The Last Time I Saw You

by Liv Constantine

  Blaire supposed he was right. It could be that simple. She reached down for her briefcase. “Okay, enough gossip. I have my financials here, and also on a flash drive. Do you want to take a quick look first?” She pulled out the latest report from her financial adviser and handed it to him, pleased to see his eyes widening at the zeros following her account balances.

  While he was reading over it, she hit send on the message she’d already loaded into her phone. Shouldn’t be long now, she thought. Gordon was still engrossed in the report when a loud car alarm caused them both to look to the front windows.

  “What the hell?” He rose and went to the window. “You’ve got to be kidding!”

  Blaire jumped up. “What is it?”

  “That’s my car! Be right back.” He ran out the door and down the steps.

  She flew into action, going straight to his office. Pulling out the leather chair, she sat down and clicked the mouse. The screen lit up, but his computer was password-protected. She’d figured as much. She began opening drawers, but they were filled with the usual––pens, pencils, paper clips, stationery, household folders. She got up and went to the large bookcase on the opposite wall, scanning the shelves. Just books, pictures, and pieces of art. She knelt down and opened the cabinet doors beneath the shelves. Rows and rows of camera equipment with lenses of all sizes and shapes. In one corner was a stack of folders. She grabbed all of them, stood up, and plopped them on the desk, flipping through the notated tabs. Nothing to raise alarm bells. Until she reached the bottom of the pile. To the one marked “My Katie.”

  She gasped when she opened the folder. Photo after photo of Kate. She went through them as fast as she could: Kate in a coffee shop, sitting alone; Kate coming out of a yoga studio; Kate loading groceries in her car. There were hundreds of them—all of Kate, all candid.

  He was still a stalker.

  Was he a killer too?

  She pulled out her phone to take some shots of the pictures but fumbled with her code. She heard the front door close. Damn it, open! Swiping to the right, she opened the camera. She quickly pressed the button and got a few shots.

  “Blaire?” she heard him call from the hallway.

  She quickly returned the files to their place and shut the cabinet door, her heart beating like a jackhammer. She turned away from the bookcase just as Gordon reached the doorway.

  He frowned. “What are you doing in here?” He took a few steps closer, scanned the desk, and then looked back at her.

  She smiled, trying to put him at ease. “I was just looking at your desk. It’s exquisite. Where did you get it?”

  He stared at her, his pupils narrowing into tiny pinpoints. Blaire stood still, trying to conceal her nervousness. He continued to stare at her as he ran a hand over the dark wood and said, “I had it custom-made.”

  “Well, it’s just beautiful. I’d love to get the name of your designer.” Her words sounded flat to her. “What happened with your car?”

  A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Looks like some punk threw paint on my Jag. The police are on their way, so I’m afraid we’ll have to reschedule this.”

  “Not a problem. I’ll check in with you next week,” she answered, anxious to get away from him. She wanted out of there now. Sweat dotted her upper lip, and she grabbed her bag, hurrying to the door. What if he was dangerous?

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollinsPublishers

  ....................................

  11

  Kate’s ankle was still swollen despite lots of icing and ibuprofen, and her arm was black and blue. Her head throbbed from the deep cut in the back, which surprisingly hadn’t needed stiches. She’d been sure that her ankle wasn’t broken, but to be safe her father had taken her to the hospital for a once-over and an X-ray. But besides the physical effects, she still felt shaken. Had it really been an accident, or had Simon had a hand in her horse being spooked? She was being overly paranoid, she told herself. Things like this happened all the time. Even if he had released the plastic bag, it could have easily fallen right to the ground or even spooked Simon’s horse. She needed to get a hold of herself.

  “Dr. English?”

  Kate looked up at Detective Anderson, who was sitting across from her in the living room, a pen poised over the pocket-size notebook in which he always seemed to be scribbling.

  “I’m sorry. What did you say?” She was having difficulty concentrating.

  Anderson looked hard at her. “How did you get that bruise?” He pointed to her cheek.

  Her hand went reflexively to it. “I fell from my horse the other day. I’m fine.”

  He wrote something down and then asked, “Is your husband at home?”

  “No. Simon had a business dinner tonight and said he wouldn’t be home until later.”

  “I wanted to speak to you because some new information has come to light.” He paused, and Kate waited for him to continue.

  “Tell me. Did your parents argue a lot?”

  That was the last thing she’d expected him to ask. “No. Occasionally, but I wouldn’t say a lot.”

  “Were the fights heated?” he asked in a dispassionate tone.

  “I don’t understand what you’re getting at. Certainly, they had minor disagreements now and then. But they didn’t have shouting matches, if that’s what you’re implying.” She was starting to get annoyed. Didn’t he say he had information, not more questions for her?

  He looked up from what he was writing. “I’m not implying anything, Dr. English. I’m just asking.”

  It didn’t feel to her like he was just asking, but she took a deep breath and reined in her frustration. “Okay, fair enough.”

  “Did you know that your mother and father did, in fact, have a very serious argument a few days before she died?”

  “No.” She was a little surprised, but this didn’t seem like earth-shattering news. People had conflicts when they shared their lives. “What does this have to do with the information that you have for me?”

  “Your parents’ cleaning lady called us. Apparently, she’s been conflicted about whether to come forward or not.”

  “Molly?” Kate asked. She’d been with them for twenty years and was very loyal—and especially close to Lily. Kate thought back to the day of the funeral, when Molly had been a total wreck. Kate had attributed it to the circumstances, but was there another reason she’d been so distraught?

  “Yes. Molly Grassmore. She says she overheard loud, angry fighting, doors slamming. Your mother was extremely upset. Crying.”

  Kate’s hands tensed into tight fists at the thought of her mother in distress. Lily was not a crier. What on earth could have made her so agitated? And why hadn’t her father mentioned it?

  “Do you have any idea what they were fighting about?” he asked her.

  She sat up straighter, her back rigid against the chair, and crossed her arms over her chest. What was he getting at? Some lunatic was stalking her, and he was wasting his time with this? She had to fight to keep her voice even. “My father hasn’t said anything about any argument. Molly could be mistaken. Maybe she heard the television, mistook it for their voices.”

  “She seems pretty convinced, Dr. English.”

  “What did she say they were arguing about?”

  “She couldn’t hear very well. Just angry shouting, and tears.”

  “Why did she wait until now to come forward?”

  “Because she didn’t want to do something that might hurt your father. In the end, though, she decided the police needed to know.”

  “Maybe she’s making it up.” Even as the words left her lips, she knew it was unlikely.

  “Why would she do that, Dr. English?”

  “I don’t know. People make things up. People fight. Why do you keep asking me?” But she was beginning to second-guess her own words. Her back and arms were starting to ache.

  The detective leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. His face
remained impassive as he watched her. “Two days after the argument, your mother was dead.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you. People argue. Did you ask my father?”

  “We did. He won’t tell us what they argued about, and his refusal to talk doesn’t look good.” He leaned forward. “One more thing. Were you aware that your mother had plans to change her will?”

  She took a deep breath before answering. Gordon had said he’d told him. “No. I first heard that from Gordon Barton when we met to go over the will.”

  Anderson cocked an eyebrow. “You can see why we’d be concerned. Your parents argue, and your mother calls her attorney to change her will. Only before she can, she’s murdered.”

  Was he trying to rattle her? What happened to his assertion that he didn’t want to share details of the investigation? “My father was at the hospital when she was killed. Surely you’ve verified that.”

  “Yes, we have. However, there are a couple hours where his movements are unaccounted for.”

  She shook her head. “He was probably in one of the on-call rooms or sleeping. This is all out of context. Besides, my father would never send me these horrible messages and threaten me. It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “But you’re alive, aren’t you? There’ve been sinister messages for you, but there’s been no attempt on your life. Why?” He was being relentless.

  She pressed her lips together and said nothing.

  “Maybe your father only wants it to look like you are the next target to throw us off track. Maybe you aren’t a target at all.”

  “I refuse to listen to this any longer. My father adored my mother,” Kate said, eyes blazing as she looked at him.

  Anderson flipped his notebook closed and returned the pen to his inside jacket pocket. Kate thought she saw a flicker of pity in his eyes as he got up from his chair, but it disappeared so quickly that she wondered if she’d imagined it.

  He put his hand out, and she reluctantly took it in hers. “I’m very sorry,” he said, as they shook. “I know this must be hard for you. I’m just looking for answers, and I go where the questions lead. I hope you understand.”

  “My father is innocent.”

  He cocked his head to one side. “Just be careful.”

  She hadn’t been lying when she said that her father would never have murdered her mother, but she couldn’t imagine him screaming at her, either. And why had her mother wanted to change her will? Guilt washed over her at the disloyal thought. No. He wasn’t capable of that. And she was sure he wouldn’t taunt her and try to push her over the edge.

  She’d talk to Molly and get this sorted out quickly. Kate googled the housekeeper’s name for her phone number, and then punched it into her phone. After several rings a man’s voice came on the line. “Hello?”

  “Hello. This is Kate English, Mrs. Michaels’s daughter. I wonder if I might speak to Molly Grassmore.”

  “I’m sorry. She’s not here. Can I take a message?”

  “When do you expect her?”

  “She’s out of the country. She left yesterday. Won’t be back for a month or two.”

  Kate clutched the phone more tightly. “Who am I speaking with, please?”

  “I’m her nephew. I’m house-sitting for her.”

  “I see. Thank you.”

  She hung up, her thoughts racing. Her parents paid their household staff well, but since when did Molly have the kind of money to leave the country for a month or two? Had her father sent Molly away to keep her quiet? Or maybe Molly had killed Lily, and she’d gone to the police to put suspicion on Harrison. It was pretty convenient for her to be unavailable for questioning now. Although why would Molly have killed her mother?

  What Kate really wanted to do now was go for a run, but of course, there was no way she could with her sprained ankle. Instead, she went to the pantry and pulled out her stash of Hershey’s Kisses, unwrapping one and popping it into her mouth. She had always made sure her family had healthy, organic meals. She ran every day—it kept her centered and cleared her mind as well. She didn’t drink alcohol anymore, which was for other reasons, but it certainly contributed to her health. But chocolate—chocolate was her weakness, especially when she was stressed.

  She thought about what Detective Anderson had told her. There had to be a reasonable explanation. Her father had always worshipped her mother. She unwrapped another chocolate and thought about a time when Lily and Harrison had taken a teenage Kate and Blaire to the beach house. They’d spent that sunny June day on the beach, swimming, reading, and relaxing. That night, Lily and Harrison had taken the girls to dinner in Ocean City at Fager’s Island, a beautiful restaurant with windows overlooking the bay side of the small barrier island. They’d both worn white jeans and tank tops, Blaire’s a hot pink and Kate’s turquoise, to match her eyes. Kate smiled to herself as she remembered the two of them getting ready—applying thick mascara and shiny lip gloss. And then Lily had appeared, stunning in a cool white shift and simple gold earrings, her blond hair swept up with a few loose tendrils brushing her neck. Kate had felt like a grown-up as they’d all walked to their table and noticed heads turning. Even the waiter, who was around eighteen or nineteen, seemed to linger when he took their order and returned often to check on them once their meal had arrived. It had soon become apparent, however, that the object of his admiration was Lily. Harrison had chuckled after the waiter left the table and turned to Lily, smiling. “You are an enchantress, my love. I’m so lucky to be the one taking you home.”

  Later, as Blaire and Kate lay next to each other in the queen bed, Blaire had said to Kate, “That waiter was into your mom big-time. It was kind of weird.”

  Kate kicked the blanket off, pushing it down it around her legs. She knew what Blaire was thinking––that Lily was too old, too much of a mother—for some young guy to be fawning over. He should have been flirting with them, not Lily. But it happened all the time. Men and women alike were drawn to Lily. Kate wasn’t even sure her mother realized the effect she had. It was just part of who she was. Kate couldn’t count the number of times her father had said how lucky he was to have married her. That couldn’t have been an act. So they had an argument. But kill her? Never.

  Wanting a distraction, she opened her work email and scrolled through to see if there was anything from the foundation requiring her immediate attention. Though her board had been giving her space to mourn, there were always requests coming in through the foundation’s website that she needed to review. She sighed wearily when she saw there were over forty new emails. She methodically clicked each one, saving some to an action folder, forwarding others. Her hand froze when she heard the ping of a new email arriving. It was from Private Caller; the subject line was “Especially for You.” Before she could think about it, she clicked on it.

  There was no text, just an audio file. Her heart beat faster as the sound of an out-of-tune piano came from the speakers and a discordant version of “Pop Goes the Weasel” began to play. At first it was just the music, but soon a guttural voice, sounding distorted, like it had been through a mechanical voice changer, began to chant:

  All around the mulberry bush

  The killer chased the doctor

  The doctor thought ’twas all in fun

  Dead is the doctor

  Kate grabbed her cell phone and fumbled as she tried to swipe it open; she had to put the passcode in three times before getting it right. She dialed Detective Anderson, gasping for air as the phone rang and rang. His voice mail eventually clicked on, and she choked out, “It’s Kate English. I’ve received a threatening email. But I guess you know that. But then it disappeared from my computer. Please call me back.”

  She hoped the police would be able to trace the email to a physical address this time. She dialed Simon, but it went straight to voice mail. She pressed the end button in frustration. Why was no one answering? She called Blaire next.

  “I was just going to call you,” Blaire said.

&nb
sp; “Can you come over?” Kate asked, the words gasping out of her.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Another message.”

  “I’m on my way. I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

  She took a few deep breaths, focusing on the fact that Blaire would be there soon, that she had guards at the house. Unfortunately, the last thing anxiety did was accede to logic, but she had to try to calm down. She returned to her bedroom, and when she moved toward the bed, she noticed light spilling from the bathroom doorway. She hadn’t used this bathroom since the mice had been left there, so why would the light be on? She took a deep breath and forced herself to open the door, exhaling when she saw that there were no dead animals waiting for her. There was nothing amiss. Someone had just flicked the light on, that was all. Maybe she had done it herself when she’d come upstairs, distracted as she’d been by the news of her parents’ fight.

  She turned it off and went to check on Annabelle, who was safe in bed, asleep. Kate tiptoed over to her and kissed her head, then backed out of the room, nodding to the guard on duty as she did.

  As she came down the stairs, she nodded at the man sitting in the front hallway. Was that Jeff or Frank? She was having a hard time keeping them all straight. “Ms. Barrington is coming over shortly.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Can you please go around to all the rooms and double-check that all the windows are locked?”

  He gave her a strange look, and then nodded. “Yes, ma’am, the house is secure, but I can check again.”

  “Please do. I’ll check the kitchen.”

  All of the locks in the kitchen were secure, she discovered with relief. What was up with these nursery rhymes, though? Did they have a deeper meaning? She grabbed her iPad from the counter, went to Google, and typed “Pop Goes the Weasel Meaning.” She clicked through article after article. One theory was that it was about pawning a coat to pay for a drink, another was that it referred to a spinning wheel. The only common thread seemed to be that it referred to the poor. Was it another dig at her for her wealth?