand, found it to be cold as ice. “How can that be?” she asked. “Surely my mother wouldn’t be mistaken about something like that.”

“All I know is what the bank reported to me,” Jack said defensively. “The loan on the house should be paid off about the same time. It was refinanced last year as well.”

“Oh, my God,” Rosa whispered, looking shocked. “What did he do to us?”

Emma, Jeff and Andy watched helplessly as their mother ran from the room, listened as the door slammed shut behind her. Her sobs echoed through the stunned silence.

“I’m sorry,” Jack said, looking at Emma. “I had no idea she didn’t know.” He gathered his papers together, then met Emma’s gaze. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do, anything at all.”

Emma doubted she would be calling on him. For the moment, he’d done quite enough to further shatter their once secure world. As for her, any last hope she’d had of being able to go back to Washington in the near future was pretty much dashed to bits. Far worse, with the revelations about the financial mess her father had created and hidden from her mother, any slim shred of hope she’d clung to that her father’s death had been an accident had been snapped in two.

7

Emma wished with everything in her that she could follow Jack Lawrence out into the night and never come back. She dreaded going back inside to face the million questions her brothers were bound to have. How could she calm their fears when she had so many of her own? As for her mother, she had no idea how to deal with her at all.

When she finally drew in a deep breath and went into the dining room, she walked into the middle of a heated argument between Andy and Jeff.

“Leave it to the old man to throw us a curve,” Jeff said angrily. “Did you see mom’s face? She didn’t know about those mortgages. I’ll bet dad was throwing all that money away on some woman.”

“He was not!” Andy said, obviously near tears. “Don’t you dare say that.”

“Andy’s right,” Emma said quietly. “I won’t let you talk about our father that way.”

“Then you explain where all that money went,” Jeff retorted.

“I don’t know,” Emma said. “But I do intend to find out.”

Andy ignored her and turned to Jeff. “Are we broke?”

Fearful of what Jeff might say, she stepped in. “No. As long as we have the diner, we’ll never be broke.”

“What are we going to do?” Andy asked, still looking to his brother. He swallowed hard, then squared his shoulders and said bravely, “I can drop out of football this fall and work another job. I can put off college for another year, too.”

Emma wasn’t surprised that Andy was immediately willing to make sacrifices. It was his nature, but she couldn’t allow him to do it.

Before she could say a word, though, Jeff spoke up. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said fiercely. “This is not your problem to solve.”

“Then who will?” Andy asked.

“We’ll all pitch in, I guess,” Jeff said, sounding less certain.

“Even Emma?” Andy asked as if she weren’t sitting right there. His skepticism was plain.

Emma sighed. Until now, things had been so hectic that she’d been able to avoid the fact that her brother was furious with her for not coming home sooner. Clearly, she had some fence-mending to do with Andy.

“Of course, I’ll pitch in,” Emma said emphatically.

“You planning on sending a check from D.C. every so often?” Jeff asked bitterly, then added mockingly, “Big deal.”

So, it was two against one, she thought. Maybe she deserved their attitude. She returned Jeff’s angry gaze with an unflinching look. “What would you like me to do?”

Jeff faltered at that. “Honestly, I don’t give a rat’s ass what you do,” he retorted, heading for the door.

“Jeff!”

Emma’s impatient, slightly frantic voice carried after him, but he ignored her. She turned to Andy.

“Why don’t you go ahead and say it,” she suggested quietly.

He squirmed uncomfortably. He was not the kind of kid who enjoyed confrontation.

“Well?”

“Say what?” he asked.

“I know you’re angry with me. I know you think if I had come home sooner things might have turned out differently.”

“That’s right,” he said, his voice climbing. “If you’d been here, Dad might not be dead. It’s your fault, Emma.” His voice caught on a sob. “I hate you! I hate you!”

She stopped him as he tried to run from the room and held him tightly. “I wish I’d been here,” she told him, her own tears streaking down her cheeks. “I wish I’d listened to you.” He had no idea how much she regretted the choice she’d made to wait to come home.

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