The Complete Rixton Falls Series

by Winter Renshaw

  I’ll never forget the first year of our marriage and the look of disappointment on Kyla’s face when she realized the small-town lawyer she’d married was not going to be raking home a cool half-a-mil a year after all.

  Guess she should’ve done her research.

  And I’ll also never forget the way it felt to watch Kyla struggle with motherhood, to come home at six o’clock at night and find a half-empty bottle of wine on the counter and the baby sitting in a piss-soaked diaper.

  I suppose you could say both our dreams were shattered those first couple of years.

  “Are you done?” she asks. “I can hear you laughing.”

  “All right, all right. What the hell do you need, Kyla?”

  “Herb is taking me on a surprise ski trip, and we’re leaving Thursday and coming back Sunday. You’re going to have to pick up Haven tomorrow.”

  “It’s not my weekend. Does that mean I get her two weekends in a row?” I pray she says yes. Weekends with my daughter are what I live for.

  “Obviously.”

  “Herb skis? What if he breaks a hip?”

  “Derek.”

  “Okay, I can pick her up, but doesn’t she have preschool Friday?”

  “She can miss.”

  “Love the priorities, Kyla. Awesome. Mother of the year.”

  “I’m allowed to take a ski trip with my husband. Unlike some husbands, Herb actually spoils me rotten. He loves me. He lives to make me happy.”

  “Because the would should revolve around you. Naturally.”

  “Can’t we have one conversation that doesn’t feel like we’re taking ten steps backward? I’m tired of fighting with you.”

  “We’re not fighting. This isn’t a fight.”

  “You’re being hostile.”

  “Poor choice of words. Blunt might work better there. I’m being blunt.”

  “You’re being rude. I feel like you just want to punish me for winning custody of Haven. That’s all this is about. You’re still bitter.”

  “She should be with me, and you know it. You said several times that you didn’t want to be a mother. You were a stay-at-home-mom with a full-time nanny. What the fuck does that say about you?” My words are gritty, my nerves raw all over again. “The judge never should’ve awarded you anything other than weekend visitation.”

  “Mothers should never be separated from their children.”

  “Mothers who put their children first,” I correct her. “And you don’t fall into that category.”

  “Are you saying I don’t love our daughter?” The amount of disbelief in her tone is concerning. Then again, I always knew Kyla was a delusional bitch.

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  “Derek, I really need you to co-parent with me, just like Dr. Sarah taught us.”

  Ah, yes. How could I forget the forty-six expensive-as-fuck hours spent with our court-ordered family therapist in those glorious post-divorce weeks?

  “This isn’t helping anything,” she says. “We need to reach a peaceful resolution and speak to each other with respect and love.”

  I cringe. I could never respect Kyla, and I sure as hell don’t love her, not even as the mother of my child. Not anymore.

  “Have her ready to go by seven on Thursday,” I say. “I’ll bring her back Sunday night. Usual time.”

  Slamming the phone down, I inhale a lungful of air and reach for the picture on my desk of a smiling, tow-haired Haven holding a Minnie Mouse kite last summer. The only good coming out of this is getting to spend more time with her.

  A rap at the door brings my attention to Gladys, who stands with a notecard pressed against her chest.

  “Satellite internet for Ms. Randall is ordered.” She glances down at her card. “Had to do some begging and ask for a manager, but the Thursday install is a go. They’ll be there between eight and ten in the morning.”

  “Excellent. Can you call Belcourt Manor and let Serena know?”

  “Will do.”

  I grab my jacket and keys and stand to leave.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I need to buy a computer for Ms. Randall, and I plan to personally deliver it. I’ll be back later. You know how to reach me if you need anything.”

  Chapter 8

  Serena

  “Ms. Randall, were you expecting company?” Eudora stands in my doorway Wednesday afternoon as I page through a dreadfully boring copy of Vogue on my bed.

  “No.” I climb off the bed. “Who is it?”

  Eudora hesitates. “It’s . . . Mr. Rosewood.”

  I peer out my window and spot his black SUV below.

  “Do you have any idea what he needs?” she asks. “He was just here on Saturday.”

  “We didn’t quite get the budget ironed out,” I say, recalling that I still have his pen and legal pad. And then I lie. “He mentioned he’d be coming back this week.”

  Eudora sighs. “He’s waiting for you in the parlor.”

  “Tell him I’ll be down shortly. Please offer him a drink while he waits.”

  She leaves, pulling the door shut, and I change and freshen up, praying I don’t smell like I’ve been lying in bed all day, and then asking myself why it matters. I’m not here to impress Derek Rosewood.

  “Hi.” I tuck my hair behind my ears when I see him and don’t allow myself to smile. His pen and legal pad are pressed against my chest.

  Derek’s leather briefcase rests at his feet, looking fuller than usual today.

  “Is there somewhere we can go to discuss a few things privately?”

  I cock my head, shooting him a curious glance.

  “It’s not about . . .” His voice is a whisper.

  “Yes,” I say, leading him to a study at the opposite end of the house. “Follow me.”

  A few minutes later, we’re seated in the study at an ancient, mahogany desk surrounded by shelf after shelf of first edition classics curated and collected by my grandmother over the years.

  Derek rests his bag atop the desk and unclasps the buckles, pulling out a thin, gold computer.

  “Your satellite internet will be installed tomorrow morning, between eight and ten,” he says.

  “Yes, your assistant called this morning and told me.”

  “I want you to use this computer.” He slides it across the table toward me. “I’ve set up a private, secure email that I’d like you to use. And we’ll set up this biometric fingerprint scanner that will give you access to this computer and everything on it. No one but you.”

  “Fancy.” I smirk.

  He pulls out a small scanner connected to a USB cord and plugs it in, cracking the laptop open and typing a few keystrokes.

  Five minutes later, my fingerprint is scanned and recorded, and he’s shown me how to access my email.

  “This is very James Bond,” I say.

  “It’s very necessary.”

  I practice scanning in and logging out a few times.

  “How am I supposed to hide this from Eudora?” I ask.

  “No need.” He leans back in the rickety chair. “She’s going to know you have internet. It’s okay for you to have a computer. She doesn’t have to know what you use it for. By all means, subscribe to Netflix. Binge watch House of Cards, for all I care. Entertain yourself. It’s not healthy for a young woman to be isolated the way you are. If she asks, tell her I allocated an entertainment budget, and this was your first purchase. We’ll bill the estate. They’ll be none the wiser.”

  “This email address . . .”

  “Is for you and me only. Do not give it to anyone else. It’s secure, but I don’t need anyone trying to hack into it. This is an attorney/client, confidential mode of communication. Your landline can be easily tapped. Your cellphone service is shoddy at best. This is how you’ll reach me. My emails go straight to my phone. I’ll be notified the second you send something.”

  “I appreciate it. But what are we going to do about . . .” I can’t say it. We agreed not
to discuss her under this roof.

  “We need to go somewhere and talk. Again.” He buries his face in his hands and blows through his fingers. “But we left last time I visited. It might raise a red flag to your . . . keepers.”

  I roll my eyes. Keepers. That’s exactly what they are.

  Derek was right last Saturday when he said I needed to get out of here. I need to move somewhere, away from Belcourt and its cooks and housekeepers and gardeners, all of them watching my every move. Even Eudora.

  Especially Eudora.

  “What about this weekend?” I propose. “We can get together then. It won’t look suspicious if it’s been a week since our last drive. Maybe we can make it a regular thing—Saturday afternoon cruises in the country?”

  “I have my daughter this weekend.”

  My heart sinks, despite my telling it not to.

  “You—you have a daughter?” My hand lifts to my necklace, toying with my anchor charm as I smile. “I never knew that. It’s just, you’re so young. But I mean that in a good way.”

  “Haven was a surprise,” he says. “We weren’t planning to have children. Not then. I was in my last year of law school. We hadn’t been married very long. Anyway.”

  “Well, I’m sure you’re a lovely father, and I’m sure Mrs. Rosewood is a very lucky woman.”

  “Mrs. Rosewood,” he says, like it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. “Now goes by Mrs. Hodge.”

  My head jerks as our gazes meet, and I cover my heart. I guess it makes sense. He did say he had his daughter for the weekend. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

  “You have nothing to be sorry about.” He straightens his tie. “Now, back to business.”

  “Yes. Right.” I lean forward, lowering my voice. “They came by on Tuesday. Veronica and my father. She had his medical power of attorney changed.”

  “Fuck.” I slam my fist against the desk. “She knows what she’s doing.”

  “How can she do that? My father is clearly in the early stages of dementia, and my situation is temporary.”

  “If your father expressed his wishes and was in a coherent state with his attorney present, it’s not unheard of. More than likely, she has him on some kind of video or audio recording, proof of his state of mind. There are . . . ways of sidestepping certain protocols. Or she could have paid her doctor friend a hefty sum to get him to write a statement saying your father was of sound mind at the time.”

  “He’s been calling her by my mother’s name lately. I wouldn’t be surprised if he thought she was my mother when he agreed. But of course, I wasn’t there. I’ll never know.”

  “We need to move quickly on all of this,” Derek whispers. “We don’t have time to waste.”

  “There’s something else,” I lower my voice and move closer. “Sunday, when they were here, I came upstairs to my room and found her assistant rifling through my dresser drawers. I caught her red-handed. She ran out of my room after I forced her to tell me what she was looking for. Evidently, Eudora knows I’m not taking my medications, and Veronica told her assistant she thinks I’m hoarding them to hurt myself.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “Another vicious manipulation,” I say. “More lies. Just another way for her to claim I’m not in a good state.”

  Derek blows a heavy breath. “We have to get you out of here. Now. Fuck the internet. Fuck the laptop that just blew through your April entertainment budget.”

  “Where am I going to go?” I shrug. “Tell me. Where?”

  Derek pauses, glancing around the room, then up at the wooden chandelier that centers the ceiling. His fingertips point to a ‘v’ and his eyes come back to mine.

  “You’re coming to Rixton Falls,” he says. “With me.”

  Chapter 9

  Derek

  If my father were here, he’d be red-faced and screaming into my ear, telling me how wrong this is. How it crosses every professional boundary I’ve been taught over the years. He’d tell me I’m a moron. I’ll ruin the Rosewood reputation and kill my career in the process.

  But I don’t fucking care.

  It’s not like it’ll be forever. It’s a temporary, short-term solution.

  “I can’t.” Serena glances off to the side, and I’m pretty sure she’s trying to imagine herself living with a complete stranger.

  “I know it’s not ideal,” I say. “But you can live with me until we find you a place of your own. We have access to your trust now, and housing in Rixton Falls is extremely affordable. We’ll find you something you’ll love, and in the short term, you can hole up in my guest room. You’ll have to share a bathroom with Haven, but she’s only home every other weekend.”

  “How long would I stay?”

  “As long as you need.” I shrug. “Could be a few days, could be longer. I want you to find an apartment you love. You might be there for months. These cases tend to drag out. I’ve heard of estate cases lasting years. Granted, I don’t think yours will, given the unfortunate health of your father.”

  “I can’t impose. Surely there’s a hotel nearby?”

  “You want to go from a fifty thousand square foot mansion to a four hundred square foot hotel room? With questionable bed linens and a continental breakfast? Stop being stubborn and just stay with me. Like I said, it’s temporary. Not forever.”

  Serena stares at her bare nails, picking at them and then stopping.

  “What are you thinking about?” I ask.

  She sighs. “I’m not too thrilled about the idea of being dependent on you, if you want my honest opinion.”

  “What choice do you have? You’re not safe here. You don’t need people rifling through your personal effects. You don’t need people spying on your every move and restricting you from the outside world.” I reach across the desk and take her hand in mine. “I get it. This is scary to you. It’s going to be a huge change. I don’t have a maid or a chef or a laundress. I live in a penthouse apartment in the top of an old bread factory in downtown Rixton Falls. It’s a bit of a bachelor pad, but it’s spacious and open and the nighttime view is fucking amazing, and I have a fridge full of beer and liquor. It’s like Manhattan, if you shrunk it down to maybe one one hundredth of the size.”

  Serena sniffs. “A mini-Manhattan?”

  “Yes. A mini-Manhattan.” I rise.

  “Where are you going?” Her face turns serious.

  “Go pack.” I point to the door. “We’re leaving in ten minutes.”

  Snapping my fingers, I motion for her to stand up, and then I point to the door. “I’ll wait by the parlor. Pack quickly and expect a shit-ton of questions from Eudora. And remember, there’s nothing keeping you here. You have access to your finances through me now. And you can live anywhere you want. You’re not stuck here anymore. You’re free.”

  Chapter 10

  Serena

  I find an oversized Louis Vuitton suitcase stuffed under the bed that once belonged to Catherine. Brushing off the dust, I roll it down the hall to my suite and proceed to empty most of my drawers.

  I sweep the contents of my bathroom counter into a cosmetic pouch and throw it on top, sitting on the lid to ensure the zipper goes all the way around.

  “Good lord, Serena, what on earth are you doing?” Eudora’s voice makes me jump so fast, I fall off the suitcase. “What is this?”

  “I’m leaving.” I pull the bag off my bed and take the handle.

  “You’re sorely mistaken if you think I’ll allow you to leave with that . . . with that snaky lawyer.”

  I laugh. “He’s not a snake.”

  “I don’t trust him.”

  “And I don’t trust you.” The words bypass my filter and escape through my lips. I’m just as shocked to hear them as she is. My hand covers my lips as our eyes meet.

  Her face falls, her mouth hanging agape, and she takes a step back.

  “Serena, you don’t mean that.” Eudora’s gray eyes water, and I feel awful despite all the reasons I have not to trust her. �
��You’re like a daughter to me. I’ve practically raised you since–”

  I keep a safe distance from her in case she tries to stop me from leaving. “You work for Veronica now. I know you tell her things.”

  Shit.

  Derek is going to kill me. I’m not supposed to mention anything related to Veronica to any of the manor staff.

  “I do as I’m instructed.” Eudora’s head tilts, coordinating an unspoken apology with her eyes. “My love for you is as strong as it’s ever been. Don’t ever doubt that. I’ve only ever wanted what’s best for you.”

  “I can’t stay here anymore,” I say. I need to end this conversation before I slip again. “I don’t need to explain myself, and I don’t expect you to understand.”

  “You don’t have a choice.” Her voice breaks, and when I look into her eyes, we both know her argument is invalid.

  “That’s not true,” I say. “I don’t have to stay here. Not anymore.”

  “Veronica is going to . . .” Eudora’s voice trails off, going places too dark to speak of.

  “Veronica’s going to do what she’s going to do. Let her.” I place my hand on her arm. “I . . . I can’t stay.”

  I let her go, unable to give her a better explanation than that for fear news might travel quickly.

  “Where are you going?” she calls after me.

  I stop, jaw slack as I search for the best answer. “I don’t know. Derek’s going to help me find a place of my own.”

  Our eyes meet, and for a moment, she offers a half-broken smile, her eyes misty. If the circumstances were any different, she’d be asking me to phone or write, to keep in touch, to let her know I’m okay.

  It breaks my heart knowing I can’t.

  Times have changed.

  Trust has been shattered.

  “Goodbye, Eudora.” I slip my hand along the staircase railing, my other gripping the handle of my suitcase.