11

The following morning Lucy was sitting at a table in Becky’s Garden, the cheerful café next door to the Harvest Gold Inn, sipping a cup of freshly brewed organic green tea and munching a slice of toast that was also guaranteed to be organic and baked locally, when she heard her named called out.

“Lucy. Lucy Sheridan. I thought that was you I saw coming out of the hardware store yesterday.”

There was no mistaking a former cheerleader’s voice—bright, vivacious and downright perky. Lucy looked toward the door and watched Jillian Colfax sweep toward her through the crowded café. Jillian hadn’t changed much in thirteen years. Her blond hair was shorter now. She wore it in a stylish shoulder-length bob instead of a ponytail. Some of the natural radiance of youth had been replaced by an expensive spa glow, and she looked as if she had put on some weight. But she was still a remarkably lovely woman. She would look good at ninety. She had the bones.

She also wore clothes very well. Today Jillian was a model of what Lucy had concluded was the local look—an expensive, laid-back style that was meant to convey the mystique of wine country. The clothes were designed to indicate that the wearer was at home toiling in the vineyards.

The reality, of course, was that the real work in the vineyards was done by the same hardworking people who picked all the other crops on the West Coast—migrant laborers. Lucy suspected that very few of them wore designer jeans, silk shirts and Prada sandals into the fields. She was willing to bet that they left the diamond and emerald rings behind as well.

Jillian arrived at the table and sat down without waiting for an invitation.

“It’s wonderful to see you again,” she said. “Can you believe it’s been thirteen years?”

“No problem at all,” Lucy said. She put down the pen she had been using to make notes on a pad of yellow paper.

Jillian looked briefly baffled by the response, but she barely broke stride.

“Time goes by so quickly,” she said. “You look fabulous, by the way. You’ve really changed. I wasn’t even sure at first that it was you when I first saw you yesterday. Love the haircut. It really suits you.”

“I’m so glad you approve,” Lucy said in her most exquisitely polite tones. She picked up the pot and poured more tea into her cup.

Jillian regrouped and tried another approach.

“I’m so sorry about the circumstances that brought you back to Summer River,” she continued. “We were all shocked to hear about the car crash. Your aunt was a fixture of the community. Everyone liked her. I know you were close to her—at least you were when you were in your teens.”

“I loved her,” Lucy said. She set the pot down. “I was very fond of Mary, too.”

“I know. We will miss them both.”

“Will you?”

“Of course.” Jillian’s full lips tightened ever so slightly, and her eyes lost a few degrees of warmth and several carats of sparkle. “As I said, we were all shocked. But everyone knows that stretch of the old road to the coast is very dangerous. I don’t know why they took that route.”

“They always took Manzanita Road when they drove to the coast. They were very familiar with it. They liked to stop and eat a picnic lunch at the site of the old commune where they met. It was something of a weekly ritual for them.”

“Yes, well, I must admit the biggest stunner came this morning when Quinn and I heard that you and Mason Fletcher found Tristan Brinker’s body in the fireplace of Sara’s house. Absolutely unbelievable.”

“It was something of a surprise.”

“All these years everyone has wondered what happened to him.”

The attractive, middle-aged woman who had welcomed Jillian to the café a short time earlier cruised purposely through the crowd. She had introduced herself as Becky Springer, and it was clear that she was the proprietor. Becky was a robust, full-figured woman endowed with the unflappable personality and the kind of bubbly energy it took to run a small business. She came to a stop at the table where Lucy and Jillian were seated.

“Coffee, Jillian?” she said with a polite smile that did not quite reach her eyes.

Jillian glanced up impatiently. “Hi, Becky. Yes, coffee, please.”

“I’ll be right back,” Becky said.

Somehow she made it sound like a warning. Lucy hid a smile. Reading between the lines, she was quite sure that Becky was not a big fan of Jillian Colfax’s.

As soon as Becky was out of earshot, Jillian leaned in a little closer and lowered her voice.

“Do you have any idea why your aunt would have murdered Brinker?”

There was a thread of anxiety in her voice, and if you looked closely, you could see the evidence of strain around her eyes, Lucy thought.

“We don’t know for certain that she did,” Lucy said calmly. “For that matter, we don’t know yet that it’s Brinker’s body we found.”

“But they’re saying Brinker’s driver’s license was with the body, and also a newspaper with a headline about the Scorecard Rapist, who was terrorizing college campuses that summer.”

“I did see the driver’s license and the newspaper, but I’m sure the authorities will want to do a bit more investigating before they close the case.”

“It must be him,” Jillian said. “It has to be him. It explains why he suddenly vanished. I don’t think there will be an extensive investigation. Brinker’s only close relative was his father. Jeffrey Brinker died a few months after his son. There’s no one left who will push to reopen the case. After all, it looks very open-and-shut.”

“Does it?”

Tension tightened the corners of Jillian’s mouth and eyes. “Don’t tell me you want the police to start asking a lot of questions. It will make everything so much more complicated.”

It was half command, half plea.

“Define complicated,” Lucy said.

“You know what I’m talking about. You don’t want to dredge up the past.”

“What is there to dredge up?”

“Brinker hurt some people—maybe more people than we knew, if he really was the Scorecard Rapist. His victims won’t thank you for bringing the ghost out of the closet, trust me.”

“I didn’t know that much about Tristan Brinker. The closest I ever got to him was the night of his last party out at the old Harper Ranch. You may remember the occasion. You invited me to go with you.”

Jillian flushed slightly, and her eyes hardened, but she gave no other indication that the mention of the party brought back uncomfortable memories or twinges of guilt. Probably because they didn’t, Lucy thought. In Jillian’s mind the events of that long-ago evening no doubt came under the heading of teenage fun and games.

“What I remember about Brinker’s last party was that you left early with Mason Fletcher,” Jillian said.

“Yes.” Lucy made a note on the yellow pad.

Jillian watched uneasily. “What are you doing?”

“Just jotting down a few reminders to myself. I’ve got a lot to do while I’m here in town.”

“How long will you be in Summer River?”

“I have absolutely no idea,” Lucy said. “I had intended to spend a couple of weeks getting the house ready to sell, but you’re right, a murder investigation could complicate things. Why do you ask?”

“I know this isn’t a good time to talk about business, but you need to know that Colfax Inc. is in the middle of a very important business negotiation. A lot of money is on the line.”

“I heard something about a possible merger.”

“Yes. Raintree Assets has approached Colfax with a very lucrative offer. Quinn and I recently found out that due to a quirk in Mary Colfax’s will, you inherited her shares in Colfax Inc.”

“It wasn’t a quirk at all,” Lucy said. “Mary was a very shrewd businesswoman. In exchange for the rather large sum of money that she invested in Colfax Inc. back at the beginning, she insisted that she have full control of her shares. She chose to leave them to Sara, who, in turn, left them to me.”

“All of the shares are supposed to remain in the family. Warner insisted on it.”

“He made an exception when he and Brinker founded the company. He needed Mary’s cash, so he met her terms. It’s all quite legal, I assure you. And rock solid. Mary and Sara handled their legal affairs with a trust. You know what lawyers say—wills are broken all the time, but trusts are almost impossible to take apart. I can vouch for that fact. In my work, we see plenty of examples of the strength of a well-designed trust.”

Jillian placed her perfectly manicured fingertips on the table and lowered her voice.

“According to Quinn, that wasn’t the way it was supposed to work,” she said.

Lucy laughed. “I can’t begin to tell you how many times I hear that in my profession.”

Jillian sat back, anger and confusion flashing across her face. “What, exactly, do you do for a living?”

“I’m a forensic genealogist.”

“What on earth is that?

“I spend my days tracking down lost heirs and connecting them with their inheritances.”

“I didn’t know there was such a profession.”

“I get that a lot.”

Jillian’s eyes glittered with suspicion. “Did you know that you were in line to inherit those Colfax shares?”

“It came as a complete surprise. I knew I was Sara’s heir, of course, but I never had a clue that she was one of Mary’s heirs.”

“Neither did anyone else in the known universe, damn it,” Jillian shot back.

Becky Springer chose that moment to arrive at the table with a graceful porcelain coffeepot decorated with yellow flowers. She poured the coffee into Jillian’s cup.

Two dark shadows fell across the bright café.

Becky glanced over her shoulder.

“Oh, look,” she said, affecting mild surprise. “Two latecomers for breakfast. I’d better make another pot of coffee.”

Jillian was sitting with her back to the door. She did not turn her head to see who had entered the room. It was obvious she couldn’t have cared less. She was completely focused on Lucy and the shares of Colfax Inc.

But Lucy watched, fascinated, as Mason and Deke prowled through the maze of delicate tables and chairs. She was not the only one paying attention. With the exception of Jillian, everyone else in the room glanced either surreptitiously or in outright curiosity at the men. In the pretty, sunlit space they stood out like a couple of Old West gunslingers traversing a flowered meadow.

Mason looked like he had gotten some sleep. The midnight shadow of a beard that she had noticed late last night was gone. He was dressed in jeans, a denim shirt and low boots.

Sara and Mary had often remarked that Mason resembled his uncle. Thirteen years ago, Lucy had not agreed. This morning the family link between the two was starkly clear. Deke’s once dark hair had gone steel gray. But the shared genetic heritage was there in the wolf-gold eyes, the fiercely etched features and the tough, lean lines of the two men.

“Something tells me Deke and Mason will want to join you two ladies,” Becky said. She winked at Lucy. “I’ll get two more cups.”

Jillian did turn around then. She shot a quick, uneasy look at Mason and Deke and then switched her attention back to Lucy.

“We can’t talk here. We need privacy.”

“I don’t have any problem chatting here,” Lucy said. Deliberately, she gave Mason and Deke a bright, welcoming smile. Deke nodded in acknowledgment. Mason looked amused.

Becky moved away from the table and greeted Mason and Deke.

“You two have a seat,” she said. “I’ll be right back with more coffee.”

“Thanks, honey,” Deke said.

He leaned over and gave Becky a quick, affectionate kiss as she went past him on the way to the coffee bar. It was the kind of easy good-morning kiss that two people who have been lovers for a long time exchanged.

Well, Lucy thought. So that’s how things stand in that quarter.

Mason must have noticed her reaction, because he flashed her a quick grin and winked.

And then both men were at the table. Neither of them was especially big, but between the two of them they managed to block out most of the sunlight pouring through the windows behind them.

“Well, well, well, little Lucy Sheridan,” Deke said. He gave Lucy a once-over and smiled approvingly. “Didn’t you turn out just fine? Figured you would.”

“It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Fletcher,” she said.

“Real sorry to hear about Sara and Mary.”

“Thank you,” Lucy said quietly.

“Good morning, Lucy,” Mason said. “Jillian. Mind if we join you?”

Jillian opened her mouth in what Lucy was pretty sure was going to be a no.

“Please do,” Lucy said.

Neither man hesitated. They each grabbed a chair from a nearby table, snapped it into position and sat down.

Jillian looked seriously irritated, but she was trapped and she knew it. The table was Lucy’s, after all.

Deke inclined his head at Jillian in a crisp, military-style acknowledgment of her presence that gave away nothing of what he was thinking.

“Jillian,” he said. “Surprised to see you here this morning.”

“I heard Lucy was in town,” Jillian said. Each word was chipped from ice. “She and I have some private business.”

“Is that so?” Deke looked at Lucy, brows raised.

She smiled. “Trust me, it’s nothing that can’t wait.”

Jillian got a pinched look and rose quickly.

“You’ll have to excuse me,” she said. “I’ve got an appointment. Lucy, I’ll get in touch with you later to set up a private meeting.”

“I’m going to be quite busy for the next few days,” Lucy said. “But I’ll check my calendar and see if I can free up some time for you.”

“You might want to do that,” Jillian said evenly. “There is a considerable amount of money at stake, and you stand to do very well out of the deal if you manage to find the time to discuss the details.”

“Sounds good,” Lucy said. “I like to talk about making money as much as the next person. But right now I’m a little busy.”

Jillian looked torn. Then she appeared to come to a major decision. She smiled.

“I understand,” she said. “Listen, Quinn and I are having a reception at the winery to celebrate Warner’s birthday this evening. We’ll be opening the first bottles of the Colfax Reserve. Everyone at the winery feels it will set the wine world on fire. I know it’s awfully short notice, but I would love it if you could join us.”

“Wow, déjà vu all over again,” Lucy said. She smiled. “Got a surprise in store for me this time, too?”

“Good question,” Mason said.

Jillian looked blank. “I’m afraid I don’t get the joke.”

“The last party you invited me to wasn’t intended to end well for me, was it?” Lucy said. “I was just wondering how this one is slated to finish.”

Jillian’s eyes went very cold. “That was a long time ago.”

“And Brinker is dead,” Lucy finished quietly.

Jillian’s hand tightened around the strap of her purse. “Yes. I doubt if there is anyone who will mourn him.”

An acute silence descended on the table. Lucy knew they were all waiting for her reaction.

“Thank you for the invitation to the reception,” she said. “But I’d feel very awkward attending alone. Okay if I bring someone with me?”

Jillian was almost pathetically relieved. “Yes, of course. You’re more than welcome to bring a date. But I thought you were here in Summer River on your own. Is someone joining you?”

“My date for the evening will be Mason.” Lucy looked politely at Mason. “Assuming he’s willing.”

Mason watched her with a steady, calculating expression. “He’s definitely willing. I’ve never been invited to one of those classy winery receptions. This should be interesting.”

Jillian did not look thrilled, but she managed a determined smile. “Fine. We’ll see you both tonight, then. Seven-thirty.” She paused to give Lucy one last bright smile. “Dress code is the usual—wine-country casual.”

“I’ll make sure to clean my boots,” Mason said.

Jillian ignored that. She adjusted her shoulder bag and walked briskly toward the door.

Lucy looked at Mason and Deke. “Wine-country casual?”

Deke chuckled. “Don’t look at me, I’ve never been invited to any of those shindigs at the wineries.”

Becky appeared at the table. “Neither have I, but I can give you one piece of advice, Mason: Whatever you do, don’t wear a suit and tie. You’ll stand out like a tourist.”

“Wouldn’t want to do that,” Mason said.

Becky took herself off to seat two more customers who had appeared in the doorway.

Mason looked at Lucy and lowered his voice. “Just out of sheer curiosity, what the hell were you thinking by accepting Jillian’s invitation?”

“I’m thinking that a Colfax family gathering is an excellent place to start asking a few questions,” she said.

“Damn,” Mason said. “I was afraid of that.”

Deke looked interested. “What kind of questions do you plan on asking?”

Mason exhaled slowly. “She doesn’t think that the car crash that killed Sara and Mary was an accident.”

“Well, hell,” Deke said. He said it very, very softly.

“I was willing to accept that verdict at first,” Lucy said. “Accidents happen. But now I’m working on the theory that Sara’s and Mary’s deaths are linked to the shares of Colfax Inc. that I inherited.”

“Huh,” Deke said. He looked intrigued.

“Must be something about being back in Summer River,” Lucy said. “Brings out my suspicious side.”

“Yeah, mine, too,” Mason admitted.

Deke looked at him. “Hell, you’ve been suspicious your whole life.”

“Same with you,” Mason said. “Probably in the blood.”

“Probably,” Deke agreed. He turned back to Lucy. “Got any evidence of this theory of yours?”

“Three dead people, all of whom are in one way or another connected to Colfax Inc.”

Mason picked up his coffee cup. “As the only professional investigator present, I feel obliged to point out yet again that one of the deaths occurred thirteen years ago and in all probability is unrelated to the deaths of Sara and Mary.”

“I’m aware of that,” Lucy said. “And as I told you, I agree with you. But still, there are three deaths.”

“Are you going to mention your theory to Chief Whitaker when we talk to him this morning?” Mason asked. His tone was neutral, but there was a sharp, watchful curiosity in his eyes.

“No, not yet,” Lucy said. “He’ll want proof. In my experience, the cops and the courts prefer a nice chain of evidence.”

“In your experience?” Deke asked.

“A large part of my job with Brookhouse Research consists of gathering solid evidence to prove or disprove the claims of a lost or missing heir. Trust me, that requires a clear trail, because there is usually a lot of money at stake. People are always willing to fight very hard in court to get their hands on hard cash.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Deke said. “Folks get killed on the street for a few bucks or a little dope. No telling what they’d do for a cut of a multimillion-dollar inheritance.”

“It’s true I don’t deal in gunshot residue and blood-spatter patterns,” Lucy said. “But I have to track down things like birth, marriage and death certificates that can be used to build a family tree that might go back several generations. I use immigration and census records. Draft registration records. Military service papers. Property records and wills and trusts and so on. Believe me, I know what it takes to build a case.”

Mason glanced at the yellow pad. He did not look impressed. “And that’s what you’re going to try to do here in Summer River?”

“Yes.” Lucy pulled the yellow pad closer in a protective gesture. “In my line, it always comes down to the family.”

Deke narrowed his eyes. “Given that the family you’re dealing with controls a fortune—not to mention a lot of what goes on in this town—it might be a good idea to keep your little theory just between the three of us, at least for now.”

“Don’t worry, I intend to do just that.” Lucy collected the yellow pad and her tote. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got things to do.”

“Where are you going?” Mason asked.

“Got a big day today. First I have to get ready for our interview with Chief Whitaker, and then I go shopping.”

“You want to shop?”

“For something to wear tonight. I didn’t bring any evening clothes with me. I need to find out what wine-country casual means. Enjoy your coffee, gentlemen.”

She went briskly toward the door, but she was not quite out of earshot when she heard Mason’s low-voiced comment to Deke.

“Damn,” he said softly. “This is going to get complicated.”

“No kidding,” Deke said. “I think we just got stuck with the check.”