by Brenda Novak
Exciting, emotional, intense. The thrilling follow-up to New York Times bestselling author Brenda Novak’s highly acclaimed The Secret Sister. The things that happen in families are always surprising and sometimes shocking!
The rich and powerful Josephine Lazarow, matriarch of Fairham Island, is dead. The police say it’s suicide, but Keith, her estranged son, doesn’t believe it.
Keith bears scars—both physical and emotional—from his childhood, but he’s worked hard to overcome the past. After walking away from his mother and her controlling ways five years ago, he’s built a new life in LA. He’s also accumulated a fortune of his own. But as soon as he learns of his mother’s death, he returns to Fairham. He feels he owes it to his grandfather to put the family empire together again—and he’s determined to find his mother’s killer.
Problem is…coming home to Fairham puts him back in contact with Nancy Dellinger, the woman he hurt so badly when he left before. And digging that deep into his mother’s final days and hours entails a very real risk.
Because the person who killed her could be someone he loves…
Praise for the novels of New York Times bestselling author Brenda Novak
“Completely engrossing with a twist at the end you wouldn’t dare dream of!”
—RT Book Reviews on The Secret Sister
“Great storytelling knows no genre… Exceedingly well written and told by a master of her craft.”
—Providence Journal on A Winter Wedding
“Another engrossing addition to Novak’s addictive [Whiskey Creek] series.”
—Library Journal on This Heart of Mine
“One needn’t wonder why Novak is a New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author. Just read Come Home to Me.”
—Examiner.com
“The past impacts the present with devastating but ultimately salutary results in this engrossing, character-rich story that takes a hard look at responsibility, loyalty, and the results of telling (or concealing) the truth.”
—Library Journal on Home to Whiskey Creek
“It’s steamy, it’s poignant, it’s perfectly paced—it’s When Lightning Strikes and you don’t want to miss it!”
—USATODAY.com’s Happy Ever After blog
“Gripping, frightening, and intense…a compelling romance as well as a riveting and suspenseful mystery… Novak delivers another winner.”
—Library Journal on The Perfect Liar
“Strong characters bring the escalating suspense to life, and the mystery is skillfully played out. Novak’s smooth plotting makes for a great read.”
—Publishers Weekly on Dead Right
“Well written, nicely paced, filled with appealing characters, and laced with a few surprises.”
—Library Journal on Dead Right
“Impressive! This is a sharp-edged, well-plotted story that showcases Novak’s superb storytelling skill.”
—RT Book Reviews on Dead Giveaway
Also by Brenda Novak:
DISCOVERING YOU*
THE SECRET SISTER
THIS HEART OF MINE*
THE HEART OF CHRISTMAS*
COME HOME TO ME*
TAKE ME HOME FOR CHRISTMAS*
HOME TO WHISKEY CREEK*
WHEN SUMMER COMES*
WHEN SNOW FALLS*
WHEN LIGHTNING STRIKES*
IN CLOSE
IN SECONDS
INSIDE
KILLER HEAT
BODY HEAT
WHITE HEAT
THE PERFECT MURDER
THE PERFECT LIAR
THE PERFECT COUPLE
WATCH ME
STOP ME
TRUST ME
DEAD RIGHT
DEAD GIVEAWAY
DEAD SILENCE
EVERY WAKING MOMENT
COLD FEET
TAKING THE HEAT
*Whiskey Creek Stories
Look for Brenda Novak’s next novel available soon from MIRA Books.
BRENDA
NOVAK
New York Times Bestselling Author
The Secrets She Kept
To all families who aren’t quite perfect…
Contents
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
Epilogue
Author’s Note
The Secrets She Kept Reader’s Guide
Questions for Discussion
Excerpt from The Secret Sister by Brenda Novak
1
Los Angeles, California
THE CALL CAME in the middle of the night. Keith Lazarow was so deeply asleep that he probably wouldn’t have heard his phone if not for the attractive brunette who stirred in bed beside him.
“Aren’t you going to answer that?” she mumbled.
“No.” He was too exhausted. Five years ago, he’d replaced the drugs he’d once used to anesthetize himself against the demons of his past with daily cross-fit training. High-intensity exercise was the only thing that could command his full focus and calm his mind. It forced the anger and resentment back into the shadows so he could be functional instead of destructive. But once he’d left the gym, Dahlia Dooley—someone he’d met at a charity event downtown last week—had called and asked to come over, and after that, he’d put in a completely different sort of workout. After expending that much energy, he felt he could sleep for a week, which was nice, since he used to have trouble sleeping at all.
Dahlia rolled onto her other side and, seconds later, his phone stopped making noise.
He’d just begun to sink back into blissful oblivion when the buzzing started again.
Dahlia yawned. “There must be something wrong at work.”
No, he didn’t have anything to worry about there. He wasn’t a policeman or a medical health professional; he was in real estate. Over the last five years, he’d acquired quite a collection of large commercial properties—office buildings, warehouses, shopping malls and strip centers. But he had property managers as well as project managers to take care of his holdings. If there was a problem, those were the people who’d be getting disturbed after hours, not him. He handled acquisitions, which was the fun part, and he had nothing particularly important on the horizon—nothing that he might get a panic call about, anyway. Whatever this was, it could wait until he’d had his wheatgrass juice in the morning and was ready to turn on his computer.
Unless...
He shot up in bed and grabbed for his phone. Sure enough, it was his sister Maisey calling from South Carolina. They’d always been close, but these days she had her husband, Rafe, who did such a good job of loving Maisey, his daughter, Laney, and Bryson, the two-year-old boy they’d had
together, that Keith never worried about them. He and Maisey spoke on the phone every week, and she’d flown out to visit him three or four times since he left Fairham Island—twice with her family—but she never called in the middle of the night.
Something had to be wrong...
His stomach cramped at the thought.
With a curse, he gazed at the LED screen while trying to collect his faculties.
When he continued to let it ring, Dahlia mumbled, “What is it?”
Suddenly wishing she’d gone home instead of staying over, he looked at her tousled head. “Nothing. Go back to sleep. I’ll take it in the study.”
Lord knew his house was big enough to provide him with plenty of privacy. Nestled in the Santa Monica Mountains overlooking Malibu, where he had a gorgeous view of the ocean, the ten-bedroom rambler had once belonged to Robert De Niro. The place was way too big for a man who lived alone, and coming here every night meant he added a time-consuming commute to his day. A condo downtown would’ve been more efficient and would’ve suited him just as well, since he rarely entertained. But he supposed he was still trying to prove to his megalomaniac mother that he really didn’t need the fortune she’d held over his head for so long.
Who would’ve guessed he’d be as adept at making money as his beloved grandfather?
No one. Until he’d walked away from the Coldiron empire and everything he stood to gain by staying, and started making it on his own, even he would never have dreamed he had it in him. After winning his first million as a professional poker player, which required no education at all—a good thing, since he hadn’t paid attention while he was getting his degree in communications—he’d invested in real estate, where he earned even more money—so much that he eventually quit poker, other than the odd charity tournament now and then.
Before he could pull on a pair of pajama bottoms and move to a room where he felt comfortable speaking to Maisey, the call transferred to voice mail. He waited to see if she’d leave a message, give him some indication of what was going on, so he’d be prepared when he talked to her. But she didn’t.
“Come on, Mais,” he muttered and called her back.
“There you are,” she said, sounding tense, breathless, as if she’d panicked when she couldn’t reach him.
He tried to control his own anxiety. “You’re surprised I didn’t answer right away? Gee, I wonder why I didn’t. Could it be that it’s four o’clock in the morning?”
“I’m sorry.”
He regretted his sarcasm when she didn’t come back at him with her own smart-ass comment. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I was joking. What’s going on?” Holding the phone that much tighter, he lowered his voice. “You okay?”
“I’m...fine, I think.” Her voice broke, telling him that she wasn’t fine at all.
His heart began to pound so hard his chest hurt. “Is it Rafe? Or the kids?” When Keith left Fairham Island, Maisey had been so in love with the building contractor and his blind little girl that Keith thought he could rely on his sister’s happiness indefinitely. The confidence he’d had in Rafe was the only thing that had made it possible for him to turn his back on South Carolina without the guilt that would otherwise have dragged him back.
Well, knowing his sister was with a man she loved wasn’t the only thing that had allowed him to escape. His life had always revolved around his autocratic mother and what he was supposed to do and be in order to honor his Coldiron heritage. Escaping the jaws of her expectations had required more grit and determination than he could ever have imagined. No way could he have done it without Maisey and Roxanne, his other sister. Their support had been constant and unwavering.
He owed them both a lot...
“They’re fine, too—thank God.” Maisey sniffed. “So are Roxanne and her family,” she said, anticipating his next question.
Their oldest sister lived in Louisiana—and had lived there for most of her life, away from them. That in itself was a long story and should never have happened; it was yet another life-altering event he could blame on his mother. He was just glad they’d managed to find Roxanne when they did, because she’d added so much to his life.
He crossed to the window and stared out at the white, moonlit caps of the waves rolling toward the beach. Even in full daylight, he couldn’t see the sand for all the trees and hills. But he wasn’t studying his current surroundings. He was recalling another beach—the private beach below Coldiron House, the ostentatious Southern mansion where he’d been raised. “Then it must be Mom,” he said with a fatalistic sigh.
“Yes.”
Closing his eyes, he pressed his forehead to the cool glass. He’d known he’d have to face what he’d left behind eventually. Was he ready for whatever had happened to Josephine? Had he changed sufficiently to cope with what it might mean? Put enough safety nets in place to make sure he never slipped back into the darkness from which he’d so painstakingly climbed? “What’s wrong with her?”
“She’s dead, Keith.”
The blood began to roar in his ears. “What’d you say?”
“It’s true. She’s gone. I’m so sorry. I know...I know how difficult this is going to be for you, how complicated your feelings about her have always been. Mine aren’t any simpler. I hate that I had to wake you in the middle of the night, but I couldn’t wait. I wanted you to know before...before you could see it on the news or...or someone else called.”
LA could get cold in January. Feeling a sudden chill, Keith straightened and stepped away from the window. Most deaths, even of someone as wealthy and powerful as Josephine Lazarow, weren’t reported on the national news—not unless foul play was involved. Was that what his sister was about to tell him?
“What happened?” he asked as he made his way to the desk and perched on the edge of the expensive leather chair his interior designer had claimed he’d love.
“When Pippa arrived an hour ago—”
“Wait,” he broke in. “That’d be six your time.”
“Yes...”
“Why was she coming so early? Mom’s housekeepers have always arrived at eight.” Even when his mother was running her flower shop instead of letting Nancy Dellinger do it, she didn’t get out of bed until later. The shop didn’t open until ten; she generally prepared the night before.
“Mom needed to be at the airport. She was planning a trip to see Hugh Pointer—a new love interest.”
Of course. Since their father died, when he was twelve and Maisey was ten, Josephine had been through three marriages (after which she’d always gone back to the Lazarow name), and a long list of other relationships. Considering she could have just about anyone she wanted, there was nothing to stop her. Not only was she rich, she was beautiful.
Had been rich. Had been beautiful.
God, could he really be thinking of his strong, determined and often acerbic mother in the past tense?
“Hugh owns a pharmaceutical company, a ranch and a few other assets in Australia,” Maisey was saying. “They’ve been dating, mostly online, for the past few months. She met him in first class the last time she flew to New York and she’s been planning to go down under to see him ever since.”
They’d been dating for months? Keith would know about Hugh if he and his sisters ever discussed his mother, but she was the one subject that was off-limits. They’d grown accustomed to pretending she didn’t exist. Keith had insisted on it. She could trigger a relapse quicker than anyone or anything. “So Pippa was supposed to show up at the house before she’d usually appear to drive Mom to the airport.”
“That’s right.” When Maisey paused, overcome by emotion, a lump rose in his own throat. But no tears followed. Something seemed to be jammed up; he couldn’t cry. Where Josephine was concerned, he’d cut out his emotions almost as precisely as a surgeon might use a scalpel to remove a ma
lignant tumor. He’d had to. Anything less was too painful.
“But...” he prompted when his sister couldn’t continue.
He heard her gulp for breath, heard Rafe in the background speaking soft, soothing words.
“Mom wasn’t waiting for her in the entry like she’d said she’d be. And when Pippa went upstairs to see about the hold-up, she...she found her in the tub.”
His mother often took long baths. They were part of her beauty regimen. She’d even had a TV installed in the bathroom. But why would she take a bath first thing in the morning, before heading to the airport? Why not use the shower, like she usually did to get ready for work? “She drowned?”
Another sniffle. “Apparently. There was a wine bottle and a...a glass that’d been knocked over, as well as s-some candles—”
“Then it must’ve happened last night,” he said. “She wouldn’t light candles first thing in the morning. She doesn’t like getting up early. She was always in too much of a hurry.”
“The coroner hasn’t determined the time of death. He...he just arrived a little while ago. But I agree. Seems that way to me, too.”
“So...they think it was an accident?”
She sniffed again. “They’re not saying, Keith. They won’t even let me in the house, won’t let me see her. I don’t understand what’s going on. I only know that she’s dead.”
His sister ended with a sob—and still his eyes remained dry. “I’m sorry, Maisey.”
That sounded so mechanical, but he was glad to feel numb. Numb beat the hell out of the devastation he could be feeling. He’d worked hard to overcome anything that made him weak or vulnerable.
“I don’t want this to set you back,” she said. “You’ve been doing so well. I—”
“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.” He hoped that was true. He didn’t have the best track record...
Maisey continued to cry. “This is terrible. Mom would not have liked going out this way.”
She must’ve been drunk, he thought. But how? She considered it gauche to have more than a single glass of wine in the evening. Unless things had changed more than he realized since he’d been gone, he couldn’t see her imbibing too much, even when she was alone.
