Chapter Six

Barbara's agent sent her a hand-delivered letter. One of the perks of her success was that she didn't have to answer calls or texts or emails. "If they want me, they know where I live," she would say. "And if they don't know where I live, then..." She always dramatically left the end of that sentence unfinished.

"Sell it, baby," her husband, Harry, used to say. "Remind them of who they believe you are." He'd died years before, but she still missed him.

She took the envelope into the kitchen. As always, her son was eating. At his age, calories just added muscle. Barbara knew that if she so much as nibbled a tortilla chip the weight would show up in her next film.

"What is it?" he asked, his mouth full.

"Another invitation, I guess," she said. She knew people didn't care if she showed up or not, just that the internet said she was there. She slit the heavy vellum open. Her agent believed in elegance. "I'm invited to go to—" When she saw the name "Lachlan," she felt dizzy. Only years of training made her able to stay upright. What had they found out? If that odious man, Derek Oliver, could discover the truth, others could too. It was so long ago that maybe now it wouldn't matter. But she knew that wasn't true. Old scandals were the love of the tabloids—and of that awful thing called "social media."

She put the invitation back into the envelope, acting as though it meant nothing to her, then put it in the roll out trash bin. Her hands were shaking.

"Someone else trying to use you as a stepping stone?" her son asked.

"How clever you are!" she said enthusiastically. "You always see through to the truth. I, uh... I have to make some calls. Are you going out today?"

"I thought I'd go see Phil and the guys. You'll be okay alone?"

"Perfectly. Take the Porsche."

"Thanks." He smiled at her fondly.

The minute she left the room, he got the envelope out of the trash. He hadn't been fooled by her act. Since he was a child, he'd been able to tell the actress from his "real" mother. He and his dad used to laugh about it. Sometimes they'd chant, "Real! Real! Real!" and she would drop the facade the cameras so adored. He and his dad loved the woman whose hair tended to fly about, who had circles under her eyes, and liked to tear off her nails. Her favorite outfit was a gray sweat suit with paint stains.

When he read the invitation, his heart seemed to stop. Lachlan? He knew what that meant.

He memorized the date, then carefully put the envelope back in the trash, exactly in the way he'd found it. His mother had an excellent memory for detail. She often corrected the set dresser when things were out of place from where they'd been the day before. She might see that her invitation wasn't exactly where she'd tossed it. Or, more likely, she'd return to put it in the garbage disposal.

Minutes later, she did just that, but by then her son was bent over his phone and seemingly oblivious to all that was around him. He ignored the sound of the disposal.

That night when she said that she had to go see a site location and that she'd be gone for a few days, he didn't so much as look up from his video controller. "Sure. See you when you get back."

As soon as she left the room, he booked a plane ticket. One way, just in case. Like his father had been, he was a great believer in things happening for a reason.

The housekeeper handed Rachel a FedEx envelope, saying she'd had to sign for it to acknowledge receipt.

Rachel murmured thanks and the woman left, closing the door behind her. Rachel was in her office, her sanctuary in the big house. She'd inherited the eighteenth-century desk from her dear grandmother. "A life well lived," she used to say. "It's all you can hope for."

Rachel pulled the tab to open the envelope, and when she saw the name on the letter, she sat down hard. Lachlan House. That conjured up memories that she'd long ago buried. She did not want to bring them back to life.

For a moment, the memories overtook her. What we did together, she thought. The two of us, both of us so very angry.

She'd thought that what they'd done was forgotten—or at least undiscovered. But here it was. They wanted her to return to... To do what? Confess?

She closed her eyes for a moment. What was that animal? Was it a weasel? No. Something English. A hedgehog. Had it been found? Was that why Rachel was being invited to return?

It belonged to little Kate. What a child she was! Always sticking her nose into everything. She'd be grown now. What did she know? What did she see? Did she remember any of it?

Rachel dropped the letter on the pretty desk. She knew she had to go. She had to at last bear the consequences of what she'd done. What they had done.

Her cell phone buzzed. It was an unknown number. In normal circumstances, she wouldn't answer it, but maybe it was the arrival of the letter that made her feel that she must answer. She didn't know it, but it was a call that would change her life.

"Hello? Yes, speaking." She leaned back against her chair and listened to the voice from the past.

Alish sent her grandson a text. For all of her great age, she liked technology.

Come home! Roy's son and those Medlars are recreating that week. You must be there!

When the text came through, Reid was in a meeting. His company's officers were staring at him in silence, waiting for his next orders. Reid liked to stay in control, a trait he'd inherited from his grandmother.

When his cell played the tune of that little Scottish ballad, he halted. His grandmother wasn't texting to ask how his day was going.

Reid turned his back on them and read what she'd sent.

The blood drained from his face, and he had to put his hand on the back of his big leather chair to steady himself. It wouldn't do to pass out in front of his staff.

From great self-control—which he'd had to teach himself—he stayed upright and turned to them. "I have to go away for a few days. My grandmother..." He didn't finish, but they nodded in understanding. They all knew he had a ninety-four-year-old grandmother. They'd never met her, but from the little they knew, they assumed she was a sweet little old lady who'd grown up in a quaint village in Scotland. Probably wore plaid everything and ate bannocks. If they only knew, Reid thought.

He turned to his VP and gave a curt nod. The man would take over while the boss was away.

Swiftly, Reid left the building. As he expected, his assistant had called ahead and the valet had his Maserati ready, the engine running, and Reid drove out of the city. It would take him about three hours to get to sleepy little Lachlan. Or maybe not so sleepy. In the last few years his grandmother had sent him info about murders in Lachlan—and how they'd been solved. "Roy's son is part of it," she'd written. "And so is Kate. Her famous aunt is back in town and they work together."

As he crossed the long, beautiful bridge, his hands tightened on the leather-wrapped steering wheel. Little Kate. She'd be about twenty-six now. She was a cute child so she might have grown up to be a beauty.

He got on I-75, headed down toward Naples and Alligator Alley, and thought, Lord help us, but what does Kate remember? And the others? Have they found out anything about the past? About Greer? What she knew? What she did?

A ghost from the past, Lea Oliver thought when she received the invitation via email. At the sight of the name, Lachlan House, a wave of beautiful memories went through her. Randal and Kate and her. She'd seen the three of them as the perfect family, something she'd always dreamed of. Other little girls imagined their weddings, but Lea had always thought of a home and children and a husband who made her laugh. Randal had certainly done that! He said he'd given up hope of finding love again, that he'd thought it was out of his reach forever.

The wonderful, glorious week in that big, beautiful house had made her think it could happen. Lea's husband wanted a divorce, and Randal couldn't abide his wife. He said separation would be difficult, but he could do it. He just needed time.

After a night of lovemaking under the palms, they'd parted with kisses, full of the joy they foresaw ahead of them. She trusted him to take care of his wife, so really, the only obstacle was Derek. She knew that if he were removed, all their problems would be solved.

But in spite of the path being cleared, she didn't get together with Randal and Kate.

In fact, she hadn't heard from him since they parted twenty-five years ago. Unfortunately, she'd been told what happened to him. How Mrs. Meyers had cried! She said that after Randal was taken away, little Kate had been catatonic for days. When she came back to life, the child seemed to have forgotten her father completely. After the hurried trial, Kate's mother—an extremely unpleasant woman—had taken dear little Kate away to cold, snowy Chicago. All Lea's attempts to contact them had failed.

For a while, Lea hoped Randal would reach out to her, but he didn't. And she hadn't had the courage to contact him.

Gradually, life had taken over. Derek had two unmarried cousins who were destitute. He'd conned them into "investing" with him. That meant living rich to impress people. As always, he lost everything.

When Lea had a business idea, they gladly helped out. Without Derek hovering over them, the women flourished.

Lea looked at the invitation and considered what to do. She had no doubt that this had something to do with Derek—which meant that it was bad. Maybe even very bad. But did the good of seeing Randal and Kate outweigh the risk?

Smiling, she sent the single word "Yes" to the email she'd received. Then she tried to decide what to pack, but nothing was good enough. In the end, she went shopping. Randal deserved to see her looking her best.