Chapter 24

Taylor stared at the dark hole in the ground, imagining Renata Rollins—so lively, so full of life, spending eternity six feet under.

Why hadn’t she taken the time to get to know her?

How could she have judged someone so quickly, so harshly?

Walk a mile in my shoes.

She should have remembered that saying earlier. It was so true. What Renata became was the result of the life she’d led. She hadn’t had all the privileges Taylor had taken for granted.

Suddenly, she saw Renata as a young girl. She was playing hopscotch on the sidewalk.

Smiling.

Happy.

What had happened to that little girl?

“Are you okay?” Shane whispered.

She nodded and leaned into his body, savoring the comfort of his arm around her. Getting through the service inside the chapel had been more difficult than she’d anticipated. Sobs had racked her mother’s frail body, and Taylor had longed to move across the pew to hold her.

But an aisle separated them, an aisle and Caleb Bassett. He sat beside her mother, his arm around her, offering her his handkerchief, whispering to her.

Mercifully, the service had been short, delivered by a minister who knew nothing about Renata. He described her as “an innocent lamb called to heaven” and “a woman whose compassion for others and charitable works would be remembered through eternity.”

Trite phrases, she’d thought, but she didn’t blame the minister. He’d never met Renata, and no telling what Caleb and her mother had said about her.

Still, she couldn’t help wishing someone who’d known Renata well had been on hand to deliver the eulogy. Taylor couldn’t imagine going to her grave, surrounded by strangers.

At least a hundred people had come, more than Taylor had expected, but only a handful had ever met Renata. Taylor supposed she should be thankful her mother’s friends were in attendance. Even though they hadn’t known Renata, their presence might comfort her mother.

If anything could.

Shane guided Taylor to the white folding chairs placed alongside the open grave. They took seats next to Brianna and Uncle Doyle. Across from them on the other side of the grave were Raoul and Trent, beside her mother and Caleb.

Mourners were still filing out of the chapel and down the short walkway to the grave site. For a change, the temperature was mild, the humidity lower than normal. Overhead, a gull coasted on a thermal, searching for a meal along the nearby shore.

It was a beautiful setting, Taylor thought. A good resting place for the sister she’d never got to know.

Vines flush with bright pink geraniums spilled over a coral wall. An ancient banyan tree arched gracefully over this part of the graveyard. It would be shady and cooler here even in the heat of summer. The scent of gardenias floated through the air from the trellised arbor a few feet away.

“It’s a beautiful casket,” Brianna whispered.

“Lovely.”

Taylor realized her mother had orchestrated this funeral the way she had all of her parties. While Taylor had taken care of the messy details like calling everyone, her mother made certain everything was beautiful and done with taste.

Perfect.

Banks of white flowers, from exotic orchids to huge jungle roses, had cascaded from elaborate arrangements inside the chapel. The casket, a glossy mahogany with polished brass hinges, was covered in a blanket of white orchids. Along the top, sprays of white rosebuds, twined through curly willow branches, reached heavenward.

The grave site had been carpeted with hundreds of thousands of white rose petals until not a speck of brown dirt could be seen. Somehow the florist had managed to apply the petals to the earth on the sides of the freshly dug pit.

But it still looked like a grave, Taylor thought.

Dark and deep.

She glanced up at Shane as the minister cleared his throat to deliver the final prayer. Shane was gazing down at her, his eyes concerned. She laced her fingers through his.

When she glanced up, Caleb caught her eye. The look he gave her literally did make her skin crawl. She had to get her mother away from this man.

Taylor’s temples throbbed, a headache brought on by tension. After the funeral, everyone had come back to her mother’s house. They were barely twenty minutes into what she expected to be an ordeal lasting several hours.

“I could use a Tylenol,” she whispered to Shane.

“This is a good time to talk to Maria. She’ll know where to get an aspirin, and I can ask her about your mother’s medication.”

“Let’s hope we can find her.”

An army of caterers swarmed through the house, carrying trays of appetizers, setting up elaborate food stations and a buffet table the size of a tennis court. A bar had been set up outside by the pool in addition to the bar in the house.

A troop of florists must have been here earlier. Taylor doubted a single white rose or white orchid was left in Miami.

They found Maria and Pablo back in the servants’ quarters, the kitchen having been taken over by the caterer.

“Maria, tenga aspirin?” Taylor tapped on her forehead, feeling silly for her butchered Spanish and wishing yet again she’d taken it instead of French.

Maria had worked long enough here to understand the stabbing attempts at her language, Taylor decided as the woman led her to the small bathroom nearby. No doubt Maria understood English better than she could speak it, having worked for the family for almost twenty years.

Taylor popped three pills and washed them down with the glass of water Maria offered. Back in the sitting area, Shane began to question Maria in Spanish.

The maid produced a list of medications she’d copied off bottles in the master bathroom. The writing was large and childlike. Beside each entry was a numeral for the number of pills in the bottle.

“Look at this.” Shane pointed to the Vicodin count. “I’d say she’s mainlining the stuff.”

“I’m not sure what Vicodin is, exactly. I know it’s a painkiller, but she’s been on Percocet. Is Vicodin stronger?”

“You bet, and more addictive. It’s a manufactured opiate. In the ghetto they call it ‘rich man’s heroin.’ Its effects are similar, but instead of injecting it, you swallow a pill.”

“If she’s taking so much, she’ll run out. Then the doctor will know there’s a problem.”

Shane put his hand on her shoulder. “Honey, don’t count on it. Our health system is on the verge of collapse. Doctors are so overworked and hassled with insurance claims, they don’t always have the time to check. Her doctor may not remember when he last wrote a prescription, or for how many pills.”

“You’re right. I need to call him. This time he has to listen to me.” Taylor thought a moment. “No. I’ll go see him. Maybe if I handle this in person, we can help Mother.”

“Good idea,” Shane replied. “Let me ask Maria what she thinks about the situation. She’s a smart woman, and she’s known your mother for a long time.”

Taylor listened while Shane spoke in rapid Spanish to Maria. The maid answered, gesturing with her hands. Pablo added something in a quieter voice. Without understanding more than a few words here and there, Taylor knew the couple was upset.

“What’s wrong?”

Shane turned to her. “They don’t like Caleb. They say he takes advantage of your mother. He snoops through her things. Slips out at night after she’s asleep and doesn’t come back until nearly dawn. He gives her pills even when she doesn’t ask for them.”

A surge of something too bitter and painful to be mere anger swept through Taylor. The man had managed to hook up with Renata and take advantage of her. Now he was after her mother, who was in a weakened, helpless state.

“Maria, Pablo, gracias,” she said in a strained voice. “Muchas gracias.”

She walked toward the door, planning how she’d confront Caleb, while Shane spoke to the couple in Spanish. When Shane joined her, she explained what she wanted to say to Caleb.

Shane guided her out the side door into the pool area, where a few guests were milling around, munching on appetizers and sipping drinks.

“I’m not sure confronting Caleb will get you anywhere.”

“What am I supposed to do? Sit back and let him OD my mother or bilk her out of God-only-knows-what?”

Shane cupped her chin with his large hand and looked down at her. “Do you want to drive a bigger wedge between yourself and your mother?”

“Of course not.”

“I suspect Caleb is just dying for you to pounce on him. That way he can go to your mother for sympathy.”

“You’re probably right,” she conceded. “What are we going to do?”

“I suggested it before, and I still think it’s best if you and Trent talk to your mother. You’re her children. Tell her your concerns. I’ll keep Caleb out of the way.”

“All right,” Taylor agreed, although she had serious reservations about this working. Not only was her mother cool to her, but the last time she’d been with Trent, they’d disagreed. How much could she count on her brother?

“Taylor, Shane, there you are.” Lisa walked toward them, her arm through Jim Wilson’s.

“Thanks for coming,” Taylor said with as much sincerity as she could muster. As with her brother, her last words with Lisa hadn’t been pleasant.

“That was some funeral, even for Miami,” Jim said.

The pressure of Shane’s hand on the back of her waist kept Taylor from making a sarcastic remark. This accountant, who looked more like a surfer, had no right to criticize her mother.

“You know Vanessa,” Lisa said. “She knows how to do things to perfection.”

Personally, Taylor had thought this was over the top, even by her mother’s standards. But she wouldn’t admit it to anyone except Shane.

“Taylor, why aren’t you inside?” It was Aunt Sophie.

“Hello, Aunt Sophie. You remember Lisa? And Shane Donovan?” Taylor turned to Jim. “This is Jim Wilson.”

Aunt Sophie acknowledged each of them with a short jerk of her chin. “You should be inside with your mother. That odious man is with her. It’s your place to be at her side, not his.”

Before Taylor could respond, Aunt Sophie grabbed her arm and propelled her in the direction of the living room.

“I saw that slut with my husband. You’d think he’d leave her home when it’s a family occasion like this.”

“Aunt Sophie, they’re married. It would be strange if he didn’t bring her.”

Aunt Sophie’s eyes blazed with a malevolent light. “That whore is trouble. She got my husband away from me with Santería.”

“Magic? Oh, Aunt Sophie, you don’t believe that.”

“She gave him one of their love potions and put a hex on me.”

Taylor exhaled deeply, realizing the Tylenol hadn’t kicked in yet. “Why haven’t you ever mentioned this?”

“I just found out.”

“Who told you?”

“Never mind,” she snapped. “I have my ways.”

Taylor had never seen her aunt so unbalanced. True, she led a life steeped in religion and society-style charity work, but now she seemed more distraught than she’d been right after the divorce.

Betrayal was a terrible thing. As was loss, Taylor decided. She’d finally moved on with her life. Why couldn’t Aunt Sophie?

Inside, it appeared that everyone had arrived. A crowd surrounded her mother who was—miraculously—still standing. She should be sitting down, conserving her strength.

“Trent’s with her,” Taylor told her aunt. “She doesn’t need me right now.”

“So is the slut.”

Taylor had noticed Brianna standing with the group but hadn’t mentioned it, knowing what Sophie’s reaction would be.

“You like her, don’t you?” Aunt Sophie’s voice had an accusatory edge.

“Yes.” Taylor told herself not to feel guilty. Brianna was her friend and deserved her loyalty.

“She used Santería on you, too.”

“I don’t believe in it,” Taylor responded with as much patience as she could muster.

“I’ve seen evidence of it.”

Taylor glanced over her shoulder, hoping to find Shane coming to rescue her. Instead, Raoul Cathcart was bearing down on her, a knockout blonde at his side.

“Hello, Mrs. Maxwell,” Raoul said to Sophie with a charming smile. “You look beautiful in that navy suit.”

Taylor hadn’t realized Raoul knew Sophie. Evidently, Trent must have been to Fisher Island to visit his aunt.

“This is my companion, Fallon James.” He beamed another smile, and Taylor wondered what her brother saw in this man. “She’s at my side every moment to be sure I don’t touch any drugs, not even alcohol.”

“He’s been a good boy so far,” Fallon said.

Taylor managed a weak smile. She thought a rehab program would have been better because it dealt with the causes of addiction. What would happen when the companion left?

“We’re discussing Santería,” Sophie told Raoul. “Do you believe in it?”

“Of course. I’m part Cuban. My mother swears by it.” Raoul chuckled. “Beware of the evil eye.”

“Excuse me,” Taylor said. “I need to find my brother.”

“He’s in the library with Doyle,” Raoul told her as she walked away.

It took her a few minutes to walk through the crowd, accepting condolences from people who hadn’t met Renata, and get to the library. She knocked on the door. Uncle Doyle called out for her to come in.

“Am I interrupting?”

“No,” Trent said, “we were just discussing what to do about Caleb Bassett.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk about.”

She explained what Maria had told them about the Vicodin and the way Caleb behaved.

“I think Trent and I should take Mother aside and tell her how concerned we are. Shane said he’d keep Caleb out of the way while we did it. Perhaps, Uncle Doyle, you could help him.”

“Good idea,” Doyle replied. “I’ll get Brianna, too. Caleb can’t keep his eyes off her.”

“I guess we should wait another hour or so until the crowd thins out,” Trent said without a hint of enthusiasm.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

“Money,” he said. “I was asking Uncle Doyle for a loan, but he’s short of cash, too.”

“I can loan you a little,” she said, even though she would have to take it from the account she’d set up to start her own business.

“A little won’t help. We need to sell the business.”

“I’m hoping your mother will agree to a sale just as soon as this computer mess is cleared up.”

No one had to tell her that Trent needed the money to help Raoul. A companion like Fallon had to cost a bundle.

Oh, Trent, she thought. Don’t do this to yourself.