Chapter 2

Now . . .

Mackenzie Laughlin hurried up the wet grass of the knoll that led to the graveyard, pelted by rain. She swiped the water off her face and wished she'd had the foresight to wear a hat. Her ponytail lay soaked and limp against her nape. She was going to look like the proverbial drowned rat and as this event was a fellow officer's death, she really wanted to reflect the solemnity of the afternoon. In fact she—

Movement on her right caught her attention and her black flats slipped. She went down hard, twisting her ankle. Pain shot up her leg. Shit. She glanced around but whatever, or whoever, she'd seen had disappeared. Rubbing her ankle hard, she staggered to her feet, glowering down at her shoes. If she'd had on her beat-up Nikes she wouldn't have fallen.

Brushing her hands against her black pants' damp knees, she worked her way up the rise and then hobbled toward the group gathering outside the open grave. Her ankle sent shivery bursts of pain up her leg, but she gritted her teeth and fought to ignore it. She imagined her foot swelling inside her shoe and had to struggle to get her mind off it. Seeing Detective Cooper Haynes standing on the near side of the grave, she forced herself not to limp as she moved over to join him, swearing inside her mind with each . . . damn . . . step.

She glanced around to see if someone else was joining the group late—maybe the someone she'd caught in her peripheral vision? She was fairly certain it was a person who'd split her attention, causing her fall, though maybe she was just making excuses for her own clumsiness.

People were shuffling in place on the far side of the grave site, near the blue-tarped tent where the funeral director stood, a solemn man whose gray hair was getting flattened and darkened by the rain. Umbrellas covered many of the mourners' faces, but she caught movement in a clutch of three women who, Mac realized, were her old classmates. They were huddled under a large black umbrella and they were turning and talking to a newcomer whom Mac couldn't see. As she watched, however, they turned back and lifted the brim of the oversized umbrella they shared so she could clearly see their faces. It had been over ten years since high school, but they looked the same: Natalie, tall, dark, and imperious; Erin, shorter, rounder, her face set in perpetual anxiety; Kristl, her freckles stark against her white skin, strands of dark red hair limp and sticking to her cheeks, her body slimmer now. She'd clearly shed a number of pounds. Mac didn't see Mia or Leigh . . . or Roxie Vernon, who'd disappeared directly after graduation, never to be heard from again, according to social media. Rumors were she'd been pregnant and Ethan Stanhope's parents had paid for her to have an abortion. Rumors were that she'd been pregnant and Ethan Stanhope's parents had paid her not to have an abortion, so they could raise their only grandchild as their own. Rumors were she and her mother had been forcefully evicted from their apartment by an ogreish landlord. Rumors were she and her mother had been given reduced rent by an ogreish landlord in exchange for sleeping with them both and when Roxie graduated, they ditched the arrangement. Rumors were Roxie had run off with a wealthy businessman and was now living on a privately owned island in the Caribbean. Rumors were she'd run off to Hollywood but was now working in the porn trade.

Yeah . . . rumors about Roxie waxed and waned but never seemed to really die.

Haynes was also standing hatless as Mackenzie moved up next to him. The rain was taking a momentary break, but beads of moisture glinted amidst his dark hair. He glanced down at her and said, "Hi."

"Hi. Wish we were meeting under different circumstances."

He nodded and looked grim.

Mac had worked with Detective Haynes during her stint with River Glen P.D. but the last few years she'd drifted into private investigation where she and Haynes had crossed paths during several cases. Some of those cases had involved his family and Mac had grown friendly with a number of them, specifically his sister-in-law, Emma Whelan, during one especially harrowing challenge.

Now, in the lull that had developed while latecomers appeared, Mac asked Cooper, "How are things going with Emma, Jamie, Harley, and everyone?" He'd gotten married earlier in the year to Jamie Woodward, whom Mac had also become friends with. She basically knew his whole family.

He drew a breath and something about it filled her with worry. Seeing her expression, he exhaled and assured her, "Everything's fine. I don't know if you know this, but Jamie and I are having a baby, actually two."

"Twins! Congratulations," she whispered.

"Actually, we're having one with a surrogate and . . . Jamie's pregnant, too."

Mac couldn't hide her surprise. "Wow."

"I know. Unexpected," he said. Finally, the faintest hint of a smile. "We didn't think it would happen . . . it was a challenge."

Though he appeared to be practically bursting with the good news, there was a shadow there as well. "Something wrong?"

"No, it's . . . Jamie's been ordered to keep her feet elevated. Basically bed rest. She's having to quit teaching."

"But everything's looking good?" Mac repeated.

"Yep. Just an abundance of caution." He hesitated, then added, "Emma's moved back to take care of her."

There was irony in his tone. Emma, though capable in her own right, wouldn't be anyone's first choice as a caretaker owing to a long-ago accident that had left her mentally handicapped. Still, that hadn't stopped her from helping save Mac herself from the hands of a killer. With Emma's unexpected aid, Mac was still on the planet.

"Glad everything's okay," she said, meaning it.

He nodded, but then his attention was diverted as the funeral director took a step forward and began to talk about the fallen officer, Tim Knowles. His voice droned a bit and Mac found herself drifting off and thinking about Knowles herself. She'd already had a foot out the door when he joined the department, but she remembered Tim as being upbeat and ready to help others, a far cry from his older brother, Gavin, one of Mac's own classmates.

As the oak casket was lowered into the grave, it lurched a bit, the surrounding straps momentarily slipping, eliciting a round of gasps from the mourners. But then it steadied again and stayed put as it slowly disappeared into the yawning, waiting hole. A collective sigh from the mourners followed, echoed by the light wind that blew coldly across the near frozen ground. Mac's ponytail lay cold and wet against the back of her neck as a bead of water ran down her temple. She'd purposely worn waterproof mascara and today she'd put on Think Pink lipstick—a nod to makeup she often had no time for—which she'd apparently gotten on the back of her hand as a small swath of skin sparkled pink in the gloomy sunlight from the shimmery transfer of color.

Tim Knowles had been with the department only a few years before being gunned down earlier this week, the first officer at the scene of a burglary. Gunfire had been exchanged and the burglar, a man with a long record of theft and violence, had raced away from the dying Knowles. Other officers had chased him into a church where he'd turned the gun on himself, whispering, "Salvation," as he pulled the trigger.

Mackenzie shivered at the thought. She'd attended the indoor funeral service, but then had gotten in a tangle of traffic that had caused her to be late to this grave-site service. She glanced again at the knot of her high school friends, a small group within the student body of River Glen High who'd known Tim. Mac's class had just had their ten-year reunion but Mac hadn't gone. For her and many others, high school was forever marked by the death of Ethan Stanhope and his little sister from a car accident graduation night, after their last senior party. It had shocked and hurt everyone at the school and it still had the power to make Mac want to steer clear of her classmates. She hadn't been that close to any of them anyway and she hadn't been able to work up any enthusiasm for the reunion.

Maybe this is just a "you" problem .

The funeral director was extolling Tim's accomplishments. Mackenzie looked past him to the line of trees at the back of the graveyard, their naked limbs black fingers reaching against the gray November sky. Her ankle ached dully and she could feel the frigid cold seep up from the ground and inside her flats, numbing her toes. She realized she was counting down the seconds until she could gracefully leave and felt a bit guilty.

She was angry over Tim's murder. She might no longer be with the River Glen P.D. but she still wanted to bring criminals and miscreants to justice. That's how she'd wound up working with her mentor, P.I. Jesse James Taft, who would've been right beside her today as he was also an ex-RGPD officer except that he was at the reading of a friend's—frenemy's—will in which he was apparently named as a beneficiary. Taft hadn't actually worked with Officer Tim Knowles as his stint with the department had been long before Knowles's time with the force, long before Mac's two-year term as well.

The funeral director's every few sentences were lost to the wind, which was grabbing and tossing them beyond Mac's hearing. She had to step forward to hear, her ankle protesting, making her worry she'd hurt it more than she'd thought and would be paying the price later. She tugged her black coat closer but the fabric was thin and she looked forward to changing into jeans and a sweater.

Cooper ducked his head and whispered to Mac, "Something's off on this."

"What do you mean?"

"Tim Knowles shouldn't have been there."

"At the call to the burglary?"

Mac looked back at him but his eyes were fixed on the open grave. She wasn't sure he'd heard her. The director finished speaking shortly thereafter and he looked to the family. Tim's mother, Brighty Knowles, shook her head, and her husband, Leland, stood stoically and silent beside her as well. Tim's brother, Gavin, was a few steps away, along with his parents. As if feeling her eyes on him, Gavin met her gaze.

Gavin Knowles . . . Mac had been at the Knowles' house exactly once, the end of their senior year in that space of time when Gavin threw all those parties while his parents were in Palm Desert or New York or wherever his father's business or wealthy friends took them. It was graduation night, the night that Ethan Stanhope drove his car into a tree, killing both him and his sister, Ingrid. Mac remembered living through the next few weeks in a haze of disbelief and sorrow. She hadn't been close friends with Ethan, but she'd been his classmate all through elementary school, junior high, and high school and it felt like part of her had been ripped away, a part she hadn't known existed until it was gone.

And now the terrible tragedy that had befallen Gavin's younger brother.

Gavin didn't drop his eyes from Mac's until his father bent his head and said something to him and he glanced back at the grave. Brighty, who'd been holding a tight fist of bloodred roses, stepped forward and threw them into the grave, the flowers fluttering in a fist of wind before dropping out of sight. All three of the Knowleses' expressions were the same: stern and frozen masks.

As the service ended, Mac wanted to ask Cooper what he'd meant again, but he was already striding toward the parking lot. Mac tried to do the same, forced to hobble and grit her teeth against the pain. Someone came up beside her and she turned to find Gavin at her elbow.

"Mackenzie," he said, his face drawn and pale.

"I'm so sorry about your brother," she said.

"Thanks."

Mac tried to hide her discomfort. She was sincere in offering her condolences, but it was hard to forget what an ass Gavin had been in high school. Maybe he'd changed over the years.

"I'm surprised to see you here," he said, stopping at the edge of the parking lot as Mac had turned toward her Toyota RAV. Apparently his ride wasn't near hers.

"I knew Tim from the department," she answered. Did he not know that she'd been with the River Glen P.D., too?

"Yeah . . . I just thought . . ."

He trailed off, apparently deciding there was no reason to pursue that discussion any longer. Like with Ethan, she'd traversed elementary school, junior high, and high school with

Gavin as well, though they were never friends. Mac had mostly drifted around the periphery of her own group of girlfriends. She and those same girls had traded around who were "BFFs" throughout elementary school, but Mac had let it all kind of go during high school. She'd spent her upper-class years with the drama nerds who weren't really the cool kids of her original group, but who were accepting and fun and ironically made her social group drama-free. Gavin had been from one of the "rich" families around River Glen, as had Ethan.

"Would you come to my funeral if it was me?" asked Gavin now.

Mac gave him a long look. He was suffering, she could see that, and she felt for him, but he was just one of those guys who always brought the conversation back to himself.

She decided to answer honestly. "I probably would."

"Probably?"

"You asked."

"You're supposed to say, ‘Of course I would Gavin. And I'm so sorry about your brother . . .' "

"I am sorry about Tim. He was—"

"Oh, forget it. Everybody liked Tim. He was a good guy. I'm just yankin' your chain."

There was always a pitfall, a trap, talking to Gavin. She couldn't think of an upside so she stayed silent.

"I feel like shit," he admitted.

She nodded.

Gavin was about six feet and though he'd been an athlete in high school he was starting to run a little bit to fat. His dark hair was thinning, but he still maintained the supercilious look she'd always associated with him.

This guy is grieving, she had to remind herself. Difficult, with his personality.

"Did you see the ‘sisters'?" He jerked his head toward the far side of the parking lot where Natalie, Kristl, and Erin were huddled up. They seemed to be looking at someone or something over Mac's right shoulder, but when she turned around to catch what it was, all she saw were a few people talking to the funeral director, Gavin's parents among them.

"I saw them," Mac told him.

"None of them knew Tim. You, at least, worked with him."

"Maybe they're here for you, Gavin."

"That'd be the day. They hate me. Want nothing to do with me. Not since Ethan died. I never liked them anyway. Bunch of bitches. Still look good, though."

Mackenzie made a sound of agreement in her throat, trying to ignore Gavin's negative remarks. He was right about one thing, though. "The Sorority" did look pretty good, from what she could see. High school hadn't been all that long ago, she told herself, only ten years. She ran through a mental assessment of herself.

I'm okay. Still fit. Exercise regularly. Eat pretty good—well, except for that hot fudge milk shake yesterday from Café RG that Taft introduced me to . . . that wasn't well thought out. And that butter-soaked popcorn on his couch with the pugs afterward . . .

"Why are you smiling?" Gavin's ice blue eyes seemed to pierce right through her.

"No reason."

"Something to do with your friends?" He inclined his head toward the three "sisters" now walking across the parking lot tarmac.

Natalie pointed her key fob toward a grouping of vehicles and there was a flash of lights from a black Kia Sorento. Mac could see the rental car sticker in the window.

She almost said, "They're not my friends," but just shook her head.

"I'd like to smash their faces in."

She startled. "Wow. That was a hard turn."

"They thought they ran the school and they made Ethan's life hell the last few hours he had of it."

"Gavin, no one knew that he was going to—"

"You want to look at whose fault it is?" He hitched his chin in the direction of the three women.

"What I don't want to do is argue with you." She resumed walking toward her RAV.

"I'm not the bastard you think I am." She could hear his footsteps behind her.

"You didn't go to the reunion, did you?" he added. "They were all talking about you. And me and everyone else."

"That's what people do at reunions," she muttered, opening her driver's door. He was right at her elbow. "Well, it was good seeing you, Gavin."

"When I see them, all together, it reminds me of everything . . ." He was still looking their way, but with the crowd of mourners flocking into the lot, the only one Mackenzie could get her eyes on was Natalie, the tallest. There were other River Glen alums in the crowd as well, but none that Mac really knew, though they all sent lingering sympathetic looks Gavin's way, looks he either ignored or didn't notice.

"Have you kept in contact with them?" asked Gavin.

"For someone who professes not to like The Sorority, you seem inordinately interested in them."

"Oh, I am. Because one of them killed Ethan. Spiked his drink and he ran off the road."

Was that what happened? Not as far as she knew. There'd never been a toxicology report made public, if there was one, unless the Stanhopes had gotten it suppressed. With their abundance of money and connections, that was entirely possible, she supposed. In any case, it was a long ago tragedy that she didn't feel like relitigating at Gavin's brother's funeral. She really just wanted to get in her RAV and leave. Her ankle was throbbing and though she thought she'd done a fairly credible job of walking normally to the car, she was about done.

On the other hand, sometimes you just needed to set the record straight.

"Ethan drove home and was there awhile before he left with his sister. This has been debated and debated. He had some alcohol. I saw him come out and get his coat. But he wasn't wildly drunk when he left your party and then there were a few hours before he took off in the car."

"He was high at my place."

"His parents were home that night. They saw him. Even they say he was fine when he drove off with Ingrid. You don't think they would've stopped him if they'd seen evidence that he was high?"

"You're defending them," he muttered.

"I'm telling you what you already know." She slid into her seat.

"You're still friends with them? You see them all?"

"What are you looking for? No, I haven't seen them in a while."

"I see Orsini some," he offered. "But he's about it. He's still an asshole, though."

"Hmm."

"So, you're a private dick now, I heard."

"Working on it." He was standing outside her still open door. She grabbed the handle.

"What if I wanted to hire you? You're for hire, right? That's how you make money?"

"Yes." She was starting to shiver. Both of her feet now felt disconnected, not just her injured one.

"Don't you want to know why I'd hire you?"

"Sounds like you're going to tell me."

"It's really not for me."

"You're asking for a friend?"

He snorted. "I've been doing some talking to people. I'll let you know what I need. You got a cell number?"

Inwardly sighing, Mac gave him her information. She had a deep mistrust of Gavin Knowles, but who was she to turn down a job? His money was as good as anyone else's and probably better than most.

"I'll call you," he said.

"I am really sorry about Tim."

"Yeah, you said that." He exhaled heavily and Mac thought she caught a whiff of liquor. "He was the good one of the family."

"Well . . ." She lightly tugged on the door handle. She wanted to leave before things deteriorated, and this was not the time to let Gavin's entitlement get to her. He'd always been the guy who bragged about his parents' money.

"We're all just having a ball, aren't we?" he murmured and then wandered away toward where his parents, Brighty and Leland, were standing next to the funeral director.

She gave a last glance around and saw Natalie, Erin, and Kristl climb into the Sorento. Natalie folded the large umbrella, her dark blunt-cut hair blowing around her face as she slid into the driver's seat. Erin climbed in the back, her short skirt hiking up dangerously, and Kristl threw a glance Mac's way as she took the passenger seat. Her reddish hair was about shoulder length, mostly pulled back into a low ponytail, though escaping strands were still sticking to her cheeks. She's really gotten her weight under control , she thought. Then, Is it wrong to think it somehow makes her look harder?

Totally uncharitable thoughts.

Had there been accusation in the look Kristl had shot her? Mac was pretty sure Kristl had sent her some kind of unspoken message, but she had no idea what it was.

Her gaze trailed from the Sorento back to where the three friends had stood for the grave-site service. Who was the fourth person they'd spoken to? The person who'd arrived late? The field of umbrellas covering the mourners' heads had kept her from seeing faces clearly.

Brighty and Leland walked across the parking lot toward the older couple standing near a Bentley. They looked familiar and Mac realized they were Ethan Stanhope's parents. She couldn't remember their names. It was a tragic reality that of the three Stanhope children only one was still alive.

Shivering, she put her RAV in gear and headed out of the parking lot.