Nine

Sara and Kate returned to find the guards had been sent away and the house was a zone of controlled chaos. The big dining table seemed to be the command center, with people seated with laptops. The curtains were closed against the sunlight. The kitchen counter had half a dozen plastic-wrapped casseroles and three coffeepots going. There were a dozen people wandering around, most of them talking on their cell phones.

"Do you know these people?" Kate asked.

"Only one of them." Sara was grimacing.

"Here you are!" A tall, slim, pretty woman stopped in front of them, her eyes on Kate. Sara might as well have been invisible.

"This is Jack's mother, Heather." Sara slipped through the people to flee into her bedroom.

Heather stood beside Kate. "I bet she hates this many people in her home. Sorry, but I couldn't help it. I put in a call to one person and..." She shrugged. "They all showed up. They're searching out people who knew the Morris ladies."

"Plus, there's the pull of getting to see Sara's house."

"Very true," Heather said.

Kate looked at her. "We heard some really nasty gossip from the sheriff."

"I know," Heather said. "Jack's been told. He—"

"Where is he?"

"Hiding somewhere. Drawing into himself. Escaping. I don't know what to—"

"Excuse me," Kate said. "Too much tea." She made her way past the people into her suite, closing the doors behind her. She hurried into her bedroom and out through the doors to the little courtyard with the dancing-girl fountain. As she thought, Jack was there, sitting in silence. She took a chair beside him. "So who told you?"

"The deputy at the desk, Pete, is a friend of mine. He likes to eavesdrop. What took you so long to get back?"

"Aunt Sara and I stopped at a restaurant. She asked me if I wanted to run back home to Mommy."

"Sounds like a sensible idea. When do you leave?"

"As soon as she tells me everything I want to know about my father."

"Looks like you're staying here for this century."

"Guess so. How are we going to do this?"

"Do what?"

She glared at him.

He smiled. "I guess people will send us stories."

"‘I liked Cheryl Morris so much that I killed her.' That kind of story?"

Jack gave a one-sided smile and scratched at his leg. "You have any better ideas?"

"I might. Can you really build things? Like with saws and hammers?"

He looked at her in amusement. "When Sara bought this house, it hadn't been touched in twenty-one years. This courtyard? The pavers had crumbled. There was a hole in the roof of your bedroom. Termites had eaten half of your living room. Sara's bedroom was—"

"Okay. I get it. Strong Man Jack. Anyway, when we left the restaurant, I saw an ATM machine set back in a wall. Those things are opened from the inside so money can be put in them. And they have cameras that take photos of everyone who makes a transaction."

"What does that have to do with a murder?"

"I thought of secrecy. What if people were to put their stories in a kind of ATM and were told that the papers will go directly into the coffins? Maybe people would reveal more if they believed their stories were to be kept secret."

Jack stared at her. "But a camera would record who put what in the box. And, of course, the stories would be opened and read."

"Of course. I don't expect anyone to admit to murder, but Cheryl and her mother were unusual people. Surely someone didn't like them."

"A few wives, maybe?"

"And all the boys Cheryl said no to," Kate said. "Could you build something like that? Somewhere for the papers to go?"

"Easily, but I'd have to go to the shop to do it."

"And miss all the fun here? Poor you." There was the sound of laughter coming from the dining room. When Kate turned, she saw that the sliding glass doors had extraordinarily heavy accordion shades drawn across them. "What are those?"

"Hurricane shutters," Jack said with a grin.

Kate laughed. "Closed against a hurricane coming from the inside."

"You have your cell?"

She handed it to him and he put his number into it.

"Hate to leave this place, but I think I'll go to the quiet of power tools." He heaved himself up with his crutches.

"Why don't you take Aunt Sara with you?"

He started walking away from the doors. "I thought I would. I just need to find her. She's good at hiding. Anything else you want to know about me?"

She thought of asking about what actually happened the night Evan was killed, but she didn't. "How much of your father's personality did you inherit?"

"Much more than I'd like to have. Call me when the house is clear."

She watched him disappear behind plants, then went into her suite.

At the door, she took a few moments to gather her courage. With her shoulders back, she left her cozy apartment and went into the house. She called the people together and told them a whitewashed version of the plan. This was to be a memorial service, not some kind of undercover investigation. "The sheriff's department is looking into the deaths of these women, and they're handling it well. We just need to gather the people who share memories of them." She knew her words would be reported to Sheriff Flynn and it was better to keep him off their backs.

She explained about the stories they would encourage guests to write and how they were to be put in the box by the door. The messages would then be deposited, unopened, into the coffins with Cheryl and Verna. After that, refreshments would be served. It would be a simple, thoughtful memorial, and that was the message they should be sharing with the people they were contacting. Did they have any questions?

Hands shot up. Would there be wine? What about beer? Domestic or imported? What kind of food? Gluten-free? What about people with nut allergies? How about caviar? Maybe a bartender should be hired. Somebody's son-in-law was a bartender in a Miami nightclub. Could he have the job?

When Heather saw that Kate was about to drown in questions, she took over—and made the decisions. Wine, yes, no to beer and hard liquor. No caviar, but lots of hors d'oeuvres.

After lunch—ordered from the local pizzeria—a young woman showed up and Kate knew she was Jack's sister, Ivy. She wasn't dark like he was, but was fair like their mother, with streaky brown hair and big blue eyes.

They were two young people in a sea of oldies. "Love your dress," Ivy said.

"It's a Kate Spade knockoff. I find clothes I like online and my mother makes them for me."

"Wow! Really? That's a dream come true. By the look of it, she's an incredible seamstress. Where does she get the fabric?"

"She flies to New York four times a year and returns with piles of glorious fabrics and trims."

They smiled at each other, then ran to Kate's room to look at her clothes and shoes and bags.

An hour later, Heather pulled them back into the chaos and put them to work organizing who'd said yes and who'd said no.

Kate slipped away to text Jack. Okay to tell your mom and sister the truth?

The answer came back instantly. Yes.

"Don't wear your fingers out," she mumbled and went back to work.

The people didn't leave until 8:00 p.m., and Kate texted Jack that they were gone. Minutes later, he and Sara were back there—and the house was blissfully quiet.

Sara and Kate were bursting to tell each other all that had happened, while Jack sat at the kitchen counter and listened. They unloaded the casseroles from the fridge and reheated them.

When it came to eating, they were like the Three Bears. Jack ate lots of anything; Sara ate no carbs or sugar; Kate ate as low-calorie as she could manage.

Through it all, Sara and Kate talked while Jack smiled.

"Ivy was great," Kate said. "She's going to sit in the little room during the memorial and get the messages. She'll open them, read them, then text us if we should know something. We set up a group text so we all get every message." She glared at Jack. "Will you please stop grinning?"

"Just glad to see that you two hit it off. Did anybody bring any dessert?"

"A chocolate cake," Kate said, then she and Sara looked at each other and groaned.

With a great show of effort, Jack hobbled into the kitchen and cut himself what had to be a quarter of the cake: seven-layer chocolate with chocolate frosting.

He took it back to the family room and the women watched with longing as he ate it. "So what's for tomorrow?" He was licking the fork. "Who made this? It's really good."

"Janet," Kate said. "I think. Can you get the box done by Tuesday?"

"I used some moldings I had in the shop, so it can be installed tomorrow. This cake really is good. Wonder if I can get the recipe."

Kate couldn't take any more of watching the forbidden chocolate being devoured.

She stood up. "I'm going to bed."

"Don't forget what tomorrow is," Jack said.

"The day you go into a sugar coma and don't wake up for thirteen and a half years?" Kate smiled sweetly.

"It's your date with the Viking god."

"Oh, yeah. I would never forget that."

"Been thinking about it all day, have you?"

"Every minute." She had her hand on her bedroom door.

"Sure you don't want some cake? It's awfully good."

"I'd rather go to bed and dream about tall blond men." As she closed the door, she heard Sara laugh.

On Saturday, people seemed to think that the planning was to be continued at Sara's house. But she'd had enough. Every time the doorbell rang, she answered it. She told the person standing there, laptop in hand, that the house had been quarantined with cholera. Or typhoid. Or smallpox. When she got to leprosy, Kate told Jack to stop laughing and do something. He called the security guards back in and they finally had peace. Only Ivy and Heather joined them.

With the help of his sister, Jack prepared to cut a hole in the wall of the little study off Sara's bedroom.

Kate hadn't seen the room and she marveled at it. With the two-story ceiling, it was like a tower and it had bookcases all around and all the way up. A ladder rolled about on a brass railing.

"It's Beauty's library," Kate whispered. "I love it." There was a deep window seat with a dozen big, soft pillows.

"Thank you," Jack said.

"And I thank you, too," Ivy added. "He built it—I decorated it."

Kate turned to Jack. "You are not to make a hole in those bookcases! You do that and the floor will open up and the devil will grab you by the ankle."

When he laughed, Ivy looked from one to the other, wide-eyed. "It'll be all right. You'll see. Our dad taught him well."

Kate wasn't convinced, but when Jack finished, she was in awe. In the hallway it looked like an old shrine had been inserted into the wall. Jack hadn't mentioned that the moldings he was using were antique. There was no evidence that there was a camera hidden at the top.

Inside the little library, there seemed to be no change. When Jack pushed a book, a door—camouflaged by more books—swung open to reveal the back of the newly installed niche.

"Do I hear an apology?" His hand was behind his ear.

"Not from me." Kate walked away. "I expected perfection."

Behind her, he smiled at her compliment.

In the afternoon, the women worked on organizing what was needed to feed the people. Caterers, bartenders, more security. There was already too much interest in the event. Jack had brought in half a dozen boxes of Sara's books from the garage and she would autograph them.

At six, Kate escaped to her bedroom to begin to get ready for an evening out with Alastair. She was looking forward to thinking about something besides a murder scene.

She took time with her hair and makeup, then looked at her clothes, trying to decide what to wear. Not too formal, not evening wear. Casual but nice. She settled on a pair of black wide-legged pants and a white silk blouse with a band of sparkling beads at the shoulder. She pulled back one side of her hair, clipped it with a silver barrette, grabbed her clutch and left her rooms.

Jack and his sister were on the couch, Sara and Heather in the kitchen. They all stopped to stare.

"Do I look okay?"

"Gorgeous," Sara said.

"I agree," Heather said.

"Can I hire your mother to sew for me?" Ivy asked.

Jack said, "Glad to see you took a shower."

Sara and Heather insisted on driving her to the restaurant Alastair had chosen.

"That way you can drink. Later, you can call us to come get you."

Kate protested. She wasn't a teenager with a curfew, and if she drank too much, she could call a cab.

Sara looked at her in horror. "Somewhere, there's a murderer who I'm sure knows that we're investigating the case. No, you're not driving around after dark alone."

"Alastair will probably take me home."

"No!" Heather said, sounding almost near to panic. "I mean, he might drink, too." No one needed to mention the recent crash that had taken a life.

Jack was sitting on the couch and she called goodbye to him. "Have fun with your old man," he said.

Laughing, she got into the car with Sara.

Alastair was waiting for her at the restaurant, and he held out her chair. "Did I see that you were dropped off?"

"Yes. They worry about drinking and driving."

"Considering what the Wyatt family has been through, I can understand that." He poured her a glass of wine. "I hope it's all right that I ordered a bottle of white to start with."

She took a sip. "Lovely." She picked up her menu. "What's good here?" When he didn't answer, she looked at him. He was staring at her. "Is something wrong?"

"You're just beautiful, that's all. I keep thinking of the luck of meeting you. And then finding out that you're a mover and a shaker. You're turning little ol' Lachlan on its ear."

She put down her menu. "I haven't meant to. We just stumbled on—"

"I know," he said. "It's all anyone can talk about. Those poor women. What makes me angry is that back when it happened no one in this town gave a damn that they went missing." His voice rose, attracting a glance from the people at the next table.

"It's all right," Kate said. "We're looking into it."

He lowered his voice. "That's what I heard and I'm glad for it." He looked at his menu. "Maybe we shouldn't mention it again tonight. You must be sick of it all. What do you want to order?"

"Scallops. My favorite. What about you?"

"Calamari." He put down his menu. "I want to know more about you. Where did you go to school? For that matter, where—" He broke off as the waiter took their orders, then left.

"Now, where was I?" He was smiling, all blond good health. His blue eyes sparkled in the candlelight. "Oh, yes. You."

"Actually," she said, "I'd like to ask you some questions. Your picture was in the yearbook with Cheryl Morris. I know you were older, but what do you remember of her?"

"I've been thinking about that ever since they were found, but I only have a vague recollection of her. I know she was a pretty girl, and I remember that a couple of the guys on the team made remarks about her. It was just locker-room bragging."

"But not you?" Kate asked.

He gave a sheepish look. "I'm embarrassed to say that as a big-shot senior I was so full of myself that I would never have deigned to look at a thirteen-year-old. She—"

"Sixteen. Cheryl turned sixteen just before she was..."

"Murdered?"

They were silent as the waiter put hot plates of food in front of them.

"Do you think it was murder for both of them?" he asked. "Not murder/suicide?"

"Couldn't have been," Kate said. "The cold-blooded bastard planted a tree over their dead bodies." She swallowed. "Sorry. I've been living with this for a while now. You were telling me about yourself in high school."

"Don't apologize. I can't imagine what you've been going through. Anyway, that year I had a full-time girlfriend, Delia Monroe. Head cheerleader, prom queen, that sort of thing. Between school, sports and Delia, I can assure you that I had no time for anyone else. Besides, Delia was a bit jealous." He raised his eyebrows.

"Fiery temper, huh?"

"The worst. She was my first girlfriend and I had no sisters, so I thought that's how all girls were. She and I vowed to be together forever."

"What happened?"

"College. Life experience. When I got away from Lachlan, I met girls who were interested in something besides how they looked." He leaned forward a bit. "And I met young women who didn't demand to know where I was and who I'd spoken to every minute of the day." He leaned back. "Sorry. It still gets me. All that high-school possessiveness."

"Is she the reason you're not married?"

"Actually, I was married. But it only lasted three years. I came home early one day and she and a coworker were... Well, let's just say that I never used that shower again. Anyway, it's an old, boring story. The divorce was quite civilized. I'm just glad there were no children. Why are we talking about me? I want to know everything about you."

Kate started to ask more questions but stopped herself. Since the moment a skeleton had seemed to reach out and grab her hair, all she'd thought about was misery. The murder of two women, Evan's passing, accusations about Jack, his angry father, et cetera.

She picked up her wineglass, drained it, then held it up for more. "I would really like to talk about something other than death."

Alastair filled her glass, then raised his for a toast. "What about not even mentioning the Wyatts?"

"Cal, Roy, Evan, even Jack," she murmured. "I'd very much like to have a Wyatt-free evening."

Alastair held his glass back without touching. "What would you most like to talk about?"

"Houses!" she said. "I have a career, one that I'd like to succeed in. Someday I want to see Medlar Realty on a door."

"Then here's to that," he said. "Medlar Realty." They clicked glasses and drank deeply.

"Actually..." Alastair said as he leaned toward her.

"Uh-oh. You look serious."

He didn't smile. "I am serious. I didn't answer your texts this week because I was in Atlanta."

"Makes sense. I've heard that up north they don't have the internet. Very backward people are those Yankees."

He laughed. "My father used to say ‘If they can grow apple trees, then they're Northerners.'"

"I like that." Her scallops were delicious. "So you couldn't answer my texts because Atlanta isn't a technically advanced city. Right?"

"No. It was me. I was putting in sixteen-hour days and collapsing at night. Too tired to answer any form of communication. My mother is so angry at me that I have to take her to lunch on Sunday. Somewhere very expensive."

"So why all the work?"

"I completed what I needed to move my business here. Well, not here in Lachlan, but into a high-rise downtown on Broward."

"Ooooh. Big city. Why not Miami?"

Alastair held his fingers up in a cross. "Don't hex me with that name. Fort Lauderdale and Miami don't mix."

"I didn't know. I've been learning that Fort Lauderdale and Lachlan are separate."

"True. We just share utilities, taxes, public transportation and schools with them."

Kate finished her second glass of wine, while Alastair had barely touched his. "And we can't forget the Broward County Sheriff's Department that rules us both."

"With its state-of-the-art forensics department."

"Really?" she asked.

"Yes. Fort Lauderdale Police Department uses it."

"Wish they'd use Sheriff Flynn," she said under her breath.

"I wondered how you were getting along with him. Too bad you aren't a Kirkwood." He grinned. "Or a Stewart. Hey! Let's elope tonight and tomorrow you'll be a Stewart. That's one up from a Kirkwood. Ol' Sheriff Flynn will be kissing your rings."

Kate had already drunk enough wine that it seemed like a hilarious proposition and she laughed hard. "You're my third marriage proposal."

He picked up a table knife. "If one of them was from Jack Wyatt, I'll stab myself in the heart now."

"Jack? Not a chance. He's more like my brother than a...than a..."

Alastair held the wine bottle over her glass. "Say he's not like me and I'll buy a hundred-dollar bottle of their finest."

"He's not at all like you," she said.

Alastair signaled the waiter and ordered a second bottle. "Now, seriously, Kate, my lovely, I need a house here in Lachlan. Can you find me one?"

"Oh, yes. Definitely. What are you looking for? Acreage? Old house? New? Something to remodel? Water view? In town so you can walk to the shops?"

He was grinning at her. "I like this Kate. Do you wear suits and high heels? Carry a briefcase?"

The way he said the words was so sexy that she felt herself sliding down in the chair. "I'm prim on the outside but I love lacy underwear."

He raised an eyebrow. "From that catalog?"

"The one teenage boys like so much?"

"And mature adults. How about something chocolate for dessert?"

"Too many calories."

"But also a reward for all the work you've been doing. Besides, we need time to talk about the house you're going to find for me. I've only lived in Granddad's house and in glass-walled apartments. I need something in between." He ordered the dessert. "I think it's time I settled down. What about you? Any plans for the future in the way of a family?"

"Two kids," she said. "Maybe another one later when the others become obnoxious teenagers. I like babies."

"Sounds like we agree on that. What kind of house do you like?"

"Regional," she said. "I like houses that look like where they've been planted."

"Like apple trees in Maine," he said.

"And corn in Iowa."

"And palm trees here."

"Spanish," she said. "I love Sara's house, the one you grew up in."

"Me, too, but half that size. We definitely don't need a room for Jack Wyatt to freeload in."

"We?"She was on her second glass from the expensive wine. It was by far the best she'd ever tasted. The waiter brought a large piece of chocolate cake and two spoons for it. Spoons were needed because hot chocolate fudge was oozing out of the center. "I am now going to sin." She picked up a spoon and tasted. Heaven! "You are an evil man, Alastair Stewart."

"Truthfully, Kate, you could stand to add a few pounds."

She groaned. "Those are ‘get her into bed' words."

"Really? Do they work?"

"Always." As Kate put a bite of the deep, dark chocolate in her mouth, she closed her eyes. "Those words have never failed."

When she opened her eyes, he was smiling at her. "I would love to take advantage of your inebriated state, but I am officially declaring that I'm in this for the long term. How about if I pick you up tomorrow and we spend a Sunday afternoon looking at houses for sale in little Lachlan?"

"Great idea." Kate's mouth was full. "No. Wait. I can't. Jack and Sara and I are going on an adventure."

"What does that mean? Should I be jealous?"

"No. It's not a real adventure. The place just sounds like one. It's somewhere in Fort Lauderdale but far from Lachlan. I really need to study a map."

"Aventura?"

"That's it!"

"Mind if I ask why you're going?"

Lots of good food and way too much wine were making her mind blurry. "Someone—I think it was Janet from church—found a neighbor of the Morris women. She's in a nursing home, so we're going to visit her and ask her lots of questions. Aunt Sara says it's all becoming like one of her stories. Have you ever read any of her books?"

"Never. Your aunt is going with you? You won't be alone with that Wyatt kid?"

Kate smiled warmly at what could possibly be jealousy. Coming from such a lovely man, it was flattering.

Alastair put his hand over hers. "Just so you know, I don't want to give him more chances to steal my girl." He removed his hand. "Now, I think I should get you home."

Kate's eyes were drooping. "Maybe so."