Page 17

“But I ...”

“Get out!” he shouted. “You’re over your head.”

“What do you know?” I demanded.

Dan Holland took a step toward me. Instinct drove me a step backward. The threat was clear in his eyes.

“Yes. I’d stake my life on Derrek Sidney having an accomplice that night. I told you I could never prove it. You’re right when you said my gut feeling is different from other people’s. So you’re going to turn around, get out of my sight, get on a plane, and never come back here. Because it doesn’t matter if I can prove it. I know who helped Derrek Sidney that night. It was Geneva Bell.”

Chapter

Eight

I walked into an ambush later that day. After I met with Holland, I avoided going back to my mother’s. I needed time to think about what happened with Holland. I sent my mother a text telling her I had a few errands to run and not to expect me back until after four. I got a thumbs-up in return when I expected a wall of angry text. It gave me pause, but I had other things on my mind.

I grabbed lunch and did some window shopping. Dan Holland’s behavior affected me deeply. He believed Geneva Bell was Derrek Sidney’s accomplice in the mass murder of her friends.

I had played the entire encounter wrong. I should have lied about who I represented. I should have found a more clever way to explain what I was looking for.

Would it have mattered? Was Dan Holland that good a detective that he would have known I was lying?

The answers I sought may have been agonizingly close. Perhaps within my literal reach. Now, I might never know what Detective Holland kept in that file. It was just after four o’clock when I walked through Mom’s front door.

“Surprise!” she shouted.

Karl stood at her side, his arm around her small waist. He beamed down at her. He had a glass of champagne in his free hand and offered it to me. Behind them, at least twenty formally dressed people waved from her dining room.

“What is this?” I said under my breath. “I thought we were going out to dinner. Just the three of us.”

“And waste this chance to celebrate you? You know me better than that, Mercedes.”

“Your mother does love a dinner party.” Karl smiled. He handed me the champagne flute. It was in me to protest. Instead, I downed my glass. The fizz tickled my throat, then went straight to my head. One more of those and I’d float for the rest of the evening. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad plan.

A moment later, all of my mother’s local friends stepped forward to greet me. Some were huggers, like the Thompsons and the Chadwicks. They’d been friends for decades. They were the only two my mother retained “custody” of after her divorce from my father.

I got air kisses and handshakes from the remainder of her guests. Some I recognized as early investors in her boutique. She’d invited a few neighbors. Her hairdresser. Her accountant.

She hired a caterer, two servers, and a bartender. Her backyard was decorated with paper lamps and twinkle lights. She had soft, classical music playing through hidden speakers in the shrubbery. The caterers delivered a four-course meal of seared scallops, beef tenderloin with red-wine demi-glace and potato gratin, followed by dark chocolate soufflés. I imagined the whole thing easily cost her close to ten grand.

I went on autopilot, secretly seething when Pippa Miller, the owner of the coffee shop adjacent to her store, leaned in and took my hand. “We’re so excited to hear you’ll be joining Sandra full-time next year. She’s so happy. It’ll be great to catch up.”

I simply smiled. One of Mom’s servers must have read my face. Within ten seconds, I had another full glass of champagne in my hand.

It went on like that for hours. I gritted my teeth and played the part of Sandra Baldwin Gale’s dutiful daughter. Yes, Mom looked fabulous. Yes, Karl seemed to get more handsome every year. It’s so frustrating that men age better than women.

By the time we were served our individual soufflés, I felt sick to my stomach.

Finally, just after eleven, the last of Mom’s guests left. I tried to retreat to my room. My head pounded. I had to be up by five to make my six thirty a.m. flight. But Mom had another ambush planned.

“Mercedes,” she said. “We need to talk.”

“Everything was great tonight,” I deflected. I knew in her own way, she thought she’d done me a kindness tonight. Of course she would have planned tonight’s party down to the last detail. She wanted it to be special for me. It didn’t matter that it was the last thing I wanted. I had to be grateful. Watch my tone. Keep the smirk off my face.

“Do you have to leave in the morning?” she whined. “You just got here.”

I was too tired to rehash the same conversation we had yesterday. “Yes,” I said. “I have to get back to work.”

“How did your meeting go?” she asked.