“I’m not sure what’s going on here, Small Town, but something is,” Jared whispered.

Mara didn’t answer him. She wasn’t exactly sure how to answer him.

But she was sure of one thing – something was going on between them. Something that seemed outside them both. Bigger than them both. Stronger.

She just had to remind herself that in spite of what she felt, she was likely not to have more than this night with him.

And while she was reasonably sure that wasn’t going to be enough for her in the long run, right now, in his arms, with their bodies moulded together, it was just about as good as it could get.

VICTORIA PADE

is a native of Colorado, where she continues to live and work. Her passion – besides writing – is chocolate, which she indulges in frequently and in every form. She loves romance novels and romantic movies – the more lighthearted, the better – but she likes a good, juicy mystery now and then, too.

Dear Reader,

This is a book about someone who has everything – more than everything – being shocked to discover that he needs to get a life. Jared Perry is superrich, superpowerful, supersexy, and even though he can’t quite figure out why he’s suddenly feeling antsy, the last thing it would seem to be is that he’s missing anything. And then he meets Mara Pratt.

Mara Pratt is not only a plain and simple home town girl, but also she’s from the home town Jared couldn’t wait to get out of and never return to. How could she possibly be what’s lacking in his enviable life? And yet when he returns to Northbridge, Montana, in order to meet his long-lost – and notorious – grandmother, he begins to find that life without Mara is pretty empty.

But in order to have Mara he must also accept the place she loves and has no intention of leaving. And face a grandfather he’s been at odds with for years.

Welcome home to Northbridge!

Victoria Pade

Bachelor No More

VICTORIA PADE

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Chapter One

“Is that someone coming up the stairs? Now? At ten o’clock on a Sunday night? I don’t believe these people!”

“I’ll take care of it. Go on and do what you were going to do,” Mara Pratt advised the elderly woman as Mara stood to give her a hand, pulling her severely overweight body from a recliner.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. That’s one of the reasons I’m here, remember? To run interference for you,” Mara reminded.

Celeste Perry managed a tight, weary smile. “I don’t know what I would have done without you this last week.”

“I don’t know what I would have done without you for longer than that,” Mara countered.

Celeste gave Mara a warm hug and then pointed at Mara’s nose. “You have a little flour smudge from making cookies.”

Mara brushed at the spot the older woman had brought to her attention. “Go. Get ready for bed. Tomorrow will be the roughest day yet and you need some rest. As soon as I send this reporter—or whoever it is—on their way, I’ll pour you a little brandy and you can wind down.”

The rotund woman nodded and disappeared around a corner of the small apartment the Pratt family owned and had rented to Celeste for decades.

Not that they had known they were renting it to the notorious Celeste Perry any more than they’d known her true identity throughout all the years they’d employed her at their dry cleaners. They—like the rest of the people of Northbridge, Montana—had believed they were renting and giving work to a quiet, unassuming woman named Leslie Vance, a stranger new to town in 1970.

The solid, even thuds of steps coming up the outer stairs stopped about the time Mara heard Celeste’s bedroom door close. Then a knock sounded.

Wanting to make sure she wasn’t too unpresentable if she had to open the door, Mara glanced into a mirror on the wall for a quick check as she called, “Who is it?”

“I’m here to see Celeste Perry,” a deep male voice called back.

That was hardly a revelation. As the woman who had—in 1960, after a bank robbery that had rocked the small community—left her two sons and her husband to run off with one of the robbers, Celeste was in high demand.

“That doesn’t tell me who you are,” Mara said, double-checking for any other problems with her appearance.

Earlier in the week she’d been caught off guard by a reporter and photographer at the door and had ended up with an unflattering picture splashed all over town. Not wanting that repeated, she made sure her shoulder-length, cocoa-colored hair was neatly tucked behind her ears and that blush still highlighted her reasonably high cheekbones. She wished that she at least had gloss on lips she thought needed to be a bit fuller, and she noted that, while her straight, thin nose was now unfloured, there was a tiny shadow of mascara beneath one navy blue eye. She ran a fingertip under her lashes to wipe it away and decided that was as good as it was going to get.

“I’d rather not announce my name from out here,” the deep voice answered tightly.

Suspicious, Mara moved from the mirror and went to the door. She wasn’t about to open it, however, without some information. If the man outside was—like Mara, her siblings and a large portion of the citizens of Northbridge—a supporter of Celeste, it might be okay. But if the visitor was someone who condemned Celeste, or one of the many reporters hounding her for interviews, it could be dicier. So, without knowing who was outside now, Mara wasn’t opening that door.

“I don’t care whether you want to announce your name. Unless you tell me who you are, you might as well just go away.”

“Celes—”

“I’m not Celeste,” Mara informed him, cutting off his uncertain use of the name.

“Who are you then?” he demanded, no longer uncertain.

“The question is, who are you?” Mara reiterated.

“I’m here to see Celeste Perry,” the man repeated firmly, speaking more slowly, as if Mara would understand him better that way. Then, in a louder voice, he added, “If this isn’t where I can find her, then where is she?”

Mara had faced down any number of muckraking reporters this last week, all of them tenacious, some of them pushy, but none this demanding or insistent. It was almost as if he felt somehow entitled to be. What Mara wanted to do was tell this guy to take a hike. The trouble was, if his loud voice roused the suspicions of the state patrolman, on duty to ensure Celeste remained in her apartment under informal house arrest, the officer would come up to the apartment, too. And very little peace would be had tonight.

So Mara knew she was going to have to give a little.

“I’m Mara Pratt,” she said. “And no one gets to Celeste without going through me.”

“Pratt?” the man echoed. “I know the Pratts. At least I knew them. Cam and Scott—”

“My older brothers. Who I can call and have over here in five minutes to escort you away from that door if you don’t tell me who you are.”

“I’m Jared Perry.”

Oh.

Mara knew who Jared Perry was, even if she didn’t actually know him—after all, she’d been only twelve when he’d left town and, at six years his junior, had had no reason to cross paths with him in any memorable way before that.

Still, she was aware that Jared Perry was the black sheep of the Perry family. That he’d left Northbridge the day he’d graduated from high school after a very public argument with his grandfather—the local reverend at the time—at the graduation ceremony. She knew that he hadn’t returned since.

She also knew that he had, however, made a fortune as a corporate raider and he was the owner of a daunting reputation. Relentless, ironfisted, unflinching and unyielding—Take-No-Prisoners Perry was how the press referred to him and it had been said by the New York Times that if any floundering business, corporation, company or conglomerate caught his eye they might as well just mail him the keys to their headquarters and save themselves some trouble.

He was also one of Celeste’s grandchildren.

And someone the older woman would not want left outside on the apartment’s small wooden landing in the January cold.

Mara finally unlocked the door and opened it.

And there, in the light of the single bulb, stood a man who looked every inch the rich tycoon accustomed to the awe, respect and probably fear of braver people than Mara.

But still she held her ground and gave him a good once-over to make sure he was who he claimed.

Certainly he was considerably better dressed than any reporter she’d yet seen, wearing a charcoal, midcalf-length cashmere coat that almost—but not quite—camouflaged the impatient switch of his weight from one side to the other. He was tall, imposing and broad-shouldered, staring down at her from a height of at least six feet two inches through eyes that were deep-set, intense and intimidating even from the shadows they were cast in.

Mara mentally matched up what she was seeing with her memory of the pictures of Jared Perry in newspaper and magazine articles in conjunction with some of his business dealings, coming to the conclusion that even though he was far, far better looking in person than in any of his pictures, this was, indeed, the illustrious Jared Perry.

So, without further delay, she said, “Come in,” and stepped aside to allow it.

Long, confident strides brought him inside where he seemed to fill the entire room.

Mara closed the door and went around to face him. “I’m sorry for not letting you in right away. You can’t imagine how many people have shown up to see Celeste, and not all of them with good intentions. Plus it’s late for a drop-in visit.”

“I just got into town and I’d like to see my grandmother,” he said flatly.

“She’s worn out and has a difficult day ahead of her tomorrow—”

“I know. I’ve spoken with my brother Noah. That’s why I’m here now—to do what I can to keep her from talking to the authorities until she has a defense attorney.”

“If only you could,” Mara said somewhat under her breath. Then, more audibly, “I’ll tell her you’re here.” Only as an afterthought did she add, “Take off your coat and have a seat.”

Over her shoulder as she headed for Celeste’s bedroom Mara saw Jared Perry remove the exquisite outerwear, exposing a rust-colored sweater that traced the V of an impressive torso to great effect, and dark wool slacks that fitted him so well they had to have been specially tailored for his body.

Nothing shabby about those clothes, either, she thought, pulling her eyes away before he caught her looking.

The apartment’s single bedroom was at the end of a short hallway and when Mara reached the closed door she tapped gently.

“Les—” Mara was still having some difficulty remembering to call Celeste by her given name instead of Leslie. But that had been the older woman’s request so Mara was making every attempt and cut herself short to amend the slip of the tongue. “Celeste,” she said through the closed bedroom door, “it wasn’t a reporter this time. It’s your grandson Jared.”

“Jared?” Celeste repeated with the same amount of pleasure she’d shown each time any of her other grandchildren had come by in the past week, the grandchildren she’d only been allowed to view from a distance, until now. “Jared is here?”

“He is. In the living room.”

“I’ll be right out!” Celeste said excitedly.

Mara turned from the bedroom door but paused for a moment to glance down at her own clothes before rushing back to Jared Perry.

Jeans and a T-shirt—they were hardly going to knock Jared Perry off his feet, but there was nothing Mara could do about it. Although she didn’t know why it should matter to her.

Celeste’s grandson hadn’t taken Mara up on her invitation to be seated. He was still standing, off to one side of the living room now, surveying the space that included a tiny kitchen separated only by a half wall.

“Celeste will just be a minute,” Mara informed him when his glance fell expectantly on her.

He nodded, taking a turn at studying her suddenly and unnerving her to no end, especially since his expression gave nothing away and she couldn’t tell if he liked what he saw or thought she was the epitome of the small-town yokels he’d left behind.

“Wouldn’t you like to sit down?” she asked, hoping to get his eyes off her.

But he neither acknowledged the question nor stopped staring at her. Instead he said, “Mara Pratt.”

“That’s me.”

“I only remember Cam and Scott, but as I recall there were a lot of you.”

“Cam, Scott, then Neily, then me, then the triplets—Boone, Taylor and Jon,” she said, listing all of her siblings in their birth order.

Jared Perry nodded. “And you’re friends with… Celeste?”

Clearly he had his own issues with what to call the woman he—like the rest of the Perrys—only knew vaguely and peripherally as the counter help at the dry cleaners.

“She’s worked with us downstairs since she came back to town and realized no one here recognized her anymore because of the weight gain. She was my mom’s best friend and since I run the dry cleaners now, we’re very close,” Mara explained.

“So you’re here playing watchdog?”

“Sort of. I’m here to keep her company and look after her and help wherever I can. I couldn’t let her go through this alone.”

He nodded a second time. “That’s nice of you.”

“Les—Celeste…your grandmother…has always done a lot for us,” Mara demurred, embarrassed by his praise.

The woman in question joined them then, dressed in a pink chenille bathrobe, her coal-black hair released from its ever-present bun to fall to her waist, her ample cheeks rosy with the excitement of seeing another of her grandchildren now that they all knew who she was.

“Jared!” Celeste gushed as she came into the living room.

“Hello,” he answered stiltedly, the awkwardness of the moment obvious, just as it had been with other Perrys who had come to visit Celeste in the six days since her true identity had been known.

“I was about to pour Celeste a nightcap,” Mara interjected. “Can I get you a little brandy, too?”

“I think so,” he said as if it were a welcome suggestion.

Mara left them in the living room and went into the kitchen. She doubted that the cheap brandy she poured from a plastic decanter would be up to Jared Perry’s standards, but Celeste lived frugally and it was the only option.

“Let’s sit,” Celeste said to her grandson, motioning to the sofa as Mara handed them each a glass of brandy.

Celeste lowered her girth into the recliner again and this time Jared Perry took up a spot on the sofa nearby. Where Mara would soon be sleeping just as she had every night for the last week.

“Sit with us, Mara,” Celeste invited as Mara was about to retreat to the kitchen again to allow them that slight amount of privacy.

But if Celeste wanted her nearer than that, Mara wouldn’t refuse her and perched on an ottoman near the recliner.

Once she had, Celeste’s attention centered again on her grandson.

And so did Mara’s.

She couldn’t help it. Jared Perry was just such a presence in the small space and as Celeste let him know how she’d kept tabs on him and the rest of the Perry family over the years, Mara took more specific stock of what made up the handsome hunk sitting across the room.

His sable-brown hair had a reddish hue where the sun had kissed it. It was cut short on the sides and longer on top, but so meticulously that there was almost an art to the style. His nose was slightly flat across the bridge, with no-nonsense nostrils. His lips were slightly thin, but somehow lush just the same. He had cheekbones that weren’t terribly pronounced but sat atop hollows that dipped into a sharp jawline, and a chin with a stubborn firmness to it. There was the shadow of a beard that added to his smoldering good looks but seemed too rugged to go with the sophistication of his attire.

And then there were those eyes—eyes Mara could now see were so light a blue they were almost colorless. Remarkable, mesmerizing eyes that left her thinking that, if he wanted to, he could make any woman go tongue-tied and entranced with just the right kind of glance.

“Let’s get to the reason I’m here tonight instead of waiting to see you at a more civil hour.”

Jared Perry’s voice—like deep, dark cognac—penetrated Mara’s study of him even though he wasn’t addressing her.

“I want to talk to you about getting a decent defense attorney,” he said to Celeste in an all-business tone that cut to the chase.

“Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary,” Celeste responded with the same not-overly-concerned attitude she’d maintained all through the week.

And with that Mara felt compelled to enter the conversation.

“It is necessary,” she said, eager for another opportunity to say what she’d been saying from the start. “You should have an attorney who isn’t a public defender. You’re going to be questioned by the FBI, state police, detectives and the D.A. tomorrow, and your public defender has spent all of ten minutes on the phone with you.”

“But that doesn’t matter because I didn’t do any of what those people will be questioning me about,” Celeste insisted, just as she had multiple times.

“Still,” her grandson said forcefully, “you don’t know what kind of evidence they’re going to come at you with or how it might be slanted. With a bank robbery and now the remains of the second robber unearthed to cast suspicions of murder you’re in no position to take this in stride.”

Obviously Jared Perry was well informed. But Celeste was busy shaking her head at his argument.

“I’m not taking it in stride, Jared. It’s just that I didn’t do anything,” she said again.

“So let the attorney I bring in say that for you,” he said, going on to outline all the reasons it was imperative for Celeste to have an accomplished lawyer.

He was eloquent but he didn’t pull any punches, and in the process he made Celeste’s situation seem very dire regardless of her guilt or innocence. He was so blunt, in fact, that there were a few times when Mara flinched at what he said. Yes, every worst-case scenario was possible if things didn’t go Celeste’s way, but his harshness stunned Mara and clearly shook Celeste who went from what had seemed to be complacence to all-out, color-drained-from-her-face fear.

He must have seen it, too, because when he’d finished he said, “I’m sorry to take the hard line here, but I’ve been in touch with the family and when they told me you were sticking with a public defender I couldn’t believe it. I knew somebody had to come in here and not sugarcoat things for you. You need a lawyer—a great lawyer—and that’s all there is to it.”

“He is right,” Mara put it in a softer tone. “You know I think it’s in your best interest, too.”

Celeste raised the glass of brandy she’d only been sipping at and threw back what remained of it. Then, for a long moment, she stared blankly at the floor before she said in a weak voice, “I guess I was being naive. If you’re both so sure—”

“I’ll put in the call right now,” her grandson said, whipping out a razor-thin cell phone as if he’d been champing at the bit for the go-ahead.

Seeing that the older woman had wilted in her chair beneath the weight of all her grandson had said to her, Mara reached over and squeezed Celeste’s hand.

“It’s a good thing to do,” Mara assured her, relieved that someone had at last persuaded Celeste, even if she wasn’t thrilled with the method. “It can’t do any harm for you to have a competent lawyer.”

“It can if it makes me look guilty after I’ve already told the authorities that I don’t care about a lawyer because I have nothing to hide,” Celeste whispered what had been her contention all along.

Mara hadn’t thought Jared Perry was listening but apparently he was, because before she could reassure Celeste he said, “It doesn’t make you look guilty. It’s no more than they expect of someone in your situation.” Then, without missing a beat he began talking into his phone.

“That’s true,” Mara confirmed before standing and going back to the kitchen, returning with the brandy and refilling Celeste’s glass.

The older woman again downed the cheap liquor as if she needed it to steady her nerves.

Then Jared Perry was off the phone and his focus was again on his grandmother—although now that he seemed to have taken over there was no family feeling in the air. Mara had more of a sense that she was witnessing what it was like to have him barge into a board meeting to announce that he had suddenly acquired the company.

“The problem now,” he said, “is what I was afraid of when I found out the questioning was tomorrow—I can’t get Stephanie here until Wednesday. We’re going to have to try to postpone things—”

“Oh, I don’t want it put off any longer. I want to get it over with,” Celeste said, sounding even more alarmed.

It was alarm Mara understood and she cut Jared Perry off when he seemed on the verge of simply waving away Celeste’s anxiousness.

“I know you’re sure that just telling your story tomorrow will put an end to everything and you want that to happen,” Mara said. “But it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

Celeste again turned her now-ashen face to her grandson. “Will the authorities let the questioning be postponed? Won’t it look like I’m stalling?”

“I don’t know if they’ll agree. But we’ll do all we can, and we don’t care if it looks as if you’re stalling—”

“I care,” Celeste said, sounding slightly panicky.

“All you have to care about is getting out of this and Stephanie is the woman for that. Let her do your worrying. She’s the best in her field and she’s on the job as of now,” he said with what sounded like admiration.

Mara wondered if it was admiration for more than just the attorney’s expertise.

“What will this cost?” Celeste asked.

“It won’t cost you anything,” Jared assured. “I know this woman, she’ll be doing it as a favor to me—she owes me one—and whatever expenses come up, I’ll cover.”

Mara’s curiosity about Stephanie and her relationship with Jared Perry increased.

But she concentrated on Celeste, who nodded her acceptance of the financial arrangement but was still more drawn-looking than she’d been since her identity had been revealed and this entire situation had blown up. And Mara was beginning to wonder if she should have turned Jared Perry away at the door after all.

“When will we know if the questioning is postponed?” the older woman asked timidly.

“Not until tomorrow. But as soon as I hear, I’ll call you.”

Celeste nodded and swallowed so hard it was evident even through her many chins. “I think I need to get to bed now, if that’s all right.”

“Good idea. We want you on your toes,” he decreed.

Mara again helped the older woman out of the recliner. “Are you okay?” she asked Celeste.

Celeste smiled miserably. “Maybe being naive wasn’t so bad. I just don’t want anyone thinking that I need fancy lawyers and postponements and wheeling and dealing to cover something up.”

“No one will think that,” Mara assured her. “You have the right to the best defense and that’s all this is. Even if it has happened fast and…furiously.”

Celeste nodded once more but still looked uncertain.

“Go let the brandy do its job and get some rest,” Mara urged.

Another nod. Then Celeste turned to her grandson and took his hand in both of hers. “Thank you for coming. And for wanting to help.”

“I am going to help, you can be sure of that.”

It was somehow cold comfort but still Celeste muttered, “Okay…”

Then she said good-night to both Mara and Jared and left them alone again in the living room.

Only when Mara heard Celeste’s bedroom door close did she turn to Jared Perry.

“I’ve been trying to get her to agree to having a lawyer. I just couldn’t make myself scare her into it.”

One eyebrow arched at her. “Are you saying I shouldn’t have?” he challenged.

“I’m just saying I couldn’t and maybe just a little lighter touch would have been—”

“I believe in doing what needs to be done—whatever that is, whatever it takes,” he said as he put on his coat. “But then I’m usually the person who comes in and gets things turned around when no one else can bring themselves to do it.”

Take-No-Prisoners Perry. Mara could see it.

And maybe because of that and because of the change that had overtaken Celeste before she’d gone to bed, Mara wavered a bit in thinking that what he’d just accomplished was an altogether good thing.

“It is better for Celeste to have a lawyer, isn’t it?” she said with a hint of uncertainty of her own now.

“A lawyer who isn’t an overworked, underpaid, uninvolved, uninterested public defender? Much.”

“This woman you’ve hired—or enlisted—she’ll do everything possible for Celeste?”

He narrowed those ice-blue eyes at her. “Am I hearing suspicion of me again?” he asked, the challenge once more in his tone as he referred to her earlier questions through the door.

“I don’t really know you. And you don’t really know Celeste. You wouldn’t be a wolf in sheep’s clothing, coming in here to pressure her into something you have set up to hurt her rather than help her, would you?”

That seemed to amuse him slightly because a small, slow smile made one side of his mouth creep upward. “Now why would I do that?”

“There are people who believe that Celeste was in on the bank robbery and that she killed her lover’s partner. There are people who think that at the very least she was an accomplice to it all. And there are other people who think that even if she didn’t commit those crimes, there should be consequences for having left her husband and sons the way she did.”

“I’m not any of those people.”

“But you could want to get back at her for your grandfather’s sake or because she abandoned your father or…I don’t know, for not being a doting grandmother when you were a kid.”

That apparently amused him even more because the other side of his sexy mouth joined the first in an uptilt. “Actually, I’ve always thought my grandmother and I might be kindred spirits if we ever got to know each other. So no, I don’t have anything to get back at her for. I honestly am here to help her.”

Mara knew he could just be saying that to cover his tracks if he intended to do damage to Celeste. But she had no way of telling whether he was lying.

And she had lobbied for Celeste to have a private attorney. Now that Jared Perry had accomplished that, Mara didn’t have much choice but to trust him. And to hope for the best. But that didn’t keep her from worrying just the same.

She raised her chin at the man who stood tall, strong and sure before her. “If you’re lying and you do anything to hurt her…”

Her threat made him smile full-out—a broad, amused grin that put creases down his cheeks and would have been something to marvel at if Mara hadn’t suddenly been so concerned about his intentions.

“What will you do to me?” he asked with barely contained delight

Unfortunately Mara didn’t have any threat at all, let alone a good one.

So she merely stood her ground and said, “This had just better be what you’re saying it is.”

“Careful, I don’t think you know who you’re dealing with.”

“Careful yourself, or you might end up cut off at the knees.”

Mara didn’t know where that had come from or how she’d managed to make it sound as ominous as she had. She also didn’t know what she would possibly do if he pushed it. But still she stared him down—navy blue eyes locked unwaveringly with ice-blue.

Until he blinked.

Not because she’d won the stare-down, but because he couldn’t laugh without breaking it.

Then he said, “Relax, Mama Bear, I only came to help your cub.” He sauntered to the door, opened it and then added, “I’ll be in touch,” before he walked out and closed the door behind him.

Mara deflated, realizing that meeting Jared Perry had had its own impact on her as it rippled through her like an aftershock.

An aftershock that brought with it something a little tingly.

Something a little tingly and, surprisingly, somehow exciting.

Chapter Two

Jared Perry was out of bed at 5:00 a.m. Monday morning and on the phone to his assistant in New York by 5:05. That made it 7:05 a.m. New York time so he knew Lloyd was answering at home. It didn’t matter. Lloyd was used to Jared calling him at all hours.

After rattling off questions concerning his newest takeover—a sporting-goods business in Colorado—and giving Lloyd instructions for the day, Jared took a shower, shaved, did some paperwork, phoned his man in charge of the revamp of an international electronics firm based in London and watched the clock until the more reasonable hour of 8:30 a.m. That was when he called Stephanie to see what kind of headway she was making with the postponement of Celeste’s questioning.

The news was not what he had been hoping for.

Authorities had already delayed the interrogation in order to gather and organize their information, Celeste had a public defender appointed to her so she was represented, and there was no reason for officials to put off her questioning any longer. The fact that Celeste had had a last-minute change of mind regarding representation was Celeste’s—and Stephanie’s—problem. The stage was set, investigators and the district attorney had made travel arrangements to Northbridge, and they were firm in their determination that today be the day.

“That’s it then? It’s happening without you?” Jared asked.

“I spoke to the public defender and he’ll still be there, only now as my proxy while I participate through a conference call. I’m sorry, J., but that’s all I can do on such short notice. I have a death penalty hearing today and tomorrow and I can’t leave until it’s over.”

“I’m worried that if you’re not here to coach her, Celeste might say something she shouldn’t.”

“I’ll call her in an hour or so and talk to her, do what coaching needs to be done that way. But all that’s really expected of her today is that she tell her story. Of course there will be questions, but to some extent, at this point, investigators and even the D.A. are still on a fact-finding mission.”

“It looks like more than that to me when they have a guard posted outside her apartment.”

“That’s because there’s been some concern that she might flee. After all she’s managed to keep under the radar for over forty years, which is why there’s been talk of arresting her just to hang on to her. But the local cops have successfully kept that from happening and I don’t expect that there will be an arrest today either. I think what the feds, the state guys and the D.A. will do is hear out Celeste, take whatever information she gives them back to their own corners, go over it, compare it to the facts and figures and decide where to go from here. If they do opt to arrest her it won’t be for a day or two and by then I’ll be in Montana to handle whatever comes up.”

Jared knew that questioning whether or not Stephanie had done her best was unnecessary, so he ended the conversation with a thank-you.

“You know I’d do anything for you, even if you are a hard-ass,” the criminal defense attorney responded, teasing him affectionately.

Jared merely chuckled and said he’d see her on Wednesday.

Which left him having to call his grandmother to warn her that the questioning would go on as planned.

He stared at the cell phone in his hand, thinking about placing the call, about who might answer it, wondering if Mara Pratt was staying with Celeste or had only been there the night before as the keeper of the gate until Celeste went to sleep. Would she be back again this early?

If she was staying there or if she’d left and returned already, it was possible she might answer the phone. In fact, it was likely, since she’d announced that no one got to Celeste without going through her first.

And he liked the thought that he might get to talk to Mara Pratt again.

Inexplicable but true.

Not that he objected to speaking to Celeste—he was glad to have discovered his long-lost grandmother, glad for the chance to get to know her, and willing to help her out of the mess he blamed completely on the grandfather he didn’t care if he ever saw again.

But what if Mara Pratt picked up the phone rather than Celeste? The possibility gave him a rush and he didn’t understand why.

Mara Pratt was what he’d always considered an everyday sort of woman. The kind of woman he connected with Northbridge: wholesome, down-home, salt of the earth. Exactly what he hadn’t wanted growing up in the small town.

His fantasies then—fantasies he’d made realities as an adult—had run toward tall, long-legged, sultry, breathtaking blondes. The urbane, well-bred, polished and frequently moneyed women he now encountered in the course of work or play. Women like Stephanie.

And yet, despite the fact that Mara Pratt was nothing at all like Stephanie or like any of his early fantasies and current realities of women, there was something about her that had rung his bell.

Not instantly, he admitted, but Mara Pratt’s appeal had definitely sneaked up on him in increments.

He’d been waiting for Celeste, wondering if he’d remember her from his childhood in Northbridge when Mara Pratt had rejoined him in the living room and he’d thought she had incredible eyes. The darkest blue eyes he’d ever seen.

He’d been asking about her brothers when it had occurred to him that her hair was the color of Belgian chocolate, and so shiny and silky he’d had the urge to run his fingers through it.

He’d taken his first—and last—sip of the worst brandy he’d ever tasted just before realizing that Mara Pratt had skin like cream, and a pert nose that was slightly quirky. Then he realized she also had a soft, inviting mouth with an indescribable kindness to it, mingled with a secret sensuality.

He’d been watching her help his extremely large grandmother out of a chair when it had struck him that Mara Pratt had a body that might not be flashy enough to turn every head in the poshest New York restaurant, but there was still a whole lot of allure in her tight, just-round-enough rump, small waist. And her chest had certainly turned his head.

No, there wasn’t anything at all flashy about Mara Pratt, but she had a free, easy, effortless beauty that was all her own. Serene and understated, it had crept up and apparently taken some sort of hold on him, even more than the extravagant, precision perfection he was currently accustomed to. And understated or not, Mara Pratt packed a wallop that had made it difficult to get her out of his head—all night and here again now.

Which was why he was sitting at the desk in the den of the house he’d grown up in, thinking about her when he had so many other things he should have been paying attention to.

Mara Pratt.

Northbridge, Montana’s Mara Pratt.

Cam and Scott Pratt’s little sister.

Huh.

Somebody he never would have given a second glance to in the past was suddenly enthralling him. And what made it even more odd was that it was happening at a time when nothing was giving him a charge anymore.

Not a single thing. Not a single person.

Yet the mere idea of talking to Mara Pratt again, of seeing her again, was doing something for him that not even his last multimillion-dollar takeover had accomplished.

And if that wasn’t weird, he didn’t know what was.

He’d come to Northbridge figuring that besides meeting and helping the grandmother he’d always wondered about, after a little time in the town he’d chafed in, his real life would look a lot better again. He hadn’t come figuring that anything or anyone here would look good to him.

Maybe he was in worse shape than he’d thought.

Maybe after this he should take a long vacation, he told himself. A couple of months in Europe. Or Tahiti. Or the Bahamas. Or all three. And maybe, when this was all over, that’s what he’d do. He’d get away from everything. Lie around somewhere designed for escape. Sleep a lot. Eat and drink to excess. Surround himself with women who would make him wonder what could possibly have made him obsess over some squeaky-clean hometown girl. Blueberry eyes or not.

Good idea, he decided. That’s what he’d do. And between a refresher course in what had made him dislike Northbridge and a long vacation, maybe he’d be rejuvenated on the work front, and he wouldn’t even be able to conjure up a mental image of Mara Pratt.

Like the one that was lingering in his mind at this moment.

As clear and bright as that skin of hers that he kept imagining the feel of.

Jared closed his eyes and shook his head to rid himself of the unwanted images and equally unwanted—and unwarranted—urges.

Then he opened them, determined to shake more than that, to shake thinking about Mara Pratt and wondering about her and any interest in her whatsoever.

But he still had to make the call to Celeste.

And Mara Pratt could very well answer.

She could very well be there today to support Celeste through the questioning, just the way he intended to be.

Which meant that he’d be seeing her again.

And regardless of how hard he tried—and he did try damn hard—he just couldn’t make himself hate either of those possibilities.

“Why do you keep looking out that window today, honey? Do you think the Montana version of the Inquisition is going to surprise us and come earlier than they said?”

Celeste startled Mara who had gone to the apartment window while the older woman went to the bedroom to get some hand lotion.

“No, my brother said that since the local cops insisted on having the questioning be as easy on you as possible, the D.A. and the state police and the FBI—and whoever else in on tap—will meet at the police station. Then Cam will bring them here at three,” Mara answered, turning her back to the window to face Celeste. “I guess I’m just a little edgy,” she added as she leaned against the sill.

“Or is it Jared you’re watching for instead of my tribunal? He told you he’d be here before them, didn’t he?” Celeste said with a note of intrigue in her voice.

“That was what he told me, yes,” Mara said matter-of-factly. “But no, I wasn’t watching for him.”

And that was a flat-out lie because watching for Jared Perry was exactly what Mara had been doing. Hating herself for it, but doing it anyway. Several times an hour, every hour since she’d answered the phone, she’d suffered more of that tingling sensation. Simply the sound of his deep voice and learning that he wanted to be here to offer his support to his grandmother during her questioning by authorities had done this to her. He’d told Mara that he would arrive before everyone else, but he’d given no indication how long before, leaving Mara guessing. And checking the alley at every sound to see if it was him.

But apparently even her disclaimer didn’t throw Celeste off the scent because as the older woman lowered herself into her chair, she said, “But after you heard he was coming you did go and change into those nice gray wool slacks that fit you so well and that baby-blue sweater that I always tell you sets off your eyes.”

“I only did that because I thought it was better to present a dignified front to the authorities,” Mara said, pulling the reason out of her hat when Celeste was right, she had had Jared Perry in mind when she’d changed clothes.

“Jared is a good catch,” Celeste said, ignoring Mara’s excuse.

“Nobody says things like good catch anymore,” Mara said with a laugh. “And I’m not angling to catch any man.”

“Maybe you should be.”

Mara didn’t want to offend the older woman or hurt Celeste’s feelings by going into the reasons why—even if she were in the market for a man—Jared Perry would not be that man, so she merely said, “I think what I should be doing right now is whatever I can to help get you out of trouble so we can both go back to work and do some dry cleaning to make a living.”

“Are you trying to tell me you didn’t notice how pretty my grandson is?”

“Pretty?”

“Well, he is.”

“I’m sure he’d love being called that.”

“But you have to admit it’s true.”

“He’s a nice-looking man, yes,” Mara conceded. “But he’s not my type.”

“The two of you would have such beautiful babies together.”

Mara laughed. “That’s quite a leap.”

“And then, instead of just being your favorite employee, you and I could really be family and I’d love that!”

“You’ve thought a lot about this in a very short time.”

“There were sparks between you last night,” Celeste said.

“Sparks? There weren’t any sparks.”

“Oh, there were. Small ones, but still sparks. Jared’s eyes kept wandering over to you when you weren’t looking, like he couldn’t resist. Then, when I was opening my bedroom window before I got into bed—you know I like it cracked to sleep—and there he was, standing on the landing after you’d let him out, staring at the door, smiling as big as you please. He wouldn’t have been doing that if he hadn’t liked you. And you wouldn’t have lit up when he called this morning and then changed clothes and gone to that window to look out a hundred times since if you didn’t like him, too. Sparks.”

“Don’t go imagining things,” Mara advised.

“I know what I saw.”

“Your grandson and I… There probably aren’t two less-suited people on the planet.”

“I don’t see that at all,” Celeste said emphatically.

“He’s not a small-town boy anymore—if he ever was. He’s a man of the world. A jet-setter. A wheeler-dealer. A mover and a shaker.”

He was also—by every account in the articles about him and according to talk around town, too—the way Celeste was said to have been in her youth. He was restless and in need of more stimulation, excitement and adventure than could be found in Northbridge. Not to mention that he’d spent his life breaking things apart rather than holding them together, and that was the last thing Mara would let anywhere near her.

But rather than get into things that might give Celeste the impression that she thought one iota less of her than she did, or that she held her youthful actions against her in any way, Mara only finished her argument with, “And I’m nothing but a small-town dry cleaner.”

“A beautiful, intelligent, kind-hearted, generous small-town dry cleaner,” Celeste amended. “And he’d be lucky to have you.”

“He came because of you,” Mara reminded. “Nothing else has managed to get him back, because he doesn’t like it here. Or the kind of people he finds here.”

“He doesn’t like his grandfather—that’s what kept him away. Not hating Northbridge.”

Just then the phone rang at the same time as there was a knock on the door, making Mara jump.

“That will be the lawyer calling again, just as she said she would,” Celeste said with a nod at the phone, pushing herself to her feet once more. “And I’ll bet that’s our Jared at the door.”

Mara told herself that being startled by the unexpected knock on the door was the reason her heart was beating so fast, that it wasn’t because Celeste’s grandson had suddenly appeared on the landing outside.

“I’ll take the call in the other room. You let Jared in,” Celeste said as she headed for the bedroom again.

Reasonably certain that Jared Perry had seen her through the window beside the door, Mara couldn’t delay letting him inside in order to compose herself. So she pushed away from the sill and pivoted to the open door, trying to ignore her racing heartbeat.

It wasn’t easy when she looked into the now clean-shaven face that seemed even more eye-poppingly handsome than it had in the mental image that had inched its way into her consciousness a hundred or so times since the previous evening.

She was vaguely aware of exchanging greetings with him as she stepped aside to let him in. She devoured the sight of him in that same overcoat he’d had on the night before, open today to show dark-brown wool slacks and a dress shirt to match, worn buttoned all the way to his Adam’s apple. There was no denying that he looked spectacular, important and like a force to be reckoned with. All very un-Northbridge-ish.

“Is there a reason you don’t want to close the door?”

His voice brought her to her senses and made her realize that she was still standing there, holding the door open.

It also occurred to her that she hadn’t taken a breath in that same amount of time.

Taking one now, she shut the door as he removed his coat.

“Is there anywhere I can put this so it’s out of the way? I’m guessing this place is going to get pretty crowded.”

“I’ll take it,” Mara said, accepting the soft-as-a-cloud cashmere coat that had probably cost more than her entire wardrobe.

She took it into the hallway and carefully hung it on a hook on the wall. As she did she caught the faintest whiff of what smelled like fresh, clean citrus. It must have been his cologne, but if she could buy candles with that exact scent she would put them in every room of her house.

“Celeste is on the phone in the bedroom,” she said as she rejoined him. “She spoke to the attorney this morning, who said she was going to call back to go over things again just before the questioning got started, so I think that’s who Celeste is talking to.”

“Stephanie. The attorney’s name is Stephanie.”

Mara recalled the familiarity in the way he’d talked to the lawyer on the phone the night before and her own initial curiosity about what their relationship might be. Now she thought there was something proprietary in his reference to the woman and her curiosity grew—along with an antipathy toward a person she’d never even met.

“Is she a friend of yours—Stephanie?” Mara heard herself ask before she could stop it.

“Yes, she is.”

“A good friend?”

Jared Perry was standing behind Celeste’s chair and he aimed those mesmerizing eyes at Mara, raising a questioning brow. “Stephanie is a longtime friend,” he qualified, still not telling Mara what she wanted to know.

And even though she told herself it was absolutely none of her business, she couldn’t seem to keep from pushing it. “A long-time friend who owes you one, which is why she’s taking Celeste’s case,” she said, repeating what he’d told Celeste the previous night.

“Right,” he confirmed. Then both of his brows lowered. “Are you worrying again that we’re conspiring to do my grandmother harm? Do you think that because we’re friends, Stephanie isn’t on the up and up? That she’d do my evil bidding or something?”

Mara shrugged in an effort to conceal her relief. Obviously he didn’t realize she was trying to get information about the woman and what role she might play in his life.

“Just checking,” she said.

“Check all you want. Stephanie is at the top of her field in New York and, as a result of being in demand in a number of high-profile cases across the country, she happens to be licensed to practice law in several states—Montana among them. Were she and I not friends I doubt she’d bother with something like this. But since we are, she took the case. So our friendship is working in Celeste’s favor, not against her.”

Friends again. But were they more? That was what Mara really wanted to know.

“Is there something about Stephanie’s handling of things today that’s made you more suspicious?” Jared asked.

“No,” Mara had to admit. “She spent a long time on the phone with Celeste this morning, and afterward Celeste seemed much less nervous about the questioning. We were both happy to learn that there was no reason I shouldn’t be able to sit in—and you, too, since it’s what you wanted. Apparently, at this point, the attor—Stephanie is insisting Celeste be treated strictly as a potential witness to a long-ago crime—”

“A witness—that’s a good way to look at this,” he said, sounding impressed with the attorney’s point of view.

It served to remind Mara that whether or not he was involved with Stephanie, he and the attorney were in a different league, one in which she couldn’t compete. He was never likely to be impressed by a small-town dry cleaner. And that was something she had to keep in mind whenever his cologne went to her head.

“I hear cars outside,” he said then, pointing his chin in the direction of the apartment’s entrance.

Mara returned to the window she’d used all day to watch for Jared. But, unlike the rest of the time, when there had been nothing for her to see, now one of Northbridge’s police SUVs was parked below, in front of an unmarked black sedan.

“Looks like the show’s about to begin,” Mara announced as she watched people—one of them her brother—getting out of the vehicles. “Cam is—”

“I know. He a local cop and will be in on this. I spoke to your brother today when I tried to do what I could to get this postponed,” Jared said.

“Well, you’re right, he’s here with the rest of them.”

Celeste must have heard the arrival, too, because she came out of the bedroom carrying the handset of a cordless telephone with her.

“Stephanie wants to speak to you, Jared,” the older woman announced in lieu of a greeting.

He accepted the phone and took it into the kitchen to talk.

Mara’s gaze trailed along; she was consumed with interest in that conversation. Was it all business or were they saying how much they missed each other? How much they couldn’t wait to be together again?

And why should it make the slightest difference to me? she asked herself.

The guy was here today and would be gone forever shortly after this. He was completely inconsequential to her life and so was everything about him. Especially anything he had to do personally or otherwise with Stephanie-the-lawyer.

“Here we go,” Celeste said in a hushed voice.

Mara forced her eyes from the man at the other end of the apartment and looked again through the window just as a number of men and women headed for the narrow wooden stairs that led up to the apartment.

Glancing back at Celeste, Mara said, “Are you okay?”

The older woman nodded and settled herself regally in her recliner, feet flat on the floor, head held high, hands resting primly in what there was of her lap.

Jared rejoined them, leaving the phone on the small table beside Celeste’s chair. “Stephanie has arranged for the public defender to call her as soon as things get started,” he explained just as the sound of voices and footsteps on the stairs made it clear the authorities were drawing nearer.

Mara moved toward the door, but with one hand on the knob, she suddenly couldn’t make herself turn it.

She’d been protecting Celeste from reporters and newshounds and gossip seekers all week, but never had the sense that she needed to protect the older woman been as strong as it was at that moment. She felt as though she as about to unleash something that could well be disastrous for someone who had been as important to her, as close to her, as her own mother.

Mara just froze, unable to do what she knew she had to do, even when there was a knock on the door.

“Mara?” Celeste said from behind her.

Still Mara couldn’t budge. She just kept thinking, This could be so awful….

Without her being aware of his approach, Jared was suddenly there beside her.

She could smell his crisp, bracing cologne. She could feel the heat of his body. The strength of his presence. And when he placed a big hand gently on her arm she absorbed it all like a sponge.

“It’ll be okay. There’s nothing you can do to keep this from happening,” he said quietly, for her ears alone. It was as if he knew exactly what she was going through right then.

Mara managed to look up into his eyes, pale but also warm and kind now.

“It’ll be okay,” he repeated.

Mara nodded, somehow believing him.

Then he took her hand from the doorknob as if he understood, too, that she couldn’t be the one to let in the people who might bring harm to Celeste.

“Go sit with her,” he advised. “I’ll do this.”

Mara swallowed hard. “Thanks,” she whispered.

Then, sorry to leave behind the touch of his hand or the strength of his nearness, she did as he’d said and went to sit on the ottoman beside Celeste’s chair.

And as Jared did what Mara hadn’t been able to bring herself to do—as he opened the door—it occurred to her that regardless of what was or wasn’t going on with the Stephanie-the-lawyer, regardless of what Jared Perry’s reputation was, she was glad he was there.

Chapter Three

With Celeste’s small apartment full of police and FBI, as well as Mara’s brother Cam, Mara stayed firmly planted on the ottoman to Celeste’s left. Jared stood behind Celeste’s recliner, and the public defender sat on Celeste’s right, his cell phone on Speaker and positioned so that Celeste’s attorney could participate in the proceedings long-distance.

“My lawyer says I should just tell you what happened from the beginning,” Celeste said when the video camera was in place to record her statement.

“Go ahead,” Cam encouraged.

Mara didn’t know if it had been a formal decision for her brother to take the lead with Celeste, but that was what he was doing. It made Mara feel slightly better because she trusted her brother—who she knew thought of Celeste the same way Mara did—to be kind to the older woman.

“I married Armand out of desperation,” Celeste began. “My parents had died when I was seventeen, I had no other family, I was working a low-paying retail job that barely afforded me a room at a boarding house, and I had no idea what the future had in store for me. But Armand…” Celeste shook her head as if a hint of awe about the Reverend Armand Perry still existed. “Armand knew exactly who he was, where he was going and what should be done to get there. Armand knew what should be done about everything. He always had all the answers. And I guess that certainty, that stability, was what I wanted at the time.”

“This was when? What year?” one of the strangers in the room asked.

“We were married in 1951. Before our first anniversary Carl was born and eleven months after that I had Jack, and there I was—in almost the blink of an eye—a minister’s wife with two babies, and I was barely twenty years old. Of course that was how things were done back then—marriage and family, that was the best course for most women. And at first I was grateful to have found that for myself, even if my feelings for Armand weren’t of a passionate nature and Armand’s feelings for me—well, Armand never let emotion rule.”

Something about that caused a small, secret, sad smile.

“Go on,” someone ordered.

Celeste took a breath and did as she’d been told. “I found being a clergyman’s wife just awful. There were so many expectations of me. From the congregation, from whatever community we were in, from Armand. And then, on top of it all, there were Armand’s expectations of me at home—I began to think I would have to be superhuman to live up to it all.”

The memory of how daunting it had been made Celeste’s eyes widen and her brows arch forlornly.

Mara reached over the arm of the recliner to squeeze the older woman’s hand, and for that Celeste gave her an appreciative look before she went on.

“No matter which way I turned, I was just never good enough,” Celeste said. “I couldn’t meet the demands or reach the high standards imposed on me, from both outside and at home. I loved my boys dearly and I wanted them to love me. I wanted to play with them and make them happy, I didn’t want to enforce hundreds of rules and regulations like some kind of tyrant—”

“Which, take it from me, is how the Reverend thinks kids should be raised,” Jared contributed.

“I wanted to enjoy my children,” Celeste continued after a soft glance upward at her grandson. “But it’s Armand’s nature to believe that his way is right, and anything different is wrong. And he can be very harsh if his way isn’t followed. He convinced me that I was a horrible mother. The worst mother ever. And about the time I was distressed to distraction by his criticisms and the criticism of his congregation, and feeling lower than I’d ever felt in my life, Mickey Rider and Frank Dorian came to town.”

Celeste said that fatalistically, covering Mara’s hand on hers with her other hand and holding on tightly.

“I went crazy,” the older woman said quietly, her tone full of shame. “I didn’t even understand myself or what I was doing, but there I was, doing it anyway—slipping out of my marriage bed to meet Frank, drinking at the bar with Frank and Mickey, dancing to jukebox music, kicking up my heels. And falling in love—or at least what seemed like love at the time—with Frank.”

Celeste was holding on to Mara’s hand so fiercely it was almost painful, but Mara simply endured it, knowing—seeing for herself—how difficult this was for the woman she cared about so much.

Celeste sighed. “Between that…infatuation…for Frank, the desperation I felt at home, and convinced by then that I was a horrible mother and my boys would be better off without me, when Frank asked me to run off with him…” Celeste shrugged as if she’d been helpless against the tides. “I not only wanted to go and be with him, I honestly believed that for the sake of my boys, I should remove my bad influence from their lives.”

“So you decided to leave with Frank Dorian and Mickey Rider,” Cam said.

“Yes. I had no idea Frank and Mickey were anything but itinerant farmhands, though, or that they were planning to rob the bank. I was shocked to the core when I met Frank at the bridge that night to leave town with him and found out what he and Mickey had done.”

There were a few questions to clarify that the bridge Celeste was referring to was the old north bridge that the town had been named after. The same bridge where, during reconstruction, Mickey Rider’s duffel bag had been found and near which his remains had also been discovered only recently.

“That night and what followed are important, Celeste,” Cam said, bringing her back to the story. “Tell us what happened.”

“I’ll tell you what didn’t happen—Mickey Rider wasn’t murdered the way the newspaper keeps saying he might have been. Mickey was mad when I met them at the bridge that night. At first I didn’t understand why he cared that Frank was going to take me with him. Then I saw the bank bags and Frank told me about the robbery. I didn’t want to go with them after that. But Frank wasn’t letting me out of it, and not even Mickey saying I would slow them down changed his mind. Frank said he wanted me with them whether either of us liked it or not. Then Frank and Mickey got into a big fight—like in the movies. There was punching and wrestling and bloody noses and cut faces and fists, and…” Celeste’s eyes were wide and tinged with the kind of fear she must have felt that night. “It was awful!”

“Why didn’t you run while they were fighting?” one of the female investigators asked.

“It was like my feet were frozen to the ground while my mind raced. I didn’t know if I should run, if I should go back to Armand, if Frank would come after me, what might happen if he told Armand what had been going on or even—seeing Frank fight with Mickey, I wondered if Frank might hurt Armand or the boys.”

Celeste shook her head as if she were reliving her own confusion. “Then, just when it looked like Mickey had the upper hand, Frank seemed to find a last burst of strength. He pushed Mickey off him. Hard. Mickey fell back and hit his head on a sharp rock. There was a shudder—” Celeste shuddered, but it didn’t seem like mimicry. It seemed involuntary, in response to the image in her mind, before she ended in barely more than a whisper. “That was how he died.”

“Do you need a glass of water?” Mara asked, seeing that Celeste’s face had gone gray.

It took the older woman a moment to answer. “No, thank you, honey. I just want to get this all out.”

Celeste looked back at Cam as though, if she focused on his familiar face, it would be easier to tell her story. “Frank dragged Mickey’s body into the woods to bury him and again I thought about running. But that was when Armand came out from behind the bushes.”

Mara’s shock was reflected in Jared’s expression when she glanced up at his handsome face.

“The Reverend was there?” Jared said.

“Yes. He said he’d followed me to the bridge when I’d left home.”

“If he saw that you weren’t guilty of anything, why the hell didn’t he speak up?” Jared demanded.

But before Celeste could respond to the anger-laced outburst, Cam kept things on a businesslike course. “You told me before that the Reverend recognized you a few years after you’d been living in Northbridge again, but—for the record—you’re saying that he was also at the bridge the night of the robbery and was a witness to what you’re telling us about that night?”

Celeste nodded. “Yes.”

“Did he know you weren’t involved in the robbery itself?” Cam asked, again to clarify things for the record.

“Yes. When he came out from the bushes it was to try to get me to go home with him. He said it wasn’t too late, that he’d been there to see for himself that I hadn’t had anything to do with the robbery. But that if I left with Frank the law would come after me too, the same as if I had been in on it, that I would be guilty by association. He even threatened to say I was guilty.”

“And you still left?” an FBI agent inquired.

“Before I could even think about it, Frank came up from behind us and grabbed Armand. Frank was in a state I’d never seen him in before—enraged and scared and I don’t even know what. He said he had to kill Armand and bury him with Mickey.”

“But obviously he didn’t kill the Reverend,” a skeptic in the crowd interjected.

“I begged on my knees for him not to,” Celeste said. “I told him if he didn’t hurt Armand I would go with him, I would do whatever he wanted.”

“So you saved his life,” Jared said.

“I told Cam that last week. But the more I’ve thought about it, the more I’m not sure I should take the credit since it was my fault Armand was there in the first place. Because of me, his life was in jeopardy. If Frank had killed him, it would have been my fault, so it was my responsibility to get him out of that situation. But I did tell Frank that if he killed Armand, he would have to kill me, too, because if he didn’t, I’d turn him in myself.”

Celeste seemed to be tiring, but still she continued.

“It took a lot of begging and pleading and bargaining.I had to swear that I would leave with Frank if only he wouldn’t hurt Armand, and Armand had to promise that he wouldn’t even say which direction we went when we left. But finally Frank agreed not to harm Armand. He just tied him up in the woods and we took off.” Celeste lowered her voice. “And that was when the life I thought I’d wanted out of became something I wished every day that I’d hung on to.”

Celeste’s head dropped and she shook it back and forth, back and forth, in deep, deep regret.

“Go ahead,” Cam encouraged her.

After a moment Celeste said, “When we left Northbridge we went north and, after a few months, ended up in Alaska. By then I was an awful mess. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t stop crying, and when I’m upset, I eat. A lot.”

She laughed a mirthless laugh and motioned to her girth. “I guess you all can see just how upset I was. Frank didn’t like it, of course. The pretty, skinny young thing he’d met here had disappeared and I was…I was just a mess,” she repeated. “It wasn’t as if it was a relationship founded on anything real to begin with, and Frank got more and more disgusted and impatient with me. But still I didn’t expect him to steal the little bit of money I’d saved over the years and taken with me when I’d left Armand—”

“The man robbed you, too?” Cam asked, seeming shocked.

“One night while I was asleep,” Celeste said. “I don’t know why he had to do that. He had all the bank money—of course he’d taken Mickey’s share. He kept it in lockers in the bus terminal or train station of whatever city we were in to make sure it was locked away even from me. So it wasn’t as if I’d ever touched a penny of it, and my measly $167 couldn’t have mattered to him. But yes, he took that, too. And left me alone and penniless in a motel room in Alaska.”

Celeste took a deep breath and sighed. “After that there isn’t a lot to tell. I didn’t really know if the authorities were looking for me or not, but after what Armand had said I couldn’t take any chances. What I wanted more than anything was just to come back here and be with my boys again, and even though I knew that couldn’t happen, I started taking any job I could get—usually waiting tables—and every time I’d get enough money saved for a bus ticket, I’d come as far as I could toward Northbridge. I thought that if I couldn’t be with Carl and Jack, then maybe I could at least be near them. And that’s how I ultimately came home to Northbridge again. But I’ve already told that story and it probably isn’t what anyone wants to hear now.”

She had told the story—first to Cam when he’d discovered who she was, and later to Mara. She’d told them of living in several towns around North bridge, hungry for any gossip, any news whatsoever that might give her information about her sons. Then, one day, she’d tested her theory that the weight gain had left her unrecognizable, and she realized it was possible for her to be in the heart of North bridge without anyone knowing who she really was. So she’d moved back to the small town in order to at least be where she could see her sons—and eventually, her grandchildren—from a distance; she’d lived since 1970 on the sidelines of all but the Pratt family.

“The Reverend has been out of town since you initially talked to me,” Cam said then. “And because he’s been unreachable, we haven’t been able to speak to him—”

“Which will have to be done to see if he confirms your account,” one of the state police detectives added. “So if there’s anything you’d like to add, this would be the time.”

“There’s nothing to add. I’ve told you the simple truth,” Celeste said wearily.

From there more detailed questions were asked of Celeste, trying to pinpoint where Frank Dorian might have stashed the bank money before being caught by FBI agents and killed while trying to escape. But Celeste’s only answer to nearly every question from then on was that she didn’t know. She swore that she’d never seen Frank Dorian again after he’d abandoned her in Alaska, and she had no idea where he went or what he might have done with the money from the bank robbery. And regardless of how many times and in how many variations the questions were asked, she couldn’t tell them something she didn’t know.

“I only know that I was never the recipient of any of the money Frank and Mickey took,” she said, emphasizing each word after some less-than-subtle badgering.

“And, in fact, she was victimized herself by Frank Dorian robbing her of her own money,” Jared reminded, his own patience stretched thin.

There were other questions, as well, that Mara saw no purpose for, but Celeste endured each one until the authorities finally agreed, long after dark, that they had no more to ask her. For the time being.

She was warned not to leave Northbridge and assured she would be kept under constant surveillance to make sure she didn’t, but on her attorney’s insistence, she was released from even informal house arrest and told she was free to leave her apartment.

“We’ll be in touch” she was told as they all stood to go, giving the parting an ominous ring.

Mara appreciated that Cam made sure he was the last to follow, spending a moment alone with Celeste, Mara and Jared to tell Celeste that she’d done well, that he hoped the Reverend would cooperate when he returned from his conference and retreat, and that everything would finally be put behind her.

No sooner had Cam left, too, than the telephone rang. It was the call Celeste was expecting from Stephanie to discuss what had gone on. Celeste took the phone to her bedroom, leaving Mara and Jared alone.

“How are you doing?” he asked, sounding as if he genuinely cared.

“I’m glad it’s over,” Mara confessed.

“Me, too. What’s on the agenda for the rest of the evening?”

“Who’s thought about anything beyond this?” Mara joked.

“Okay, then,” he said, clearly taking control. “Break out that bad brandy and have a shot while I do some shopping. Then I’ll fix you both a dinner fit for kings.”

“You cook?”

He wiggled his eyebrows mysteriously. “Wait and see.”

Jared actually could cook. Very well, Mara discovered. He prepared an old-fashioned meal of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, corn bread and salad. It was not fast food, however, and by the time he, Mara and Celeste had eaten, it was nearly ten o’clock.

Celeste was obviously worn out so Mara encouraged the older woman to go to bed. “I’ll clean up,” she assured, knowing she was taking on a substantial task because while Jared might be a good cook, he was hardly a tidy one.

“I’ll stick around and help her,” he told Celeste when the older woman seemed hesitant to leave it all to Mara.

That was persuasion enough and Celeste said good-night to them both, heading off to bed while Mara began to tackle the kitchen.

“How do you think she’s holding up?” Jared asked the minute they’d heard the bedroom door close behind Celeste, pitching in just as he’d said he would.

“I think she’s doing okay, all things considered. We’re both just hoping this was the worst of it and that she’s cleared from here without being put through any more.”

“After hearing what she had to say, it seems to me there shouldn’t be any more suspicions about her. But I suppose that’s going to depend on the Reverend.”

Mara had never heard any one of the Reverend’s grandchildren call him by anything but his title so Jared’s reference didn’t surprise her.

“Cam says your grandfather hasn’t been very cooperative,” Mara said. “I’m hoping that will change.”

“Change is not his long suit,” Jared said disparagingly. “Change, forgiveness, understanding, leniency, tolerance, compassion—none of it’s in his makeup. At least, not as far as I’ve ever seen.”

“You really don’t like him, do you?” Mara asked.

Jared had rolled up his sleeves to cook but now he also unbuttoned his collar button as if he were relaxing more and more the longer they were together. It helped her relax with him, she realized as they worked and talked.

“I don’t think it’s any secret that my grandfather and I don’t get along,” Jared admitted in response to her question about his feelings for the Reverend. “Not after that screaming match we had at my graduation—if I know Northbridge, it was well discussed.”

“I was only a kid, though,” Mara pointed out. “I knew it happened, but I don’t remember anything about it. What did you fight over?”

“What it was my duty to do with my life,” Jared said as if he were reciting something. “None of the grandchildren had it easy with the Reverend. I knew exactly what Celeste was talking about when she said his expectations of her were superhuman, and I’m sure Noah and our sisters and our cousins would back her up, too. But as the first grandchild and, even worse, the first grandson, I don’t think I was supposed to be human at all—super or otherwise.”

“You had to stay out of trouble,” Mara guessed.

“Oh, so much more than that. I couldn’t have a hair out of place or a scuff on a shoe. I couldn’t raise my voice even in play, let alone say a cuss word. My grades had to be straight As, my behavior exemplary at all times. And as a teenager? Forget about normal teenage rebellion—I couldn’t even do what was just plain normal. Like wear jeans—I had to wear dress pants and a dress shirt any time I stepped out of my house because I was representing the Reverend. I couldn’t wear jeans in Montana, of all places. Do you have any idea how much I stuck out? And not in a way a teenager wants to stick out.”

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