The mansion was worthy of a Hollywood legend. Since learning about the play, Molly had read all she could about Magnolia Sweet online. She’d been confused at first by the woman’s attitude in relation to the number of acting credits she held. After starring in some commercials at the age of eighteen, she’d landed a five-year spot on a well-loved soap opera. She’d been fired for a variety of things—all conjecture from the tabloids. But after that, her career had been sporadic at best. So how, Molly wondered, had she pulled off acting like such a diva when she’d settled back in a small town in the middle of practically nowhere?
Molly rang the bell again, staring at the frosted glass doors that were double her height at least. The answer, she’d found, was in producing. Magnolia had still maintained a wide reach, despite living on the Oregon coast. No one truly knew why she’d left Hollywood, but she had invested wisely and helped produce several box office hits over the last ten years.
The door swung open and a man in tennis shorts and runners answered. Molly’s eyes widened, mostly in surprise at seeing a half-naked, impressively chiseled chest when she’d been expecting Vivien. His aggrieved expression morphed immediately into a charming smile.
“You don’t look like any girl scout I’ve ever seen,” he said, his voice low. Was it a failed attempt at sounding seductive?
Molly had her lanyard in the inside pocket of her purse. She flashed it and returned his smile with a much more sedate one of her own. “Molly Owens from the Britton Bay Bulletin. I believe you and your sister were expecting me?”
“Oh. Right. The reporter. What’s one more? Come on in. I’m Jeffrey.” He held the door and stepped back, ushering Molly in with much less enthusiasm.
“I’m actually the editor of the paper, but I spoke with your sister when she came to see me about your mom. I’m so sorry for your loss,” Molly said.
Jeffrey shut the door and stared at Molly a beat too long. Her skin prickled uncomfortably. If she’d had one piece of advice for her younger self, it would be to never ignore that gut reaction. She could have saved herself a lot of trouble if she hadn’t. But you wouldn’t be where you are today.
“Yes, a great loss for all. Did you know my mother?”
“No.”
“Me neither.”
Molly bit her lip hard to keep from gasping at the blunt and harsh words.
She turned to look at her surroundings, choosing not to reply. White marble tiles gleamed in every direction. A spiral staircase led to a second story, and when she looked up, she saw the opulent chandelier, sparkling like glistening raindrops.
“Your home is beautiful,” she said. To the right was a sunken seating area. The furnishing was large. All of it. The oversized couches looked like they’d never been sat in. A sculpture of a life-size giraffe seemed out of place near the window. Interesting. Eclectic. Odd.
“It’ll be on the market by the end of next week if you’re interested,” Jeffrey said.
Molly smiled. “Bit out of my price range. Are you sorry to see it go?”
Jeffrey walked to the banister and picked up the gray T-shirt lying over it, holding it between his hands. “We didn’t grow up here. My mother had a fondness for this town, and when she needed to leave L.A., she purchased this place. We didn’t spend much time here.”
She couldn’t tell if his monotone voice was hiding emotion or showing he held none. The click-clack of heels pulled Molly’s attention to the large arched opening to her left.
Vivien smiled as she approached. “Molly, right?” When she reached out to shake hands, hers was much less glamorous than the last time Molly had seen her. No crimson nails.
“Yes. Nice to see you again.” Molly dropped her hand.
She sent a glance toward her brother and frowned. “Put your shirt on. We have company.”
Jeffrey scowled but did what she said.
When she noticed Molly looking at her hands, Vivien wiggled the fingers of one. “Packing is hell on the hands.”
“I can’t believe how much stuff she has,” Jeffrey said from behind them.
Vivien turned to Jeffrey like she was irritated with him just for being there, wrinkling her nose. “I thought you’d have showered after your workout.”
He shrugged. “What’s the point? I’m just going to get sweaty again lugging boxes. Don’t know about you ladies, but I could use a drink.”
Vivien gestured for Molly to follow Jeffrey.
“We’ll use the sunroom, Jeffrey.”
He mumbled something Molly figured was agreement. They certainly had an interesting dynamic. The rest of what she saw of the house was every bit as luxurious as the foyer and sitting room. The kitchen looked like something off of the Food Network with its long, wide counters, double ovens, and catering-size fridge.
“This is amazing. Did your mom like to cook?”
Jeffrey opened the fridge and pulled out a pitcher of what looked like iced tea. “No. But she liked to entertain, and no matter what, people always end up in the kitchen somehow, right?”
Molly nodded. That was actually quite true of any get-togethers she could recall. While Jeffrey poured all of them a drink, Molly pulled her notepad from her bag. “I appreciate you guys taking the time to let me follow up on a couple of things. I know you have so much going on and it’s such a hard time for you.”
Jeffrey passed the two women tea and gulped his down, pouring a second. “It’s an inconvenience for sure. Viv and I have a lot on our plate right now.”
Molly took a sip of her tea to hide her reaction. Ah, yes. Death, the great inconvenience to one’s schedule.
“Nothing we can’t handle. It’s nicer in the sunroom, but we have appointments this afternoon, so we’ll need to make this meeting quick,” Vivien said. Like her mother, she clearly had no issues being in charge.
“Of course.” Molly trailed after them, through the kitchen to a set of French doors that led out to a glass-enclosed patio. An in-ground pool at one end rivaled the size of Molly’s home. Jeffrey waited for the women to sit on the outdoor sofa before sitting across from them in a matching chair.
Molly set her drink down and got started. “I was thinking about adding a bit more of a personal element to your mother’s dedication page. There’s so much about her work, but I wondered if you had any anecdotes you’d like to add. Perhaps a funny conversation or memory? An auto-correct mishap that makes you smile when you remember it? I just thought it might be nice for the people of Britton Bay to see who she was outside of an actress and producer.”
Vivien took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. Jeffrey, who’d set his drink down on a table beside him, gripped the arms of his chair.
“Most of our phone conversations were straight to the point. We work for her, you understand?” Vivien crossed one leg over her knee.
“I didn’t know that. You work for her production company? In Los Angeles?”
Vivien nodded. “We do. There was a bit of an…incident, so Mom thought it better to return to Britton Bay. Her wealth goes a lot further in a town like this than L.A. Most of our conversations were work-related and to the point. She couldn’t stand texting or emailing. She had an assistant that took care of all email correspondence.”
Molly frowned. “Were you aware of a relationship between her and Judd Brown?”
Jeffrey scoffed and picked up his drink. “The killer? There was no relationship. The man is a liar as well as a murderer.”
Shifting in her seat, Molly thought of how to phrase the question without getting herself tossed out. “Be that as it may, the police said there were text messages back and forth. How can you be so sure your mom wasn’t seeing Judd?”
“Because my mother hated cheaters. Loathed them,” Vivien said.
“Judd isn’t married,” Molly said gently.
“Maybe not. But my mother is,” Jeffrey said, then set his drink down. “Was.”
Molly’s pulse sped up. “She was married? At the time of her death?”
Vivien nodded. “Yes. They were estranged, but that didn’t matter. Married is married. We believe mom moved back to Britton Bay to be closer to him.”
“Her husband lives here?”
They both nodded. “Yes. He’s in the play. Beau Harrison. He’s our step-father.”