Kate and Selby looked at each other in surprise.
“You never told us that,” Selby said.
“You were only eleven years old. You didn’t need to know what we were up to. Anyway, we had a great time, staying till closing and chatting with all the queens. They taught us so much about makeup.” She laughed again. “And other things . . .”
“Mother!” Selby said, tilting her head toward her sons, who at this point were laughing and whispering among themselves.
“Mom, we’re not babies. We know what a drag queen is,” Carter Junior said, and the boys broke into laughter again.
“Sounds like you had a great time,” Harrison said with a smile. “Lily never told me.”
“There are lots of things wives don’t tell their husbands,” Georgina said, looking at Harrison.
What was that supposed to mean? Kate wondered.
“You and Lily were such good friends,” Selby’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Just like Kate and me.”
Kate glanced over at her. Selby had been a good friend to Kate over the years, the first one to offer help and advice when Kate suffered with morning sickness, the first one to be there, visiting and pitching in, after Annabelle’s birth by C-section. Ever since Blaire’s departure, the friendship between Selby and Kate had flourished, much the way it had before Blaire entered Kate’s life.
Harrison turned to Georgina. “Remember Roger DeMarco? He used to belong to the club before he moved away. He heard about Lily and reached out. Nice of him.”
“How thoughtful of him. Where’s he living now?”
“He’s in Florida. Sarasota.”
“Oh! I just love Sarasota,” Georgina said. “There’s a marvelous bridge tournament there every winter. In fact,” she continued, “wouldn’t it be great fun if we went together? You could visit your old chum, and we could both play in the tournament. If I remember right, you used to be a pretty wicked player.”
Kate wanted to jump in, but it wasn’t her place. She was bristling for her mother’s sake, but perhaps Georgina was just trying to do for Harrison what he and Lily had done for Georgina when Bishop passed—keep him busy and social in spite of his grieving. This felt different, though.
“Uh, I don’t know,” Harrison said quietly.
“Oh, Harrison,” she said, nudging his shoulder in a ribbing way. “Remember how we always used to joke that you and I should be married, that we were so much more compatible . . .” She laughed, her hand against her chest, as if embarrassed by her own words. “Just a little funny observation . . .”
“Have you lost your mind, Mother?” Palmer’s voice interrupted her. “What a thing to say.”
Harrison was staring at Georgina in bewilderment, just like the rest of them, but she stuck her chin out defiantly. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just reminiscing. Goodness, if Lily were here, she would tell everyone to lighten up.”
She was crazy, Kate thought. Her father and Georgina were nothing alike. She was seething at the suggestion.
“I hope you’re not upset with Mother,” Selby whispered to Kate, leaning in. “She doesn’t always think before she speaks. As you well know.”
The conversation after that was pretty desultory—the parts that Kate could focus on, anyway—and they were almost through dessert without any more tasteless comments from Georgina when they heard the doorbell ring.
Margaret, Selby’s house manager, slid into the room and discreetly whispered into Selby’s ear. She looked puzzled. “Kate, something has been delivered for you.”
Kate felt a shiver go through her. “What?”
Selby shrugged. “I don’t know. Should I have Margaret bring it in?”
“No!” Kate stood. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good, and she didn’t want Annabelle to see it. Simon and Harrison both shot up from their seats. “Let’s go see,” Kate said, trying to keep her voice steady. She turned to Simon. “Stay here with Annabelle.”
Georgina looked around at everyone in confusion. “What is going on? Where are you going?”
Kate walked from the room to the hallway as Selby and Harrison followed behind. A long cardboard box sat on the gold Parsons table. She lifted the top and saw a card perched on the tissue paper covering its contents. She felt a shiver go up her spine. She felt as if she might collapse, her legs suddenly made of jelly.
She looked around uneasily. “How did he even know I was going to be here?”
Selby gave her a puzzled look. “How did who know?”
“What does the card say?” Harrison cut in.
Kate took it from the box and handed it to him, watching his face for a reaction. His eyebrows shot up.
“It’s from you. Did you forget that you had flowers sent to Selby tonight?” He handed the card to Kate.
Kate took the card wordlessly, her eyes scanning it.
Merry Christmas, Sel. I know white roses are your favorite. Xo Kate
“But I . . .” She had to think. She hadn’t sent these, but she had thought about having an arrangement delivered. Could she have mentioned it to Fleur and forgotten? Selby and her father were both looking at her as if she were crazy. “Sorry, Selby. I’ve been so stressed. I guess the florist just made a mistake in addressing these to me. I remember now, I called them yesterday.” She moved back toward the box and pushed the paper back. White roses.
Simon came into the room, carrying a sleeping Annabelle. “What’s going on?”
“Just a little mix-up,” Selby said, her voice too bright. “Kate, these are lovely. Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome. Sorry about earlier. I seem to be forgetting things lately.”
Selby patted her arm. “It’s understandable.”
Kate took a deep breath and looked at Simon. “I think we should get going. Annabelle’s out, and I’m feeling exhausted.”
Once they were on the road, Simon turned to her. “What happened back there with the flowers?”
She leaned back against the headrest and closed her eyes. “For a minute, I was afraid that it was another macabre message for me. You didn’t order those roses, did you?”
“You mean you didn’t?”
“I must have mentioned it to Fleur. I hadn’t realized she’d taken care of it.”
Her mind reeled as they drove home. She hadn’t sent those flowers tonight, despite what she’d told her father and Selby. And she’d never discussed it with Fleur. But she wasn’t about to let Simon think she was losing it. She’d call the florist tomorrow and find out.
They were just pulling into the driveway when her text tone sounded. She knew before she looked who it would be from.
Simon reached across Annabelle and grabbed her hand. “Is it him?”
Kate saw the words flash on the phone before she swiped. “Yes,” she said, her voice shaking. The blood in her veins froze as she read the text.
Did you really think you could take a night off? Pretty callous of you, being merry while your mother is decomposing in the ground. Are you as excited as I am to see what comes next? What might be in your coffee? Could your dessert be made with nuts? You’ll have to wait and see.
The sudden jangling of the house phone made her jump, and she reached out a tentative hand, hesitant to pick it up, but then saw Selby’s name on the caller ID. “Selby. Hi.”
“How are you?”
“Okay. Thanks again for last night. Sorry for the confusion at the end of the evening.”
“It was my pleasure. Thank you for the beautiful roses. Do you want some company later? Or can I bring you anything?”
“Thanks, but I’m just going to lay low today. We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?” Kate wanted to get off the phone.
“All right, talk then.”
After she hung up, she went into the bedroom, where Annabelle sat on Kate’s bed with a book in her lap.
Kate sat on the edge of the bed. “What are you reading, pumpkin?”
Annabelle closed the book and pointed to the title. “Lo
ok, Mommy. It’s Cordree. You read it.”
“Corduroy.” Kate laughed. “Come on, snuggle up and we’ll read it together.”
When they finished, Annabelle jumped from the bed and grabbed Harold and the Purple Crayon. “Read this one now,” she said, climbing back into bed beside Kate.
“Okay. One more, and then we get dressed.” When she finished the story, she ran her fingers through her daughter’s curls affectionately. “What would you like to do today, sweet girl?”
Annabelle wiggled closer to her. “Can we ride the horses?”
“Ooh, I don’t know about that. Mommy’s a little tired today. Maybe tomorrow.”
“Maybe Miss Sabrina will come again, and I can go with her and Daddy.”
Kate was very still. “Do you go riding a lot with Daddy and Miss Sabrina?”
Annabelle snuggled against her. “Sometimes she comes when you’re at the hospital. She’s a really good jumper, Mommy.”
Kate’s nostrils flared, anger coursing through her. So Sabrina was coming over when Kate wasn’t home. What the hell was Simon doing?
Before she could ask anything more, Simon tapped lightly on the doorjamb.
“Daddy,” Annabelle cried. She stood up on the bed and jumped up and down.
“All right if I come in?” He stood there, waiting until Kate nodded, and then walked over, picking up Annabelle and swinging her around as she shrieked with laughter.
“Are you coming downstairs?” he asked Kate as he put Annabelle down. “I have to leave soon.”
“Yes. I’ll get her dressed and we’ll be down.” Her voice was cold.
Simon had told her last night that he needed to drive to Delaware this morning to see a client. He’d sounded worried, but when Kate questioned him, he’d brushed off her concern.
“There’s nothing wrong. Just need to go over some items in the bid,” he’d said, but his words rang hollow.
She knew him well enough to know when something was wrong, and he definitely had that “work worried” look on his face.
“I have to go,” he’d said, “even though I really don’t like being two hours away from you and Annabelle.”
“If it’s just to answer some questions, can’t someone else go in your place?”
“No,” he’d snapped, and then more calmly said, “They want to see me.”
She’d been a little unsettled by his reaction, but that’s where things were left when they’d gone to their separate rooms the night before.
There was a steaming mug of coffee waiting when Kate and Annabelle came into the kitchen. “I’m taking orders,” Simon said. “What kind of eggs would you two ladies like?”
“Scrambled,” Annabelle chirped.
“Nothing for me.” Kate took a sip of coffee and sat down just as Simon’s cell phone rang. The coffee tasted odd, but maybe it was because she’d just brushed her teeth. She couldn’t let that stupid text actually convince her that everything was tampered with. That was what this person wanted, but she couldn’t deny that it tasted funny.
He glanced at the display and rejected the call, quickly putting the phone in his pocket.
“Who was that?” Kate asked.
“Don’t know. Didn’t recognize the number. You sure I can’t fix you something?” he asked.
“No, you should probably get going,” she said, trying to tamp down her suspicion that he was lying about the phone call. Her paranoia was wearing her down. She took another sip of coffee. “What did you put in here? It tastes funny.”
He shrugged. “Just milk and a stevia. The way you always like it.”
She walked to the refrigerator and took the milk out, looking at the date. Still a week to go. She opened the top and smelled it. It hadn’t gone sour. Had Simon put something else in the coffee? Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him. “Taste it.” She handed him the mug.
He put his hand up. “I already had my coffee, and I got to run.”
After he left, she thought about the text from last night. She pulled it up on her phone. What might be in your coffee? What kind of game was he playing? But would he be that obvious? She poured the coffee down the drain.
Forcing a cheerful tone, she looked at Annabelle’s plate. “Okay, girlfriend. You did a good job on your eggs. What do you say we go to the playroom and do some coloring?”
“Okay.” Annabelle slid off the chair, and Kate took her by the hand.
Annabelle ran to the large box next to her easel and pulled out the box of crayons and five coloring books.
“Which one do you want, Mommy?”
“Hmmm. Let’s see,” Kate said, fanning the books out on the table. “I’ll take Moana. Which are you going to have?”
“Frozen.”
They were coloring together, Annabelle chattering away, and Kate tried to enjoy the moment. After a while, Kate closed her coloring book. “I think I’ll try a different book. Maybe the one with all the animals,” she said, sliding it to her.
She opened the book, flipping past the pages that were already colored, then past a hedgehog she had no interest in doing. When she turned the next page, she dislodged a page that had come away from the binding, one already bright with crayon. She bent to grab it off the floor and saw the image—a picture of a long knife, its blade colored with dark red dots that looked like drops of blood. Next to it was a woman wearing scrubs, her face distorted, the eyes and mouth drooping ghoulishly like melting wax. In the corner was a bed filled with stuffed animals, but empty of a child. She brought her hand to her mouth, stifling a gasp so as not to scare Annabelle, her heart thundering against her ribs.
What the hell use were guards and security when someone could sneak into her daughter’s playroom?
That’s when it dawned on her that this was precisely the message the killer was sending. I can get to you wherever you are.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollinsPublishers
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18
Hot flames licked the floor, dancing their way toward her with alarming velocity. The room was so thick with smoke that she could barely see, and she croaked a dry plea for help even though she knew it was in vain. Why hadn’t she listened to her intuition? She’d known something was off when he’d asked her to meet him here, in this shack miles from civilization. Was this really going to be her end? Tied to a rickety chair in a burning house like some clichéd movie character? Her eyes started to close, and she could feel herself fading. Maybe it was better this way—if she passed out, she wouldn’t feel her flesh burning.
Blaire stood up and stretched. What next? Obviously, they couldn’t kill Meghan off. But they needed to infuse some fresh blood into the series. She wished she could talk to Daniel, have one of their brainstorming sessions, but he was on a plane to Chicago to spend Christmas with his parents. She had to do something to keep busy until she could return to New York, so she was drafting some pages of the next book on her own. Usually they wrote for five hours a day across from each other in their apartment. Daniel would take her chapters and do his magic editing, and they’d sound brilliant. She was the faster writer, ideas churning furiously, while he labored over every paragraph. They complemented each other perfectly and were so used to each other’s writing habits that they could tell just by the cadence of the keyboard whether or not it was okay to interrupt with a question. She sighed, wishing she could get back to her life with him, but she wasn’t leaving here until she’d done everything in her power to find out who had killed Lily.
The room phone rang, surprising Blaire. “Hello?”
“Ms. Barrington, it’s the front desk. There’s a gentleman here to see you, a Mr. Barton. Shall I send him up?”
“No,” Blaire said immediately. “I’ll come down.” There was no way she was going to be alone with Gordon.
When she reached the lobby, he was pacing and muttering quietly to himself. He looked up as Blaire approached. Her eyes were drawn to the bow tie du j
our. Yellow with crabs on it. He looked angry.
He didn’t bother with hello. “Is there somewhere we can talk privately?”
“The restaurant.”
“I said privately.”
She gave him a cold look. “The restaurant’s as private as it’s going to get, Gordon. Take it or leave it.”
He said nothing while they waited for the hostess to seat them. As soon as she walked away, his eyes met Blaire’s.
“What did you do?”
She leaned back in her chair and gave him a cool look. “What are you talking about, Gordon?”
His lips were pressed together, and he thrust his chin forward. “You know damn well what I’m talking about. You snooped around my house. Do you know the police came and tore everything apart? They said they had reason to believe I was a stalker!”
The waitress began to walk over, but Blaire caught her eye and shook her head. She wisely backed away.
Blaire tried to decide which way to play it. “As Kate’s friend, I’m here to help her find Lily’s killer. So, yes, I did look around your house. Imagine my surprise when I found a folder full of pictures of Kate.” She leaned forward. “What kind of person follows someone around for months, taking pictures of them?”
“You don’t understand. It’s art. I did nothing wrong. I didn’t sneak into her house or snoop around, like you did to me. All I did was take candid photos of a friend. It’s an art project. That’s all. Something I could enjoy. You’re the one who’s a criminal. You had no right to look through my things.”
“So call the police.”
He glared at her and went on. “Now she won’t even talk to me. She fired our firm as well. It’s all your fault.”
The Last Time I Saw You Page 15