“We’re here,” the driver said to Corinne.
Corinne pushed a few twenties into his hand and watched as he drove away. Panic overcame her as he turned at the intersection and disappeared. Maybe she should have told him to wait. What if this was the wrong house? What if she couldn’t go through with this? What on earth was she going to say?
She faced the house again, took a deep breath, and walked up the concrete steps to the front door. A small wooden sign that read “The Griers” sat on a little plastic outdoor table on the tiny porch.
Before she lost her nerve, Corinne reached out and rapped on the metal screen door.
From inside the house floated the sounds of an afternoon talk show and a running kitchen faucet. There were footsteps from the bottom level. Suddenly a barefoot little girl appeared at the door and whipped it open, revealing a small landing and two sets of stairs, one going up to the kitchen and living room, the other descending to a basement. “Who are you?” the girl asked.
Corinne’s own big blue eyes stared back at her. There was her own small mouth, and Will’s round ears and freckles. His button nose and square jaw. The girl had Corinne’s little hands and long feet, even the slightly longer second toe. Her blond hair hung down her back in a snarl of curls, the same way Aster’s did when they went on vacation.
A mixture of sadness and guilt rippled through Corinne. There had been many times she had wondered what her daughter would look like—and here she was, a perfect blend of herself and Will. I gave you up. I gave you up. I gave you up, a voice chorused in her head.
Corinne tried to smile. “Is . . . is your mom home?”
The girl pivoted halfway. “Mommy!” she yelled up the stairs.
The sound of the kitchen faucet ceased, and a woman appeared at the top of the split-level stairs. She squinted at Corinne, then slowly walked toward the screen. She wore navy sweats and had a small, heart-shaped face that looked nothing like her daughter’s. She put an arm around the little girl and opened the door. “Can I help you?”
“I’m Corinne Saybrook,” Corinne said, offering her hand.
The woman just stared at her. “Sadie Grier.”
“And this is?” Corinne glanced at the little girl.
Sadie looked at Corinne warily. Then she placed her hands on the girl’s shoulders. “Michaela, why don’t you go downstairs and draw? Mommy will be down soon, okay?”
“Okay.” Michaela shrugged and slid down the stairs to the bottom level on her butt. Corinne’s stomach sank. Her own child had looked through her. She had no connection to this girl; another woman was her mother. Her baby didn’t love her, didn’t know her, didn’t feel anything for her. She was just a stranger at the door.
Sadie turned back to Corinne. “I know who you are. And I don’t mean to be rude, but haven’t we been through this?” She glanced toward the stairs. “I know you regret what you did, but you all can’t keep coming here, interrupting our lives. She’s too little to understand. We’re her parents now. You and your boyfriend made that choice.”
Corinne stepped back. “What are you talking about?”
Sadie narrowed her eyes. “I’m so grateful for what you did, but you have to leave us alone.”
Corinne shook her head, not understanding.
“Your boyfriend was here just last month. On Michaela’s birthday. He asked so many questions. And he was so pushy. We had to explain to Michaela that we weren’t her real parents. How do you think that made her feel?”
“Wait a minute.” Corinne clutched the railing to the porch stairs. “My boyfriend?”
“Tall guy. Curly hair. Freckles like Michaela’s. Obviously her dad.”
Suddenly she felt sick. “But that’s impossible. I never told Will about her.”
Sadie frowned. “Well, I guess someone did.”
“Did he tell you who?”
Sadie threw up her hands. “That’s for you all to work out.” She nodded toward the front door. “But stop, okay? It’s scaring us.”
“Scaring you?”
“Mommy?”
Sadie’s head turned toward the half-stairs that led to the basement. “I’ll be there in a second, honey.”
Corinne tried to get another look at the beautiful child in the basement. “I’ve come all this way,” she said in a choked voice. “Can’t I at least talk to her?”
Sadie shook her head, her expression firm. “We’re her parents now. I’m sorry.”
And then she shut the door. Corinne stood on the porch and stared blankly. A trash truck had passed outside, its hulking shape rounding the next corner. An overturned garbage can rolled down the street. Corinne pressed her hand to her chest, feeling as if she was going to throw up. Will had known.
But how? No one knew she’d hidden out down here or had a baby. Not her parents, not Edith, not a single friend. Only Poppy. A conversation shortly before Poppy died fluttered into her thoughts. That day at her bridal fitting. Poppy had pulled her aside: “Tomorrow is May first. How are you . . . feeling?” And Corinne had said she felt so selfish for never telling. Poppy had become so repentant. And then she’d said, “There’s still time.”
What if Poppy knew Will was in Manhattan? She could have stumbled upon him at Coxswain. She and Evan could have gone there together, in fact. Corinne pressed her hand to her chest again, feeling her heart thudding hard against her ribs. What if Poppy had kicked Pandora’s box open . . . and told Will everything? She might have thought she was doing a good deed. Sadie said Will had visited one month ago, on Michaela’s birthday.
May 1. Corinne had blocked out thoughts of her daughter on that date. Then, that week, she and Dixon had gone to Coxswain. She’d seen Will for the first time.
That next morning, Poppy was dead.
Stop scaring us. Corinne thought of Will’s large frame. His sharp tongue from the other night. The broken plate. Any man would be furious about such a huge secret being kept from him for so long. Any man might get a little scary, a little out of his head. What if Will scared people other than Sadie? What if he’d scared the messenger?
Corinne shakily pulled out her phone to call the cab back and get her away from this place. She clutched the phone with both hands. Horrific images of what might have happened panned quickly through her mind, and she felt tears come to her eyes. “What if someone catches you?” Poppy had said. “I’ll be blamed too, Corinne.”
Perhaps Poppy had been.
The guilt she suddenly felt was overpowering. If Corinne hadn’t asked Poppy to cover for her, if she hadn’t made the mistake in the first place, her cousin wouldn’t be dead now. Corinne studied the phone, then opened up a new text and began to type to Will, her heart in her throat.
I’m going through with the wedding. Good-bye.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollinsPublishers
....................................
23
The next night Aster’s parents’ live-in housekeeper, Livia, let her into the town house for dinner. “She’ll be out in a moment, dear,” Livia murmured before returning to the kitchen.
Aster’s stomach felt jittery as she paced around the front parlor. Paintings of generations of Saybrooks stared down at her. In the corner was Edith; the artist had perfectly captured her disgruntled smirk; and next to her, Alfred, large hands folded at his breastbone. Aster felt a pang of sadness at the thought of her grandpa; she missed him. And in the center of the wall was a family painting they’d all sat for, her dad’s siblings and their spouses lined up along the back, all the cousins sitting on the lawn at Meriweather. Aster stared at each face one by one, her gaze finally landing on her father. Mason stood at the back, his hand on Edith’s shoulder, a smug smile on his face.
She could hear Elizabeth’s voice. I think it’s an inside job. As in, inside the family. And then . . . Go ask your
father.
Why would she say that? What did Mason have against Poppy?
“Aster?”
Aster jumped and looked up. Danielle Gilchrist stood in the doorway, dressed in a cherry-red sheath dress and carrying a large yellow clutch. Her red hair spilled down her back, and she had a pair of Aviator sunglasses propped on her forehead.
“What are you doing here?” Aster snapped.
Danielle smiled sheepishly. “Your mom invited me.”
“Yes, I did!” Penelope crowed, appearing from down the hall. “Welcome, Danielle!” She leaned in and kissed Danielle’s cheeks, then looked at Aster. “I ran into her at Pilates. We have the same instructor.” She glided across the room and adjusted a few flowers in the oversize vase in the middle of the table. “Anyway, I told Danielle she had to come to dinner so we could catch up.”
A sour feeling filled Aster’s mouth. Catch up? Her mother had been so wary of Danielle when the girls were younger. “She’s a bad influence on Aster,” she remembered overhearing Penelope say to Mason once. But now that Danielle worked for Saybrook’s, now that she owned a pair of Louboutins and a Chanel handbag—and how had she paid for those things, Aster wondered? Certainly not on her HR salary—now she was acceptable?
Aster clenched her fists. It shocked her that Penelope had never figured out what happened all those years ago. She’d been so blind; Danielle was right there.
For a moment Aster thought of leaving, anger warring in her chest with the desire to figure out the truth about her father and Poppy. Sighing, she slumped into the dining room and fell into a chair. Let’s get this over with, she thought. Then she noticed that there were only four place settings at the table. Edith was already sitting at one of them, and the spot Poppy used to occupy was deliberately empty. Aster looked away.
“Dad isn’t here tonight?” she asked.
Penelope shook her head. “He has a meeting.”
Aster nodded. Maybe that was for the best. The last thing she wanted was to see Mason and Danielle in the room together. “What about Corinne?” she asked, suddenly yearning for her big sister. She’d tried calling Corinne earlier today to tell her about what happened at Elizabeth’s, but she’d gotten no answer.
“I haven’t heard from Corinne all day.” Penelope sat down and poured herself a glass of wine. “I imagine she’s busy with final wedding prep.”
“One more week,” Edith chimed in.
“You must be so excited!” Danielle exclaimed.
Aster twisted a cloth napkin in her hands, trying not to roll her eyes. Like you care about my family at all, she thought bitterly. Her phone chimed, and she glanced at it, grateful for the distraction. Guess I won’t see you at Boom Boom tonight? Clarissa had texted. Nigel is here, btw. Just so you know.
Aster almost laughed. She couldn’t care less who Nigel dated; she’d honestly forgotten he existed. She hadn’t thought of him once since he left her apartment the morning Poppy died. It’s funny, she mused, sliding her phone back into her bag without replying. That whole scene felt worlds away.
Esme glided in with plates of roast lamb and root vegetables. Edith inspected it, as usual, and pushed the plate away. “So, Danielle, what have you been up to lately?” Penelope asked, pointedly ignoring Aster.
Danielle smiled sweetly. “Work has been really busy,” she said as she began to cut her lamb. “We’re hiring a lot of extra staff to cover the spring lines.”
“And you have a boyfriend, yes?” Penelope asked. “What’s his name?”
“Brett Verdoorn,” Danielle said proudly. “He owns a PR company called Lucid.”
“How wonderful. He owns the company himself?”
“That’s right,” Danielle simpered.
“Brett who?” Edith brayed, turning her good ear toward Danielle, and Danielle repeated his last name. Edith shrugged. “Never heard of him.”
Ten points to Grandma Edith, Aster thought, hiding a smile.
“And what about your family?” Penelope asked. “How’s your mom?”
“Um, pretty good.” Danielle tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “She moved back in with my father, actually. They’re trying to work things out.”
Aster paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. “Really?” she asked skeptically, remembering Julia and Greg’s epic fights.
Danielle smiled. “I know—I was surprised to hear it too. I guess time heals all wounds.”
“I’m happy for them. I hope they can work things out,” Penelope murmured.
Aster stared down at her plate, annoyed at herself for rising to Danielle’s bait. Time didn’t heal all wounds. Not in their case, anyway. What Danielle had done was unforgiveable.
Elizabeth’s words fluttered into her mind again. Go ask your father. Aster thought about Poppy and Mason, fighting at Skylar’s birthday party so soon before Poppy’s death. Was it about Poppy stealing jewels? Or something else?
Suddenly Aster couldn’t wait a moment longer. She dropped her napkin on the table and shot up. “Excuse me,” she said to the table, as if she was going to use the restroom.
She darted into the hall, past the powder room, and stood at the door of her father’s study. Glancing quickly right and left, she nudged Mason’s office door open wider with her toe. The light was off, but the computer screen glowed.
She crept past Dumbo the elephant and sat down at his desk. There was an icon for the Saybrook’s company e-mail system on the screen; Aster clicked on it. Mason had set the computer to log him in automatically. His work e-mails instantly loaded in Outlook.
“Poppy,” she typed into the search box. Hundreds of e-mails from Poppy appeared. Aster scanned through them quickly, but none of them seemed amiss. They were all about meetings, marketing strategies, new clients—actual work stuff. Nothing about stolen jewels. Nothing about secrets.
Aster chewed on her lip. Then she noticed another icon on the desktop, for a Gmail account. She clicked on it, but the computer requested a password. Aster closed her eyes, trying to imagine what Mason’s password might be, but she had no idea. She simply didn’t know her father that well anymore.
She dug into her purse and found her phone, only to realize she didn’t have Mitch’s cell phone. She tried him at the office and crossed her fingers as it rang twice, three, four times. . . . Just when it was about to hit voice mail, he answered.
“What are you doing still at work?” Aster asked, momentarily distracted.
“Aster?” Mitch stammered. “Um . . . well, I might be using the work servers to host a giant World of Warcraft online tournament.” Aster could almost see his ears redden through the phone. She smiled.
“I was wondering if you could help me with something,” she whispered.
“Where are you?” Mitch joke-whispered back. “At church?”
“I can’t explain right now,” Aster said hurriedly. “But I need to know if you can help me hack into someone’s personal e-mail.”
There was a pause. “You really want to read Elizabeth’s mail?”
“Not Elizabeth’s. My father’s.”
Mitch made a noise at the back of his throat. “Aster, I don’t—”
“You won’t get in trouble. I just need to find out something really quickly, and I’m afraid to ask him. He’s a little intimidating.”
“Uh, yeah.” Mitch laughed self-consciously. “Which is exactly why I don’t want to get on his bad side.”
“Please. I’ll make it up to you.” Aster glanced up, hearing a noise from the kitchen. It was only the cook washing dishes. “Anything you want.”
“Anything?” Mitch repeated. “How about a date?”
“Done,” Aster said, surprised at how quickly she’d agreed. Then she got an idea. “Actually, I can do you one better. Will you be my date to my sister’s wedding?”
“Really?” Mitc
h sounded surprised. “I mean, I was just hoping for the dive bar on the corner or something.”
“Come on,” Aster said. “There will be dancing, and the best cake you’ve ever tasted, and you’ll get to make fun of me in my embarrassing maid of honor dress . . .”
“You had me at cake,” Mitch teased, then grew serious. “But please, Aster. Whatever is happening with your father, just promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”
“I promise,” Aster said.
“Are you near his computer?” Mitch asked.
“I’m sitting at it.”
“Okay. I’m going to e-mail you a URL. Type it into Mason’s web browser exactly, then download the application on the screen.”
Aster called up her Saybrook’s e-mail. Sure enough, Mitch had sent her a URL. He’d also e-mailed her something called a key logger application, which she needed to install on Mason’s machine; it would give Aster access to anything Mason had ever typed—including his passwords. She downloaded both of them and installed them on Mason’s computer. A string of type came up, including Mason’s Gmail password: Dumbo. Aster felt a stab of guilt.
She typed the password into Gmail, and sure enough, Mason’s personal mail began to load. Aster lurched forward, peering at the screen. “It worked,” she whispered.
“I told you it would.” Mitch cleared his throat. “Now uninstall those programs immediately. I don’t want your dad noticing them on his machine.”
Mitch walked Aster through how to remove the program and then said he had to go. “I won’t forget this,” Aster said meaningfully.
“You’d better not,” Mitch quipped. “I expect lots of dancing at the wedding.”
“Fine.” Aster groaned, but she was smiling. “See you tomorrow. Have fun with your online tournament thingie.”
She hung up and looked at her dad’s computer screen. There were so many e-mails—updates from the country clubs and university affiliations he belonged to, as well as travel updates, receipts of purchase, and personal e-mails from friends. Nothing about stolen jewels.
The Heiresses Page 21
