She braced herself before she dove in. “I was upset. Still am. Detective Anderson was here last night. He told me things that don’t make sense. Things about you.”
His eyebrows drew together, and the frown lines between his eyes deepened. “What kind of things?”
“Did you and Mother have a big argument the day she died?” He said nothing, so Kate pressed him. “A shouting match, actually?”
“It’s nothing for you to worry about,” he said.
She looked at him incredulously. “But I am worried. He said Molly came to them. Said she heard you and Mom arguing. Screaming at each other. Is that true?” She watched his face carefully to see his reaction. Why was he being so evasive? He was behaving oddly, and she wondered if it had to do with more than just his grief.
“It’s none of Molly’s business.”
“Did you send her away?”
His eyes widened in surprise. “What? Why would you ask me that?”
“I called her house, and her nephew told me she was out of the country.”
“Good for her.”
“Good for her?” Was he kidding? “What’s going on?”
“Nothing is going on. She’s been with your mother and me for ages. I can’t move back into the house yet. I don’t know if I ever will. But I couldn’t put her out of work. I paid her a year’s severance. I imagine she took that trip to Europe she’s always wanted to take.”
Kate didn’t remember ever hearing Molly talk about going to Europe. “It looks a bit suspicious, Dad.”
“Suspicious? You can’t believe that I killed your mother!” He looked at her in shock.
She threw her hands up. “No. Of course not. But is it true about the fight?”
“Yes,” he said. “We did have a fight. A bad one.” He shook his head. “I’d do anything to take back what I said, but I can’t.”
Kate looked into his eyes, but they gave nothing away. He had his doctor persona on. She tried to do the same, but she was far too emotional. “What was it about?”
He rubbed his fingers across his brow. “That was between your mother and me. It has nothing to do with any of this.”
Kate stared at him in disbelief. “You’re not going to tell me?”
“It’s private. Between your mother and me, as I said.”
“Well, Anderson thinks it has something to do with her wanting to change her will. Is that what the fight was about? Was Mother going to cut you out for some reason?” She took a breath, and then continued. “Was there trouble in your marriage?”
He moved closer and tried to put his arm around her, but she pushed him away.
“Katie, you have it all wrong. I loved your mother, and she loved me.” He held up his hands as if to show her he wasn’t going to touch her again. He sighed. “Yes, we had a terrible argument, but I’m not getting into it with you. You’ll just have to trust me that you don’t need the details. She asked me to keep them private, and I’m keeping her promise.”
“That’s it? You sit here, telling me nothing, and then ask me to trust you? How can this secret be so important that you’re willing to impede the police investigation? Mother is dead. Someone is threatening me. You’ve become a suspect. What on earth is worth protecting in the face of all this?”
“Lower your voice! You’ll upset Annabelle.”
She stood up and backed away from him. “Is that what you told Mother? Did you shut her up permanently?”
He rose from the sofa, his face twisted in pain. “Kate! How could you ask me that?” he said quietly.
“Please go. Leave. I don’t want to see you again until you’re ready to tell me the truth.”
He put his hands up again and left the room. She stared after him, bereft.
What was he keeping from her? He must have done something to upset her mother enough for her to have made that appointment with Gordon. She sat there until she heard his car pull out of the driveway. Maybe she’d try and rest before dinner; she was exhausted and couldn’t think straight anymore. She went to the kitchen and grabbed her cell phone from the counter. She was halfway up the steps when her text tone sounded. Her heart stopped when she saw it was from Private Caller.
Isn’t it time to retire that old Yale sweatshirt?
You’re turning into quite the slob.
Your mother would be appalled to see how you’re falling apart.
She clutched the railing and looked down at her shirt. How did he know what she was wearing? She ran back downstairs and yelled to the guard by the door.
“Have the guards sweep the property! The killer is out there.”
“On it,” he answered.
She ran to the window in the kitchen, looking out, thinking about the expanse of woods behind them. Was someone hiding there, using binoculars and watching her? Or was the killer closer?
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollinsPublishers
....................................
14
Everyone was in a state when Blaire arrived at the house. Kate had called her near hysteria, yelling something about the killer watching her. Now Simon was pacing, Kate pale and wild-eyed, and the guards searching the entire property. Anderson was the only calm one.
“Dr. English, Mr. English, I know this is very upsetting, but we don’t know that the killer was actually here.”
“Of course he was here! He knew what I was wearing. The text said it was time to retire my Yale sweatshirt.”
Blaire put her arm around her friend and looked at the detective. “That is pretty specific. How could anyone know what she had on unless they could see her?”
“Maybe it was a lucky guess. It says on her practice’s website that she went to Yale,” Simon said.
“So what? That doesn’t mean that’s all I wear. Someone had to be watching me from the woods. It’s the only explanation,” Kate insisted, giving Simon a withering look.
“What if it’s Gordon? He’s got all that photography equipment,” Blaire said.
Anderson shook his head. “Unlikely. We got the warrant to search his house early this morning and showed up around eight, much to Mr. Barton’s surprise. The only thing we found were the pictures that Ms. Barrington mentioned the other night. Nothing that could lead us to believe he had anything to do with your mother’s murder or the current threats against you. He was home during the search, and couldn’t have been anywhere near your house.”
“What did that freak say about those pictures of my wife?” Simon asked.
“He was a little shaken, but he claims they are for an art project he’s doing. They’ve all been taken in public places. There’s no law against it. The paparazzi do it all the time.”
Simon shook his head in disgust.
Kate stood up and began to pace. “Could you at least tell where the text came from?”
He shook his head. “Not this time. It wasn’t over a recognized Wi-Fi. They used a VPN.”
“What’s that?” Kate asked.
“It’s a virtual private network, which allows data to be encrypted and the IP address of the user to be masked,” Anderson explained.
“We’re never going to find out who this is,” Kate whispered.
Anderson stood and walked over to her. “I promise you, I’m not going to rest until we do.”
Was this how the parents of her young patients felt when they had to sit by and trust Kate while their children walked that terrifying line between life and death? It was a wonder those parents hadn’t slapped her when she told them to remain calm, to trust her.
“Has anyone else been here today? Seen your outfit?”
“No. Well, my father,” she said, her eyes widening.
Anderson raised his eyebrows. “I’ll be in touch,” was all he said as he left.
Blaire wondered what that exchange was all about.
One of the BCT guards entered the kitchen. “There’s no one on the property or on the perimeter of the woods. We’ve got a team search
ing the rest of the woods now, but we’ve looked through all the video footage, and there’s nothing.”
“Big surprise,” Kate said. “I’m going to go check on Annabelle.” She looked at Blaire. “Will you come keep me company for a little while?”
“Of course.”
Blaire followed Kate to the playroom, where Hilda and Annabelle were sitting together on the couch, watching a movie. Annabelle was so engrossed that she didn’t look up as they entered.
Blaire and Kate stood behind the sofa. “What are you watching, sweetie?” Kate asked.
“Nemo,” Annabelle answered distractedly.
They watched for a moment, and Blaire jumped when Annabelle screamed.
“It ate Coral!” Annabelle yelled as the barracuda’s jaws started snapping. “No, her babies are gone too.” She started to cry.
Kate scooped her up from the sofa and hugged her. “What’s wrong with you?” she snapped at Hilda. “How could you let her watch this?”
Hilda’s eyes grew wide, and she began to stammer. “She’s seen it so many times. I had no idea it would upset her this time. I’m sorry. I would never have put it on if I’d thought it would frighten her like this.” She pulled Annabelle closer, trying to soothe her.
“Well, maybe you should have thought about what effect it might have since all that’s happened. ” Kate ran from the room with Annabelle.
Blaire gave Hilda a reassuring look. “Hilda, it’s not your fault. Very bad timing, that’s all. Kate’s so upset with everything that’s going on.”
“I understand, and I’m trying to be sympathetic. But I can’t seem to do anything right these days.”
“Just be patient with her. She’s not herself.”
Blaire left Hilda in the playroom and went looking for Kate. She was in her daughter’s bedroom, helping a calmer Annabelle with a jigsaw puzzle.
Kate looked up as Blaire came in. “That was intentional.”
“What?”
Kate sighed and rolled her eyes, then stood and walked to the corner of the room. Blaire moved toward her, and Kate whispered, “The movie. Showing her a movie where the mother is killed. She’s preparing her for my . . . you know . . .”
Blaire was stunned. “Kate! Come on. You can’t watch a Disney movie without one or both parents being killed. It was just a coincidence.”
Kate narrowed her eyes. “Was it? Maybe she and Simon are working together. I’ve seen Finding Nemo. After the mother is dead, the father and son live happily ever after.”
Blaire was going to have to talk to Harrison. Kate was unraveling again. Right before her very eyes.
Blaire finally got out of bed at ten the next morning. She’d stayed at Kate’s late into the night, doing her best to talk some sense into her friend. By the time she left, Kate had agreed to forget about the movie incident and give Hilda another chance. Blaire had fallen into bed exhausted when she’d finally gotten into her suite after two a.m. Now, slipping into her robe, she called room service and ordered breakfast. She went into the small kitchen and made a single cup of dark roast while she waited.
She opened her laptop and checked her email. She frowned. There was one from her. She hit delete. Then she saw one from her publicist, and clicked on it.
Thought you’d enjoy seeing these. Tour going well.
He’d attached some pictures from Daniel’s talk at Waterstones in Trafalgar Square. There was a wall covered in copies of their latest book, Don’t Look in the Mirror. It still thrilled her to walk into a bookstore and see their books prominently displayed up front. She never took that for granted. For as long as she could remember, she’d written. Short stories, poems, novellas. No matter what was going on in her home life, she could escape into the worlds she had created. She loved being the one to control everything, to decide who lived and who died, who stayed and who left. She was in seventh grade when she decided that she was going to be a published author one day. She’d talked to the school librarian, who helped her find a writing contest to enter. She read through the instructions on the bus ride home, eager to get her father to help her and mail it off right away.
She would never forget the look on his face when she showed him the entry form. She had expected him to be excited about it. He’d always complimented her writing and taken pride in her good grades. But when she handed him the story she wanted to submit, he pushed her hand away, not bothering to even look at it.
“You sound just like your mother.” He said it like that was the worst thing in the world. “You’re setting yourself up for disappointment. Do you know how hard it is to get published? Don’t go setting your sights too high. You’re a smart girl. You’ll go to college, get a good job. Forget about all this writing stuff.”
She’d run to her room before he could see the tears streaming down her face. For the first time since her mother left, she almost sympathized with her. Maybe if her father wasn’t such a quasher of dreams, her mother would have stayed. It looked like he preferred someone boring and stupid like Enid. But Blaire wasn’t going to let him hold her back. The next day she took the application back to school, and with the help of the librarian filled it out and sent it in. Three months later she received the letter that told her she’d come in second place, and that it would be published in the magazine. When she showed her father that night, he’d given it a cursory look, and an absentminded “That’s nice, honey.” Actually, even Enid had shown more enthusiasm, but Blaire didn’t want Enid’s approval. Her father’s tepid support for her writing made it that much easier to say goodbye later, when they decided to send her to Mayfield.
Lily had been the first adult in Blaire’s life who encouraged her dreams. It was Lily who in high school helped Blaire formulate a plan to increase her chances of getting into Columbia. She brought in a tutor to help Kate and Blaire with their SAT prep. She encouraged Blaire to get involved in the school paper, to submit her stories to magazines and other publications so that she could build a body of work. Lily took the time to hand-pick the appropriate charities and extracurricular activities best suited for each of the girls’ dream colleges. By the time Blaire was ready to apply to Columbia, she had built up an impressive résumé—all thanks to the careful and loving attention of Lily. Blaire’s heart ached at the thought of what had happened to her. She wished with all her heart that she could thank her again for all she’d done. She felt a tear slide down her cheek, wiped it away, and took a deep breath. It was too painful to dwell on, so she distracted herself by continuing to click through the pictures, lingering over one of Daniel next to a book-cover poster. It felt like forever since she’d been in his arms. She frowned. He was wearing that old gray sweater that she was always after him to throw out. Honestly, he needed better looking after.
She tried his cell phone, drumming her fingers as the phone rang in that odd way it does when calling overseas. She sighed when she got his voice mail. The damn time difference was making it impossible to connect. She clicked reply to the email and answered.
Thanks for the pics. Wish I could be there. Tell Daniel to drop by Goodhood and get himself a decent sweater. And tell him to call me!:) B
After scanning the rest of her in-box, she went to their Facebook author page and uploaded the London photos. Then a thought occurred to her, and she typed a name into the search bar. Three Sabrina Mitchells popped up. Blaire clicked on the photo of the Sabrina she’d met at the benefit. What a nitwit, Blaire thought—over three thousand friends, and no privacy settings. There was no way she knew all those people. Blaire clicked on her profile photo album. There were lots of pictures. Sabrina in a white bikini on a tropical beach, looking tanned and sexy. The next few at someone’s wedding, Sabrina on the dance floor in a slinky strapless black dress, heels a mile high and her long hair trailing down her back. She looked fabulous. But the next ones were even more interesting. Pictures of Simon and Sabrina together––one at a construction site with hard hats on; another at a company dinner, their faces close together and a hu
ge grin on hers. There was a photograph of a much younger Sabrina, maybe fifteen or so, on horseback with Simon and an older man. Blaire assumed it was Sabrina’s father, the man who had been so good to Simon after his own father died. Another of her and Simon on horseback that Blaire recognized as being at Kate and Simon’s property. She wondered if Kate had been on the little jaunt, or if it had been a romantic twosome.
There was not one photograph of Sabrina with any other man. All of her group photos included Simon, although to be fair, most of them were taken in some sort of work setting. But Blaire wasn’t interested in being fair. It was completely obvious from Sabrina’s dreamy expression in all of the pictures that she was in love with him. They went on and on, as if she were chronicling every moment of her life. And Simon’s too. Kate wasn’t in a single one of them. One thing was sure––the only person this crazy woman loved more than Simon was herself.
When Blaire reached the end of Sabrina’s albums, she went to Selby’s Facebook page, but she had clearly put up privacy settings, unlike that idiot Sabrina. Over the years, Blaire had occasionally gone to Selby’s page to see if there were any pictures of Kate. She clicked on Carter’s image in one of his wife’s photos, and clicked through to his incredibly dull profile. Most of his posts were about his precious Lamborghini. There were pictures of him standing next to it, sitting behind the wheel, polishing it with a white cloth. Blaire scrolled through the pictures and saw a few shots of his kids at lacrosse games or—what else?—sitting in his Lamborghini. There were very few of him with his wife. Was it because Selby was camera-shy, or was the bloom off the rose? She impulsively clicked the Add Friend button. Why not? A little harmless flirting never hurt anyone. That’s what her mother always used to say. Her mother would have loved Facebook. She could picture her now, looking up all her old beaus, as she called them, reconnecting and posting glamorous pictures of herself. How she loved having her picture taken.
The Last Time I Saw You Page 12
