Chapter 27

Annabelle St. John headed to her stepfather’s study. She needed to find his address book so she could send out thank you notes. Rob had passed away peacefully in his sleep three days ago. She would miss him every day for the rest of her life, but she was so relieved he was no longer in pain. The last few days of his life had been excruciating to witness. His body finally gave out.

Her eyes felt swollen and raw. She’d just returned home from the funeral and burial. Rob had purchased a plot next to the one her mother and father shared. Now all three of her parents would be in the same place.

She hadn’t stepped foot inside his study since his death and her hand stilled on the knob. The room was filled with memories of happier times. His scent would linger in the air. With a deep inhale, she opened the door and stopped abruptly.

“Robbie? What are you doing in here?” Her stepbrother was rifling through his father’s desk drawers, tossing papers and files through the air. It looked like a war zone.

“It’s Robert, and it’s none of your damn business. He was my father, not yours. Now get the hell out and leave me alone.”

Annabelle wanted to argue, but he was right. No matter the rift between the two, it was his father’s house. She backed out and shut the door, intending to retreat to her room when the doorbell chimed, altering her plans. She’d given Mrs. Porter the day off. The housekeeper had been with Rob for years and his death had been hard on her.

She walked to the intercom and switched on the monitor. A man waited at the gate in a flashy red Porsche. Oily hair was slicked back from a pock-marked face, and his fingers were smoothing a pencil-thin mustache. She shuddered. She couldn’t tell the color of his eyes through the screen, but she bet they were dark and beady.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m here to see Robert Singleton.”

“Senior or Junior?”

“Junior, I guess.”

“Can I tell him your name?”

“Just tell him Bixby’s here to see him. He’ll know why.”

“One moment.” She returned to the study, not liking the thought of the slick-looking man stepping foot in Rob’s house. With a single knock, she twisted the knob.

Robbie’s head jerked up. “What the hell are you doing? I told you to get out.”

Breathing deeply to control her temper, she said sweetly, “Bixby’s here to see you.”

Robbie lurched upright, knocking folders off the desk. Papers went flying. His eyes were wide in panic and they darted around, as if looking for an escape. “You didn’t tell him I was here, did you?”

“I’m not your social secretary. He’s waiting at the gate for you.”

“Dammit.” He pinned her with an evil glare before throwing his hands in the air. “Fine. Buzz him in.”

“Did you ignore the part about me not working for you?” She spun around. “Buzz him in yourself.”

“Just do it, Annabelle.” A sigh. “Please.”

She could tell it took a lot out of him to beg, so she decided to be the bigger person and open the gate. Rob would want her to be nice to his only son. Probably.

She watched on the monitor as the man casually strolled to the door. He reminded her of a slimy snake, slithering his way up the steps. Against her better judgment, she opened it for him.

He screeched to a stop when he spotted her, one side of his Snidely Whiplash mustache curling into a lecherous grin. He raked his dark, beady—she’d been right about that—gaze up and down her body. She wanted to gag.

“Well, hello.” He dragged the last word out obnoxiously.

“Robbie’s in the study. This way.”

She led him to the door, feeling his stare on her backside the entire time. Jerk. She held the door for him and he winked as he walked by—much too closely. Cheap cologne tickled her nose and she fought a sneeze. She whipped the door closed, but left it open a crack so she could hear what they were talking about. Robbie had been terrified when she gave him this man’s name. He was up to something and she intended to find out what that something was. She took out her phone and hit record.

“Why are you here, Bixby?” Robbie demanded in lieu of a greeting. “Don’t you know my father just died.”

Snidely…er, Bixby slithered his way around the office, taking in the elegant décor. “I do know that. Condolences by the way. You owe me some money, Robert.”

“And I’ll get it to you. The reading of the will is in one week.”

“Ah, but the note is past due.” He tsked. “You know the drill. Interest is a hundred grand each day you’re late with payment.”

Annabelle sucked in a breath. One hundred thousand dollars a day? How much did Robbie owe this man?

“Of course, when you owe five million, another few thousand is no big deal. Right, Robert?”

Annabelle smacked a hand over her mouth to cover the startled gasp. Five million dollars? He’d bragged that he was so successful, richer than his father. He was a contender for Congress and he owed a loan shark five million?

“Look, I’ll make it good. My old man was loaded.”

“Yes, you will, because the next shipment is due to arrive soon, and you already owe me for the last one.”

She could practically hear Robbie grind his teeth. “I know that. I already have bids on most of the product but if any of them are sickly, like last time, we’re going to have a problem, Bixby.”

Annabelle covered her mouth in horror. Shipment? Bids? Oh, dear Lord, was Robbie dealing in human trafficking?

“I want my money, Robert. By the end of the week. I’ll give you a few extra days, accruing interest of course, to liquidate, but that’s it. I’m a patient man, but I wouldn’t test my limits if I were you.” Snidely ran his hand over the globe that rested in a stand against the wall. She wanted to scream for him to take his filthy hands off her stepfather’s antique. “That’s a mighty fine servant you have working for you. Kudos.”

Annabelle’s mouth tightened in annoyance. She wasn’t Robbie’s servant. She wasn’t his anything.

“What? She’s ninety if she’s a day…oh, you mean Annabelle.”

“Annabelle. What a beautiful name. Is she your paramour? You know, a hot piece of ass to burn up the sheets while the wife’s off medicating herself?”

Ew, gross. And Paramour? What was this? 1820?

“Ew, gross,” Robbie spat, echoing her thoughts. “She’s nothing to me but an annoyance.”

She narrowed her eyes, regretting being nice to him earlier.

“Then who is the fair Annabelle?”

“Stepsister.”

“Hum.”

Annabelle jerked upright. What did that hum mean? She didn’t like the tone he used, as if he were interested. Over my dead body, Snidely.

“Look, Bixby, I have things to do.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll let myself out. And I’ll be in touch, Robert. Don’t you doubt that.”

Annabelle scrambled from the door, scurrying down the hall to lock herself in the bathroom. She tensed when footsteps sounded outside and stopped. She held her breath. What was he doing, pitching a tent? Finally, the steps sounded again and retreated before the door slammed shut.

She exhaled in relief, checked the hall before hustling to her room and locking the door behind her. She prayed she’d never have to see Bixby No-Last-Name ever again.

#

Annabelle dressed in the blue Versace dress that her stepfather had loved. She accessorized it with the pearl earrings and necklace he’d gifted her with on her thirteenth birthday. She’d felt so grown up having her own pearls like her mom. Her long, blond hair was secured in a tasteful upsweep and her makeup was minimal. She’d probably cry it off anyway. After making sure to stock her purse with tissues, she drove to the lawyer’s office. Today was the reading of the will.

She’d sat on the recording she made of Robbie and Bixby for the last few days. She wasn’t sure who to give it to. On one hand, it might be nothing. The shipment Robbie had been talking about might be cattle or horses or any kind of livestock. That wasn’t illegal. But what if it was humans he’d been referencing? She’d decided to speak with Mr. Windham, her stepfather’s attorney. He’d know what to do.

As she waited in the lobby for the elevator, it felt like the air staled. Stilled. She sensed…malice.

“So, we meet again.”

She jumped at the words spoken directly into her ear and spun around. Bixby. She scrambled back until the wall halted her progress, unable to stop the shudder of revulsion. “What are you doing here?”

His lecherous gaze raked her body before coming to rest on her chest. Her hand felt along the wall for the elevator button, punching it repeatedly even though she’d activated it already.

“Just keeping an eye on my…interests,” he answered, still not moving his lewd gaze from her breasts.

The elevator dinged. Should she get on and risk being trapped with him in a small, confined space, or make a run of it? She was just about to select option two when three women approached and entered the lift. She dashed in behind them. Relief crashed over her when the doors started to close without Bixby. Just before the panels met in the middle, a hand appeared in the crack, forcing them to slide wide again. Her stomach pitched when he swaggered inside with a smirk and crowded beside her until she had no place to get away from him. The nauseating scent of his cheap cologne assailed her. She turned her head away in disgust. She was getting off the elevator at the first stop, whether it was the one she wanted or not.

Luck was on her side. It was the correct floor. She shouldered her way past him, ignoring his amused snicker and beelined for the sign indicating the women’s restroom. She needed to regroup before meeting with the lawyer. Running her hands under cold water, she patted her cheeks and waited for her heartbeat to settle before adjusting her dress and touching up her lip gloss. When she’d stalled as long as possible, she carefully opened the door and glanced from side to side, relieved to find the hallway empty.

A sign indicated the law offices of Windham, Wallace and Pierce to the left. Straightening her spine, she marched forward with confidence. Turning a corner, she jerked to a stop. Her stepbrother was standing a few feet away with his back to her and approaching him at a leisurely pace was none other than Bixby. She ducked behind a leafy potted plant and crouched down. Fumbling in her purse, she found her phone and hit record.

Her brother looked every bit the slick politician, while Bixby looked every bit the smarmy loan shark. Robbie jerked Bixby aside. They were so close, all they had to do was look down and they’d see her. Her heart pounded in her ears.

“What are you doing here?” Robbie hissed.

Bixby looked unfazed. “Just making sure my investment is repaid.”

“It will be.” Robbie’s teeth were clenched so hard, she was surprised they didn’t crack. “I told you it would be repaid with interest.”

“The latest shipment arrived and I covered the cost. Again. Last chance, Singleton. My patience is running out.” Bixby strolled away, leaving Robbie cursing up a storm.

“Robert? Who was that man? What was that about?”

Annabelle kept recording as Robbie’s Stepford-wife Vespa tottered over. She wore heels that were at least six inches, putting her taller than Robbie. Her blouse was shrink wrapped around her double D’s and her skirt was so miniscule, she’d flash the room if she bent over.

“What? Nothing. Now keep your mouth shut and come-on.” He jerked his wife’s arm and she squeaked as she stumbled along beside him. Though the woman hadn’t said two words to Annabelle, just blinked at her with a vapid expression, she felt sorry for her. Either she was a French fry short of a carton, or she was drugged. Judging by the red eyes and occasional sniffle, she was betting on the second option.

Annabelle waited for them to enter the office before she followed. Mr. Windham’s secretary greeted her warmly and instructed her to his office. An elegant mahogany desk was situated in front of corner windows that provided a stunning view of Los Angeles. Four chairs had been arranged around the desk, two occupied by Robbie and Vespa. She studiously avoided their glares while speaking with Mrs. Porter, Rob’s long-time housekeeper.

Mr. Windham entered and greeted Mrs. Porter first. He was a robust man in his early seventies, with a thick head of white hair and kind gray eyes. She’d met him several times when he’d visit Rob. “Annabelle, how are you holding up?” He clasped her hand between both of his.

“As good as can be expected.”

He patted her hand before nodding at the other two and rounding his desk. He smoothed his paisley blue tie. “I’ll now read the Last Will and Testament of Mr. Robert Singleton.” He eased to his leather executive chair and slid on a pair of glasses. “As the executor, it’s my duty to administer the will through probate. In lieu of complicating the distribution of assets, Mr. Singleton gifted relatives and friends with trinkets before his death, a list of which will be included in the will, a copy of which will be provided to each of you.” He read the legal terminology and started with Mrs. Porter. Rob bequeathed the sum of two-hundred thousand dollars a year for the rest of her life. She wept openly into a handkerchief. Mr. Windham then escorted her out of the office, leaving Annabelle, Robbie and his wife.

Mr. Windham retook his seat and cleared his throat. “To my son, Robert Junior, I leave my grandfather’s antique pocket watch. It’s been handed down to the first-born son for generations. I also leave my mother’s wedding ring, which was given to her by her grandmother.” There were a few more heirloom items. “And finally, I leave the sum of one million dollars, to be made in one lump sum payment.”

He flipped a page. “And lastly, to my dear daughter Annabelle—”

Robbie surged to his feet. “Wait. What? That’s it? That’s all he left me? What about his billions? I’m his only son.”

“Please sit down, Mr. Singleton. I’m not finished.” Robbie grumbled but dropped down to his chair. Mr. Windham continued. “To my dear daughter Annabelle, though not mine by blood, you were my precious, cherished daughter. Along with your beautiful mother, who, if you’re hearing this, means I’m with her right now, brought sunshine into my life.”

Annabelle couldn’t keep the tears from flowing.

“To you, dear Annabelle, I leave you everything that has not been bequeathed already: my estate, the chateau in Aspen, the beach house in Maui, my automobile collection, stocks, bonds and all financial accounts and insurance policies. Use it as your heart desires. It’s yours now. Have a good life, Daughter. Fall in love, have beautiful babies. Your mother and I will be watching out for you from above. I love you.”

Annabelle couldn’t breathe. He’d left her everything. Every. Thing. He was worth billions.

Robbie surged to his feet again, knocking over the chair and sending it crashing to the floor. “This is an outrage! I’m contesting this.” He stabbed a finger in Annabelle’s direction. “She manipulated him when he wasn’t of sound mind!”

Mr. Windham was calm in the face of Robbie’s anger. “I can assure you, Mr. Singleton, this is very much legitimate and impenetrable. It was drafted five years ago. The only amendment came six months ago when the senior Mr. Singleton’s accountant passed away and was removed from the beneficiary list.”

“I don’t care. I’m contesting it anyway. He was my father. Not hers.”

“You do have that option.”

“Furthermore, I want to report a robbery. All of the original artwork is missing from the house and his safe has been emptied.”

“How did you know about the safe?” Mr. Windham’s tone was harsh.

“I checked. Of course I checked. He was my father.”

“For your information, Mr. Singleton instructed me to broker the sale of his paintings. This was done one year ago, when he first became ill. As far as the safe goes, he moved the contents to a safe deposit box, also close to a year ago.”

“This isn’t fair. I will kill you!” He lunged at Annabelle. Vespa gasped. Mr. Windham bellowed for security. Robbie’s hands were poised to wrap around her neck. She waited until he was close and then levered her foot up as hard as she could between his legs. He lurched to a stop, gurgled, grabbed his crotch and fell to his knees. Vespa shrieked and dropped down beside him but he shoved her away. She fell in an ungainly heap, her legs akimbo, displaying a teeny red thong. Annabelle jerked her gaze away.

The doors burst open and two uniformed guards came rushing inside. Mr. Windham instructed them to cart Robbie away from the premises. After the guards hauled him to his feet, Mr. Windham said, “Mr. Singleton, the locks and security codes are being changed at the estate as we speak. You are not to attempt access, or you will be immediately arrested for trespassing.”

“That’s my house!”

“Not anymore.”

“You’ll pay for this.” His malice-filled gaze encompassed the entire room. “You’ll all pay.”

Vespa, having regained her balance and a semblance of dignity, tottered after them. When the door closed, Annabelle turned to Mr. Windham.

“What was Rob thinking? He had to know Robbie would be furious.” Furious was an understatement. Murderous was more like it.

“He did, but he didn’t want Robbie to have the things he spent his life building. He wouldn’t tell me exactly, but I believe he discovered Robbie was involved in unsavory activities. I had to talk him into leaving him a monetary inheritance, mostly because I feared his reaction. I hoped that would appease him. One million is quite a large sum of money.”

“Not when you owe a loan shark five million.”

Mr. Windham gaped. “Five million dollars?”

“Plus a hundred thousand each day the payment is late.” She paused. “I overheard Robbie and the loan shark talking. They also mentioned a shipment of something. I don’t know for sure, but I think they were possibly talking about humans.”

“Your father was right,” Mr. Windham sighed. “He knew Robbie was involved in something nefarious.”

“I recorded the conversation, even though it’s not incriminating.”

“Email me a copy and I’ll make sure it gets into the right hands.”

“I can do better.” She reached into her purse and withdrew the flash drive, handing it to Mr. Windham. “As I said, it’s not conclusive, but I hope it’s enough to get the authorities to investigate.”

He placed the flash drive in a drawer. “Your father arranged for a bodyguard until the will has cleared probate and can no longer be questioned by Robbie.”

“How long will that be?”

“It could be two to three months, or it could take as long as a few years. And we need to draft a will for you so that there’s no question what happens to the estate once you take possession. We can do that now for you, if you’d like.”

“I would, yes.”

“I’ve taken the liberty of drafting a preliminary document. You can think about what you’d like to do and call me.”

“I already know. I want to split it three ways.”

Mr. Windham called in one of the paralegals to fill in the details. Annabelle marked a third of the estate to a veteran’s association in her father’s name, one third to the scholarship Rob endowed in her mother’s name at her Alma Mater, and one third to cancer research in Rob’s name. After it was printed out, signed and notarized, she tucked a copy in her purse.

With a key, Mr. Windham unlocked a drawer in his desk and withdrew a fat envelope. “Your father wanted you to have this, too.”

She accepted the envelope from his hand and was shocked at the weight. Reading her surprise, he said, “It’s thirty thousand cash. Before you go back to your house, I request that you spend the night at a hotel to make sure the new security system is up and running.” He handed her a set of keys and a code for the alarm. “Pack some clothes and then go on an extended vacation. See the world. Don’t come back until the will is final. If you run out of money, contact me and I’ll wire it to you. Your father didn’t trust that stepbrother of yours and I don’t either. Once everything’s in your name, he’s powerless. But please keep in touch so I can let you know what’s happening.”

So many icy fingers of dread wrapped around her, she felt strangled. “I will. Thank you.”

“Your father was very proud of you, Annabelle. It was a selfless thing you did to put your life on hold to take care of him. You made his last few days on earth happy.”

The tears started again but she couldn’t stop them. Mr. Windham handed her a snowy white handkerchief and she dabbed her eyes. Then he pressed the button on his intercom and instructed his secretary to send a Mr. Garvey inside. The door opened to reveal a stocky man just under six feet and almost as wide. The overhead lights reflected on his bald head. His muscles were so large, his arms didn’t reach his sides. She would peg him at mid-forties. He wore long sleeves, but tattoos peeked from the cuffs and collar.

“Andrew Garvey, this is Ms. Annabelle St. John.”

“Annabelle,” Andrew rumbled, his voice sounding like he’d swallowed a bucket of gravel.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Garvey. Thank you for doing this.”

“My pleasure. And it’s Andy.”

She shook hands with Mr. Windham and promised to keep in touch. Andy opened the door and ushered her outside. She’d taken two steps when Robbie jumped out in front of her.

“You bitch.”

Andy slammed a palm on Robbie’s chest, halting his progress.

Robbie glared at Andy. “Who the hell are you?”

“Someone who’s going to make sure you leave Ms. St. John alone.”

“Yeah, well, she’s my sister and I can talk to her if I want.”

Andy chuckled but it wasn’t a humorous sound. “No, sir, you can’t.” Andy shoved Robbie aside and guided Annabelle around him.

“Hey,” Robbie sputtered, as he regained his balance. “Do not walk away from me.”

Andy propelled her forward and they hurried away.

“I’m suing your ass! I’ll see you in court.”

Andy bypassed the elevator and ushered her down the steps. “That guy’s your brother?”

“Step. In case you couldn’t tell, we’re not close.”

He made that rumbling chuckle again that sounded like a chain saw starting up. He motioned for her to wait before they exited and headed to her car. “I’ll drive.”

It wasn’t a request and she didn’t argue, handing over the keys to her gold BMW sport utility vehicle.

“Nice,” he grunted as he pressed the power button to adjust the seat. It was nice, with all the bells and whistles. She tried telling Rob over and over that she didn’t need a new car every year, but to a life-long auto peddler, that was sacrilege.

“Did Mr. Windham mention to you about taking a trip?”

“He did.”

“You’re okay with leaving for a few weeks? Or months?”

He glanced over at her and smiled. It altered his face from scary to mildly scary. “Let’s just say they made it worth my while.”

“Do you have a family?”

This smile transformed his face. “A daughter. Seven. Calista. I call her Callie.”

“You’re okay with being away from her for a while?”

“She lives with her mother most of the time. We can Facetime. Besides, they offered me an outrageous sum of money. Callie’s college will be paid in full, even if she decides to go Ivy League, with enough left over for living expenses.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

Andy drove to the hotel Mr. Windham had booked for the night. The room was luxurious, with a separate bedroom. She tried to upgrade to a two-bedroom suite so Andy would have a bed, but he declined, insisting this was what he requested. He would sleep on the sofa as a first defense. She didn’t like the sound of that, but deferred to his wishes.

#

Annabelle woke early the next morning, excitement warring with an overwhelming sense of dread. Worrying about what Robbie might do kept her up most of the night. Instead of dwelling on possibilities, she tried to decide where to vacation. Courtesy of her stepfather, she now owned three homes, but if she was trying to stay under the radar, the houses in both Maui and Aspen were out. Paris was always nice, but she’d been there before. She’d always wanted to visit Bora Bora. Maybe she could rent one of those huts built out over the water.

She hated the fear Robbie had instilled in her. She didn’t think he was violent, but then, she didn’t know him at all. She had no idea what he’d done in the years he’d been gone. Though he’d been left with a large sum of money that would thrill most people, Robbie was five million in debt. Bixby the Loan Shark looked like the kind of man who broke legs—or worse.

Annabelle was happy Rob left Mrs. Porter enough money to retire since she’d probably sell the estate in Los Angeles. She just didn’t need a house that large. She wasn’t sure what her next career move would be, but she needed to work or she’d be bored. Starting her own design company had always been a goal. Now would be the perfect time to take the leap.

Andy was up and dressed when she came out of the bedroom, drinking a cup of coffee and watching the news. The anchor was reporting on the death of a local military veteran found dead in a park off Santa Monica Boulevard.

“Have you had breakfast?”

“I was waiting for you.”

They both perused the room service menu and then she called and placed and order for one veggie omelet with wheat toast and fresh fruit for her, and a hearty man’s breakfast for Andy. She poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot he’d brewed while they waited for the delivery.

“Do you think it’s safe to stop by the house today?”

“I got a text from the company doing the installation of the upgraded security. It’s done so we should be good to go.”

“How does Bora Bora sound?”

His brows puckered. “Like a particularly nasty virus.”

She laughed, maybe for the first time in weeks. “I mean the island. That’s where I’m thinking of heading for vacation.”

He took out his phone and googled it. With a nod, he gave his approval. She’d need her computer to search for accommodations. They’d pay in cash for both the plane tickets and hotel, so they didn’t leave a paper trail.

A knock sounded on the door. “Room service.”

Andy stood. “Go back to the bedroom until I tell you it’s safe to come out.”

She followed his orders, closing the door and leaving only a crack to peek through. Andy checked the peephole and then disengaged the locks.

Pop.

Andy grunted and blood sprayed. Annabelle couldn’t process what she was seeing.

“Annabelle, lock the door and call the police,” he yelled as the intruder fought his way inside. Just before she slammed the door shut and locked it, she heard another muffled pop. Her hands were shaking so bad, she dropped the phone. When she picked it up, she could barely punch in the numbers.

“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”

“My bodyguard’s been shot. Someone’s trying to break into our room.” She gave the operator the hotel name and room number. The woman informed her that help was on the way, and to stay on the line. Annabelle ignored the last part and slid her phone in her pocket. She moved to the door and listened for any sounds, but there were none. Calling herself all kinds of stupid, she chanced a look. Two men were lying motionless on the ground. Andy was one of them. She ran outside just as the real room service deliveryman arrived. The intruder’s body was lying halfway inside the room, propping the door open. His head was twisted at an unnatural angle.

“Oh my God,” the young man pushing a cart full of food cried. He couldn’t be much over eighteen and he looked like he was going to be sick.

Andy’s chest was covered with blood and it was bubbling out of his mouth. She dropped down beside him, trying to stop the flow. His eyes blinked open.

“Tell Callie…love her.” Then his lids fluttered closed and his head lolled to the side.

“No. No, no, no,” she chanted. “Please don’t die, Andy.” But she knew it was too late.

A wave of sadness swamped her. Callie would grow up without her father who adored her. She would make sure Callie was set for life. A wave of fear followed. What if there was another attacker waiting outside for her?

Her hands still shaking, she pulled out her phone to call Mr. Windham when it rang. His number popped on the screen. “Mr. Windham, Andy—”

“Trusted…wrong…person.” Mr. Windham’s voice was weak, hoarse. “Police…bad…can’t trust…” A choked wheezing sound came across the line and then there was nothing.

“Mr. Windham? Are you there?”

No answer. Darting her eyes around the room, she grabbed her purse. The room service deliveryman was busy puking up his guts in the decorative trash can, paying her no attention. With a silent prayer and apology to Andy for leaving him, she leaped across the bodies and bolted down the hall. Mr. Windham had said not to trust the police. What was she supposed to do now?

Her SUV was in the same spot Andy left it last night. Her eyes scanned the area, not seeing anyone hiding in the shadows. She jumped inside and locked the door, praying it didn’t explode when she twisted the key. It didn’t.

She drove erratically through the streets. It was a wonder she didn’t mow down a pedestrian or cause an accident. When she reached Los Angeles International Airport, she followed the signs to long-term parking. If her brother found her car, he’d think she’d taken a trip. She should just get on the first plane out of LA, but she needed to go back to the house. She needed her laptop. Pictures of her parents. Mementos she refused to leave behind. Her passport.

She caught the shuttle to the terminal and then one to a nearby chain motel. She stopped in the giftshop and purchased a change of clothes, as well as a hat and sunglasses, paying with cash. She felt uneasy walking around with thirty thousand dollars, but she didn’t have much of a choice.

She collapsed on the bed as soon as she entered the room, exhaustion weighing her down. She had no one to call. Rob was dead. Mr. Windham was dead. She’d lost contact with her friends in Seattle once she moved back home.

Pushing to her feet, she yanked open a dresser drawer, found the phonebook and flipped through the pages.