“What is it?”
As I stared out at the passing trees, my gaze began to blur. “Oh my God,” I whispered. “Oh my God.”
Mac drove around a curve and then took the turnoff into town. Without warning, he pulled the car over and parked on the side of the road. Then he turned to face me, wearing a patient smile. “I don’t know what’s going on in your head right now, but you’re practically shaking the whole car. What’s up?”
“Sorry,” I said, laughing again. “But it’s so off the wall, I’m not sure I should even say it out loud.”
“Are you kidding? You can’t leave me hanging.” He ran his hands up and down my arms. “Just say it, Shannon. I’m dying to know what you’re thinking.”
I had to take a couple of deep breaths before I uttered my next thought aloud. “Okay. We know Loretta had blond hair and blue eyes. Do you know who else has blond hair and blue eyes?”
“No. Who?”
“Matthew and Petsy’s daughter, Lindsey.”
Chapter Eleven
Instead of being properly dumbstruck, Mac laughed out loud. “Now that’s an awesome plot twist.” He sat back in the driver’s seat and laughed again.
“I thought I was the only one going crazy,” I muttered.
“But this is perfect,” he said, still chuckling. “We’ve got a possible case of babies switched at birth. If I were writing this book, they would have been twins, but I’ll take what I can get.”
“Oh, come on. Twins? That’s nutty.” I held up my hand like a stop sign. “No, it’s worse than nutty. Twins separated at birth is a total cliché.”
“Yeah, I know.” He grinned. “But I still love it. And besides, sometimes a cliché is a cliché because it’s happened a lot.”
“That’s true—although in this case, hmm.” I smiled, but it quickly faded. “Look, I don’t know if I’m opening a can of worms or not with this theory, but it’s worth investigating. Don’t you think?”
“Definitely. I think.” His gaze zeroed in on me again. “Let me just say this out loud so I can be sure I’m following along. You actually think that Matthew and Petsy Jorgensen are raising Loretta’s child as their own.”
I gave him a nervous look. Hearing him put my thoughts into words made me feel even crazier. “Do I? I guess so. It’s a little disturbing to hear you say it aloud. Because if it’s true, it means that one or both of those mothers gave up their own daughter. I mean, there are dozens of reasons why a mother would need to give up their child, and most of them are heartbreaking. But this case is different. This is a situation where the babies might’ve been switched, either without the mothers’ knowledge—or with their full agreement. And that’s weird, don’t you think?”
“From what you tell me about Petsy, the phrase strong maternal instinct is not one I would use in connection with her.”
“True. Feral cats are warmer.” I buried my face in my hands. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”
“As long as you’re freaking out anyway, there’s something else for you to worry about.”
I snapped him a wary look. “What?”
His eyebrows lifted as he shot me a quick glance. “Amanda.”
“Oh God.” I closed my eyes. “Amanda. What are we going to tell her?”
“We don’t have to tell her anything.” Mac checked the rearview mirror and pulled back out into traffic. “Not yet, anyway.”
“But who are her parents? Is she Matthew’s daughter? Is Petsy her mother? Loretta?”
He nodded. “Too many possibilities and not enough answers. Wish it didn’t take so long to get DNA results. I would assume her parents are the Jorgensens though, if we’re going with the dark-haired-parents-giving-birth- to-a-dark-haired-daughter theory. But . . .” He frowned. “You’re right. This is quickly moving beyond weird.”
“I know. It doesn’t make sense.” I was completely baffled. Sure, I liked a mystery as well as the next person. But this was a mystery wrapped in a mystery wrapped in a— You get the idea. “But if it’s true, did they switch babies deliberately? Or did Loretta pull a fast one on the Jorgensens?”
He came to a stop at a red light and gave a long, thoughtful whistle. “You mean, did she steal their kid and leave hers?”
I shook my head. “Who would do that?”
He frowned and his lips twisted in thought. “You know, all joking aside, we’re grasping at straws here. Nothing is certain. And until we know more, we should probably just deal with the facts.”
I touched his arm. “But blind speculation is so much more fun.”
“I’m glad you think so,” he said, grinning as he leaned over to kiss me. “I’m having a blast.”
• • •
We showed the pictures of the suspects to four members of Jane’s staff, but that didn’t get us very far. They didn’t recognize anyone and they had no clues or information to share with us. Jane explained that one of her desk clerks and two of her housekeepers had the day off, so we were welcome to come back tomorrow and show them the photos. Mac promised we would. I wanted to believe this would all be solved by then and a return trip wouldn’t be necessary.
As we drove away from Jane’s inn, I took a look at my wristwatch and realized it was midafternoon. I decided it would be a good idea to check in with my people at the Jorgensen house.
“To tell the truth, I’m a little concerned about leaving Amanda all by herself for this long,” I explained.
“The Jorgensens aren’t home?” Mac said.
“Oh, I’m sure they’re home. I meant that I don’t want her to be alone with them.”
“Good thinking,” he said. “If they had any clue that she could be their long-lost daughter, given up for adoption, who knows what they might do?” His frown deepened. “Would they be pleased? Furious? Yeah, too much we don’t know.”
“It worries me,” I said, feeling once again like that mother hen. “If Amanda is Matthew’s child and Petsy made him get rid of her all those years ago, what happens now? If Petsy finds out who Amanda really is, she might lash out at her.”
“Or worse,” Mac said.
I looked at him. “You think she might hurt her?”
“I’ve never met the woman, but from everything you’ve told me about her, it sounds entirely possible.”
I’d been thinking the same thing and had sort of hoped that Mac would make me believe I was worried about nothing. I rubbed my stomach as it churned with anxiety. I told myself that everything would be fine once I got to the Jorgensens. I would check in with Amanda and make sure all was well. I also wanted to see the progress the guys had made on the orangery.
I turned to Mac. “If things are going okay with the Jorgensen job, I might stop by the Derry house and check on my guys.”
He flashed a sardonic smile. “What you’re really saying is, you’re going to check on possible murder suspects Joan and Stan.”
I smiled back. “You got it.”
His smile faded and his eyes warmed. “Be careful, please?”
“Of course. Nobody’s going to hurt me. I’ve got my crew guys all over the place.”
“Your guys are great,” he said lightly as he squeezed my hand. “And yet I’m not exactly comforted by that.”
“But—”
“Hold on. Let me explain.” He lifted my hand and planted a kiss there. “See, there’s this vicious killer out there somewhere? And if you go looking for him—or her—you might find him. Or her. No big deal. Just thought I’d mention it.”
I smiled. “Thank you for looking out for me. But not only do I have a crew full of big, protective guys; I also have a big pipe wrench and I used to bat cleanup in high school.”
He grinned.
“I promise I’ll be careful.”
“Good.” He pulled the car to a stop by the side of his house and we got out. “I’m goi
ng to swing by the county recorder’s office and check on some birth records.”
“Oh, that’s brilliant.” I thunked the heel of my hand against my forehead. “I should’ve thought of that. I’m glad you did.”
“That’s why we make a good team. Besides”—he shrugged—“makes sense to check things out. And you can thank me by taking care of yourself.”
“I will,” I said, as we walked over to my truck. “And I’ll call you when I get home this afternoon so you know I’m okay.”
With a grin, he said, “If I don’t get a phone call I’ll come looking for you.”
That was almost enough motivation not to call him.
• • •
When I walked into the Jorgensen house, it was quiet. But as I approached the dining room, I could hear what sounded like a muffled conversation. Was Lindsey home? Was she talking to Amanda?
I peeked around the archway and almost fell over. It was Petsy. She was sitting at the dining room table, chatting with Amanda. She looked almost . . . friendly. Was it possible? Was she on new medication? Had there been an apocalypse I hadn’t noticed?
“Oh, hi, Shannon,” Amanda said when she noticed me standing there. “We were just talking about the amazing history of this house.” She turned back to Petsy. “I really hope you win the contest.”
“That’s why I hired all of you,” she said cheerily, and flashed me a warm smile.
Okay, that was just wrong. Petsy was never cheery, never warm, and when she smiled she usually looked like a pit bull baring its teeth.
“As I told Shannon, I did my research,” she was saying. “Shannon’s company has worked on eight winning houses out of the last twelve years. I know you all will bring the magic this time.”
I was completely blown away. I gripped the back of the nearest chair just to make sure I didn’t fall over. I honestly couldn’t remember Petsy saying any of that, but then that first day when Wade and I met her, she’d said a lot of things, most of which were rude and condescending. Maybe her “research” had crept into her conversation somewhere, but I doubted it.
I might’ve said something to counter her words, but then I glanced at Amanda and saw her beaming, so I composed myself enough to squeak out a happy response. “I don’t see why we can’t win. Your house is stunning. And I do like to win.”
“I like to win, too,” Amanda chimed in.
“That’s a very good attitude,” Petsy said, smiling brightly. “I think it’s my year to take the grand prize and I’m happy to know I’ve got the best people working with me.”
“You made a great choice,” Amanda gushed. “Shannon is the absolute best.”
I turned and shot her a quick smile.
Petsy stood and pushed her chair in. “Well, I’ll let you girls get on with your work. The panels are looking wonderful, by the way. You’re doing a very nice job.”
“Thank you, Petsy,” I murmured, and stared at her back as she left the room. As soon as she was gone, I whipped around to Amanda and whispered, “What have you done to Petsy?”
She held up both hands and shook her head. “Didn’t do a thing, I swear. It’s a miracle. She’s being so nice. I’m completely amazed. I actually enjoyed our conversation.”
In my head I was questioning her version of reality, but I tried to smile anyway. “That’s nice. Twisted, but nice.”
“I’m not sure why she was so crabby up until now,” Amanda said. “Maybe she was just nervous about having people in her house. But you can see she’s really changed.”
“I’ll hold off singing hallelujah for a while,” I said, trying to keep my voice down. Who knew if someone was listening in on our conversation? “I’m sorry, but after everything that’s happened, I just don’t trust her. Not yet.”
Amanda stared down at a wood panel for a moment, then looked back at me. “I understand your feelings. But I really want to believe that she’s a nice person. Especially if, you know . . .”
I touched her shoulder. “I know what you’re saying, and I admire you for taking the high road. Pay no attention to me.”
“Thanks, Shannon.”
“But don’t mind me if I stick to the low road until I get a little more proof that”—I dropped my voice to a whisper—“the witch is dead.”
She laughed. “I think that’s as good a compromise as we can make.”
“So, what were you two talking about?”
“She started out asking me where I learned woodworking. I told her about my dad. And then she asked about my mom and where I was brought up and how I decided to move to Lighthouse Cove. You know, just small talk, really. But she seemed genuinely interested.”
“I think that’s great.” I glanced around the room. The light coming in through the beveled bay window cast a rosy glow on everything, including Amanda. She looked so happy and I didn’t want to destroy that. So instead, I did the best thing I could do in that moment and got to work.
Amanda joined me and picked up one of the panels. I took another one and set it on the end of the plywood table, where I began filing down the edges of the splintered vine pattern. As we worked, Amanda hummed softly and I knew she was thinking about the wonderful possibility that the people living in this house might be her family.
All the while, I couldn’t help but think that Amanda was being played by Petsy. I wasn’t normally a cynical person, but I had a feeling that it was just a matter of time before everything fell apart. And I didn’t know what I could do to protect my friend from the fallout.
• • •
The next day, I spent some time helping Wade and Sean with the orangery. I had to admit it felt good to be working outside with my guys again. Our brick wall base was completely finished and the interior concrete floor surface was ready for a layer of subflooring. After that, we would lay down a dark wood laminate to match the rest of the house.
The steel framing was done and today we were going to start fitting the solar-controlled tempered-glass windows into the frames. We hoped to finish the pitched roof by the end of the day and I was eager to see the completed structure with all of its charming flourishes, such as the sunburst detail on the gable end facing the garden and the fleur-de-lis cresting along the top of the roof. This embellishment would not only give the orangery a true Victorian look but would also keep birds from perching on the roof.
That afternoon, Amanda and I planned to work on the faded stairway panel that Matthew wanted stained. I had purchased three different shades of wood stain and we would be testing them today.
Before we left for lunch, Sean set up the multiposition ladder on the stairway. It was the perfect ladder for this job, because we could shorten one side to stand on the higher stair and lengthen the other side to stand on the landing. Sean tested it until it was immobile, or wobble-free, as I liked to say.
Once we got back from lunch, Amanda and I laid down a small drop cloth on one of the steps and placed the stains and brushes on the cloth.
“If you need to help the guys, I can do this by myself,” Amanda said as she climbed the ladder.
“Who’s going to hand you the stains?” I asked.
“Oh, yeah.” She grinned. “That would be you.”
“Besides, I don’t trust these carpeted steps,” I muttered, clamping one hand onto the front side rail of the shorter side. “The ladder could slip. I’ll hold it while you climb.”
“Okay, thanks.” She ascended quickly until she was facing the offending panel.
“You should probably go up one more step.”
She did what I suggested. “I’m ready for the first stain.”
“Here you go.”
She leaned down and I passed her one can and a brush. I had already pried the cans open so she would be able to get the lids off easily.
She brushed the panel several times with the stain. “This might be too light. Let m
e try a darker shade.”
She handed down the can and I passed the next one up to her with a new brush. We repeated that one more time.
“We’ll need to let them dry,” she said, “but I think the last one is the best match.”
“Good.”
“Oh, wait. It’s dripping a little. Hold on.”
She twisted around to pull a small cloth from her back pocket just, as Matthew started to walk up the stairs. “Hello, ladies.”
Startled, Amanda began to teeter on the step. I grabbed both rails to try to stabilize the ladder.
A scream rang out from the top of the stairs. I whipped around to see Petsy rushing toward the ladder. Was she going to push it over?
“Don’t!” I cried, tightening my grip on the ladder while I tensed up for the inevitable blow.
“Be careful,” Matthew shouted.
He grabbed the lower ladder just as Petsy reached out to help me hold it steady. The three of us held on while Amanda descended. When she was off the ladder completely and standing safely on the stairs, Matthew clutched her shoulders. “Are you all right?”
“Of course,” she said, laughing. “No worries.”
“You were about to fall off,” Petsy said, her voice tremulous. “You must be more careful.”
“Took ten years off my life, seeing you up there,” Matthew muttered, and gave her an avuncular hug.
“Sorry I scared you,” she murmured.
“Good heavens.” Petsy blew out a breath and straightened her shoulders. “Well, now that you’re safe, please get back to work.”
After watching Petsy freak out over Amanda’s near fall, I was actually relieved to see she was back to her old self.
“Yes,” I said, still feeling shaky, “let’s finish this and get back to it.”
Matthew patted Amanda’s shoulder, then skirted the ladder and continued up the stairs. Turning once, he gave us a stern shake of his finger. “You girls be careful.”
“Yes, Father,” I said, joking. Honestly, I hadn’t planned it or really given it a second thought. But now the words were out there.
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