She closed her eyes against the tears that threatened to fall and tried to let the steady beat of Cole's heart calm her shattered nerves. In the past ten years she'd seen some people die right in front of her. She'd watched families embrace and comfort each other. She'd seen immeasurable tragedy, but she'd never felt so sad as she did right now. "I loved her," she said. "I loved her so much. She was more than a friend. She was a sister. And I don't mean a sorority sister. I mean someone who could hear what was in my heart." She lifted her head and gazed into his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Cole. I'm so sorry she's gone. You must miss her so much."
"I do," he said huskily, his eyes suspiciously moist. "That's why I never come in here."
"Who does? Who keeps it this way? Your mom?"
He nodded. "She used to sit in here every night. Sometimes she'd lay on Em's bed, holding those tigers and crying. I could hear her sobbing in my room down the hall. It was ... horrible." He tightened his arms around Natalie.
"You couldn't let them see how sad you were, could you?" she asked. "You had to be the strong one."
"Someone had to be. I just couldn't understand how it had happened. One minute Emily was there, and the next she was gone. She had so much to offer the world. She had so much life to live. She never got to get married or have children. She never got to build a career for herself, have her own apartment, travel to Europe. She died too young. It wasn't right. If anyone in our family was supposed to die, it should have been me. I'd already seen twice as much as Em."
Natalie could hear his heart breaking in every word he spoke. Life wasn't fair. People died too young every day. But knowing that didn't make it any easier. She reached up and pressed her lips against his mouth in a tender kiss. Cole grabbed on to the kiss as if it were a life preserver and he was a drowning man. She took pleasure in giving him what comfort she could, because she needed it too, this connection to Cole, to love, to life.
When Cole lifted his head, his expression was somber but grateful. "Thanks."
"You're welcome. We better look for the journal. Unless you'd rather not. I don't want to mess up anything in here."
"We'll be careful. We owe it to Emily to find out the truth."
Natalie stepped away from him, drawing in a deep breath as she did so. "Where should we start?"
"The closet. I think my mother put Em's college things in boxes in there."
Natalie was relieved to hear that. Emily's walk-in closet did not hold nearly as many memories as the rest of the room. She opened the door and found four boxes on the floor of the closet, which was still lined with Emily's clothes from a decade ago. "I can't believe your mom hasn't given away these clothes."
"She says it's all she has left of Emily. I know it's kind of sick. She's been better in the last few years though. Dad takes her on a lot of trips, and she keeps busy with charity work. But she can't seem to bring herself to do anything about this room. I can't really blame her, can I?"
Natalie put her hand on his arm in reassurance. "Of course you can't blame her. She's your mother, and she's dealing with her grief the only way she knows how. It's not like this room is hurting anyone. You don't still live here, do you?" she asked, suddenly realizing she had no idea if he did or not.
"God, no! I moved into my own apartment years ago."
"That's good." Natalie kneeled down and opened the first box. Cole moved in beside her and opened the second one. For several minutes they dug through the remnants of Emily's college life. Natalie remembered so many of the items. She could picture them in her dorm room and later in the room they'd shared at the sorority house.
"Here's something," Cole said suddenly, pulling out a stack of three books held together by string.
Natalie felt a rush of excitement at the possibility of finally finding some answers. But that excitement quickly faded as she saw the dates on the books. "Those are all before college," she said with disappointment. "I remember Emily said she'd brought them with her because she didn't want your mom to find them. I guess she wrote some things in there that were private."
"Let's keep looking then."
They dug through the rest of the boxes but came up empty. The journal Emily had written in at school was nowhere to be found. "He must have it," Natalie said.
Cole stretched out on the floor of the closet, his back against the wall. "Malone?"
"Who else?"
"Madison or Laura?"
"I don't think so." She paused, thinking back to all they had learned. "What about Drew? Madison said Drew went to Emily's room that night to talk to her. Maybe he took the journal."
"When did she say that?" he asked sharply.
"Oh, didn't I tell you? We had dinner last night, the three of us."
"No, you didn't tell me," he said with annoyance.
"Relax. Nothing earth-shattering came out of it. Except that little bit about Drew. But why he'd take Emily's journal is beyond me."
"Unless she wrote something in it about him, something he didn't want anyone else to know. You said before that everyone knew she wrote in it, that you all joked about her using it for blackmail someday."
Natalie thought about that. "True."
"If Em's journal is floating around somewhere, we can't overlook Laura's house."
"I'll call her when I get home," Natalie agreed. "I'll ask her to look for the journal. It might be the perfect time. Didn't Drew say he was going out of town?"
"He did," Cole muttered, a gleam coming into his eyes. "While you're talking to Laura, I'll ask my investigator to check on Drew. It might be interesting to find out where he went on his business trip."
* * *
"Dylan is out of town?" Madison asked in dismay. She sat down on a bar stool, feeling decidedly put out. She'd come to Dylan's club right after work, deciding she'd already given him a twenty-four-hour breather and it was time to make her next move. Dylan being out of town was not part of the plan.
"Will I do?" a man asked. He slid onto the stool next to her with a wide grin. "I couldn't help overhearing. I'm not Dylan, but I'm the next best thing."
She knew exactly who he was: Josh Somerville, Dylan's twin brother. As before, it still amazed her that two men could be complete opposites in looks and personalities and still share the same genes. Josh was all sunshine and sparkle, golden blond hair, flashing blue eyes, pearly white teeth, and a smile that said, "Come on in, the water's fine." There was no hint of Dylan's dark, dangerous, "don't mess with me" look. But for some reason she just wasn't turned on by the "golden boy," which was really a pity. She hadn't been with anyone in far too long. Some people would be surprised by that, but she was a lot more discriminating these days.
"Hello, Josh," she said. "Long time no see."
"You're looking good, Madison. What brings you to Club V?"
"I was hoping to catch a magic act."
"Really? I thought you were looking for my brother." He signaled to the bartender to bring him a beer. "Can I buy you a drink?"
"I'd like a martini, thanks."
"That's a sophisticated drink."
"I'm a sophisticated girl. I don't suppose you know where Dylan is."
"I think he's in L.A. I'm not really sure. He travels around a lot these days."
"Doing what? I would think he'd keep busy running this club."
Josh shrugged. "I have no idea. He doesn't tell me much. And that ESP thing that's supposed to exist between twins—not between us."
"That might be a blessing. I can't imagine what the inside of Dylan's brain looks like." She paused as the bartender set down their drinks. "He doesn't like me much, never has. But I'm thinking about changing that."
"He's stubborn once he makes up his mind about someone. It makes him a loyal friend and a bad enemy."
She popped the olive in her mouth, considering that. "What was he to Emily?" she asked, wondering how much Josh knew.
Josh's smile dimmed a bit at that question. "They were good friends."
"Were they more than friends?" Her
question made him glance away, and she had a feeling she had her answer. "Were they, Josh? Do you know what I know?"
"What do you know?" he asked sharply, turning back to her.
"I know that Dylan had a raging crush on her. He was mad about her. They spent a lot of time together, a lot of time alone together."
"Emily wasn't that kind of girl."
Madison shook her head, amazed by his naivete. "What kind of girl is that? A girl who wants love and sex and passion? Because Emily was just like every other girl in that regard. She wasn't a saint. She was a woman."
"She was the girl next door, our friend," Josh said, a raw edge to his voice. "Dylan and Emily had a special relationship from way back."
"Why was it so special?" Madison asked, feeling an unexpected twinge of jealousy.
"Emily was sick a lot as a kid, so she was always stuck in her room. The Parishes wouldn't even let her have friends over for fear they'd bring germs. But that didn't stop Dylan. He used to climb up the tree next to her bedroom and go through the window to see her. He'd perform tricks for her. She was his best audience, believe me. The rest of us got tired of him pretty fast. But not Emily. She always wanted to see another trick. And he was always happy to give her one." Josh shook his head, then took a swig of his beer. "Cole and I preferred sports, but Dylan was into reading and books. He even used to write poems and stories for her, if you can believe that. Anything to entertain Emily. She was the princess in the tower, and he was determined to rescue her from a life of boredom. It became his mission in life to keep her amused. At least until she got healthier and started leaving the house. Then they drifted apart. Dylan went down to Santa Cruz, and I guess they renewed their friendship when Emily went there two years later."
Madison couldn't quite picture the motorcycle-riding, bad-boy Dylan writing poetry, but then nothing about Dylan added up right. There was something else about Josh's words that struck her funny. It took her a moment to realize what that was. "Did you say Dylan used to write stories?"
"Yeah, mostly stuff about magic worlds, knights of the round table, that kind of thing. He uses those stories in his virtual-reality games now. Have you ever tried one of them?"
"As a matter of fact, I have," she said, not bothering to explain just what virtual world Dylan had taken her to. She was more interested in pursuing her current train of thought. "So you would say that Dylan feels comfortable writing a story?"
Josh raised an eyebrow at that. "What are you getting at?"
"It's just a simple question."
"Nothing is simple about you, Madison. I know Dylan always thought you had a hidden agenda. Why don't you just tell me what's on your mind instead of beating around the bush?"
"All right. Do you think Dylan wrote Fallen Angel, the story of Emily and us?"
Josh's jaw dropped open. Either the thought had never occurred to him, or he was an excellent actor. "Are you out of your mind?"
"I don't think I am, Josh. Obviously you've heard about the book."
"I spoke to Cole about it earlier. But you're crazy, Madison. Dylan didn't have anything to do with that book. He loved Emily. He wouldn't have done this to her."
"To her or for her? Think about it, Josh. Who better to avenge the death of the princess in the tower than her white knight?"
* * *
Laura leaned back in the desk chair, staring at the bank statement in her hand. It was dated eight months earlier, and there was an unusually large deposit in the sum of fifteen thousand dollars. Where on earth had Drew come up with fifteen thousand extra dollars? And why had he never mentioned it? More important, what had he done with the money, for there was a matching withdrawal in the same amount just one day later.
She threw the paper down on the desk and stared at the photograph of herself and Drew on their wedding day. They looked so young, so in love, so trusting of each other. Now that trust was in serious question, as was the love. Could you have one without the other? She felt like crying, but she couldn't. Her daughters were upstairs, and she didn't want them to know she was upset about anything. She wouldn't make her pain their pain. She'd never liked it when her mother had complained about her father or their marriage. It had always made her feel uncomfortable and somehow disloyal to her father. She wouldn't put her girls in the same position. But she really needed to talk to someone.
As if on cue, the phone rang. She hesitated for a second, wondering if it was finally Drew calling her back. She wanted to talk to him. She needed to talk to him, but she was suddenly afraid of asking a question for which she didn't particularly want an answer. The phone rang again, and she picked it up, still not sure what she would say if it was Drew.
It was Natalie. Laura let out a sigh of relief.
"I need you to look for something," Natalie said. "Emily's journal. You remember the book she used to write in with the purple cover on it, don't you?"
"Of course I do," Laura said in confusion. "Why would I want to look for it? I don't have it."
"Do you know that for sure? Hear me out for a second. Cole and I just got back from L.A. We found a disguise in Malone's hotel room. He's someone we know, Laura. Someone who is hiding from us."
"You didn't find him, though?"
"No, we missed him again, but while we were in the bookstore, I saw a stack of blank journals, and it reminded me of the one Emily used to write in every night."
As Natalie finished explaining her theory that the journal was the basis for the novel, Laura realized where the conversation was heading. "You think it's Drew, don't you?" She couldn't believe she'd said the words aloud. "How could you think it's Drew? That's impossible. I know my husband." But did she? Did she really?
"Madison told us the other night that Drew went to Emily's room that night. Maybe while he was there, he picked up her journal."
"Why? Why would he do that?"
"We used to joke about Emily using that book to blackmail one of us one day, remember?" Natalie paused. "Maybe Drew had something to hide, something he thought Emily might have written about. I just want you to look around, see if it's stuck away anywhere in your house."
"You're asking me to spy on my husband."
"I know I am," Natalie said. "But he's not home, is he?"
"He's in L.A. on a business trip."
"L.A.?" Natalie echoed sharply. "He's in Los Angeles? That's where Malone is."
"It's a big city. A lot of people go there from San Francisco every day," Laura said desperately. "Drew is not Malone. He did not write this book. He's a lawyer. He's my husband. He's the father of my children. I trust him."
There was a long silence on the other end of the phone. "I understand, Laura. I'm sorry I asked. You're right. It can't be Drew."
Maybe because Natalie backed off, because she acted like a loyal friend, putting Laura's feelings before her own ... whatever the reason, Laura found herself saying, "Wait." She took a deep breath, hoping she wasn't about to do something she'd regret. "I'll look for the journal."
"But you just said—"
"I know what I said. I'll do it anyway." Laura hung up the phone and stared again at the bank statement. She'd already found fifteen thousand unexplained dollars in Drew's possession. She couldn't possibly count out one old purple journal with secrets that might have incriminated him. Because the one thing Natalie had said that was unarguably true was that Drew would do anything to protect himself.
Chapter 12
Natalie was right on time for the start of her eleven o'clock shift on Wednesday morning. After the emotional turmoil of yesterday's search for the truth, she was relieved to be able to escape to work for a while. She much preferred concentrating on other people's problems rather than her own.
As she approached the entrance to the emergency room, she saw a flurry of press activity and wondered if someone important had been brought in. Usually the press gathered at the main entrance or in one of the conference rooms used by the hospital spokesperson. She was almost at the double doors when she he
ard one of the reporters call her name.
"Natalie Bishop?" the man repeated.
She whirled around in surprise. "Yes?"
"Are you the Nancy Butler in the novel Fallen Angel?"
"What?" she asked, stunned by the question.
"Did you go to school with Emily Parish? Is the novel about the two of you?" another reporter asked.
"I—I—"
"What do you intend to do about the allegations that you killed your friend?"
"I—I have to go," she stammered, pushing past the reporters into the building. They followed her into the waiting room, but she dashed behind another pair of doors and ran straight into the attending physician.
"Natalie, I'm glad you're here," Rita Mills said, taking her arm. "Come with me." She led Natalie past several wide-eyed and curious nurses into an empty examining room. "The reporters arrived about an hour ago. The patients are asking questions about you and some seem concerned as to whether or not they're going to get you as their doctor. I don't understand why you're of so much interest to the press. Apparently it has to do with some novel that's out? I hope you can explain."
Natalie didn't know where to begin, but it was clear from the somber expression on Rita's face that she was not happy with the situation. Rita ran the ER like a tight ship. She didn't tolerate mistakes, sloppy work, or doctors who did stupid things in their time off. Until now Natalie had managed to escape her wrath.
"I'm waiting," Rita prodded, crossing her arms in front of her chest.
"There's a story in a book that resembles an event that happened while I was in college," Natalie said. "It's fiction. It's not true."
"But it involves the local newspaper family, the Parishes?"
"Yes. I went to college with their daughter, Emily. She died while we were at school. It was an accident."
"One of the nurses told me that the book suggests you had something to do with her death."
"I didn't hurt Emily Parish. That's where the book veers from the truth."
"What about dispensing medication without a license?"
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