Chapter 3

Mac checked the time on her cell phone and headed out of the grave-site lot. She'd half expected a text from Taft, but there was nothing there. She wondered how the reading of Mitchell Mangella's will was going. Mitch had been a client and frenemy of Taft's, someone he'd worked for but whose criminality had manifested in a way he eventually couldn't abide. He'd quit working for him and there'd been bad blood all around. Taft had managed to put most of it behind him over the past months, but then recently Mitch had fallen off his roof and died, a shock wave that rippled through all of them. When Taft had gotten the notice that Mangella had left him something in his will, he'd sworn he wasn't going to take as much as one thin dime, even though he didn't know what it was. His break with Mangella had been permanent. Mac was the one who'd urged him to go to the meeting.

"At least find out what Prudence is up to," she'd counseled, and Taft had grudgingly agreed. They both knew how wily Mangella's wife was on a good day.

Mac drove to her mother's house. She'd promised she would stop by and see her new kitchen, the result of a broken water pipe that had ruined the cabinets and flooring. For nearly a year it had been a wrangle with the insurance company and the contractors to get the place put back together, but now the final work was done and Mom had practically insisted Mac stop by after the funeral.

She pulled up in front of the house and took a look at herself in the rearview mirror. No running makeup. Good. Hair damp, though. She finger-combed her ponytail and stepped gingerly out of the car. Shit. That left ankle . . .

She hobbled up the walk, muttering, "Ow, ow, ow," all the way to the front door. Rapping loudly, she called, "Hey, Mom!" as she twisted the knob and let herself in.

"I'm in the kitchen!"

Mac tried to hide her limp as she followed her mother's voice. She was going to have to get her shoe off soon.

"What's wrong with you?" her mother asked.

So much for hiding her limp. "I slipped and twisted my ankle."

"Well, sit down. Take your shoe off. Let me look."

"If I take my shoe off, I won't get it back on."

Mom tsked and pulled out one of the oak kitchen chairs from around the table where a jigsaw puzzle of rows of seashells that looked impossible was half finished. She bent down to check her foot as Mac gazed across her dark hair, now faintly threaded with silver, to look around the kitchen.

"I really like the countertops," she said. She'd already seen the gleaming white-painted cabinets. The countertops were a light gray and crowned with a pearly farmhouse sink and gleaming chrome faucet and cabinet pulls. Before the water damage the cabinets had been yellowed pine from half a century earlier or more. "Don't take my shoe off. I'll never get it back on."

"You're going to have to elevate this foot," Mom predicted.

"Ya think?"

"I know I say it every time I see you, but I think you should get a different job."

"I didn't get this on the job. It was at the funeral." She went on to explain how she'd twisted her ankle as she'd hurried to Officer Tim Knowles's grave-site service. Mom asked who else was there and Mac gave her a rundown of the event.

"I always thought Gavin was such an unhappy little boy. I'm sorry for him. And the family."

Brighty and Leland Knowles had not been in her parents' circle of friends, but they'd known them. There had been talk, at one time, of sending Gavin to private school, but Gavin had pitched a fit and apparently they'd given up those ideas when Tim came along. Same for the Stanhopes. Mac knew for a fact that the Knowleses had detested their youngest son's choice of being a police officer because Tim had mentioned it once.

"They had a shit fit," he'd said with a shrug. "They wanted me to go to some Ivy League school, but I never had the grades. Gavin's the smart one, but he doesn't care."

"Don't sell yourself short," Mac had told him.

He'd shrugged again and said with a smile, "Truth is truth."

That had been the extent of their discussion about his family and his life. Mac had been half out the door of the department by then, dealing with the unwanted advances of the then police chief who'd intimated he could take her job if she ratted him out. She'd quit before he could make good on his threat and eventually he'd lost his job.

"Dan stopped by," her mother revealed.

Dan the Man, as Mac thought of her stepfather, was a leech and an all-around asshole. Mac had never been happier than when her mother and Dan split up. It alarmed her that he'd made contact.

"Is he still at the condo?" He'd moved to one of the most expensive apartments in town, above the River Glen Grill, and Mac had marveled that he could afford the place.

"Oh, no. You know he moved." She peered at her. "I told you."

She did know, she supposed, but when it came to mention of Dan Gerber her mind shut down. She didn't actually hate him. That would take more emotion than she could credit. But she couldn't stand him. Couldn't abide being around him. He'd met her mother when she was in a vulnerable place after the death of Mac's father, and he'd wormed his way into their lives. Luckily, Mom had woken up before Dan went through all her money.

"He raved about the kitchen." Mom slid an ironic glance Mac's way.

"He's not moving back, is he?"

"Stop worrying. That's over." She walked to the refrigerator. "I think you could use some ice."

"No, I gotta get going."

"You need to put that leg up."

"I know. I know. I will. But don't let Dan worm his way back in."

"I'm sorry I said anything. He's not coming back here."

"Did he want money?"

"Mackenzie," she warned.

"He wanted money, didn't he?"

"If he did, he never got a chance to ask. Like you, I had somewhere to be, so I asked him to leave. Don't worry. I know who he is . . . now."

She could tell she was pissing her mother off, but her fear of Dan was too great to leave it like that. "He can be charming."

"Not anymore."

Mac forced herself not to say anything further. She wanted to believe her mother. She really did. It was just that Dan was that bad penny who kept turning up. She moved the conversation back to the remodel and got them back on solid ground before she left.

At the door, Mom said, "Oh, I forgot. One of the people from Parker Flooring knows you. She looked familiar. I took her card."

"Who?" Mac asked as her mother walked back toward the kitchen. She returned holding a small white card that she handed to Mac.

P ARKER F LOORING

E LAYNE S OMMERS , D ESIGN S PECIALIST

"I don't know her."

"She knew I was your mother, so she dropped by here. She asked where you lived."

"You didn't tell her, did you?"

"She works at the company." She pointed at the card. "Her cell phone's on there, you can call her."

"You told her? Mom!"

"She's someone you know!" She threw up her hands. "I just gave her the name of your apartment building."

Mac controlled herself with an effort. Except for her disagreement over Dan she and her mother had always gotten along. But sometimes, even though she worried about Mac's safety, her mother inadvertently assumed certain people were safe, like old friends who may or may not be old friends.

"Okay," said Mac.

"I'm sorry, honey. But she really is someone you know. I swear I almost remember her."

Twenty minutes later, Mac was working her way up the outdoor stairs to her second-floor apartment when her cell phone rang. It was a number she didn't recognize and she almost let it go to voice mail, but then answered it just before.

"You sound so official," Gavin Knowles's voice drawled into her ear.

She sighed aloud and didn't care if he heard her. That didn't take long . "Hi, Gavin."

Ignoring her dispirited tone, he said, "I want to set something up."

"I told you I'm not officially a private investigator. If you really want to hire someone you should check with my boss, Jesse Taft."

"I've just got some questions. I don't even know if you're the right person. Maybe you're not. But I want to work this out."

He sounded like he was having a debate with himself. Mac thrust the key into the lock of her apartment door and twisted it open. "I just got home. I need a few minutes. Is this more about Ethan? His death was ruled an accident."

She stepped inside and turned to shut the door. A breath of air swooped over the back of her neck and she quickly glanced around to see if there was an open window. There wasn't. In fact, the apartment's air was still. She touched her hand to her nape and felt the now dry ponytail. The hairs on her arms lifted. Was someone in her apartment? This Elayne person?

On high alert, she ignored the pain in her ankle, which was getting worse, not better, limped rapidly to her bedroom and threw open the door. The closet doors were ajar and she threw them back, searching inside. There was no one there. She next went to the bathroom and peered in. Holding her breath, she threw back the shower curtain. No one.

"Ethan was killed by The Sorority," Gavin insisted. "One of them did it, or maybe more."

"Okay, look, I'll have to call you back." Mac headed toward her living room and the one and only easy chair. Her ankle was throbbing and already turning a lovely shade of purple. There was no one in her apartment. Nothing had been disturbed. If she was a superstitious person she would say just the mention of Ethan Stanhope's name had caused her skin to react. There'd been no swooping wind. No change of air pressure.

"Wait. Wait. Don't you want to know who drugged him?"

"Drugged him? I thought it was established that Ethan was drinking at your house. I don't think—"

"It was Kristl."

Mackenzie pulled the black flat off her good foot, then eased off the other shoe with the bare toes of her opposite foot. She felt almost as cold now as she had at the graveyard.

"Did you hear me? She drugged him at my party."

She didn't want to talk to him. She was close to hitting the off button. "We already discussed this. There was a lot of time between your party and when he drove into that tree."

"A couple of hours. So what. It was a slow-acting drug."

"His parents said he was sober when he got home."

"Okay, it didn't happen at my party. I told the police that at the time. He told me how shitty it was that he couldn't get wasted at graduation because of fucking water polo. But he was dead sober when he left the party."

"You know this for a fact?"

"Yee . . . es."

She heard the lie. "This is what's bullshit, Gavin."

"It's the truth!"

"I saw him that night and he wasn't dead sober. Just because you tell yourself something over and over again doesn't make it true."

"Goddammit, listen to me. I want you to find out who killed Ethan. I think it's Kristl. Something happened between them and she got her revenge. I'll pay you. Tell me what your rate is and I'll double it."

"Oh, come on." She couldn't believe she was rehashing high school with Gavin Knowles on the day of his brother's funeral !

"I'll meet you tomorrow and you can name your price."

"Gavin, I'm happy to take your money, but it's likely I will never uncover whatever it is you're looking for. Ethan didn't date Kristl in high school, he dated Mia. And then there was Roxie. I can hear in your voice that you think it's some grand conspiracy. I just don't want you screaming for your money back when you don't get the results you want."

"I won't. Just do some digging. I bet you find who killed them. Kristl blamed Ethan for cheating on Mia, so she drugged him."

Mac shook her head and looked out her living room window. There was a line of maples that separated the back of her apartment building to the next property, which was an access road behind several other commercial buildings. The maples were dancing furiously beneath a sharp wind. She wondered if outside weather had entered her apartment, but the air remained still.

"Mac?"

"I've got your number now, Gavin. I'll talk to Taft, see what he says."

"He'll blow me off, just like you are. I'm serious about this."

"Okay."

"We have a deal?

"I—"

"Just say you'll look into it. Prove me wrong," he challenged. "If not Kristl, one or the other of them. Maybe all of them."

"If I say I'll look into it, will you let me do it my way?"

"Sure. I'll need to pay you, so we'll get together."

"Hell, no. I'll send you a bill."

"You're such a bitch. I like that."

"Goodbye, Gavin." She clicked off before he could say another word.

She was just working her way toward the kitchen, planning to get that ice her mother had suggested, when her doorbell rang.

Now what? Had he followed her here?

Maybe it was Taft.

She hobbled over to the door and peered through the peephole. A blond woman stood outside. It took a brief moment to recognize her and when she did she drew a deep breath. It was old home week for sure as another member of The Sorority was standing on her doorstep. Leigh Denning.

Mac took a moment before answering the bell. Leigh hadn't been at the funeral today, so what was this about?

Standing on her good leg, Mac opened the door with, "Well, this is a surprise. Hi, Leigh."

"Hi. Mackenzie. I . . . saw you at the funeral."

"So you were there."

"Just for a minute. May I come in?"

Mac swung the door wider, then tentatively half-hopped into the kitchen and pulled out the freezer drawer at the bottom of her refrigerator, picking up an ice cube tray. She had a drawer of plastic grocery bags and pulled one out as Leigh shut the door and stood at the entry of Mac's tiny kitchen, watching as she twisted the ice cube tray and popped several ice cubes into the double-baggie.

The penny dropped.

"You were the one who stopped by Mom's place and got my address."

Leigh nodded. "What happened to you?" she asked, eyeing Mac's bare foot.

"Twisted my ankle at the funeral. I'm going to seat myself in that chair." She pointed to the easy chair, worked her way to it, and then settled the baggie of ice on her colorful ankle.

"That looks painful."

"It is." Mac regarded her expectantly. "You're Elayne Sommers. Mom gave me your card, but I didn't put the name together till now."

"I stopped using Leigh after high school and went back to my real name. And then I got married to Parker Sommers and so . . . sort of a new identity, I guess."

At least Mac could stop worrying about Mom's loose tongue. She understood why Leigh had looked so familiar to her. Once upon a time, when they were in elementary school, they'd been pretty close.

Leigh perched herself on the small love seat Mac had gotten from her mother. She was an ash blond with blue eyes. Like Kristl, she was more fit than she'd been in high school where she'd carried a few extra pounds and had seemed softer. Her hair was blonder now, though her manner was still slightly diffident. She'd vied for the lead of Laurey in Oklahoma! and had lost out to a girl with a stronger voice and personality, and had been forced to settle for the ensemble without a serious speaking part. It echoed her role within The Sorority as well, Mac realized. A member but not a leader.

"What can I do for you, Leigh, er . . . Elayne?" asked Mac.

"Leigh's fine. I went to the funeral mostly to see you. But it just didn't feel like the right place, and Natalie, Erin, and Kristl had gone together and I felt . . . I don't know . . ." She lifted a hand and waved whatever she was going to say away. "It was all so sad. I'm just worried, I guess. And God, I know it's ridiculous, but it feels like they were all freezing me out a little. So much for ‘The Sorority.'" She smiled faintly. "But that's not why I'm here . . . exactly. I want you to find someone for me. Mia. She's been missing for months. A really long time. I told the others but they say Mia's just living her life. I don't think so. Natalie said Mia was not M-I-A. Ha, ha. Funny. She's missing and no one's doing anything about it."

First Gavin, now Leigh? The timing seemed more than coincidental that they were both requesting her services at the same moment. Parroting herself, she said, "The person you should talk to is my boss, Jesse Taft."

"Oh, no. No, no, no, no. I want this to stay between us. I don't want Parker to know about it. He thinks I'm hysterical already, but I just know something's wrong. Mia always kept in contact with me until about four months ago. I've tried to reach her and I've failed. She's in that marijuana business with her boyfriend. I just know something's happened."

Vaguely Mac recalled hearing that Mia had been living in Northern California, growing legal cannabis. She'd headed to Stanford after graduation but had apparently dropped out. Mac set that aside for a moment, deciding instead to ask her own questions. "Did you know Tim Knowles well?"

Leigh blinked. "Tim? I—no. I went to the funeral to support the family."

"Gavin?"

"Well, sure. We were all friends. I saw you talking to him." A frown creased her brow. "What were you talking about?"

"Well, his brother, of course."

"Yes . . . yes . . . It just seemed like, something else, too . . . maybe?"

Mac wondered how close Leigh had been to the Knowles family. She hadn't seen her at the grave site, but a lot of people had been exiting about that same time and Mac's and Gavin's attention had mostly been on Natalie, Kristl, and Erin. "I didn't see you at all."

"Well, I wasn't there long."

Mac wasn't about to tell her about Gavin Knowles's request that she look into Ethan Stanhope's death. It would be a breach of business ethics and it didn't have anything to with Mia Beckwith's supposed disappearance.

"I can do some searching for you about Mia's whereabouts, but I'm not an independent investigator. I work for Jesse Taft. He wouldn't do anything to betray you."

Leigh gave a pained smile. "I don't want to involve anyone else. Can't you just try? I've got money."

She opened her purse and pulled out a roll of bills that she thrust at Mackenzie. "If you have to tell your boss, make sure he doesn't tell anyone else. You've got my card. Call me but don't leave a message if you don't reach me. And don't text, please. I just don't want my husband to know."

"What about Mia's parents . . . and her brother? Have you talked to them?"

"Ye . . . ess," she said slowly. "They didn't have much to offer. I talked to Mason, too. He blew me off and said Mia was fine."

"Maybe she is fine."

"Okay, look, I wasn't going to give you this . . . I thought, I don't know, that you would just help me. But she left this note on my windshield." Leigh reached into her purse and pulled out a tiny, yellow sticky note with the words Help me written in cursive. "That's Mia's handwriting." She held the note up to Mac.

Mac squinted at the words. She thought the tiny, squished together letters could be anyone's, but then she was no expert. "Why didn't you give me this right away?"

"Because I wanted to hire you first. I don't want everyone to see this. If you're not going to go find her, I don't want this floating around. It could be dangerous for her!"

"Okay." Mac held up her hands.

Leigh's cheeks pinkened. "I'm sorry. I'm just so worried."

"I thought she was in California."

"She was. I don't know where she is now."

"She's not in the cannabis business?"

"Her boyfriend's family is. Mia didn't talk about it a lot. I think they kind of keep it on the down-low because there's a lot of rivalry and theft because the marijuana business isn't federally regulated. It's why I'm so worried about her."

"Do you know the name of her boyfriend?"

"Ben . . . something? I think she told me. I can't remember. I never paid that much attention. Then she just went off the radar and then I got the note." She exhaled heavily and looked at Mac from beneath her bangs, silently pleading with Mac in a move she recognized from high school.

"I'll talk to her parents," Mac conceded.

Leigh sighed with relief. "Thank you!"

"I can't promise anything."

"I know you'll find her. You were always so capable. Remember when we were in Oklahoma ? You were so great as Ado Annie."

"Thanks. That was a long time ago."

"I should've been Laurey, but Summer was really good." Her quick smile was brittle. "She's still in New York."

"I heard she's been in a few productions," said Mac. Summer Cochran had won the lead of Laurey Williams in their senior year production and her voice had been so pure and lovely that the crowd had been transfixed during her solos.

"Ensemble. No main parts."

"But still, that's pretty impressive," Mac acknowledged, adding, "I thought you would go on in drama."

"Well, I met Parker at summer camp and that was it. How did you get into the P.I. business?"

"I was with River Glen P.D. first, then moved to this."

"Why didn't you stick with acting?"

Mac snorted, then realized Leigh was completely serious. "It was fun in high school. It just . . ." Didn't seem like a viable career path.

"Everything kind of changed after Ethan's death, didn't it?" Leigh said soberly.

"Well, yeah." Although Mac's choice of career had been more of a "look in the mirror and know what you're good at" moment.

" You don't think anything's . . . weird about Ethan's accident, do you? I know that Gavin thinks it was some kind of setup. He blames The Sorority, doesn't he?"

"I've always thought it was an accident, nothing more," Mac offered.

"But it's what you two were talking about, wasn't it? I saw Gavin last weekend and he was drunk and ranting and we all felt sorry for him because of Tim, but I guess his brother's death sort of set him off. He's never thought Ethan's car accident was just a car accident, and now this has brought it all up again."

"Who's ‘we'?"

She flicked her wrist. "Just people at the Waystation."

"You were at the Waystation?" Mac was surprised to think that Leigh would ever set foot inside what could only be construed as a dive bar. Leigh just had that well-tended look about her, and an inner snootiness that couldn't quite be disguised, no matter how she gushed about the accomplishments of others.

"I went with Parker." She rolled her eyes. "He likes beer and he knew Gavin would be there, and I felt bad about Tim, too, so we went. What did Gavin want you to do?"

Mac realized she was subtly being pumped for information, so she told the truth, as much as was prudent. "I told Gavin what I told you. I'm not the investigator. Jesse Taft is."

"But you will look into Mia's disappearance," she quickly reiterated.

The money she'd thrust at Mac was still in her hand and she tried to hand it back but Leigh wouldn't hear of it.

She folded Mac's hand over the bills. "Keep it. Please. You're going to look into Mia's disappearance, right?"

"I'll do some checking," said Mac. This was twice in one day she was agreeing to work without coordinating with Taft first. Ah, well. He wasn't one to turn down work, either, unless it appeared to be blatantly illegal.

"Call me on my cell, but don't involve Parker, okay? Don't call the business," warned Leigh.

"I won't."

"Good."

Once Leigh was gone Mackenzie checked the time, wondering about Taft's meeting with the estate lawyers. Dumping out the baggie of melting ice, she replenished it and went back to her chair in the living room.