Copyright

Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2019

First published in the USA in 2019 by Harper, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers

Copyright © Lynne Constantine and Valerie Constantine 2019

Cover design by Claire Ward © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019

Cover photograph © Elise Ortiou Campion/Plain Picture

Lynne Constantine and Valerie Constantine assert the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008298098

Ebook Edition © May 2019 ISBN: 9780008298111

Version: 2020-05-21

Dedication

TO THE TUESDAY LADIES:

Ginny

Ann

Angie

Babe

Fi

Mary

Santhe

Stella

Incomparable models of friendship and loyalty. You are greatly missed.

Contents

Cover

Title page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Keep Reading …

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also by Liv Constantine

About the Publisher

PROLOGUE

She screamed and tried to get up, but the room was spinning. She sat again, breathing deeply in and out, trying to focus. Was there a way to escape? Think. She rose, her legs wobbly under her. The fire was spreading now, engulfing the books and photographs. She sank down onto her hands and knees as heavy smoke filled the room. When the air became too dense with it, she pulled her shirt over her mouth, coughing as she moved across the floor toward the hall.

“Help me!” she croaked, though she knew there was no one around who would. Don’t panic, she told herself. She had to try and quiet herself, preserve her oxygen.

She couldn’t die like this. The smoke was getting so thick she couldn’t see more than a few inches in front of her. The heat of the flames was reaching out to consume her. I’m not going to make it, she thought. Her throat was raw, and her nose burned.

With every last bit of strength, she inched her way to the entrance hall. She lay therre, panting from exhaustion. Her head was fuzzy, but the cold marble floor felt good against her body, and she pressed her cheek against its cool surface. Now she could go to sleep. Her eyes closed, and she felt herself fading until everything went black.

1

Only days ago, Kate had been mulling over what to get her mother for Christmas. She couldn’t have known that instead of choosing a gift, she’d be picking out her casket. She sat in numb silence as the pallbearers slowly made their way to the doors of the packed church. A sudden movement made her turn, and that’s when she saw her. Blaire. She’d come. She’d actually come! Suddenly, it was as if Kate’s mother was no longer lying in that box, the victim of a brutal murder. Instead, a different image filled her head. One of her mother laughing, her golden hair whipping in the wind as she grabbed Blaire and Kate by the hand, and the three of them ran across the hot sand, into the ocean.

“Are you all right?” Simon whispered. Kate felt her husband’s hand at her elbow.

Emotion choked her when she tried to speak, so she simply nodded, wondering if he’d seen her too.

After the service, the long procession of cars seemed to take hours to reach the cemetery, and once everyone had arrived, Kate wasn’t surprised to see that the line wrapped around it. Kate, her father, and Simon took their seats as mourners filled the space around the gravesite. Despite the bright sky, a few snow flurries fluttered in the air, precursors to the wintry days that lay ahead. Behind her dark sunglasses, Kate’s eyes searched each face, assessing, questioning if the murderer might be among them. Some were strangers—or at least strangers to her—and others old friends she hadn’t seen in years. As she scanned the crowd, her eyes came to rest on a tall man and a petite, white-haired woman standing next to him. Pain spread across her chest, an invisible hand squeezing her heart. Jake’s parents. She hadn’t seen them since his funeral, which until this week had been the worst day of her life. They were stone-faced, staring straight ahead. She clenched her fists, refusing to let herself feel that pain and guilt again. But how she wished she could talk to Jake, to cry on his shoulder as he held her.

The service at the grave was blessedly short, and as the casket was lowered into the earth, Harrison, Kate’s father, stood there unmoving, staring at it. Kate locked her hand in his, and he lingered a few moments more, his face unreadable. All at once, he looked much older than his sixty-eight years, the deep lines around his mouth even more pronounced. Kate was suddenly overwhelmed with sorrow, and she reached out to one of the folding chairs to steady herself.

Lily’s death would leave an enormous void in all of their lives. She had been the strong center around which the family revolved, and the organizer of Harrison’s life, the one who arranged and managed their packed social calendar. An elegant woman who was the product of the Evans family’s great wealth, she had been taught from childhood that her good fortune obliged her to give back to the community. Lily had served on several philanthropic boards and had headed her own charitable foundation—the Evans-Michaels Family Trust—which awarded grants to organizations dedicated to victims of domestic violence and child abuse. Kate had watched her mother over the years as she presided over her board, tirelessly raised money, and even made herself personally available to help the women who came to the shelter, and yet Lily had always been there for her. Yes, she’d had nannies, but it had been Lily who’d tucked her in every night, Lily who had never missed a school event, Lily who’d wiped her tears and celebrated her successes. In some ways, it had been daunting to be Lily’s daughter—she seemed to do it all with such grace and ease. But at her core had been a strength of purpose that drove her, and Kate had sometimes imagined her mother finally relaxing her straight posture and perfect demeanor when she closed the door of her own bedroom. Kate had promised herself that if she ever had kids, she’d be the same kind of mother one day.

Kate put her arm through her father’s, nudging him away from the canopy, where the cold air was thick with the nauseating smell of hothouse roses and lilies. With Simon on her other side, the three of them walked to the waiting limousine. She slid with relief into the cocooned darkness of the car and glanced out the window. Her breath caught when she glimpsed Blaire, standing alone, hands clasped in front of her. Kate had to stop herself from pressing the window down and calling out to her. It had been fifteen years since they’d spoken, but the sight of her made it feel like they had been together just yesterday.

Simon and Kate’s house in Worthington Valley was a short drive from the cemetery, but there’d been no question anyway of holding the funeral reception at Lily and Harrison’s home, where she had died. Her father hadn’t returned since the night he discovered his wife’s body.

When they arrived, Kate hurried to the front door ahead of the others, wanting a few moments to check on her daughter before people began to pour into the house. She quickly mounted the stairs to the second floor. Simon and Kate had agreed that it was best for their young daughter, just shy of five, to be shielded from the trauma of the funeral, but Kate wanted to check in on her now.

Lily had been so thrilled the day Kate told her she was pregnant. She’d adored Annabelle from the moment she was born, and had lavished attention on her without any of the limits she’d put on Kate, laughing as she said, “I get to spoil her. You are the one who gets to correct her.” Would Annabelle remember her grandmother as the years progressed, Kate wondered? The thought made her falter, her foot slipping from the top step, and she gripped the banister as she reached the landing and headed to her child’s room.

When she peeked in, Annabelle was playing contentedly with her dollhouse, looking mercifully sheltered from the tragic events of the last days. Hilda, her nanny, looked up as Kate entered.

“Mommy.” Annabelle rose and ran to Kate and threw her arms around her waist. “I missed you.”

Kate drew her daughter into her arms and nuzzled her neck. “I missed you too, sweetheart.” She sat in the rocker, pulling Annabelle onto her lap. “I want to have a talk with you, and then we’ll go downstairs together. You remember I told you that Grammy went to be in heaven?”

Annabelle looked at her solemnly. “Yes,” she answered, her lip trembling.

Kate ran her fingers through the child’s curls. “Well, there are lots of people downstairs. They came because they want to tell us how much they loved Grammy. Isn’t that nice of them?”

Annabelle nodded, her eyes wide and unblinking.

“They want us to know that they’ll never forget her. And we won’t either, will we?”

“I want to see Grammy. I don’t want her to be in heaven.”

“Oh sweetie, you will see her again, I promise. One day you will see her again.” She held Annabelle to her, trying to keep her own tears from falling. “Now, let’s go downstairs and say hello to everyone. They’ve been very kind to come and be with us today. You may come down and say hello to Granddaddy and our friends and then come back upstairs to play. Okay?” Kate rose and took Annabelle’s hand, nodding at Hilda, who followed them.

Downstairs, they made their way through the crush of well-wishers who’d arrived, but after fifteen minutes, Kate asked Hilda to take Annabelle back to her playroom. She continued moving around on her own, greeting people, but grief made her hands shake and her breath come in short gasps, as if the air were being gobbled up by the crowd. The living room was wall-to-wall people.

Across the room, Selby Haywood and her mother, Georgina Hathaway, stood in a tight circle with Harrison. Nostalgia swept over Kate as she looked at them. So many good memories—summers at the beach from the time she and Selby were kids, splashing in the surf and building sand castles while their mothers looked on. Georgina had been one of her mother’s closest friends, and the two women had always loved that their daughters were good friends as well. It was a different kind of friendship from the one Kate had had with Blaire, though. She and Selby had been thrown together by their mothers—Kate and Blaire had chosen each other. They’d clicked from the start, as if there’d been a special understanding between them. She’d been able to open her very soul to Blaire, something she’d never experienced with Selby.

A hand on her elbow made her turn, and she was face-to-face with the woman who had been like a sister to her for so many of her formative years. She collapsed into Blaire’s arms and wept.

“Oh, Kate. I still can’t believe it.” Blaire’s breath was hot against her ear as she hugged Kate to her. “I loved her so.”

After a moment, Kate pulled away and took Blaire’s hands in hers. “She loved you too. I’m so glad you’re here.” Kate’s eyes filled again. It was surreal to see Blaire standing here, in her home, after all their years of estrangement. They’d meant so much to each other once.

Blaire had hardly changed—her long dark hair hung in thick waves, her green eyes were still sparkling, the faint hint of laugh lines around them the only evidence that time had passed. Blaire had always been stylish, but now she looked sleek and expensive, like she belonged to another, far more glamorous world. Of course, she was a famous writer now. A swell of gratitude enveloped Kate. She needed Blaire to know how much it meant to her that she’d come, that she was the part of Kate’s past that held so many good memories, and that she understood better than any of her other friends the anguish of this loss. It made her feel suddenly a little less alone.

“Your being here means so much. Can we go into another room where we can talk privately?” Kate’s voice was tentative. She was unsure of what Blaire would say, or if she was even willing to talk about the past, but seeing her made Kate want that more than anything.

“Of course,” Blaire said without hesitation.

Kate led her into the library, where they settled together on the deep leather couch. After a short silence, she spoke. “I know it must have been hard for you to be here, but I had to call you. Thank you so much for coming.”

“Of course. I had to come. For Lily—” Blaire paused briefly before adding, “And for you.”

“Is your husband here?” Kate asked.

“No, he couldn’t make it. He’s traveling for the new book, but he understood that I needed to be here.”

Kate shook her head. “I’m so glad you are. Mother would be too. She hated that we never made up.” She fingered the tissue in her hands. “I think about that fight a lot. The horrible things we said.” The memories came flooding back, filling her with regret.

“I never should have questioned your decision to marry Simon. It was wrong,” Blaire said.

“We were so young … so foolish to let it rip our friendship apart.”

“You don’t know how many times I thought of calling you, to talk it out, but I was afraid you would hang up on me,” Blaire said.

Kate looked down at the tissue in her hands, now shredded into pieces. “I thought about calling you too, but the longer I waited, the harder it was. I can’t believe it’s taken my mother’s murder to finally do it. But she would be so glad to see us together.” Lily had been terribly upset about their fight. She’d broached it with Kate over the years, always trying to get her to reach out to Blaire with an olive branch. Now Kate regretted her stubborn resistance. She raised her eyes. “I can’t believe that I’ll never see her again. It was so brutal, her death. It makes me sick to think about it.”

Blaire leaned in closer. “It’s horrible,” she said, and Kate sensed a gentle questioning tone in her voice.

“I’m not sure how much you’ve heard—I’ve been avoiding the papers,” Kate said. “But Dad came home Friday night and found her.” Her voice quavered, and she choked back sobs before going on.

Blaire was shaking her head, quiet as Kate continued.

“She was in the living room … lying on the floor, her head … someone hit her head.” Kate swallowed.

“Do they think it was a break-in?” Blaire asked.

“Apparently a window was smashed, but there were no other signs of forced entry.”

“Do the police have any idea who did this?”

“No. They didn’t find a weapon. They searched everywhere. They talked to neighbors, but nobody heard or saw anything unusual. But you know how secluded their house is—their closest neighbor is a quarter mile away. The coroner said she died sometime between five and eight.” Kate twisted her hands together. “I can’t bear to think that while my mother was being murdered, I was here just going about my business.”

“You couldn’t have known, Kate.”

Kate nodded. She knew Blaire was right, but that didn’t change how she felt. While she had been making a cup of tea or reading her daughter a bedtime story, someone had brutally taken her mother’s life.

Blaire frowned and put her hand on Kate’s. “She wouldn’t want you thinking like that. You know that, right?”

“I’ve missed you,” Kate sobbed.

“I’m here now.”

“Thank you.” Kate sniffled. They embraced again, Kate clinging to Blaire as if she were a life preserver that could keep her from sinking into her deep and terrible grief. As they were leaving the room, Blaire stopped and gave Kate a quizzical look.

“Was that Jake’s parents at the church earlier?”

Kate nodded. “I was surprised to see them. I don’t think they came to the house, though. I suppose they just wanted to pay their respects to Mother and leave.” She felt a lump in her throat. “I can’t blame them for not wanting to talk to me.”

Blaire started to speak, then simply gave her a sad look and another hug.

“I guess I should get back to my guests now,” Kate said.

She went through the rest of the day in a daze. After everyone had gone, Simon had holed up in his office to handle a work crisis while Kate roamed restlessly from room to room. She had been anxious for everyone to leave, for the day of her mother’s funeral to be over, but now the house felt eerily quiet. Everywhere she looked, it seemed, there was another sympathy card or flower arrangement.

She finally sat down in the recliner in the study, leaning her head back, and closed her eyes, weary and sad. She had almost dozed off when a vibration at her side made her open her eyes. Her phone. In the pocket of her dress. She pulled it out, pressed her thumb to unlock it, and saw Private Caller where the phone number should be. She read the incoming text.

Such a beautiful day for a funeral. I enjoyed watching you watch them lower your mother into the ground. Your beautiful face was mottled and swollen from crying. But I delighted in seeing your world fall apart. You think you’re sad now, just wait. By the time I’m finished with you, you’ll wish you had been buried today.

Was this some kind of sick joke?

Who is this? she typed, waiting for a response, but nothing came. She shot up from the chair, her heart thudding wildly against her chest, and ran from the room, her breath coming in short bursts. “Simon!” she yelled as she sprinted down the hall. “Call the police.”

2

A deep sadness filled Blaire as she followed the long line of cars to the reception at Kate’s house. It seemed impossible that Lily was dead, even more impossible that she’d been murdered. Why would anyone want to harm someone as kind and loving as Lily Michaels? Blaire fought back the tears that had been coming all morning. Gripping the steering wheel, she took a deep breath and willed herself to remain calm. She continued up the tree-lined driveway to Kate and Simon’s elegant estate, where a valet greeted her. She stopped the Maserati and got out, handing the keys to the uniformed young man.

The stone house sat on a rise overlooking a green meadow that sloped down to large stables with a paddock. It was horse country, home of the world-famous Maryland Hunt Cup. Blaire would never forget the first time she’d attended the race with Kate and her parents on a sunny day in April. The excited crowd had gathered around cars and small tents as they tailgated with mimosas and waited for post time. Blaire, a novice, had been taking riding lessons at the Mayfield School, but Kate was practically born in the saddle. Blaire had learned during her lessons that timber races were much like a steeplechase. She watched in fascination as horse and rider scaled wood fences almost five feet high. Lily was in high spirits that day, spreading out the feast she’d brought in the wicker picnic basket on a beautiful flowered tablecloth she put down on a folding table. She’d always done everything with such grace and elegance. Now she was gone, and Blaire was just one of the crowd of mourners that filled Kate and Simon’s home.

Blaire was so nervous about seeing her old friend, but the second she approached her, so many old feelings flooded back. Kate even pulled her aside for a heart-to-heart, and they were able to share a moment of grieving together for Lily. Looking around, Blaire thought the house was just as stately as the one Kate had grown up in. It was still hard to reconcile the image of the carefree twenty-three-year-old girl that Blaire had known with the mistress of this imposingly formal house. Blaire had heard that Simon, an architect, had designed and built it to look historic. Simon was one person who wasn’t going to be happy that Blaire was back. Not that she cared about his opinion. She was ready to reconnect with the other friends she hadn’t seen in years and put him out of her mind.

The library she’d walked past on the way to this room had made her want to stop and linger. It soared two stories high, with an entire wall of tall windows. The dark wood walls and ceiling gleamed in the sunlight, and a wooden staircase spiraled to the loft filled with more books. The dark Persian rug and leather furniture added to the antique feel of the room—a space where a reader could be transported back in time. Blaire had felt the urge to climb those stairs and run her hand along the thick wooden banister, to lose herself in the books.

But instead, she’d continued to the vast living room, where appetizers were now being passed by waitstaff and white wine offered on trays. The space was immense and filled with light, which made it cheerful, if not cozy. Blaire took note of the high ceiling with its intricate crown molding and the original paintings on the walls. They were the same kind of works that she’d seen in Kate’s parents’ house, with the smooth patina of age and wealth. The wide-plank floor was covered with an enormous oriental rug of dark maroon and blue. Blaire noticed the fraying fringe on one corner and a few spots that looked a bit threadbare. Of course—she smiled wryly to herself—it had probably been in the family for years and years.

She looked across the room at the gawky man standing by the bar, her eyes drawn to the bow tie around his neck. Who wears a bow tie to a funeral? She had never gotten used to the Maryland obsession with them. Okay, maybe in prep school, but once you were a grown man, only to a formal affair. She knew her old friends wouldn’t agree, but as far as she was concerned, they belonged only on Pee-wee Herman or Bozo the clown. Once she registered his face, however, it made sense. Gordon Barton. A year or two ahead of them in school, he had trailed after Kate like a lost puppy when they were young. He’d been a weird and creepy kid, always staring at her for long moments in conversation, making her wonder what was going on in his head.

He caught her eye and walked over.

“Hello, Gordon.”

“Blaire. Blaire Norris.” His squinty eyes held no warmth.

“It’s Barrington now,” she told him.

His eyebrows shot up. “Oh, that’s right. You’re married. I must say, you’ve become quite well known.”

She didn’t really care for him, but his acknowledgment of her literary success pleased her nonetheless. He had always been such a tight-ass, so superior as he looked down his nose at her.

He shook his head. “Terrible thing about Lily, just terrible.”

She felt her eyes fill again. “It’s horrifying. I still can’t believe it.”

“Of course. We’re all quite shocked, of course. I mean, murder. Here. Unthinkable.”

The room was filled with people who had lined up to pay their respects to Kate and her father, who stood by the mantel, both looking as though they were in a trance. Harrison was ashen, staring straight ahead, not focusing on anything.

“Please excuse me,” Blaire said to Gordon. “I haven’t had the chance to speak with Kate’s father yet.” She made her way toward the fireplace. Kate was swallowed up by the crowd before Blaire reached them, but Harrison’s eyes widened as she approached.

“Blaire.” His voice was warm.

She moved into his open arms, and he hugged her tight. She was ricocheted back in time as she breathed in the scent of his aftershave, and she felt a poignant sadness for all the years they’d missed. When he straightened, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face, clearing his throat a few times before he was able to speak.

“My beautiful Lily. Who would do such a thing?” His voice cracked, and he winced as if in physical pain.

“I’m so sorry, Harrison. Words can’t convey …”

His eyes dulled again, and he dropped her hand, twisting the handkerchief until it was a tight ball. Before Blaire could say anything more, Georgina Hathaway strode over.

Blaire’s heart sank. She’d never liked either mother or daughter. She’d heard somewhere that Georgina was a widow now, that Bishop Hathaway had died some years ago from complications of Parkinson’s disease. The news surprised her. Bishop was always such a vibrant man, athletic and toned, with a runner’s body. He’d been the life of the party and the last to leave. It must have been torture for him to watch his body wither away. She used to wonder what he saw in Georgina, who was more self-involved than Narcissus.

When the woman put her hand on Harrison’s shoulder, he looked up, and she handed him a tumbler filled with amber liquid Blaire assumed was bourbon, his old favorite. “Harrison, dear, this will settle your nerves.”

He took the glass from her wordlessly and swallowed a large gulp.

Blaire hadn’t seen Georgina Hathaway in over fifteen years, but she looked practically the same, not a wrinkle to be found on her creamy skin, no doubt due to the services of a skilled plastic surgeon. She still wore her hair in a chic bob and looked smart in a black silk suit. The only jewelry she wore today was a simple strand of pearls around her pale neck and the exquisite emerald-and-diamond wedding ring she’d always sported.

Georgina gave Blaire a tight-lipped smile. “Blaire, what a surprise to see you here. I hadn’t realized you and Kate were still in touch.” She still sounded like a character from a 1940s movie, her accent some blend of British and finishing school lockjaw.

Blaire opened her mouth to answer, but Georgina turned back to Harrison before she could utter a word. “Why don’t we go have a seat in the luncheon area?”

She certainly wasn’t wasting any time staking her claim on Harrison, Blaire thought, though hopefully he had the good sense to avoid getting romantically involved with her. The first time Blaire had gone to Selby’s house, it was a hot June day at the end of eighth grade, when Kate insisted on bringing her along to sit by the pool. She’d never seen an Olympic-sized pool at a private home before. It looked like something out of a resort, with potted palm trees, waterfalls, an enormous hot tub area, and a four-room pool house decorated more lavishly than Blaire’s own house in New Hampshire. Blaire was wearing a new lime-green string bikini she’d just gotten at the mall and thought looked sensational on her. The hot sun felt good on her skin, and she dipped a toe into the sparkling blue water.

After they swam for most of the morning, the housekeeper had brought lunch out for them. They sat around the large glass table, still dripping from the pool, letting the hot sun dry them while they all grabbed sandwiches from the heaping platter. Blaire settled on a roast beef and Swiss and had just reached over to grab some chips from the bowl in front of her when Georgina’s voice rang out.

“Girls, make sure you eat some raw veggies too, not just chips,” she called as she sauntered over, looking chic in a navy one-piece and sarong.

Selby unenthusiastically introduced Blaire to Georgina, who gave Blaire a tepid smile and then stared at her for a long moment. She tilted her head.

“Blaire, dear. That suit’s a bit revealing, don’t you think? It’s rather nice to leave something to the imagination.”

Blaire dropped the chip still between her fingers and looked at the ground, her face hot with embarrassment. Kate’s mouth had fallen open, but nothing came out of it. Even Selby was quiet for a change.

“All right then, enjoy your lunch.” And with that Georgina turned around and went back inside. She’d been a bitch then, and Blaire would bet she still was.

She shook off the unpleasant memory just as she noticed Simon coming back into the room.

Blaire studied him for a moment before making her approach. He was still as over-the-top gorgeous as he had been fifteen years ago, leaning casually against the doorjamb, that lock of hair that never behaved grazing his forehead. Women were probably still falling at his feet. And she noticed that now everything about his look was expensive, from his exquisitely tailored black suit to his Italian leather dress shoes. The first time Kate brought Simon home over spring break, she had confided to Blaire that he felt out of his element. He had grown up on the Eastern Shore of Maryland in a family of modest means. His father’s death of a heart attack when Simon was twelve had devastated the family, both emotionally and financially. His mother never really recovered, and if not for the scholarships Simon earned, it would have been impossible for him to attend Yale. When he and Kate married, he had finally been in a position to make his mother’s life more comfortable, until her death shortly after Annabelle was born. And clearly he’d made his own life more comfortable too, Blaire reflected.

A young brunette woman was by his side. She was good-looking, but what grabbed Blaire’s attention was the way she was looking at Simon, with a mix of adoration and expectancy. Simon smiled as she said something and touched his arm. Their body language made it clear that they knew each other well. Blaire wondered how well. After a moment, Simon seemed to end their conversation, though Blaire couldn’t hear his words. The young woman’s eyes followed him as he approached Kate. Then she turned and stalked away, stopping for a long moment in front of a mahogany sideboard. After she’d left the room, Blaire walked over to see what had caught the woman’s attention. It was a silver-framed wedding photo of Kate and Simon, both smiling as if they didn’t have a care in the world.

A bell tinkled, and a uniformed man announced that it was time for lunch. Simon was standing across the room alone, and Blaire seized her opportunity. As she approached him, his expression turned leery.

“Simon, hi. I’m so sorry for your loss,” she said with all the sincerity she could muster.

He stiffened. “What a surprise to see you here, Blaire.”

Anger surged through her like acid, starting in her belly and burning as it rose to her throat. The memory of what had happened the last time she saw him pushed against her with the force of a tidal wave, but she pushed back. She had to stay cool, composed.

“Lily’s death was a terrible tragedy,” she said. “Now isn’t the time for pettiness.”

His eyes were cold. “How kind of you to come running back.” He leaned in closer, putting an arm on her shoulder in a way that a casual observer would have seen as friendly, and angrily hissed, “Don’t even think of trying to come between us again.”

She recoiled, incensed that he had the nerve to speak to her that way, today of all days. Squaring her shoulders, she flashed him her best author smile. “Shouldn’t you be more concerned with how your wife is dealing with the murder of her mother than worrying about my relationship with her?” Her smile disappeared. “But don’t worry. I won’t make the same mistake again.” This time, I’ll make sure that you don’t come between us, she thought as she walked away.

She was heading to the first-floor bathroom to freshen up before lunch when something outside caught her eye. She moved toward the window and saw a uniformed man standing in the shadows, next to the driveway. It took her a minute to recognize him as Georgina’s driver. What was his name? Something with an R … Randolph, that was it. He’d driven them around whenever Georgina had carpool duty. Blaire was a little surprised he was still alive. He’d looked ancient to her all those years ago, but looking at him now, she realized he was probably only in his forties at the time. Then she saw Simon approach him and shake his hand before reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out an envelope. Randolph looked around nervously, then took it with a nod and got into his car.

Simon was already heading up the front walk, so Blaire quickly ducked into the powder room before he could see her. She couldn’t imagine what business Simon would have with Georgina’s driver. But she intended to find out.

3

The murderer was at the gravesite today—maybe even in our house.” Kate’s voice cracked as she handed her phone to Detective Frank Anderson of the Baltimore County PD. His presence comforted her, his manner sure and confident, and she was struck again by how his appearance of physical strength made her feel safe.

Taking a seat across from Kate and Simon in their living room, he read the text message with a frown. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. It could be a crank who read about your mother’s death and the funeral—there’s been a lot of coverage.”

Simon’s mouth dropped open. “What kind of a sicko does that?”

“But this is my personal cell phone,” Kate objected. “How would a stranger have gotten the number?”

“It’s easy enough to get a cell number these days, unfortunately. There are plenty of third-party services people can use. And there were several hundred people at the cemetery. Did you know all of them?”

She shook her head. “No. We debated having a private funeral, but Mother was so tied to the community, we felt she’d have wanted it to be open to anyone who wished to pay their respects.”

He was making notes as they were talking. “Normally we’d assume this was a crank, but since this is an unsolved murder, we will take it more seriously. With your permission we’ll put in for a consensual Title Three wiretap. I’d like to add it to your home phone and computers as well. Then we can see in real time if you receive more threats, and we can track the IP address.”

“Of course,” Kate said.

“I have equipment with me that can take a mirror image of your phone. When we finish I’ll do that, and we’ll see if we can trace this text and find out who sent it. Whatever you do, don’t respond if you hear from him again. If this is a crank, that’s exactly what he wants you to do.” He gave Kate a sympathetic look. “I’m very sorry that you have to deal with this on top of everything else.”

Kate felt only slight relief as her husband walked Anderson to the door. She thought back to the last time she’d gotten terrifying news on her phone, that awful night when Harrison had found Lily. She’d seen her father’s number pop up, and when she answered, he’d sounded frantic.

“Kate. She’s gone. She’s gone, Kate,” he sobbed across the line.

“Dad, what are you talking about?” Panic spread through her body.

“Someone broke in. They killed her. Oh my God, this can’t be real. It can’t be true.”

Kate had barely been able to understand his words, he was crying so hard. “Who broke in? Mother? Mother is dead?”

“Blood. Blood everywhere.”

“What happened? Have you called an ambulance?” she asked him, her voice high-pitched, hysteria threatening to overtake her.

“What am I going to do, Katie? What am I going to do?”

“Dad, listen to me. Have you called nine-one-one?” But all that came through had been his hacking sobs.

She had leaped into her car and driven the fifteen miles to her parents’ home in a daze, texting Simon to meet her there ASAP. She could see the red and blue flashing lights from two blocks away. When she neared the house, her SUV was stopped by a police barricade. As she got out of it, she saw Simon’s Porsche pull up behind her. EMTs, police, and crime-scene investigators were going in and out of the house. Her panic swelling, Kate ran from the car and pushed her way through the crowd, but an officer barred her way, standing there with his arms crossed, legs in a wide stance, and an angry scowl on his face. “Sorry, ma’am. This is an active crime scene.”

“I’m her daughter,” she said, trying to push past him, as Simon rushed to her side. “Please.”

The officer shook his head and put a hand out in front of her. “Someone will be out to speak to you. I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to step back.”

And then they watched and waited together, horrified, as investigators came and went, carrying cameras and bags and boxes, putting up yellow crime-scene tape, and refusing to even look in their direction. It hadn’t taken long for the television crews to arrive, with their cameras focusing on the breathless reporters, mics in hand, detailing every gruesome detail they could glean. Kate wanted to press her hands to her ears when she heard them say the victim’s skull had been bashed in.

Finally she saw her father being led out of the house. Without thinking, she rushed toward him. Before she’d taken more than a few steps, powerful hands grabbed her and held her in place.

“Let me go,” she yelled, struggling against the officer restraining her. Tears streamed down her face, and when the police car pulled away, she cried out, “Where are they taking him? Let me go, damn it. Where is my mother? I need to see my mother.”

He had loosened his hold then, but not his expression. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I can’t allow you inside.”

“My father should be with her,” Kate cried. Simon had appeared beside her, and she inhaled deeply, trying to calm herself. Even though she was still angry at him, his presence was comforting.

“Where have they taken him? Dr. Michaels, my wife’s father—where have they taken him?” Simon said, putting a protective arm around Kate.

“To the station for questioning.”

“Questioning?” Kate asked.

A woman in uniform approached Kate. “Are you the daughter of Lily Michaels?”

“Yes. Dr. Kate English.”

“I’m afraid your mother is deceased. I’m very sorry for your loss.” The officer paused for a moment. “We’ll need you to come to the station to answer a few questions.”

Sorry for your loss? So perfunctory. Glib, even. Is that how the families of patients saw her when she gave them bad news? She had followed the officer, but all she could think about was her mother lying dead, being photographed and scrutinized by investigators, studied by medical examiners, and finally taken to the morgue for an autopsy. She’d seen her share of autopsies in medical school. They weren’t pretty.

“Have you eaten anything?” Simon asked, startling her out of her memories as he entered the room.

“I’m not hungry.”

“What about a little soup? Your father said that Fleur made some homemade chicken rice.”

Kate ignored him, and he sighed loudly, sitting in the chair next to a flower arrangement from her colleagues at the hospital, fingering the tip of a leaf as he read the card. “Nice of them,” he said. “You really should eat, even a bite of something.”

“Simon, please. Just stop, will you?” She didn’t want him acting all husbandly and caring after all the tension of the past few months. When the arguments and bad feelings had reached the point where Kate couldn’t concentrate on her work or anything else, she’d gone to Lily. It was just a few weeks ago that they’d sat by the fireplace in her parents’ cozy den, warmed by the flames, Kate in her hospital scrubs and Lily exquisite in white wool pants and cashmere sweater. Lily had looked at Kate intently, her face serious. “What is it, darling? You sounded terribly upset on the phone.”

“It’s Simon. He’s …” She’d stopped, not knowing where to begin. “Mother, do you remember Sabrina?”

Lily frowned, giving Kate a puzzled look.

“You remember. Her father was the one who sort of took over when Simon’s father died, became a mentor to Simon? Sabrina was a junior bridesmaid at our wedding.”

“Ah, yes. I remember. She was just a child.”

“Yes, she was twelve years old at the time.” Kate leaned forward in the chair. “Do you remember how, the morning of the wedding, as we were all here getting ready, Sabrina went MIA? I went to look for her. She was in one of the guest rooms, sitting on the edge of the bed and crying. I started to go in, but then I saw that her father was with her, so I stood to the side, out of sight. She was terribly upset that Simon was getting married. Told her father that she’d always believed Simon would wait for her to grow up and marry her. She sounded so pitiful.”

Lily’s eyes widened, but her face remained calm. “I’d forgotten that, but it was years ago. She was young and had a crush.”

Kate’s face had grown red. “But nothing has changed. I tried to understand and be kind, I really did. Her mother died when she was five, and I thought maybe I could be a good friend, even a confidante.” Kate sighed. “She completely rebuffed my efforts. Oh, she was never rude in front of Simon, but when we were alone, she made it clear that she wanted nothing to do with me. And now, ever since her father died, she’s clingier than ever, calling all the time, wanting more and more of Simon’s time.”

“Kate, what does that have to do with you, really? As long as Simon isn’t encouraging her, you don’t have anything to be upset about. And the poor girl is an orphan at such a young age.”

“But that’s just it. He is encouraging her. Whenever she calls with some sort of problem or something that needs fixing, he jumps. And she’s calling more and more often. He’s there a lot. More than he should be.” Kate’s voice was louder. “He says it’s nothing, that I’m overreacting, but I’m not. Now that she’s working with him, they’re together all the time. They have dinners together, she comes riding at the house, she completely ignores me and gushes over him. I’ve reached the point where I just can’t take it anymore. I’ve asked him to move out.”

“Kate, listen to what you’re saying. You can’t break up your family over something like this.”

“Well, I can’t put up with this anymore. He never should have hired her, but her father asked Simon to look out for her on his deathbed. She asked Simon for a job right after he died.”

Her mother gave her a look. “It doesn’t sound like Simon had much choice. Things will settle down. Perhaps she’s just grieving.”

“Quite honestly, Mother, I’m tired of being the sympathetic, long-suffering wife. It’s ridiculous for me to be treated like that and then have my husband tell me I’m being unfair.”

Lily rose and began to pace. She walked to where Kate sat and put her hands on Kate’s shoulders, her eyes locked on her daughter’s. “I’m going to talk to Simon. Get this all sorted out.”

“Mother, no. Please don’t do that.” The last thing she’d wanted was for her mother to call Simon on the carpet. That would make things worse than they already were. But she’d heard nothing more from her mother on the topic. If Lily had spoken to him, neither she nor Simon had mentioned it.

Now she looked at Simon as he leaned forward in the chair, his elbows resting on his knees.

“Please don’t push me away,” he said. “I know we’ve had our problems, but now is the time for us to pull together and support each other.”

“Support? It’s been a long time since you’ve been there for me. I never should have agreed to let you move back in.”

“That’s not fair.” Simon frowned. “You need me here, and I want to be with you and Annabelle. And I’d feel much better being here to watch out for you both.”

She felt a chill go up her arms and pulled the cardigan more tightly around her at the reminder: there was a killer on the loose out there. The last line of the text played over and over in her mind. By the time I’m finished with you, you’ll wish you had been buried today. That implied more was to come. Had the killer taken her mother to punish Kate? She thought of the grief-stricken parents of the patients she was unable to save and tried to identify anyone who might have blamed her. Or maybe blamed her father. He’d practiced medicine for over forty years, plenty of time to make some enemies.

“Kate.” Simon’s voice broke through her musings again. “I’m not leaving you alone. Not with a threat against you.”

She slowly raised her eyes to his. She couldn’t think straight. But the idea of being alone in this big house was terrifying.

She nodded. “You can continue to stay in the blue guest suite for now.”

“I think I should move back into the master bedroom.”

Kate felt the heat rise from her neck and across her cheeks. Was he using her mother’s death as a way to worm himself back into her affections? “Absolutely not.”

“Okay, fine. But I don’t understand why we can’t just put the past behind us.”

“Because nothing is resolved. I can’t trust you.” She stared at him, feeling like her eyes could bore holes into him. “Maybe Blaire was right about you.”

He spun around, a dark look on his face. “She had no business coming today.”

“She had every right,” she replied hotly. “She was my best friend.”

“Have you forgotten she tried to ruin us?”

“And you’re finishing the job.”

He pursed his lips and was quiet for a moment. When he finally spoke, there was a steely edge to his voice. “How many times do I have to tell you that absolutely nothing is going on? Nothing.”

She was too exhausted to argue with him. “I’m going upstairs to tuck Annabelle in.”

Annabelle was on the floor with a puzzle, Hilda in a chair nearby, when Kate walked into Annabelle’s bedroom. What would she have done without Hilda? She was wonderful with Annabelle—loving and patient, and so devoted to Annabelle that Kate had to remind her that just because she lived with them didn’t mean she was on duty all the time. Hilda had been nanny to Selby’s three sons. When Annabelle was born, Selby had suggested that Kate hire her, since Selby’s youngest would be going into first grade and would no longer need a full-time nanny. Kate had been relieved and grateful to have someone she knew and trusted to care for her daughter. They had known Hilda forever, it seemed, and her brother, Randolph, had been Georgina’s driver for years, a reliable and trustworthy employee. It had worked out perfectly.

Kate knelt next to her daughter. “What a good job you’ve done.”

Annabelle looked up at Kate with that cherubic face, her blond curls bouncing. “Here, Mommy. You do it,” she said, handing her a puzzle piece.

“Hmm. Let’s see. Does it go here?” Kate asked, and began to put it in the wrong space.

“No, no,” she puffed. “It goes here.” She grabbed it and placed it where it belonged.

“It’s almost bedtime, sweetheart. Would you like to pick a book for Mommy to read with you?” She turned to Hilda. “Why don’t you go ahead to bed? I’ll stay with her.”

“Thank you, Kate.” Hilda ruffled Annabelle’s hair. “She’s been such a little trouper today, haven’t you, sweetheart? It was a long day.”

“Yes.” Kate smiled at her. “It’s been a long day for you too. Now get some rest.”

From the bookshelf, Annabelle pulled out Charlotte’s Web and brought it to Kate. She sat on the bed as Annabelle scrambled under the covers. Kate loved this bedtime ritual with her daughter, but the nights since Lily’s death had been different. She wanted to gather Annabelle to her and protect her from tragic reality.

As soon as Annabelle fell asleep, Kate gently took her arm from around her daughter and quietly tiptoed out. She peered down the passageway to the last guest room at the end, the room Simon would occupy. His door was open, the room dark, but she could see a light shining from beneath his bathroom door and hear the water running.

She looked away, her thoughts turning to Jake. His parents hadn’t come to the reception, so she’d never had the chance to speak to them—which might have been for the best, given how painful a reminder she must be. She and Jake had grown up in the same neighborhood and had known each other practically all their lives, but it wasn’t until they went to high school at brother-sister schools that the two of them had fallen in love. Kate could still remember their senior year, Jake smiling up at her in the stands from the lacrosse field, and no matter how cold it was on those game days in February or March, she felt all warm and glowing inside. And he never missed one of her track meets, his deep voice cheering her on. They both applied to Yale, and it seemed all but certain that they’d spend the rest of their lives together—until the night everything changed. Through the years she’d relived the night of that party over and over in her mind, imagining it had turned out differently. If only they’d left ten minutes earlier, or if they hadn’t been drinking. But of course, she couldn’t change the reality. She’d lost him in the space of a few hours. When she’d gone to his house a few days after his funeral, the blinds were drawn. Days’ worth of newspapers were scattered across the front porch, and the mailbox was overflowing. Eventually, his parents and two sisters moved away.

She continued down the hall to her bedroom to change for bed, though she knew sleep would be elusive. She padded into the bedroom, unzipped her black funeral dress, and threw it on the floor in a heap, knowing she would never be able to wear it again. When she flipped on the bathroom light and looked in the mirror, she saw that her hair was limp and her eyes red and puffy. Moving in for a closer look, she caught something dark out of the corner of her eye and froze. Sweat broke out all over her body, and she began to shake uncontrollably as she backed away in horror. She was going to vomit.

“Simon! Simon!” she screamed. “Come here. Hurry!”

In an instant, he was beside her as she continued to stare at the three dead mice, lined up in the sink, their eyes gouged out of their heads. And then she saw the note.

Three blind mice

Three blind mice

See how they run

See how they run!

They all ran after a charming life

He took their eyes with a carving knife

Did you ever see such a beautiful sight?

As three dead mice?

4

Blaire had played her reunion with Kate over and over in her mind through the years—what she would say to her, how Kate would beg to be her friend again, and the crushed look she’d get when Blaire told her it was too late. It would be Kate’s turn to feel the pain of betrayal, just the way Blaire had felt when Kate kicked her out of her wedding after their terrible argument that morning. And then she’d elevated Selby from a regular bridesmaid to maid of honor in Blaire’s place. The truth was, Kate had never been far from Blaire’s mind over the years—she’d heard news about her through their other friends and seen glimpses of her life in their pictures on Facebook. But since Blaire felt she was the injured party, there had been no way she was going to come crawling back—or so she’d thought. Lily’s murder had changed all that. She’d known that the minute Kate had called. She had to come and pay her respects to Lily. And once she was there, she knew she had to do whatever she could to help them find the killer.

Now that she’d come back, she saw that not only had she been right about Simon, but that something was very wrong between him and Kate. Blaire had always studied people; it was one of the things that contributed to her success as a writer. The little things told the story—the looks that passed between two people, the choice of a phrase, an unreturned sentiment. From where she’d sat at the funeral luncheon, she’d had a clear view of the two of them, and Blaire had noticed Kate jump like she’d been burned when Simon’s hand reached for hers, snatching it back and putting it in her lap. And then, of course, there had been the brunette in the short skirt.

She stood by the window and gazed at the Baltimore Harbor, the low December sun shimmering on the water in a dazzling geometric puzzle. When she called to make reservations at the Four Seasons, they’d told her they were fully booked, so close to the Christmas holidays. But as soon as she inquired about the presidential suite and gave them her name, the flat voice on the other end of the phone became animated, promptly apologizing and booking her reservation. She’d come a long way from that young girl who didn’t quite fit in.

Blaire was still in touch with some of her friends from her school days in Maryland. It had been tough at first—they’d all known each other since kindergarten, and Blaire arrived on the scene in eighth grade. Her father had told her that she should be happy that she’d been accepted to such a wonderful school, that it would open up a whole new world for her. Enid, his new wife, said that she was languishing at her public school, that she would have better opportunities if she went to one of the country’s top prep schools. They tried to make it sound like they were doing it for Blaire, but she knew the truth—that Enid wanted her gone, that she was tired of arguing with Blaire over every little thing. That’s how she found herself going away to Maryland, where she knew absolutely no one, ten hours from her home in New Hampshire. And to add insult to injury, Mayfield insisted she repeat the eighth grade, since she’d missed so much school the year before when she’d had mono. It was ridiculous.

But once she got to Mayfield, Blaire had to admit that the school grounds were beautiful—grass so green it didn’t look real and Georgian-style buildings dotting the campus, giving it a college feel. And the facilities were amazing. There was a tremendous swimming pool, stables, a state-of-the-art gym, and plush dorm rooms. It was a definite step up. Besides, her house wasn’t hers anymore. Enid’s touch was everywhere, her ridiculous homemade crafts all over the kitchen and living room.

Her first day at Mayfield, the headmistress had taken her around the campus. A woman of indeterminate age, she wore her hair in a tight bun, but she had a kind face and a soft voice, and Blaire had found herself suddenly wishing she would stay with her.

The headmistress opened the door to a classroom, and as the teacher welcomed them in, the room had grown silent and all the girls turned, their eyes settling on her. They were in uniforms: white button-down shirts, plaid skirts, white socks, shiny loafers, and navy cardigans. Upon closer inspection, subtle differences emerged—gold or silver post earrings, add-a-bead necklaces, thin gold bangles. Blaire curled her fingers into her hands to hide her chipped pink nail polish. The headmistress had already informed her that only clear polish was acceptable, but said she’d overlook it today.

As Blaire looked around at all the other girls, she laid eyes on Kate for the first time. Shiny blond hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail. A hint of clear lip gloss on her bow-shaped lips. Blue eyes the color of the Caribbean—or at least the way it looked in pictures. She could tell right away that Kate was the type of girl that everyone liked.

“Welcome, Blaire.” Pointing to the beautiful girl, the teacher continued. “Go and take a seat next to Kate Michaels.” Kate smiled at Blaire and patted the top of the empty desk next to her.

Later, at lunch, Kate introduced Blaire to her circle of friends. They’d all followed Kate’s lead and been friendly and warm. Selby was nice enough, but the first thing she said when she introduced herself was “I’m Selby, Kate’s best friend.” Blaire had smiled at her. Not for long, she thought. And it hadn’t been. She and Kate were soon inseparable.

It took a little longer for the other girls at the school to completely accept her. At first she was naive enough to believe that money was the great equalizer. Her father had made plenty of it, but he earned it selling tires at a dealership he’d founded twenty years before. Back in New Hampshire, they’d been one of the wealthiest families in their town, sponsoring Little League teams and the school backpack program. But here in Baltimore, she wasn’t a big fish anymore. It hadn’t taken her long to understand that there was a difference between old and new money, breeding and upbringing. But Blaire was a quick study; within a few years, no one who met her would have guessed she hadn’t been born into that world.

Despite the somber reason for her return, she couldn’t deny that it felt good—damn good—to have all of them looking at her differently. She was no longer the nobody from the boondocks who didn’t know what a cotillion was. Thanks to the Megan Mahooney detective series that she’d created with Daniel, she was more famous than she ever could have hoped. She’d always had dreams of becoming a writer, and so she’d majored in English at Columbia and interned every summer for various publishing houses. When she graduated, she was hired as a publicity assistant at one of the major houses—the same one that published Daniel Barrington. With nine best sellers under his belt, he was not only well known but well loved. He’d written twelve thrillers in the serial killer genre. Blaire had read all of them and seen him interviewed on network talk shows. Assigned as Daniel’s publicist’s assistant, she had been delighted to realize how friendly and unassuming he was despite his success. She got to know him better when her boss was out on maternity leave, and she was able to fill in on two of his tour stops.

Blaire had seized the opportunity and made sure she looked her best that second night in Boston. After the signing, they grabbed a bite to eat around the corner from the bookstore. When Blaire ordered her cheeseburger with provolone, he’d smiled and told her that was the way he liked his burger too. For the next two hours there was never a lull in the conversation. They discovered they were both fans of the dark stories of Poe and Bram Stoker, and Blaire nodded in agreement when he’d said his favorite movie was The Postman Always Rings Twice. They talked about their undergrad years, when they’d immersed themselves in the tragedies of Aeschylus and Euripides, the poetry of John Milton and Edmund Spenser. And when, near the end of the evening, Blaire had made a reference to Don Quixote, Daniel had tilted his head at her and smiled. They were perfect for each other. Within a year, one of the book world’s most eligible bachelors had become her husband. She hadn’t needed an over-the-top wedding like Kate’s. She and Daniel made it official at city hall between his tour stops.

It was Blaire’s idea to collaborate on the Megan Mahooney series. His publisher loved the concept, and the first in the series hit the New York Times list within a week of publication and stayed there for over a year. After they’d written four books together, they signed a deal for a television show based on the series, and Blaire finally began to feel like she had made it.

During her years at Mayfield, it had seemed as though she’d never be in the same social or financial league as all of her friends. It had been hard, always feeling a step behind. But when her first million turned into double digits and she started being profiled in national newspapers and magazines, she finally felt like she could hold her own.

Walking over to the long dining room table, she sat and checked her email. She deleted the sales messages from Barney’s and Neiman’s, thinking she needed to start unsubscribing from all the junk mail filling up her in-box. She opened a message from her publicist about two conferences she and Daniel had been invited to speak at. She forwarded the email to him with a question mark.

Next, she googled “Lily Michaels,” something she hadn’t been able to bear to do since she got the news. The page filled with hit after hit. She clicked on the link from the Baltimore Sun to see a picture of beautiful, smiling Lily next to the headline “Baltimore Heiress Bludgeoned to Death in Her Home.” She scanned the article, which included a statement from the police department. They were considering a wide range of suspects, it said. From research she’d done for her books, she knew the husband was always the first suspect. The police would be digging into every area of Harrison’s life, and if they found even one shred of evidence that he had a motive to kill Lily, they’d latch on to him with the ferocity of a feral dog. He and Lily had always seemed happy to Blaire, but a lot could change in fifteen years.

Scrolling farther, she came to the obituary. It was a big article. Prominent. Just like Lily had been. It mentioned her charity work, her foundation, and all the wonderful ways she’d contributed to her community. Blaire felt a stab at her heart when she read that Lily was survived by one daughter and a granddaughter. She thought back to her senior year in college. Kate had been seeing Simon for a few months, and suddenly had less and less time for Blaire. It had been a Friday night when she’d gotten a call from Harrison asking if she knew how to reach Kate, who wasn’t in her off-campus apartment or answering her cell phone.

“Is everything okay?” she’d asked.

“Lily had a minor car accident,” Harrison had said.

“Oh no! What happened?”

“Someone rear-ended her. She has mild whiplash and a broken wrist. I’m on call tomorrow and was hoping Kate could fly down and help out over the weekend.”

“Kate’s probably already gone. She told me that she and Simon were going skiing in Stowe.”

A sharp intake of breath had come over the line. “I see.”

“What if I come?” she’d said impulsively. “I can catch an early train from Penn Station and be there by nine.”

“Blaire, that’s such a kind offer. Thank you.”

She’d heard the relief in his voice. So she’d gone and taken care of Lily, and it turned out to be one of the nicest weekends she could remember. Just Lily and Blaire, talking, watching old movies, playing Scrabble.

Lily had hugged her tight and smiled widely, her eyes crinkling. She’d put her hand on Blaire’s cheek. “Blaire, darling, I can’t thank you enough. How lucky I am, to have not only one daughter but two.”

Yes, Kate had lost her mother, and it was terrible, Blaire thought. But Blaire had lost her too—not once but twice.

5

Kate shuddered, her teeth clenched, as she got out of bed and looked at the bathroom door the next morning. She couldn’t go in there. Not yet. Not while the rotten, decaying smell of the mice still clung to her. And those horrible eyes—every time she closed hers, she saw them, the empty sockets looking back at her. She’d asked her housekeeper, Fleur, to have her things moved into one of the guest bathrooms for the time being. The police had taken it all, the dead rodents and the note, and had swept the room for evidence. If they hadn’t been sure that she was in danger after the text, the dead mice had convinced them, the concern apparent on Anderson’s face as he’d stood at the sink. He’d cautioned her and Simon to keep the details to themselves.

First the text message and now this—who was watching her, waiting to hurt her? The nursery rhyme, with its mind-numbing tune, wouldn’t stop playing in her head, over and over and over, until she wanted to scream. Did the killer have a third target in mind? And if so, who? Simon? Her father? Or, she shuddered to think, Annabelle? And what kind of charmed life was she supposedly running after, anyway? She’d worked her butt off to get into med school and to ace the MCATs. After medical school, she’d spent nearly five years in residency and another two years in a cardio fellowship. Kate had committed her life to saving others’ lives. And her mother had been a generous philanthropist and advocate for women, admired by the community—except, it was now clear, by whoever was sending these notes.

As a precaution, Simon had hired private security. He’d done some architectural work last year for BCT Protection Services, a security firm in Washington, DC. He’d called his contact there, and there were now two guards stationed outside the house and two inside—one off the hallway in the small study, monitoring the premises via computer fed by the outside cameras, and the other doing hourly rounds of the first floor. The police had offered to station a car outside her house, but Simon had convinced Kate that they’d be better off with BCT, who could be on twenty-four hours a day. Anderson had told them that the size and scope of their property would make it a challenge to secure, especially with the huge expanse of woods adjacent to their thirty-five acres, but BCT had assured him they were up to the task.

Kate walked nervously down the hall to the guest bathroom, her robe tightly drawn around her. It was terrifying to think that the killer had been able to slip into her bathroom undetected in the space of a few hours. Granted, the house had been full of people during the reception, but that didn’t make it better. The police and the security team had both done full checks of the house when they’d shown up, but she couldn’t shake the idea that they’d somehow missed something, that whoever had left the mice was in her house right now, hiding somewhere, lurking behind a closed door, listening.

She’d spent the morning in bed, and now she only had a few minutes to get dressed for the reading of her mother’s will, which was scheduled for ten o’clock that morning at Gordon’s office. They’d considered canceling after the threats but decided it was better to get it over with. When she walked into the kitchen in the simple gray sheath she’d chosen, Simon was reading the paper. Her father sat at the table playing Old Maid with Annabelle. He hadn’t gone back to his house since that terrible night, staying instead at the waterfront condo in downtown Baltimore that he and Lily had bought last year as a weekend retreat. Annabelle looked up from her cards and jumped down from her chair. “Mommy!”

Kate gathered her daughter into her arms, inhaling the sweet scent of her strawberry shampoo. “Good morning, sunshine. Who’s winning?”

“Me!” she shouted and ran back to the table.

Kate followed her daughter to the table to lean down and give her father a kiss on the cheek, noticing again the gray cast to his skin and the dullness in his eyes.

“Good morning,” Simon said, closing the paper and setting it on the table in front of him and rising. “How are you feeling?”

“Not great.”

“Coffee?”

“Yes, thank you.”

He poured a cup of French roast and handed it to her, but as she took it, her fingers trembled so badly that it crashed to the floor. Kate looked at the mess at her feet and burst into tears. At the sight of her mother’s agitation, Annabelle began to cry too.

“Oh, sweetheart. It’s all right. Mommy’s all right,” Kate said, hugging Annabelle until she calmed down.

“Kate, you need to eat something,” Simon said, stooping to wipe up the coffee and carefully pick up the pieces of china.

She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. “I can’t.”

He stood, holding the broken shards in his hand, and gave Harrison a look, but neither man argued with her.

“Will you ask Hilda if she’s ready? And remind her to bring some things to keep Annabelle occupied while we’re at Gordon’s.”

“Are you sure you want to bring Annabelle? Wouldn’t she be better off here?” Simon asked gently. His eyes were pleading, and she wondered if he was trying to seem like a protector again, a husband she would want to stay with after all. In a way, she was touched by his attentiveness. It almost seemed like the way things used to be.

Though she knew that Simon was probably right, that Annabelle would be just as safe, or even safer, at home with all the protection they’d hired, Kate just needed to have her daughter near her for the time being. She walked out of Annabelle’s earshot. “Her grandmother has just died,” she whispered, though the words sounded as if they couldn’t possibly be true. “Annabelle is sad even though she doesn’t completely understand. She sees the police here, the security people. She’s just a child, but she knows that something is not right. I want her with me.”

“I guess I hadn’t thought of it that way,” he said. “I’ll tell Hilda we’re ready to go.”

They got in the car and Kate realized she’d switched purses. She turned to Simon.

“Hold on. I need to go get my EpiPen in case we decide to grab a bite to eat afterward.” Her peanut allergy necessitated that she always have it with her. Once they were on the road, Annabelle’s chatter from the back seat was nonstop. When they pulled into the underground parking lot, Annabelle oohed and giggled at the sudden darkness, and Kate turned and smiled at her innocent joy.

Kate had gotten pregnant by accident in her first year of practice. She and Simon had been on the fence about having children. With two demanding careers, they didn’t think it was fair. When they found out she was pregnant, though, they were both elated. She remembered lying on the exam table for the ultrasound, Simon in a chair at her side, while her doctor smeared the gel onto her belly and moved the probe across her abdomen. “Here’s the heartbeat,” the doctor said, and they’d looked at each other in wonderment. And once Annabelle was born, they couldn’t image their lives without her.

Now Kate looked over at Simon’s profile as he parked, and despite everything that had happened between them, felt a sudden urge to reach out and touch him. She loved Simon, or at least she had until the last few months. She’d met him in a philosophy class senior fall, when she was still in the grips of grief. She’d gone through that first semester after Jake’s death in a fog, and Simon had been a good friend, helping her through her heartbreak. Then one day, he’d become more.

Simon was so different from Jake. He was a dark-haired heartthrob whose movie-star looks assured that he could get just about any girl he wanted, while Jake had possessed a combination of quiet confidence and fine intelligence. He’d never been one to draw attention to himself, whereas you couldn’t help but notice Simon. Kate had initially dismissed Simon as a pretty boy. But she eventually saw there was more to him than his looks. Simon had made the class fun. His wit infused the discussions with just the right note of irreverence to keep the talk lively, and when he invited her to join his study group, she found herself looking forward to seeing him, her feelings shifting subtly as the term progressed.

She had surprised herself when she said yes to his proposal after graduation, the word coming out before she realized it had. But then, she’d thought, it would be good. He made her forget what she couldn’t have. Together they’d forge a good life, their differences complementing one another. And wasn’t that better than being with someone too much like you? Surely that would get boring. Her parents had thought the engagement was too fast at first, as she’d been dating him for less than a year and, they pointed out, still had four years of medical school at Johns Hopkins. But in the end, they’d supported her, probably because they were just glad to see her happy again.

There had been a few times before Annabelle was born that Kate wondered if she’d made the right decision. On the day of her wedding, Blaire’s angry words had echoed in her mind, and she wondered if she was just marrying Simon on the rebound. But Jake was gone. She allowed herself a fleeting moment to wish it was him waiting for her on the altar, and then pushed him out of her mind. After all, she did love Simon.

A loud horn made her look up as the five of them walked across Pratt Street to the offices of Barton and Rothman, a downtown Baltimore landmark of steel and glass that resembled a pyramid made from Lego blocks. Barton and Rothman went back to the days when Kate’s great-great-grandfather Evans founded his real estate firm, which had grown into an empire, and Gordon’s great-great-grandfather had invested and managed the money. From that day to this, their families had been intertwined, and her family’s money had been in his family’s capable hands. Gordon, who was a partner now, was an astute and shrewd investor, but unfortunately he had failed to inherit the charm or appeal of his forebears.

She shivered as the wind kicked up, pulling Annabelle closer to her as she adjusted her daughter’s wool hat. The sidewalks were crowded with people—office workers, the men in suits and heavy overcoats, the women in stylish hooded parkas. There were sightseers in bulky down jackets strolling around the Inner Harbor, where Christmas decorations blazed from every store window. Kate found herself searching faces again, looking for anyone who seemed suspicious, someone who might be watching her. The muscles in her face were tight, her whole body on full alert.

As soon as they entered the building, Annabelle skipped to the elevator bank. “Can I push the button?” she asked, hopping up and down.

“Of course,” Kate said.

On the twenty-fourth floor, the elevator doors opened to the reception area of Barton and Rothman, the financial planning and advising firm. Sylvia, who’d been with the firm for as long as Kate could remember, rose from her chair behind the reception desk to greet them.

“Dr. Michaels, Kate, Simon,” she said. “Gordon is waiting for you.”

“Thank you,” Harrison said.

Kate hung back a moment. “Sylvia, do you have an empty conference room or office where my daughter and our nanny might sit while we meet?”

“Certainly. I’ll settle them in. You know the way to Gordon’s office,” she said and led Hilda and Annabelle down the hall in the other direction.

Gordon stood at his office door. “Good morning. Come in,” he said, shaking Harrison’s hand, giving Simon a curt nod, and then reaching out to Kate. His hand felt puffy and moist as it wrapped over hers, but as she attempted to pull it away, his fingers closed more tightly around hers, and he leaned forward to try and give her a hug. She took a breath, pulling away from him, and seated herself in one of the three leather chairs in front of his desk.

“Would you like coffee or tea?” Gordon asked, not taking his eyes off Kate.

Harrison cleared his throat. “No, thank you. Let’s get this over with quickly.”

Gordon walked back to his desk, bowed slightly, and pulled at the bottom of his vest before sitting down. Simon had always said that Gordon was pompous, but Kate knew he also grudgingly respected his brilliance at financial management.

“It is a very sad task we have before us today,” Gordon began, and Kate sighed, waiting for him to get on with it. He always managed to sound like he’d fallen straight off the pages of Bleak House.

“As I’m sure you know, Harrison, your wife’s will states very clearly that half of her estate goes to your daughter, and a portion of that in trust for your granddaughter.”

Harrison nodded. “Yes, of course. I was here with Lily when she made that provision.”

Kate looked at her father. “I don’t think it’s right,” she objected. “It should just be the trust for Annabelle. The rest should go to you.” Kate didn’t think she and Simon needed the money. They had plenty of income between their salaries and Kate’s trust, and her parents had given them a very generous check that allowed them to buy the land and build their own home.

“No, Kate. This is what your mother wanted. Her parents’ estate was handled the same way. I don’t care about the money. I just wish she were still here …” His voice broke.

“Still—” she began, but Simon interrupted her.

“I agree with your father. If that’s what she wanted, we need to respect that.”

A look crossed Harrison’s face, and Kate thought she read annoyance in his eyes. Simon’s interjection irritated her too. It wasn’t his place to say anything, really.

“I must agree with Simon on this,” Gordon said, and Kate cocked her head, knowing how much he must have hated to agree with Simon on anything. “The estate is quite sizable. Thirty million to Harrison and thirty million to you, Kate, with ten of that put aside in a trust for Annabelle.” Kate had known the number would be considerable, but she was still surprised by it. This new inheritance would be in addition to the millions that her grandmother had left her when she’d died. A good portion of that money had been used to create the Children’s Heart Foundation, which provided free cardiac care to children who didn’t have insurance. The foundation took care of all of the kids’ medical expenses, along with housing for the parents while the children were in the hospital. Kate and Harrison, also a pediatric cardiothoracic surgeon, saw patients from all over the country, and the foundation allowed them to dedicate a significant amount of their practice to pro bono work.

Kate leaned forward in her chair. “I want to put some of the money into the trust for the foundation,” she said to Gordon. “Will you set up a meeting with Charles Hammersmith at the trust and our attorney to discuss it?”

“Of course. I’ll get right on it,” Gordon said.

Simon cleared his throat. “Maybe we should take some time to think about how much should go into the foundation before we meet with them.”

Gordon looked from Kate to Simon and back to Kate again, his eyes resting on her for an answer.

“Why don’t you go ahead and set up the meeting, Gordon?” She turned to Simon and gave him a tight smile. “We have time to discuss it later,” she said.

Gordon clasped his hands together and leaned forward. “I’m not sure how to bring this up, except to just tell you.” He took a dramatic pause as they all looked at him expectantly.

“What is it?” Harrison asked.

“I received a phone call from Lily.” Again he paused. “It was the day before she … ahem … anyway, she asked me to keep it confidential, but now that she’s gone … well, she wanted to come in and make changes to her will.”

“What?” both Harrison and Kate said at the same time.

Gordon nodded somberly. “I’m assuming, then, that you knew nothing about this?”

Kate looked at her father. His face had paled.

“No, nothing. Are you sure that’s what she wanted to meet with you about?”

“Quite sure. She specified that she wanted a notary available. I had to mention this to the police, of course. I wanted you to know.”

Harrison stood up, moving closer to where Gordon was sitting. “What exactly did my wife say?”

Color rose to Gordon’s cheeks. “I told you. That she wanted to change her will. The last thing she said before we hung up was, ‘I’d appreciate your keeping this between us.’”

Kate looked at her father again, trying to gauge his reaction. His expression was inscrutable.

“Is there anything else, or can we go?” Harrison asked, his voice tight.

“Just a few more things to sign,” Gordon answered.

After the papers were signed, the meeting ended, and Gordon came around from behind his desk, once again taking Kate’s hands in his.

“If there is anything, anything at all, I can do for you, please call me.” He let go of her hands and pulled her to him in a stiff hug. There had always been such awkwardness to Gordon, from the time they’d been children together.

As a child, he’d had few friends, and that continued throughout his teen years. Kate wasn’t sure that he’d ever had a girlfriend, certainly not when they were young. He had always been odd, eschewing jeans for checkered or printed golf pants along with starched shirts and bow ties when he wasn’t in his school uniform. Although she never felt completely comfortable around him, she also never failed to defend Gordon when others made fun of him, so while she had never thought of Gordon as one of her friends, because of their parents’ long-standing relationship, they’d been thrown together frequently growing up.

Once, at the Bartons’ annual New Year’s Day open house, when Gordon had just turned fourteen and Kate was almost thirteen, he’d cornered her.

The party was well under way when Gordon said, “This is boring. Come on. I’ll show you something interesting.”

“I don’t think so. Maybe another time.” As she edged away, he moved closer to her.

“Come on. You’ll like this. I promise.”

“I’ll like what?”

“My new art project. I’ve been working on it for months. Follow me.” He reached for her hand, but Kate clasped her hands together as he led the way out of the room.

She followed him to a wing of the large house where she’d never been before. After leading her down a long corridor, he stopped in front of a closed door and turned to her. “Mother gave this room to me for Christmas,” he said. “For my art projects.”

He pulled a key from his pocket and inserted it into the lock. Kate ran her tongue across her upper lip and tasted salty perspiration. The door opened, and Gordon flipped the switch. Soft light filled the room, making the small space look warm and cozy. The walls were painted dark red and covered in large black-and-white photographs of old downtown row houses.

“Did you take these?” Kate asked, moving closer to one of the framed images.

“Yeah, a while ago. But I want to show you what I’m working on now.”

He pushed a button on the wall and then went to stand behind a metal desk where a computer and projector sat. Kate turned to look as a film screen rolled down.

“I’m going to dim the light,” he said, turning on the projector.

Black-and-white images of houses appeared on the screen as the film opened, and then the camera focused on one house alone, slowly moving in closer until she could see the occupants. A thin blond woman sat on a sofa watching TV while two young children sat on the floor playing some kind of game. The camera then withdrew, and another house came into focus. The camera again moved in for a closer look at two women sitting at a kitchen table, while another one stood at the sink washing dishes. The film went on moving from house to house, recording the activities of the occupants. When at last it finished, Gordon switched off the projector and turned the light on.

Kate was stunned.

“Well, how do you like it? I’ve been working on it for months. I’m calling it ‘Contemporary Mundanity,’” Gordon said. He’d been positively beaming.

“Gordon. You’re spying on people!”

“I’m not spying. It’s what anyone would see if they walked by and looked in.”

“No, it’s not. It’s like being a Peeping Tom.”

His face had fallen. “I thought you’d be the one person who would like it.”

“You’re a really good photographer, but I think you should find a different subject next time. Let’s go back.”

They left the room in silence. As crazy as it was, she’d felt sorry for him. He’d seemed genuinely excited about his project, and he wasn’t without talent—but he also seemed to have no idea how violating the project was, and that had bothered her. It still bothered her, but he’d never shown anything but discretion in their business dealings, and he’d never crossed a line with her after that, so she’d kept with the family tradition of having a Barton handle her money. She’d tried to put it out of her mind, and the only person she’d ever told about the incident was Blaire.

Simon put his hand on her back as they all exited Gordon’s office.

“We’re all through, Sylvia,” Kate said.

“Annabelle and Hilda are right down the hall. I’ll take you to them,” she said, and the three of them fell in behind her.

She opened the door, and when Kate stepped inside, her heart stopped. The room was empty. A box of crayons lay on the table, and a half-colored picture had fallen to the floor.

Kate’s heart started pounding, and she felt as if she might faint. “Where is she?” She could barely get the words out. “Where is my daughter?”

“I, I …,” Sylvia stuttered.

Kate felt the room begin to spin, and then she felt her father’s hand on her arm.

“Kate, honey, I’m sure they just went to the bathroom.”

Without a second thought, Kate ran from the room, down the hallway, and pushed open the door to the ladies’ room.

“Annabelle? Hilda?” she yelled, her voice rising hysterically. But there was no answer. A toilet flushed, the stall opened, and a young woman in a suit stepped out, looking confused.

Where were they? Running back out to the hall, she saw Gordon, who was now with the others.

“Kate—,” Gordon began, but before he could finish, the elevator dinged, and the doors opened.

“Mommy, look what Miss Hilda got me.”

Kate spun around and saw Annabelle standing in the elevator, grinning and holding an apple and a juice box.

Kate ran to her, stooped, and picked her up, burying her head in her daughter’s shoulder and shaking with relief.

“Mommy, my juice is spilling,” Annabelle scolded.

Kate brushed the curls back from her forehead. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“Daddy, look what I have,” Annabelle said, and Simon took her from Kate’s arms. She squealed with delight as he twirled her around.

Kate turned to Hilda. “You scared me to death. Why on earth did you leave like that?” Her tone was sharp.

Hilda shrank back as if she’d been struck. “I’m sorry, Kate. She was hungry, and I remembered there was a store on the ground level of the building. You know I would never let anything happen to her. I watched her like a hawk.” She looked as if she were about to cry.

Kate was furious. Hilda had been told how serious it was that they all be on guard. Kate’s face was still hot, but she held her tongue. She knew too well that spitting out angry words in a tense situation only upped the ante—calmness was an essential element in the operating room. They were all under enough stress as it was, but she was going to have a long talk with Hilda out of Annabelle’s earshot when they got home.

“Everyone’s nerves are a little fragile. Everything’s fine. Now let’s go,” Simon said, giving Kate a reassuring look.

When they reached the parking lot, Kate whispered to Simon and then pulled her father aside.

“What was that all about? Why would Mother want to change her will?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know, but I wouldn’t worry too much about it. Maybe it had something to do with the foundation.”

That made no sense to her. “But why would she ask Gordon to keep it a secret?”

She saw a flicker of anger in his eyes. “I told you, Kate, I don’t know.”

“Mommy, I’m tired,” Annabelle called over.

“Coming,” Kate answered, this revelation about her mother’s wishes still weighing heavily on her mind.

They walked over to where Simon, Hilda, and Annabelle stood waiting. Harrison leaned down to give Annabelle a kiss on the cheek. “See you later, alligator.”

Annabelle giggled. “After while, crocodile.”

Kate put a hand on her father’s arm. “I wish you’d stay with us. I hate thinking of you all alone at the condo.”

“I’ll be okay. I need to be among her things.” He was quiet a moment, then spoke again. “I’m going back to the office tomorrow.”

Kate had joined her father’s cardiology practice after she’d finished her residency and fellowship. There was no way she could concentrate on her patients right now.

She was surprised. “So soon? Are you sure?” She wasn’t sure when she’d be ready to go back, but it didn’t feel like it would be any time soon. There was no way she would be separated from Annabelle while the killer was out there.

“What else am I going to do, Kate? I need to keep busy or I’ll go crazy. And my patients need me.”

Kate nodded. “I understand, I guess. But I can’t. I need some time. I’ve let Cathy know to reschedule my patients for the next few weeks.”

“That’s fine. You take all the time you need. Herb and Claire have offered to take your surgeries until you’re ready to come back.”

“Please thank them for me,” she said, giving him a kiss and going to the car.

As Simon pulled out of the parking lot, Kate listened to Hilda’s gentle voice as she read to Annabelle in the back seat. Before they’d gone more than a few miles, passing Oriole Park at Camden Yards, Annabelle had fallen asleep. The three adults were silent the rest of the trip home, lost in their own thoughts. Kate was glad Blaire was coming over this afternoon. She needed to talk to someone. There had to be some kind of connection or clue she was overlooking, something that she was missing.

6

The first thing Blaire saw when she pulled into Kate’s driveway was two men in dark suits and coats standing in front of the door. As soon as she parked and stepped out of the convertible, one of them walked over. “Are you expected, ma’am?”

He looked young. Too young to realize that women her age hated being called ma’am.

“Yes. I’m Kate’s friend, Blaire Barrington.”

He held up a finger and opened a notebook. “Your name is here, but I do need to see some ID, please.”

He obviously didn’t read her books. Though the truth was, despite her fame, few people recognized her face. Occasionally, usually at a restaurant, she’d get a request for an autograph. But for the most part, she lived her life in anonymity. Book signings were a different story. She and Daniel were used to long lines and throngs of people, leaving both of them exhausted and with aching hands by the end. Blaire thrived on it.

She pulled out her driver’s license and handed it over, watching as he snapped a picture with his phone, then motioned for her to go ahead. The door opened before she knocked, and Kate stood in the frame, looking pale and drawn.

“What’s with all the guys in black?” Blaire asked.

Kate started to say something, but then shook her head. “Simon hired them. Just in case …”

After Kate shut the door and engaged the dead bolt, she led Blaire from the hallway into the kitchen. Turning to her, she said, “Selby’s here. She came by earlier to check on me.”

Blaire groaned inwardly. The last person she was in the mood for was Selby. They’d barely acknowledged each other at the funeral luncheon; Selby had sat with her husband, Carter, and not with the women. Now she’d have no choice but to talk to her.

When they walked into the kitchen, Blaire looked around in appreciation. It was fabulous, like something you would expect to see in a grand Tuscan villa of old. Beautiful terra-cotta flooring that looked so authentic she wondered if it had been brought over from Italy tile by tile. A skylighted cathedral ceiling with its rough-hewn wood beams cast a golden glow over the polished wooden counters and floor-to-ceiling cabinets. The room had the same refined and antique feel as the rest of the house, but with the added flavor of a bit of old Europe.

Selby was seated at a table that appeared to be a thick slab of wood carved from a single tree, coarse on the edges and elegantly simple. Annabelle was on her lap, and Selby was reading to her. Selby looked up, her expression turning sour.

“Oh. Hello, Blaire.” Selby scrutinized her with the same disdain she always had, but Blaire didn’t care anymore. She knew she looked good. If she wasn’t quite as thin as she’d been in high school, her time at the gym and careful diet assured she could still rock a pair of jeans. And the hair that had been impossible to tame back then was straight and shiny thanks to the modern miracle known as keratin. Selby’s eyes rested on the round eight-carat diamond ring on Blaire’s left hand.

Blaire coolly returned the favor, grudgingly acknowledging that the years had been good to Selby. If anything, she was more attractive now than she had been in high school, the soft waves around her face streaked with subtle highlights that softened her features. Selby’s jewelry was exquisite—large pearl earrings, a gold bangle, and a sapphire-and-diamond ring on her hand, which Blaire knew was an heirloom. Carter had shown it to Blaire a million years ago—before he’d acquiesced to his parents’ insistence that he find a “suitable” prospect to settle down with.

“Hi, Selby. How are you?” Blaire said, turning away from her and pulling a stuffed purple unicorn out of her tote. She held it out to Annabelle. “Annabelle, I’m your mommy’s old friend, Blaire. I thought you might like to meet Sunny.”

Annabelle flew from Selby’s lap, her arms outstretched, and hugged the stuffed animal to her chest. “Can I keep her?” she asked.

“Of course. I found her especially for you.”

Breaking into a wide grin, the little girl squeezed it tighter. Blaire was pleased to see that it was a hit.

“Where are your manners, Annabelle?” Kate gently scolded. “Say thank you.”

Annabelle regarded Blaire solemnly for a moment, then murmured a shy “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, Annabelle. Auntie Blaire loves to give presents.”

Selby looked annoyed. “I didn’t realize you were already on ‘auntie’ terms, Blaire.”

Couldn’t Selby put aside her pettiness for one day? Blaire thought. Not about to engage, she instead turned to Kate. “You don’t mind if she calls me that, do you?”

Kate grabbed her hand and squeezed. “Of course not. We were like sisters—are like sisters,” she corrected herself.

“Remember how we used to pretend that we were sisters when we’d go clubbing in college?” Blaire asked her. “And the fake names. Anastasia and …”

“Cordelia!” Kate finished, laughing.

Selby rolled her eyes. “Yeah, it was hilarious.”

Blaire thought back to those years. Despite their completely different coloring, people believed them. They’d spent so much time together that they had begun to sound alike. They’d picked up the cadence and tempo of each other’s speech and even had similar laughs.

Before she’d met Kate, Blaire had always wondered what it would be like to grow up in a normal family, to have a mother who cooked breakfast for you, made sure you had a healthy lunch for school, was waiting when you got home to help with homework or just ask how your day had gone. Blaire had been only eight when her mother had left, and she had quickly become the center of her father’s universe. By the time she was in fifth grade, she’d learned how to cook better than her mother ever had, and relished making gourmet meals for her father. After a while, Blaire even liked taking care of herself and of him—it made her feel grown-up and in control. And then it all changed when Enid Turner came along.

Enid was a sales rep in her father’s company who suddenly started coming to their house for weekly dinners. Six months later, her father sat Blaire down with a goofy smile on his face and asked, “How would you like to have a new mother?”

It had taken her only a moment to understand. “If you’re talking about Enid, no, thank you.”

He had taken her hand in his. “You know that I’ve grown quite fond of her.”

“I guess.”

He’d gone on, that stupid smile still on his face. “Well, I’ve asked her to marry me.”

Blaire had shot off the sofa and stood in front of him, tears of fury blurring her vision. “You can’t do this!”

“I thought you’d be happy. You’ll have a mother.”

“Happy? Why would I be happy? She’ll never be my mother!” Blaire’s mother, Shaina, had been beautiful and glamorous, with long red hair and sparkling eyes. Sometimes the two of them would play dress-up. Her mother would pretend to be a big star and Blaire her assistant. She’d promised her that one day they would go to Hollywood together, and even though she’d gone on her own, Blaire believed her mother would come back for her once she got settled.

She looked for a letter or postcard every day. She searched for her mother’s face in movie posters and television shows. Her father kept telling her to forget about Shaina, that she was gone for good. But Blaire couldn’t believe that she would leave her behind forever. Maybe she was just waiting until she made it big before coming back for her. After a year had passed with no word from her mother, Blaire started to worry. Something must have happened to her. She’d begged her father to take her to California to look for her, but he just shook his head, a sad look on his face. He told Blaire that her mother was alive.

She’d looked at her father in shock. “You know where she is?”

It took him a moment to answer. “I don’t. I only know that she’s cashing her alimony check every month.”

Blaire was too young to wonder why he kept paying the bills after they were divorced. Instead, she blamed him, told herself that he was lying and deliberately keeping them apart. Soon her mother would come for her, or if Hollywood wasn’t what she thought it would be, maybe she’d even come home again.

So when her father told her he’d decided to marry Enid, Blaire had run to her room and locked the door. She’d told him she would refuse to eat, sleep, or talk to him ever again if he went through with it. There was no way insipid Enid Turner was going to move into her house and tell her what to do. No way she was going to take Blaire’s father away from her. How could he even look at Enid after being married to her mother? Shaina was vibrant and exciting. Enid was ordinary and boring. But nonetheless, a month later, they were married in the local Methodist church, with Blaire a grudging witness.

They quickly converted the den, where Blaire’s friends used to come and watch TV or throw some darts, into a craft room for Enid. Enid painted it pink, and then she hung her “artwork,” a collection of paint-by-numbers dog breeds, all over the walls, while Blaire’s games and toys went down to the basement.

The first night after the room conversion, once Enid and her father had fallen asleep, Blaire had crept into her former den. Grabbing a Magic Marker from the dresser, she’d drawn eyeglasses on the cocker spaniel, a mustache on the golden retriever, and a cigar in the mouth of the black lab. Soon, she’d been doubled over with silent laughter, her body shaking as she held it in.

The next morning, Enid’s cries brought Blaire into the room. Her eyes were red and puffy.

“Why did you do this?” Enid asked, looking wounded.

Blaire widened her eyes innocently. “I didn’t. Maybe you sleepwalk.”

“Of course I don’t. I know you did this. You’ve made it quite clear that you don’t want me here.”

Blaire stuck her chin out. “I bet you did it, just so you could blame it on me.”

“Listen to me, Blaire. You may have your father bamboozled, but not me. You don’t have to like me, but I won’t tolerate disrespect or lying. Do you understand?”

Blaire said nothing, and the two stared at each other. Finally, Enid said, “Go on. Get out of here.”

Any time anything happened after that, Enid had blamed Blaire. Her father’s devotion transferred from Blaire to his new wife; he had done nothing to defend his daughter, and it wasn’t long before she hated going home and did anything she could to avoid it. It turned out to be a blessing that they had sent her away—living with Enid for over a year had been more than enough for Blaire. She went home for the summer after eighth grade, but in her second year at Mayfield, Lily had invited Blaire to spend the summer with them at their beach house in Bethany, Delaware. She was sure that her father wouldn’t allow it, but Lily made one phone call and it was all arranged.

Blaire fell in love with the house the first time she saw it—the cedar-shingle dwelling had white decks and porches that stood out against the dark wood, as did the pure-white trim of the large paned doors and windows. It was so different from the boring colonial she’d grown up in, where the rooms were dull rectangles and all the furniture matched. The beach house was filled with breezy white-walled rooms, and big windows that looked directly at the ocean. Soft floral sofas and chairs were strategically placed so the view could be enjoyed while still sitting in cozy groups. But the most intoxicating things were the sound of the crashing waves and the air that smelled of the sea as it floated through the open windows. She’d never seen such an amazing house.

Kate had taken her hand and led her upstairs. There were five bedrooms, and Kate’s, a large room next to the master, was painted a pale sea green. French doors led to a small balcony overlooking the beach. All the linens were white—the canopy over the bed, curtains, chair cushions—except for the comforter, which was a bright pink with mermaids embroidered all over it. The walls were decorated with mermaid pictures, and mermaid figurines lined one of the bookshelves. Kate’s name was even spelled out above her bed in sparkling blue sea glass. Kate had everything—two parents who gave her whatever she wanted, including this beach house. Suddenly Blaire couldn’t breathe, the loneliness and emptiness of her life closing in on her like a vise.

“Your room is great,” she’d managed to say.

Kate shrugged. “It’s okay. I mean, I’m getting a little old for the mermaids. I’ve been asking my mom to get me a new comforter, but she keeps forgetting.”

Blaire was stunned. Kate had all this at her fingertips, and she was complaining about a stupid bedspread? Before she could say anything, Kate grabbed her hand.

“You haven’t seen yours yet.” Kate’s eyes had shone with excitement.

“Mine?”

“Come on.” She’d pulled Blaire to the room across from hers and pointed to the name above the bed—it read “Blaire” in glittering sea glass.

Blaire hadn’t been able to speak, hadn’t known what to think or how to feel. No one had ever done anything so generous and kind for her before.

“Do you like it? My mother came down last week and took care of it.”

She’d run over to the window and pushed the curtain aside, a wave of disappointment settling over her. Of course it wouldn’t have an ocean view—it was across from Kate’s room, so it faced the front. She hid her disappointment and gave Kate a forced smile. “I love it.”

“I’m glad. Course, we’ll probably both sleep in the same room anyhow, so we can talk all night.”

And she had been right. They’d taken turns in each other’s rooms, lying there in the dark, spilling all their secrets. Blaire hadn’t really needed her own room, but Lily, wise woman that she was, had known that having it would make all the difference to her. Blaire spent every following summer with them at the beach—until the summer of Kate and Simon’s wedding. She wondered if they still had the beach house, if Kate carried on the tradition with Annabelle.

Selby stood up and pecked Kate on the cheek.

“I guess I’ll go now. Remember—whatever you need, I’m here for you.” Selby grabbed her handbag. Blaire recognized the Fendi floral design. The cheerful flowers didn’t suit Selby’s personality at all, Blaire thought. She’d have pegged Selby as more of a Traviata fan, decidedly in black or dark green, holding it over her arm like the Queen.

“I’ll walk you out,” Kate said. She looked at Blaire. “Do you mind staying with Annabelle a sec?”

“Love to,” Blaire answered, and then turned to Annabelle. “Would you like me to finish your story?”

The little girl nodded and handed her The Giving Tree.

“It’s one of my favorites,” Blaire said. They sat together at the table, and she began to read. Annabelle had one arm around Sunny the unicorn. She was an adorable child, with big brown eyes and a beautiful smile. She had a sweetness to her that reminded Blaire of Lily. What a shame that Lily wouldn’t see her grow up.

“Auntie Blaire, read!” Annabelle demanded.

“Sorry, sweetie.”

Selby came rushing back into the room with a frown on her face. “I don’t know what’s going on, but something is very wrong.”

“What are you talking about?” Blaire asked as she readjusted Annabelle in her lap.

“The police came to the door with a package,” Selby said. “They’re with Kate and Simon.” She crossed her arms in front of her. “I’d stay, but I have a massage booked.”

“You don’t want to miss that,” Blaire said.

Selby glared at her. “Maybe I should cancel it. I’m Kate’s best friend. She needs me.”

Why couldn’t Selby give it a rest? They weren’t in high school any longer. Blaire felt herself getting angry but took a deep breath, determined not to say anything she’d regret. She gently twisted a lock of Annabelle’s hair around her finger and continued to stare at Selby, then said in a neutral voice, “I’m here. Go to your appointment. Kate will be fine.”

Selby’s face turned red. “Why did you come back? Didn’t you cause enough trouble before her wedding?”

Was she serious? Their friend’s mother had just been murdered, and all she could do was dredge up the past? Blaire let her anger bubble to the surface. Moving Annabelle from her lap, she got up and stood close to Selby, whispering so Annabelle couldn’t hear.

“What’s the matter with you? Lily is dead, and Kate needs all the support she can get. This isn’t the time for your petty insecurities.”

Obviously flustered, Selby opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

“Maybe it’s time for you to go,” Blaire said. “You clearly need to let out some of that tension.”

Glaring at her, Selby grabbed her purse and stomped away.

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