Twin Troubles and Chocolate Tortes

Copyright ©2025 Sally Berneathy.

http://www.sallyberneathy.com

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This is a work of pure fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental (except Fred and King Henry).

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Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

And what is so rare as a day in June?

Then, if ever, come perfect days.

James Russell Lowell, The Vision of Sir Launfal

Chapter One

Sunday afternoon, the middle of June. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, the grass was green, the dandelions were yellow. All was right with the world.

Trent held my hand as we walked across my lawn to his car in the driveway to my detached garage. It had been parked there since the evening before.

A perfect weekend.

“Anlinny!” Zach, my next-door neighbor’s five-year old son, waved wildly from his front yard. Anlinny is Zach-speak for Aunt Lindsay. He doesn’t have any biological family except his mother, Paula, and I am pleased he has adopted me. “Watch me!” he called.

Mr. Lucas, Paula’s next-door neighbor on the other side, smiled and lobbed a ball about six feet into the small catcher’s mitt Zach wore on his left hand.

Zach fumbled the ball but finally managed to clutch it in the mitt. “I caught it! I’m going to play baseball for the Royals, Uncle Trent.”

Trent waved. “I’ll be in the front row cheering when you hit that winning home run.”

He gave me a quick peck and squeezed my hand then slid into his car and smiled up at me. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Total perfection.

He drove away, and I turned to Paula who was sitting on the steps of her front porch, watching the boys play ball.

I went over and took a seat beside her. “He’s growing up,” I said.

“Trent? Nah, I doubt that’s going to happen any time soon.”

I pushed against her arm. “Your son.”

She pushed me back. “He’s still my baby.”

I snorted. “Pretty soon he’ll be going on dates and he’ll marry some woman who’s not good enough for him, and then you’ll become a grandmother.”

She scowled at me. “You keep talking like that, and I’ll hide your Cokes. Maybe your chocolate too.”

Paula is my best friend and my partner at Death by Chocolate. I make the chocolate desserts and open the Cokes. She makes all the other foods. I have one talent…making chocolate desserts. Well, also opening Cokes, but a lot of people can do that. Paula makes biscuits, sandwiches, quiches, coffee, cinnamon rolls…the foods that lead up to my chocolate creations.

She might threaten to hide my Cokes and chocolate, but she’s my friend. She wouldn’t do that.

I was almost certain she wouldn’t do that.

Zach charged over and flung his sweaty little arms around me. “Anlinny, I need a cookie.”

I hugged him and sniffed. “You need a bath.”

He pulled back and grinned. “And a Coke. I’m thirsty.”

Mr. Lucas came up behind him. “When a baseball player is in training, he has to stay away from sugary soft drinks. How about some nice cold water?”

Paula stood. “Cold water for everybody coming up.”

“I’m not in training,” I called after her as she disappeared into the house.

“You are now,” she called back.

“Just kidding,” I assured Zach. I wouldn’t drink Coke in front of him when he had to drink water. As soon as I got home and he couldn’t see me, yeah, but not in front of him.

Zach sat beside me, and Mr. Lucas sat beside him.

The older man pulled off his cap and pushed back his sweaty snow-white hair. “Lindsay, we’ve got a star ball player in the making here.” He beamed down at Zach, his blue eyes twinkling.

Mr. Lucas had bought the house next door to Paula two months ago and had rapidly become Zach’s new best friend. A few days after moving in, he came to Paula’s house with a baseball and a small glove, the ones they had been playing with today. He asked Paula if the boy he’d seen in her yard might want to have them. He claimed the items had been left in the house when he moved in.

Neither Paula nor I believed him. The Scotts who had lived there before had no children. The ball and glove were obviously new.

At first Paula thought he was some kind of pervert. She doesn’t trust easily. Fortunately, I happened to be at her house when Mr. Lucas came over that first time. I could tell immediately he was simply a lonely elderly man trying to get acquainted with his new neighbors, to make friends.

My intuition proved to be accurate. Mr. Lucas was alone in the world. His wife was dead, and they’d had no children. He and Zach bonded. Even Paula had eased up and let him into her life.

She returned to the porch with four bottles of cold water, and we all sipped in silence for a few minutes.

Zach set down his half-empty bottle. “Let’s play ball some more.”

Mr. Lucas laughed. “Ah, to be young and have your energy. How about we go inside and draw pictures for a while?”

Zach nodded eagerly. “Okay.” He rose and reached for Mr. Lucas’ hand.

Zach always let the screen door slam behind him, but Mr. Lucas eased it gently closed. Mr. Lucas was a good influence.

I lifted my bottle of water to Paula in a toast. “Can it be you’re losing some of your cynicism? Letting a strange man go into your house?”

She harumphed. “I’ve been letting a strange woman go into my house for the past four years.”

She meant me, but I wasn’t going to take the bait.

“Besides, Mr. Lucas isn’t strange,” she said. “He’s a nice person.”

“Hmm. I think somebody told you that a couple of months ago.”

Paula took a drink of her water and said nothing…one of those loud, meaningful nothings.

“Okay, okay, so I haven’t always been a good judge of character,” I said. “But I married Rickhead when I was young and naïve. We all make mistakes. I was right this time. You have to admit, I was right this time.”

“Yes, you were. Mr. Lucas is great with Zach. He does those guy things like play ball with him. He’s also a very talented artist, and he’s doing an amazing job of teaching Zach. I think my son has artistic ability.”

I nodded sagely. Okay, I nodded the regular way. I tried to do it sagely, but I had no idea what twist of my head I should add to achieve that effect. “It’s okay to trust people. It’s good to trust people.”

She gave me the stink eye. “When someone proves to be trustworthy, then I trust that person.”

“How long does it take to prove someone is trustworthy? You knew me for almost a year before you trusted me enough to tell me you killed your husband.”

“Thought I killed him,” she corrected.

“Whatever. You can’t let that one bad relationship scar you for life.”

“One bad relationship? The man I married abused me, tried to take Zach away from me, tried to kill you and have me committed to a mental institution. Yeah, that was definitely one bad relationship.”

“The worst. I give you that. But not everybody is like him.”

“Why are you still nagging? Didn’t we just have a discussion about how I’ve accepted Mr. Lucas and even trust him with my son?”

“Yes, and that’s a good start. Now let’s talk about Matthew. You’ve been dating him for over a year now, but you sent him home at ten o’clock last night, and I saw that kiss you gave him. It was the way I’d kiss my brother.”

“You don’t have a brother.”

“Exactly.” Yes, that made no sense, but I said it with emphasis and certainty which can sometimes make people think I know what I’m talking about.

Paula sighed. “Has anybody ever told you that you’re nosy and pushy?”

“Many times. And those are my good traits.”

The door burst open. “Anlinny, come see what I drew!”

That sweet face sent a ray of sunshine straight into my heart. “You bet.”

We followed him inside.

Paula’s living room has the same aged hardwood floors as mine, and it’s about the same size, but the similarities end there.

I have a big sofa with large, flamboyant flowers, a coffee table with colorful mosaic tiles…you get the idea.

Paula has nondescript furniture from when she first moved in and felt the need to hide from the world, to blend into the background even inside her own home. However, Zach’s orange and yellow and red and blue and green toys scattered everywhere bring life to that room.

A large picture…a painting…I had never seen before hung on one wall. It showed a wispy blond woman who looked remarkably like Paula in a garden of bright flowers.

“Where did you—”

She shook her head. “Later,” she whispered.

She did not buy that painting at Walmart. I had a suspicion, and that suspicion made me smile.

Zach led us into the kitchen where Mr. Lucas sat at the table which was currently strewn with pieces of paper and colored pencils.

Zach sat and held up one of the drawings. “It’s you and your house, Anlinny.”

“Yes, it is,” I said. The two-story house in the drawing was white with green trim. The yard was green with yellow flowers…dandelions. And the woman with a huge head surrounded by a mass of red swirls of hair was a better representation of me than I could have drawn. “Good job.”

Zach and Mr. Lucas glowed.

No wonder they had bonded so easily. They could have been clones except for the seventy-year age difference. Blue eyes, white hair, big smile.

“He’s a very talented young man,” Mr. Lucas said.

“I’m going to be a famous artist like Mr. Lucas.” Zach held out his drawing to me. “You can have this.”

Mr. Lucas tapped his arm. “Don’t forget to sign it. All great artists sign their works.”

“Okay.” Zach spread the drawing in front of him then studied the pencils.

“I suggest the black one,” Mr. Lucas said. “You want it to be easy to read.”

Zach picked up a dark pencil, used his left hand to position it between the fingers of his right, and studied the paper. He settled the pencil in the lower left corner of his artwork and looked up at Mr. Lucas.

Mr. Lucas shook his head and pointed to the lower right corner.

Note to self: Check the lower right corner of that painting hanging in Paula’s living room.

Zach moved the pencil to that area and began to print his name. He’d learned that skill in kindergarten a few months ago, but it still took concentrated effort.

Finally he held it up to me, a wide grin on his face.

I accepted the artwork. “Thank you. I’ll frame it and hang it on my wall.”

“All right, boys,” Paula said, “let’s move the art class to the living room so I can start dinner. Please stay and join us, Mr. Lucas. It’s Zach’s favorite meal, grilled cheese sandwiches and French fries.”

“Well, I—” Mr. Lucas began.

“I’ll stay if you will,” I said. No, Paula hadn’t exactly invited me, but I knew how to become a welcome guest. “I’ll bring chocolate chip cookies.”

“Yay!” Zach jumped up and down. “I love chocolate chip cookies. And I love you, Anlinny, and Mr. Lucas and Mommy.”

Mr. Lucas had no chance of leaving after that.

Dinner was great with all the important food groups…cheese, chocolate and French fries.

Paula, Mr. Lucas, and I cleaned up the kitchen after dinner.

As Paula and Zach walked with Mr. Lucas and me to the front door, I checked the lower right corner of that painting in Paula’s living room.

Lucas.

She saw me looking and smiled.

I went home through the evening shadows with Zach’s picture in my hand and a warm glow inside. A small boy loved me, and my best friend was finally recovering from the horrible things her ex did to her.

Across the street from my house, Fred and Sophie were sitting on her front porch, having a glass of wine. Since Fred had discovered his evil wife was dead, he had admitted that Sophie was more than his karate student—something I’d known for a while. Well, suspected for a while.

The two of them waved.

I returned the waves, and my glow got warmer and brighter.

My friends were happy. That made me happy.

Trent loved me. That also made me happy.

My little corner of the world was sunshine, rainbows, and unicorns.

I deliberately avoided looking at the house next door to Sophie, directly across the street from Paula. Rickhead was living in that house with Grace and their son.

They weren’t currently causing any problems, but I didn’t want to jinx that by looking their way.

That naïve attitude was fun while it lasted…two whole days.

***

I came home from work Tuesday evening, tired and sweaty but content. My Chocolate Cake with Raspberry Filling turned out perfect, and it made a lot of people feel good when they ate it. Making them feel good made me feel good. Filling the cash register made both Paula and me feel good.

King Henry, the cat who adopted me a few years ago, met me at the door to welcome me home. That took approximately half a second. He gave a perfunctory brush against my leg as he slid past me, hurrying into the yard.

He’d be back. He knows who fills his food bowl. Yeah, he catches his own mouse sushi now and then, but I have the good stuff. I tell him I cook it at Death by Chocolate just for him, then put it in a bag and bring it home. He’s never asked why those bags have a name different from Death by Chocolate. I’m sure he’s noticed, but he doesn’t want to rock the cat food boat.

I went straight to my kitchen, grabbed a fresh Coke, then sank into my favorite armchair and took off my shoes. They were comfortable, well-cushioned shoes suitable for being on my feet all day, but not as comfortable as no shoes. I stretched out my feet and wiggled my toes.

Bliss.

Someone knocked on the door. The way things were going in my life lately, it was probably Publisher’s Clearing House with a huge check for me. I passed a hand over my frizzy red hair in a futile effort to smooth it. Too late to put on makeup for all the photographers and reporters who came with the PCH crew. But with that much money, my appearance wouldn’t matter.

I answered the door with a big smile that quickly receded.

Rickie, Rickhead’s almost-twelve-years-old (his words) son, stood on my front porch.

Nobody over the age of twenty-one ever proudly boasts, I’m almost thirty-seven or I’m almost forty-eight. To give Rickie credit, he was growing out of his demon-child years. However, he was approaching his demon-teenager years.

“Can I come in, Aunt Lindsay?” Except for calling me Aunt Lindsay, he sounded almost polite.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” I looked behind him for his mother or even…heaven help us…his father.

He was alone.

I stepped aside and invited him in.

He took a seat on the sofa…on the edge of the sofa. He was the same skinny kid with messy hair, but the snide smirk was missing today. He seemed tense. He was probably in trouble again and needed help getting out of it.

My open Coke sat on the lamp table beside my chair. Rickie is a Coke-aholic. Guess that shows he’s not all bad. His mother thinks the sugar makes him hyper. I think he’s hyper anyway. And I don’t see anything wrong with that unless I’m responsible for trying to get him to sleep at night.

I wasn’t, so I did the courteous thing.

“Would you like a Coke?”

“Yes, please,” he said.

Yes, please? Something was wrong.

I hurried to the kitchen and returned with a fresh can.

“Thank you.” He accepted the drink and took a long swallow.

Thank you?

Was he running a scam?

“What’s up, Rickie?” I asked.

He took another drink. “Do you believe in ghosts, Aunt Lindsay?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never had any close encounters with them, but some people claim they have. Why are you asking about ghosts?”

He finished his Coke and crushed the can. “Either there’s a ghost in Mr. Lucas’ house, or that old man’s got a woman in there.”

Chapter Two

If Mr. Lucas had a female friend or a female ghost, that was nobody’s business but his.

The big question was, how did Rickie know about this creature?

I folded my hands in my lap. Clenched them, actually. I needed to approach this calmly if I wanted to get information out of him. “Please tell me why you think there’s a ghost in Mr. Lucas’ house.”

“Can I have another Coke? This is a two-Coke story.”

Rickie stole that two-Coke thing from me. I was torn between feeling irritated and a tiny bit proud that I’d made an impression on someone…even if that someone was Rickhead’s son.

I went to the kitchen and got two more Cokes. It was turning into a two-Coke evening for me also.

I handed Rickie his second can unopened. “Go a little slower on this one. You’re too young to handle the hard stuff that fast.”

He didn’t smile. Just opened the can and took a drink.

I resumed my seat. “Okay, Rickie, let’s hear your two-Coke story.”

“Last night I saw a woman upstairs in Mr. Lucas’ house.”

“You do realize he’s a widower. There’s no reason he can’t have a woman in his house at night.”

Rickie curled one side of his lip in a sneer. “Yeah, I know all about that stuff. But this woman was acting funny. Like a ghost.”

“Oh, really? Can you tell me how a ghost acts?”

“You know.” He waved a skinny arm through the air. “Like on TV. She was moving around a lot, like maybe she was floating. They were upstairs arguing, and then I didn’t see him anymore, but she went all over the house, upstairs and downstairs. I think she was looking for something.”

I rubbed my forehead. I needed to talk to Trent about getting a vasectomy. I was obviously not cut out to be a mother. “Rickie, it’s okay if there’s a woman in Mr. Lucas’ house. It’s okay if she goes into every room there. That’s his choice. None of your business.”

He shook his head. “No, man. Something’s wrong. I never saw him again, and she never came out.”

“Never? How long did you watch his house? Not all night, I’m sure. She probably left after you went inside.” Or this morning. Whatever.

“I didn’t see her car.”

“Perhaps Mr. Lucas picked her up at her place.”

Definitely a vasectomy for Trent, and I should think about a tubal ligation. Can’t be too careful about some things. “I’m sure Mr. Lucas will appreciate your looking out for him.” That was a fairly outrageous lie. “But it’s not considered polite to peek in your neighbor’s windows, especially at night.”

“I saw you peeking in Fred’s windows once.”

“That’s different. I was worried about Fred. Anyway, I couldn’t see anything because he has every inch of window space covered with thick curtains. And that brings up a question. Mr. Lucas has curtains too.”

“They’re not thick curtains. When he has the lights on at night, I can see people moving around.”

I straightened, lifted my chin, and prepared for battle. “Rickie, why were you looking in Mr. Lucas’ windows in the first place? Why were you outside at night? Does your mother know about this excursion?”

He scrunched up his lips and glared at me.

I glared back but didn’t do the lip scrunch. That could cause wrinkles. “Lose the attitude if you expect to get any more Cokes or cookies from me.”

For half an instant, I thought he looked sad, but he immediately ramped up the angry glare again. “Mama doesn’t care what I do. Ever since that man moved in with us, she’s only interested in him.”

“That man? Your father?”

I didn’t have the air conditioning on, but the room suddenly got very chilly.

“Rickhead,” he said.

“You shouldn’t call him that. He’s your father.”

“You call him that.”

“That’s different.” How many other things had this kid picked up from me?

He narrowed his dark eyes. “I didn’t come over here to talk about that man. You need to help me get into Mr. Lucas’ house.”

I opened my second Coke and took a long swallow. Definitely a two-Coke evening. Maybe some wine later. “Rickie, if you want to get into Mr. Lucas’ house, you should knock on the front door. When he opens that door, you can ask to be allowed to enter, and he will tell you whether or not you can do so.”

He shook his head. “No. That woman…that ghost…” He gulped then drained the last of his soda. “She’s still there. I think she hurt him.”

I blinked. “Him? Mr. Lucas?”

“Yeah.”

“You think this woman hurt Mr. Lucas?”

He nodded once, firmly.

I sat forward. Had he seen something bad? Did I need to take him seriously? “Why do you think that?”

“You’re not gonna snitch on me to my mama, are you?”

“About what? Are you admitting you did something wrong?”

“Nah. She gets all pissy when I go outside after dark. She thinks I’m still a little kid.” That contradicted what he’d just said about her not caring.

I exhaled a long breath. “Rickie, if there’s some point to this conversation, you need to tell me now. I’m losing my patience.”

“That old man’s not my friend, but he’s okay.”

“Are we still talking about Mr. Lucas?”

“Yeah. He plays with Zach all the time, but I’m too old to play with them.”

I detected a note of jealousy. A few times I’d seen Rickie join Zach and Mr. Lucas in their games, but it didn’t happen often. There was no doubt Mr. Lucas showed a preference for Zach.

I shared that same preference.

But I felt a little sorry for Rickie. Almost twelve years old. A tough age for any kid. I needed to be tactful.

That’s not my strongest trait.

In fact, it doesn’t even rank at the bottom of the list. It’s missing completely.

“Yeah,” I said, “you’re too old for those kid games but too young to be on Mr. Lucas’ level as an adult.” I gave myself a mental pat on the back for such a tactful statement. It didn’t come easily. “It’s only natural you wouldn’t be friends. But he’s a nice guy. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to him.”

“They were fighting.” He paused and looked very serious. “Maybe she killed him. She was all over the house after they fought, but I never saw him again.”

“How about we call Mr. Lucas and ask him if he’s okay?”

Rickie thought about that for a moment. “Yeah, okay. You got his phone number?”

“Yes, I do.” I picked up my cell phone.

“Ask him if that woman’s still there.” He paused and grimaced. “If he answers.”

I scrolled through my contacts list and found Mr. Lucas.

“Don’t tell him I saw her,” Rickie said.

I gave him a thumbs-up. I had no intention of telling Mr. Lucas that Rickie had been spying on him. I knew what to say, the conversational gambit that’s appropriate for any occasion.

After a few rings, his phone went to voicemail. “Mr. Lucas, it’s Lindsay. Give me a call when you have a chance. I have some fresh chocolate chip cookies.”

I laid my phone on the coffee table. “I’ll let you know when he returns my call.”

Rickie shook his head. He looked genuinely concerned. That wasn’t like him. “He’s not going to call you back. He’s laying on the floor, dead.”

“He’s lying on the floor,” I corrected automatically.

“You saw him?”

I groaned. “Sometimes you remind me of…” Best not to say he reminded me of his father considering his feelings about the man. “Let’s go over to Mr. Lucas’ house.”

“Uh uh. You go. I’ll get in trouble if Mama finds out.”

I didn’t really believe Mr. Lucas had been murdered by a ghost or even a lover, but he was elderly. He could have had an accident. There was no harm in checking on him.

And I did believe Rickie would not go away until I did so.

“All right. You go home now. I’ll give you enough time to establish an alibi, then I’ll take some cookies to Mr. Lucas’ house and report back to you.”

“Deal.” He stood and held up his fist.

I gave him a fist bump.

He started toward the door.

Yay!

He turned back.

Drat.

“Can I have one of those cookies you told Mr. Lucas about?”

“Of course.”

I went to the kitchen, put half a dozen cookies in a bag for Mr. Lucas and one in a napkin for Rickie.

I waited a couple of minutes after Rickie left before I headed down the sidewalk to Mr. Lucas’ house.

I had made it halfway past Paula’s place when Zach ambushed me.

“Anlinny! You got cookies?”

“Didn’t your mom bring home cookies for you?”

Paula walked down the steps of her porch. “Zach, I said you can have cookies after dinner.”

“But Anlinny brought some for me.” He pointed to the tote bag I held in one hand.

How did he know that bag had cookies? Could he smell them? Had Fred taught him to be psychic?

“No, she did not bring those cookies for you,” Paula said sternly.

“That’s right, Zach. I brought them for Mr. Lucas. I thought he might need some after playing ball with you. Did you play ball with him today?” A positive answer would tell me that Mr. Lucas was okay, that Rickie was making things up. I really hoped Rickie was lying.

Zach shook his head. “He didn’t come over today. Can I go with you to give him cookies?”

I didn’t totally believe Rickie’s story…but I didn’t totally disbelieve it either. If something was wrong with Mr. Lucas, I didn’t want Zach to be there when I found him.

“Uh…”

Paula laughed. “You want to go along because you think Mr. Lucas will share his cookies with you? He probably would. And for that reason, you need to come inside and get ready for dinner.”

Zach heaved a sigh so deep it must have come all the way up from his toes. “Okay.”

“I have more cookies at home,” I said in a loud whisper.”

His face burst into a huge smile. “Okay.” He took his mother’s hand and let her lead him toward the house.

“Tell Mr. Lucas hello for me,” Paula said.

“Will do.” I could say hello to him, but would he be able to reply?

And that brought up a new worry. I was concerned not only about Mr. Lucas’ condition but about Paula’s response. If something happened to him, she would be devastated. She had opened up to him, allowed herself to care.

His house was only a few feet ahead. Two-story, gray with white trim. The Scotts had painted and done some updates. Like all the houses on our street, the yard was dotted with mature trees that gave the place an air of serenity.

Only happy things could happen in such a house. Nothing bad. Any ghosts would be friendly, wouldn’t charge around or hurt anybody.

I went up the steps to the porch and knocked on the front door.

His porch stretched across the entire front of the house and was completely shaded by trees. Pots of begonias and coleus alternated along the back of the porch, and the far side held four wrought iron chairs grouped around a small table.

A few leaves and petals lay on the wooden flooring below the plants. Fred’s plants were always perfect, no dead leaves or wilting flowers. Mr. Lucas’ plants felt more natural. His lawn even had a couple of dandelions.

A bird sang happily from one of the trees.

A squirrel ran up the trunk then sat on a branch and chattered at me.

Tranquility.

Rickie was wrong. Nothing terrible could possibly have happened here.

But no one came to the door in response to my knock.

Maybe Mr. Lucas was eating. It was dinner time.

Maybe he wasn’t home. He always parked in his garage, so I had no way to know if his car was there.

I knocked again, harder.

At his age, he might be a little deaf.

The bird stopped singing.

The coleus leaves seemed to be drooping as if they needed to be watered, as if their caretaker had not come out to visit them today.

The cool shade felt chilly and a little clammy.

And I was being ridiculous. I had let Rickie’s story get to me.

I should leave.

Go home.

Wait for Mr. Lucas to return my phone call.

I couldn’t do that.

I had to know for sure.

Long, rectangular windows flanked both sides of the door.

The curtains were closed, but not as obsessively as Fred’s curtains.

I might be able to peek around the edges or between the panels.

I looked behind me to see if anybody was watching, if the neighbors could see me snooping.

The trees would hide me.

Not that I was really snooping.

I was merely checking on an elderly neighbor who wasn’t answering my phone calls or my knock on his door.

I walked casually to the side of the porch with the chairs and table, sat in one of the chairs, put my bag of cookies on the table, then leaned over and tried to peer around the curtain.

I got a glimpse of hardwood flooring. His floors had been refinished. I needed to do that to mine. I should get the name of the company that did his.

No, the Scotts probably had it done when they lived there, and why on earth was I thinking about hardwood floors when I was supposed to be looking for Mr. Lucas?

I moved to the other side of the window. Nothing to see there either.

I got closer and knelt beside a coleus plant. Better view there. Maybe he’d pushed aside the curtain to look out at his beautiful foliage.

His staircase descended with a slight curve. Mine went straight down. Mr. Lucas’ was elegant.

As I peered closer, I noticed a few stains on the steps. Dark stains. Perhaps the steps hadn’t been refinished yet.

My gaze traveled downward to the floor…to the body lying at the bottom of the stairs.

Chapter Three

I blinked.

Looked again.

A rumpled white shirt and khaki pants.

A pile of clothes.

That’s all it was.

I often did the same thing. Kicked my dirty clothes down the stairs to the first floor to save a few steps in getting them to the laundry room in the basement.

A pile of dirty clothes with dark stains on them. He was a painter. Probably got paint on his clothes often.

But those clothes had an arm and a head protruding from them.

Mr. Lucas’ blue eyes stared at the ceiling, open and unblinking.

I focused on his chest, hoping to see it moving up and down.

I didn’t see any movement.

Perhaps he normally breathed slowly and shallowly. Some people did.

I jumped up, ran to the door, and rushed inside, over to Mr. Lucas who lay at the foot of the stairs.

My first thought was that I didn’t know how to perform CPR.

My second thought was that it didn’t matter.

The back of his skull was crushed. A dark substance threaded through his white hair, the same substance that was on his clothes and on the stairs.

Dried blood.

His eyes still hadn’t blinked.

They never would again.

A few days ago those eyes had sparkled with life and happiness when he played ball with Zach and told him where to sign his artwork.

I had to do something.

What?

Call 911. They could send an ambulance.

An ambulance couldn’t help him now.

I should call Rickie. He predicted this.

No. He was a kid. He didn’t need to see this.

Besides, no ghost had done this. Mr. Lucas had fallen down the stairs. That happened to elderly people sometimes.

But Mr. Lucas never stumbled or fell when he and Zach played baseball.

This was wrong. Mr. Lucas could not be lying there, crumpled and bloody, his eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling.

Slowly, quietly, I took my cell phone from my back pocket.

Why slowly and quietly? I don’t know. It seemed appropriate.

I would call Trent. My love, my anchor.

He didn’t answer. My call went to voicemail.

“Trent, it’s me.” I cleared my throat. No more words came. I ended the call.

I would call Fred. He’d know what to do. He always knew what to do.

Voicemail again.

Why was everybody ignoring me?

I couldn’t call Paula. She’d be upset. She cared for Mr. Lucas.

911 it was.

“911. Do you need police, fire department, or medical assistance?”

“What? I didn’t know I’d have to make a choice!”

“Please tell me your situation and I will try to get help for you.”

“I think Mr. Lucas is…” I couldn’t say the word, make it real. I swallowed. Cleared my throat. “He’s not moving.”

“Is he breathing?”

“No.” I paced back and forth across the room. Who knew calling 911 could be so difficult? “He’s at the bottom of the stairs. A woman was here.” What was I saying? “No, I mean a ghost.” Rickie had poisoned my brain, and nonsense was coming out of my mouth. “No, he fell. I’m sure he just fell. I don’t think anybody was here.”

“Can you tell me where you’re calling from?”

I rattled off my address.

She repeated it back to me.

Oh, good grief. “No. I’m sorry. That’s my address. Mr. Lucas…Harry Lucas is his name…he lives two doors down.” I gave her his address.

“I have emergency personnel on their way to that address. I need you to remain on the line with me until they arrive. Is Mr. Lucas conscious?”

“No.”

“Can you go to Mr. Lucas and check his pulse?”

I nodded. She couldn’t hear the nod, but I didn’t think I could say any more words.

I went back to Mr. Lucas and slid my fingers around his wrist. The skin was cold. I knew I wasn’t going to feel a pulse, but I waited for a couple of minutes anyway.

No movement.

“Lindsay.”

I screamed, dropped Mr. Lucas’ wrist and my cell phone.

Fred’s lanky form and white hair came into view as he knelt beside me and retrieved my phone. “I’m a neighbor,” he told the operator. “I will take care of Miss Powell and wait with her for emergency services to arrive.”

He disconnected the call, rose, and extended a hand to me.

I wanted to take his hand, let him pull me up, throw myself into his arms and sob.

Of course I did not do that.

I rose on my own power and tried to appear dignified. “Mr. Lucas. He’s…” I inclined my head toward where he lay on the floor.

Fred nodded. Behind the lenses of his steel-framed glasses, his pale eyes held a look of sympathy.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded. “How did you know about Mr. Lucas?”

“You called 911 and gave them your address first, then this address.”

“You could hear me all the way to your house?”

The scream of a siren coming down the street saved him from responding.

He went to the door.

Considering what I’d recently learned about Fred, it was likely he had a scanner for 911 calls or he might be wired directly into the 911 system.

Or he might have super hearing.

The siren rose to a crescendo then stopped abruptly.

Another siren from farther away began to wail.

Feet pounded onto the porch.

Fred held the door open for a thousand firemen to enter.

Okay, maybe it was more like three or four.

They were in a hurry.

I got out of their way.

They rushed over to Mr. Lucas.

I turned to look out the window which was covered with a curtain. Didn’t matter. I didn’t want to watch them doing whatever they had to do to Mr. Lucas.

“Let’s go outside,” Fred suggested.

We had barely made it out when the paramedics arrived. “Did you call 911?” one of them asked.

“Yes.” I pointed at the door. “Harry Lucas. This is his house. He’s inside. Go on in.” As though they needed my permission to enter a house that wasn’t mine.

I sucked in a deep breath. I needed to get my mouth under control. I was probably going to have to answer some questions, especially after I jabbered to the 911 lady about the woman and the ghost.

And then a cop car rolled up.

Of course it did.

Pleasant Grove is a small town. At this rate, we would have the entire force of emergency workers here within a few minutes.

“I’m the one who called 911,” I said before either of the officers coming up the walk had a chance to ask.

One went inside while the other stayed with me.

Fred followed the first officer.

I told the remaining officer my story.

The edited version.

I told them I called Mr. Lucas, and when he didn’t answer, I brought cookies directly to his house, knocked twice, then peeked in the window and saw him lying on the floor. Short and factual. Just not complete. I didn’t snitch on Rickie, though I had a lot of questions for that kid.

“Was the door unlocked when you got here?” the officer asked.

I thought for a moment. “No. Yes. I guess it was. I don’t have a key. It opened. It must have been unlocked.”

“Does Mr. Lucas usually leave his door unlocked?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. This is a quiet neighborhood.”

Finally the officer finished asking me questions and told me I could leave.

I’d talk to Fred later. I couldn’t wait to get away from that house.

I was halfway down the steps when a dark blue sedan pulled up to the curb. I knew that sedan, the small scratch below the handle on the passenger side, a scratch left by a nail file when I…never mind.

Trent got out of the car and came toward me.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“You called me. Left a message that sounded as though you were stressed. Then you called 911.”

I threw my arms in the air. “Are 911 calls broadcast on the Internet? How does everybody know?”

“I’m a cop in a small town. The dispatcher notified me when you called because she knows I know you.” He held my shoulders as though I needed to be steadied. Maybe I did. A little. He stared into my eyes, forced me to look into his. He has great eyes. Brown with a few hints of green. “Lindsay, it’s okay. Let me take you home, and we’ll have a Coke.”

I melted. He has that effect on me. And he did offer me a Coke.

I took his arm and started to leave but then remembered. My bag of cookies still sat on the wrought iron table.

And they could stay there. The raccoons could have them. I didn’t want them. They would remind me of Mr. Lucas staring up at nothing.

I walked with Trent along the sidewalk. We stopped when we got to Paula’s house. “I have to tell her.”

He nodded and we turned down her walk.

She answered the door immediately as if she’d been waiting.

We went inside without anybody saying a word.

“Sit down,” she said. “I’ll get you a soda.”

“Get one for yourself too,” I said.

She left the room without arguing or asking why.

Trent and I sat on the sofa. He took my hand. I let him hold it. Not that I needed the comfort, but I didn’t want to be rude and snatch it away.

Paula returned with three Cokes. She rarely drinks carbonated beverages. She knew something bad was coming.

She handed out the drinks then sat in the chair opposite us. “I sent Zach upstairs so we can talk about what’s going on next door.”

I repeated my story…the edited version. Eventually I’d tell her everything because she’s my best friend and I can’t keep secrets anyway, but for the moment, I left out Rickie’s role. I was still unsure exactly what his role was.

Paula listened without comment and without any visible show of emotion. Any visible show to someone who didn’t know her as well as I do. Her lips compressed a fraction of a millimeter. Her eyes shimmered with a thin film of moisture. She was hurting, but she’d never admit it. All I could do to help her was pretend I didn’t notice.

Tomorrow I would make her favorite dessert, Chocolate Torte with whipped cream and raspberries. Chocolate doesn’t solve problems, but it makes them easier to handle.

“Do you want me to stay with you while you tell Zach?” I knew what her answer would be, but I had to offer anyway.

She shook her head. “No. I’ll explain it to him. He knows something is going on over there. He remembers when Chuck died across the street at Grace’s house and all those same vehicles showed up.”

“Okay. You know where I live if you need me.” I smiled.

She smiled back.

I felt certain my smile was as weak as hers.

Trent insisted on spending the night with me. He didn’t have to insist very hard. I didn’t want to be alone.

But that also meant I couldn’t contact Rickie to try to get more information out of him.

Mr. Lucas’ front door had been unlocked. Had Rickie been in the house? He was mischievous, disobedient, always in trouble. But I didn’t think he would deliberately hurt anyone. Had he accidentally tripped Mr. Lucas then made up that ridiculous story about a ghost?

He’d seemed genuinely upset. He’d seen something, and I didn’t think it was a ghost.

***

Paula and I always get to Death by Chocolate before dawn even thinks about breaking so we can get ready for the breakfast crowd. She makes cinnamon rolls, biscuits, egg casseroles, and, of course, coffee. I make chocolate desserts and get all the dishes, silverware, etc., set up. Sometimes she lets me take pans of rolls or biscuits out of the oven, but those are her specialties. If it doesn’t have chocolate in it, I can screw it up.

That early morning time when it’s still dark and quiet outside and the kitchen is filled with the fragrances of cinnamon, yeast dough, butter, vanilla, and chocolate is our time to talk. We talk about Zach and Trent and whether aliens have really come to earth…all the regular things friends talk about. Lately Paula had been sharing a lot of stories about Zach and Mr. Lucas. Obviously that topic had come to an end.

I tried to talk to her.

She was silent as she rolled out her dough.

And for possibly the only time in my life, I couldn’t think of anything to say.

Her grief was so strong, I could feel sadness emanating from her.

Paula had grown up in a comfortable, happy world in Dallas, Texas, until her junior year at college when her mother and father went on a missionary trip to South America. Their plane crashed somewhere in the jungle.

Suddenly she was alone.

She married David Bennett, a Dallas police officer. He seemed to be a kind, strong man like her father, but soon the real David came out. He was controlling and abusive. She still never wore shorts or tank tops because they would reveal some of the scars he gave her.

When she discovered she was pregnant, she found the courage to leave him. She didn’t want to subject her baby to his abuse. But he found them when Zach was a month old. He tried to take the child. They struggled and she accidentally shot him with his own gun. She thought he was dead, so she fled to Kansas City and found me.

Turns out her ex survived and found her again. He tried to discredit Paula as a mother, take Zach, and kill me. That didn’t work out so well for him. Now he’s in prison for the rest of his life.

But he succeeded in destroying Paula’s trust in other people.

I was her best friend for over a year before she told me about killing…almost killing...her ex. Who keeps a secret like that from a best friend?

She’d been dating Matthew Graham for about a year. He adored her, and I knew she cared for him somewhere deep inside, but she maintained a distance.

When she finally accepted Mr. Lucas, I thought that would be a breakthrough, that she would realize she could trust people, including but not limited to Matthew.

That no longer seemed likely.

In spite of not talking, we got everything ready for the breakfast crowd and opened the doors on time. That’s usually an exciting moment for me. Every day is a new adventure. People come in—regular customers and new ones—to enjoy our culinary creations. They come in hungry and leave satisfied. I love seeing the happy looks on their faces as they eat and drink…especially when they eat some new chocolate creation and tell me how awesome it was.

That morning I couldn’t summon up so much as a microscopic bit of exhilaration even when I saw a couple of regular customers waiting for us to open.

We fed the breakfast crowd, and everyone left except a blond woman at a table in the corner. She had eaten a cinnamon roll and drunk three cups of coffee. I wasn’t going to offer her a fourth refill. She needed to leave. We had to begin preparations for lunch.

Finally she rose and came to the register. She paid cash and I gave her change. “Thanks for coming in. Have a nice day.”

“Are you Paula Roberts?”

It was an innocent question, and this lady looked innocent. Her shiny hair was styled in a short, smooth bob. She wore a blue silk blouse and jeans. Elegant but understated. A normal person.

But nobody ever came in looking for Paula.

“No. Paula is my partner. She’s the lady who was out here helping a few minutes ago.”

“Is she still here?”

“Yes.”

“Could I see her?”

Why did I hesitate? Was I becoming as suspicious of people as Paula?

“Can I give her your name?”

“Sure. I’m Lilly Fields. I’m Paula’s sister.”

Chapter Four

Paula had never mentioned having a sister. My feelings were a little hurt that she hadn’t shared something this big with me.

“I’ll tell her you’re here, Lilly.”

I went back to the kitchen. Paula was loading the dishwasher. I cleared my throat to get her attention. “Your sister, Lilly Fields, is waiting for you out front.”

Her forehead creased in a frown. “What? My sister? I don’t understand. Are you trying to be funny?”

I couldn’t tell if she was surprised that her sister was here or surprised that she had a sister. “I thought you were an only child.”

“I am.”

“Not according to the woman standing out front.”

Paula’s frown intensified. “This is some kind of a scam.” She washed her hands and brushed past me on her way to the front.

I followed close behind in case she needed help…help mopping up the blood after she got through with the phony sister?

“I’m Paula Roberts,” she said.

Lilly put a hand over her mouth and looked as if she might burst into tears. She rushed to Paula and tried to hug her.

Paula raised one hand and stepped back. “Can I help you with something?”

Zach gets to hug Paula. Once in a while I get to hug her. I hope Matthew gets to hug her often. But that’s pretty much it. She’s not a hugger.

“He didn’t tell you?” Lilly asked.

Paula crossed her arms and managed to look quite formidable despite her small stature. “Nobody told me anything. Who are you and what do you want?”

“Granddad. Our grandfather. He didn’t tell you? I thought…”

“My grandfather has been dead for a very long time. I don’t usually get messages from dead people.”

Lilly smiled tremulously. “I’m sorry. I understand your confusion. I had hoped he had time to tell you.” She held up a folder and motioned to the table where she’d been sitting. “I have some documents you need to see.”

“No, I don’t need to see any documents. You need to tell me what you want before I call security.”

We don’t have security. Paula was bluffing…and doing a damn good job of it.

Lilly reached into the folder, drew out two pieces of paper, and extended them toward Paula who stood firm, refusing to accept what Lilly offered.

“It’s our birth certificates,” Lilly said softly.

Paula frowned. “What are you doing with my birth certificate?”

Had she missed the our part and the plural certificates? If Paula didn’t look at those documents soon, I was going to. My curiosity was speeding into overdrive.

Lilly shook her head. “It’s not the same birth certificate you’re thinking about. This is your original birth certificate before Barbara and Kenneth Roberts adopted you.”

I have rarely seen Paula lose it. She is the Queen of Self Control. But this strange woman knew her parents’ names and claimed they had adopted her.

Paula’s fair skin went paler. Her eyes widened then narrowed into slits. Her lips clenched. Her fingers clutched her folded arms.

“Hey, I got a great idea.” I put one hand on Paula’s shoulder and the other on Lilly’s. “Let’s all sit down and have a Coke.”

“Thank you.” Lilly sounded relieved and grateful.

Paula was so out of it, she let me lead her back to Lilly’s table and guide her into a chair.

“Lilly, would you like another coffee or a Coke?” I asked.

“A Coke would be great.”

I hurried behind the counter to get three cold cans then rushed back to the table before I missed something important.

A folder and two official-looking documents lay on the table.

“I know this comes as a shock,” Lilly said. “I went through all those same emotions you’re going through when our granddad found me a few months ago.”

Paula looked at me, her eyes bright. Surprise? Fear? Disbelief? Shock?

I shoved a straw into one of the Cokes and held it to her lips.

She drank.

Whew.

I should probably get some chocolate, the best remedy for shock.

But first I had to see those documents.

I pulled one closer to me.

State of Texas. Certificate of Birth. Lillian Elaine Fields. Twin.

Twin?

They both had blond hair, but Paula’s was soft and natural. Lilly’s looked like a dye job. A professional dye job, but still a dye job. Paula had blue eyes. Lilly had brown. Paula was short. Lilly was tall.

Lilly slid the other document to me.

State of Texas. Certificate of Birth. Melanie Dianne Fields. Twin.

Mother on both of them: Nora Ellen Harrington Fields

Father on both of them: Carson Thomas Fields

“I’m Lillian. You’re Melanie.”

Paula continued to stare at me.

“She’s not Melanie,” I said. “She’s Paula.”

“I know. But she was born Melanie. We’re twins. Not identical, obviously, but we are sisters.” She drew in a deep breath and leaned back. “Let me try to explain.”

“That would be good,” I said.

“Our father was killed in Somalia before we were born. Our mother died when we were just babies. Our granddad didn’t know what to do with two babies, so he left us at a hospital in Dallas. We were both adopted. He regretted his decision but was unable to track us down until recent developments in DNA. He found me first. Tracking Melanie…Paula…was more difficult what with the name change and the move to Kansas City.”

Paula didn’t blink an eye. But her face had taken on a look of horror.

Somehow Lilly knew about her past.

Did she know about the shooting-the-husband incident?

Probably.

Paula was officially freaked out now. Her expression tightened only a little but it was a lot for her.

I rushed to the kitchen and grabbed three brownies. The Chocolate Torte was still chilling in the refrigerator. Paula needed the torte, but we’d have to make do with brownies for now. I plopped some whipped cream and a couple of raspberries on top of Paula’s. That made it sort of like a torte.

I set the plates on the table and forced Paula’s fingers around a fork. “Look!” I said. “It’s your favorite!” Sort of like talking to Zach, encouraging him to eat his dinner when he was more interested in watching TV or going outside to play.

“Thank you,” she said softly. It was an automatic response. She probably didn’t even realize she’d said it. But it was better than total silence.

“Eat,” I ordered.

I never give Paula orders. She doesn’t take orders. Says a lot about her state of mind that she obeyed that time. Lifted a bite of brownie with whipped cream and one raspberry to her mouth and ate it.

I won’t say it brought her totally back to normal, but it definitely helped. A little color returned to her cheeks.

She set down her fork. “I wasn’t adopted. You have the wrong person.”

Lilly shook her head. “Your son’s DNA is in the database from the incident a few years ago when he went missing and your ex-husband tried to take him from you. But to be sure, Granddad took samples of your DNA and Zach’s and had it analyzed.” She smiled tentatively and spread her hands. “It’s a match. We’re family.”

I had a feeling I knew where this was going. “This grandfather you keep talking about…where is he?”

Lilly shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’m not doing this well at all. I’m still trying to accept his death. He and I were just getting to know each other.” She extended a hand toward Paula, reaching out.

Paula jerked her hands down to her lap.

“He told me all about you and Zach. I feel like I know you both already.” She paused and bit her lip. “He was your neighbor. Lucas Harrington.”

“I don’t have a neighbor by that name.” Paula was still in denial.

Lilly gave a slight shake of her head as if to clear her mind. “He was using the name Harry Lucas. He wanted to get to know you before he told you. He loved you, and he was so proud of his great-grandson.”

I picked up Paula’s fork and loaded it with a big bite of brownie. I knew how to do this. I’d watched her feed Zach when he was a baby. I made a circling motion with the bite, moving it closer and closer. “Open the hangar! Here comes the airplane!”

She snatched the fork away from me. “Are you nuts?”

“Perhaps, but that’s a discussion for another time. Right now, you need chocolate. You’re going into shock. Eat this, or I will hold your nose until you open your mouth, then I’ll shove in the brownie along with extra whipped cream.”

She burst into laughter.

Definitely shock.

“You would, wouldn’t you?” she said.

“Of course I would. You’re my friend.”

She squeezed my hand…very briefly, maybe a tenth of a second…but a significant gesture for her. “You are, and I’m glad you are.” She turned to Lilly who looked confused. “We should eat these brownies that Lindsay has graciously provided for us then talk about this situation.”

Thank goodness somebody finally made a sane suggestion.

I took a bite of my brownie to set a good example. “Yum!” I said. “Best brownie I’ve ever eaten.”

Lilly tentatively followed my example, chewed, and smiled. “It is the best brownie I’ve ever eaten.”

I liked Paula’s new sister.

Consuming the desserts not only fortified us with chocolate but also gave us time to think.

I thought about Mr. Lucas’ blue eyes and his white hair. Zach and Paula had eyes of the same soft shade of blue. Zach and Paula had blond hair which would eventually turn white.

I wasn’t ready to accept Lilly’s story completely, but it did have some elements of plausibility.

And she did appreciate my brownies.

Lilly was the first to finish and push her plate aside. “Thank you. That was delicious.” She reached for her folder.

I held my breath.

She slowly drew out several pages covered with numbers. I saw the heading on one. DNA Test Results.

She took a stack of pictures from the folder and laid them on top of the DNA pages.

“Our parents.” She slid the top one toward Paula.

A young couple holding hands smiled at the unseen photographer.

She shoved over another one. “This is Granddad when he was younger.”

The fortyish man in the picture did look as though he could be a younger version of Mr. Lucas.

“And this…” Lilly smiled. “This is you and me when we were babies. Granddad took one picture before he dropped us off.”

Two babies. I saw no resemblance between the babies and Paula or Lilly. Except, of course, for the two eyes, one nose, two arms, two legs thing.

Lilly handed over more pictures, and Paula studied each one carefully. Several of the couple with the man wearing an Army uniform. A much younger Mr. Lucas gazing adoringly at a woman who gazed adoringly back.

I pointed to that picture. “Are those people your grandfather and grandmother?”

Lilly nodded. “She died when our mother was a child. Granddad raised our mother on his own.”

Mr. Lucas had said his wife was dead and he had no children. That second part would be true if his only child died.

Lilly pushed back her chair and rose. “I’ll give you some time to go through everything and digest it. Here’s my cell phone number.” She scribbled on a napkin. “Please call me. I’m sure you’ll have a lot of questions. I’m staying at the Pleasant Grove Manor.” She walked toward the door.

I followed, locked the door behind her and returned to the table. “Well, so Zach has another aunt. I have competition for being his favorite.”

“What do you make of all that?” Paula asked.

Amazing. She was asking my opinion.

I sat down and lifted one of the documents with a DNA Test Results heading. “DNA doesn’t lie. Remember when Fred matched Rickie’s DNA to Rick to prove Rick is the kid’s father?”

“I remember. Fred collected DNA from both sources. How do I know this DNA is really mine?” She held up one of the charts. “Specimen A, Specimen B.”

I took it from her. “Above Specimen A, it says, Lucas Harrington, and above Specimen B, it says, Melanie Fields/Paula Roberts.”

“In someone’s handwriting. That’s not exactly official labeling.”

“Okay,” I said, “I get it. You want to study the data and be certain before you acknowledge Lilly as your sister.”

“And Mr. Lucas as my grandfather.”

“You liked him. Zach liked him. Would it be so hard to accept him as your grandfather?”

Her jaw firmed. “He’s dead.”

“And so is your mother. Both your mothers, if we believe this evidence. That doesn’t mean they weren’t your mother. Mothers. And that woman who just walked out of here may be your sister, your twin sister, your only living relative besides Zach.”

Her jaw got a little firmer. “Lucas Harrington. Why would he use a phony name?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he didn’t want you to know who he was until he told you everything. You should look through the evidence then give it all to Fred and let him verify it. Speaking of Fred and long-lost relatives, I was a little surprised when I found out he’s my uncle, but it hasn’t changed anything. When you learn something new about your life, you accept it and move on.”

“You’d known Fred for several years before you found out. Not like he was a stranger.”

“And you think that makes it any less freaky? Yeah, I knew him for about four years and didn’t know he was my mother’s brother. You knew Mr. Lucas…uh…Lucas Harrington…your grandfather, for a couple of months. You were close to him. You trusted him with Zach.”

She arched a blond eyebrow…an eyebrow that looked very much like Mr. Lucas’—Mr. Harrington’s—the man next door’s—eyebrows had looked.

“You want to disagree with me, but you can’t,” I said. “That’s the price you pay for having a best friend who lives next door to you and works with you. I know everything that goes on in your life.”

The eyebrow rose higher. “Are you sure about that?” She crumpled the napkin with Lilly’s phone number and tossed it in the trash on her way back to the kitchen.

Chapter Five

Paula and I made it through the rest of the day by cooking, talking about the weather, and pretending nothing unusual had happened.

When I got home, I let Henry out then filled his food bowl in anticipation of his return.

After taking care of my cat’s immediate needs, I wasn’t sure who I wanted to see next.

Trent…to find out if he’d tell me anything about Mr. Lucas’ death. He probably wouldn’t.

Fred…to tell him about Lilly and the DNA files and to ask if he knew anything about Mr. Lucas’ death and whether his name was Harry Lucas or Lucas Harrington.

Rickie…to hold a knife to his throat and make him tell me all he knew about Mr. Lucas’ fall down the stairs. Okay, I wouldn’t really hold a knife to his throat. Not when I could more easily and effectively bribe him with Chocolate Torte and Coke to tell me what he had seen.

The decision was made for me when Henry and Rickie arrived on my front porch at the same time. They weren’t together. Henry made that very clear. As soon as I opened the door, he darted in, ears laid back, an angry look on his face.

“That cat doesn’t like me,” Rickie said.

He was right, but I wanted to keep him on my side for the moment. “Don’t take it personally,” I said. “He’s just afraid you’re going to eat his food.”

Rickie blinked. Twice. “What?”

“It’s okay. I assured him you’re here for the Chocolate Torte and Coke.”

That allayed his concerns. He came inside.

I went straight to the kitchen where Henry was munching happily and noisily. He gave me a side-eye glance, acknowledging that he knew I’d lied to Rickie but letting me know he didn’t care.

I took a couple of Cokes from the refrigerator, grabbed a handful of paper napkins, and put all the pieces of torte I’d brought home…half a dozen…on a plate. I didn’t have any whipped cream or raspberries, but the torte was still amazing. If I needed more bribery material, I always had chocolate chip cookie dough in the freezer.

I returned to the living room to find Rickie sitting on the edge of the sofa, expression grim, hands clasped in his lap.

He accepted one of the cans, popped the tab, and took a long drink.

I set the pieces of torte on the coffee table in front of him, opened my own soda, and settled in my armchair.

“He’s dead.” Rickie’s voice was the softest I’d ever heard him use.

No need to ask who he was talking about. “Yes, he is.”

“She pushed him down the stairs.”

I clenched my Coke can so hard it bent inward. Rickie knew how Mr. Lucas had died. Had the police released the information? Was the neighborhood talking about it? Or had he actually seen it happen? “You saw that woman push him?” My words came out in a croaky whisper.

He bit his lip. “Kind of.”

“Kind of? That was a yes or no question. Either you saw a woman push Mr. Lucas down the stairs or you didn’t.”

“If she didn’t do it, who did? She was there, they were fighting, and now he’s dead and she’s gone.” He reached for a piece of torte and took a bite larger than I would have thought possible for such a small boy.

“Can you describe this woman?”

I waited while he chewed. He took an awfully long time.

“Rickie,” I said, “this is serious. A man has died. You need to tell me what you know.”

He swallowed. Washed the bite down with some Coke. Lifted the piece of torte to his mouth again.

“You put that in your mouth, and I will yank it out and shove it up your nose,” I warned.

His eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yes,” I said. “Really. Did you see something or not?”

“Yeah, I saw that woman in his house. I didn’t see her push him, but I know she did it.”

“Okay. What did she look like?”

“I don’t know. I only saw them through the curtains. Like shadows.”

That indicated he had not gone into the house. “Are you sure it was a woman and not a man?”

He held his hands a few inches from his chest and blushed.

“Got it. Woman. Long hair? Short hair?”

He thought for a moment. “Long, I guess.”

“Good. Now we’re making progress. Was she taller or shorter than Mr. Lucas?”

“They were moving a lot. I couldn’t tell.”

It wasn’t much of a description. I doubted he would be able to identify the woman in a lineup. But he had tried. And he had confirmed there was a woman in Mr. Lucas’ house.

“That’s good,” I said. “Your description should help them find who killed Mr. Lucas. How about another Coke? I’m ready for a refill.” I stood and set my almost-full can on the lamp table beside my chair.

As I passed him, he clutched my arm in both hands. His upturned face held a combination of fear and anger. The anger part seemed a little forced, as if he was trying to appear tough.

I sank down on the sofa next to him. “Did you remember something else?”

“You gotta help me. I sort of joined a gang,” he said quietly.

“A…gang? Like a street gang?”

He lifted his head, sat straighter. “Yeah. The Street Rats.”

A grade school gang called the Street Rats. It was kind of cute. “Who else is in this gang?”

“Vince the Viper, Roadkill, Dirtbag, and Badger. I’m Scarface.”

“Scarface?” I looked at his unblemished cheeks. “Is there a reason for that name?”

“I had a cut on my chin a couple weeks ago.” He shrugged. “It didn’t leave a scar, but I already had the name. I’ll probably have a scar one day. Red and black are our gang colors.” He puffed out his skinny chest.

His t-shirt was black with red letters that said, I hate math.

That sort of qualified as a message of anger. I agreed with the sentiment, so maybe I was okay with their gang.

“What does your gang do?” I asked. They were too young to ride motorcycles. “Do you have meetings? A secret handshake? A clubhouse?”

“Vince the Viper’s got a shed behind his house. We meet there.”

“Okay.” My childhood friend, Donna, and I had often played with our dolls in her grandparents’ old smokehouse. The smell had been great, and we didn’t come out much dirtier than when we played in the yard.

“So you meet in Vince the Viper’s shed and…what? Talk? Play games on your cell phones?”

His jaw tightened. “We smoke.”

“Smoke?” I ordered myself to approach this calmly. Are you out of your freaking mind? was not a good way to begin. “Why do you smoke?” There. That was calm and rational.

“It makes us feel good.”

I thought of my experiment with cigarettes when I was fourteen. It tasted bad and did not make me feel anything except stupid for wasting money I could have used to buy chocolate. “How does it make you feel good? Do you like the taste? Do you feel like you’re cool when you smoke?”

“Nah, it tastes awful. But after a couple of hits, it’s okay. We feel good, happy, everything’s funny, and everything we eat tastes great, even Vince’s mom’s terrible cookies.”

A couple of hits.

Everything’s funny.

Everything tastes great.

My stomach sank clear down to my toes.

“We’re not talking about cigarettes you buy at the grocery store, are we?” I asked.

He grimaced. “Nah. Those things are gross. We got the good stuff.”

Oh boy. I was beginning to understand why he said he needed help.

“Where do you get this good stuff?”

He shifted in his chair. Ate another bite of torte.

“If you want me to help you, Rickie, you’ve got to tell me everything.”

“You swear you won’t tell my mom?”

I didn’t talk to Grace often, and I wasn’t sure she would be upset even if she found her son was smoking weed, so that was an easy promise to make. “I swear I won’t tell your mother.”

He ate another bite of torte, chewed, swallowed, then mumbled something.

I leaned closer. “I can’t help you if I can’t hear you.”

“Vince’s dad had some. We only took a little.”

I was going to have to talk to Vince’s dad, and I did not really want to do that. “Where does Vince live?” If Rickie refused to tell me where the man lived, I’d have an excuse not to talk to him.

“Two blocks over that way.” He pointed toward the back of my house.

“Name of the street?”

“Walnut.”

A house on Walnut with a shed behind it and a boy named Vince. Unfortunately, that would not be difficult to find. I’d have to talk to him.

“I told them about seeing Mr. Lucas’ money, so they told me to go in his house and get some money so we could buy more weed.”

“You saw Mr. Lucas’ money? What money? When? Where?”

“Last week when I was going to our meeting, his curtains were open, and I saw him sitting at his table in the kitchen. He had a lot of money on that table.”

“Define a lot. How much money are we talking about?” To a kid, twenty dollars might seem like a lot of money.

Rickie shrugged. “I dunno. About a million dollars, I guess.”

“Only a million? You sure it wasn’t a bazillion?”

Rickie shook his head, seemingly oblivious to my sarcasm. “It was a lot. He had a bunch of stacks of bills. Maybe they were hundred dollar bills.”

“How many stacks? Five? Ten? Fifty?”

“Man, I don’t know! I didn’t stick around. I was afraid he might see me.”

“Yet you went back and spied on him again with the intention of breaking in and stealing that money.”

“I wasn’t gonna take it all. He had plenty. We just needed a little.”

I crossed the room and retrieved my soda. It was getting warm and flat, but I downed the remainder in one gulp. Sugar, caffeine, artificial flavoring…I needed all of it.

I set my empty can on the lamp table, drew in a deep breath, and returned to the sofa to stand in front of Rickie. “It doesn’t matter how much you steal. It’s still wrong. You stole from Vince’s dad, and you planned to steal from Mr. Lucas.” I lifted his chin and forced him to look at me. “Rickie, stealing is a crime. It’s wrong, and it’s illegal. You could go to prison for stealing.” Okay, at his age, he wasn’t going to prison, but I was trying to scare him straight. A slight exaggeration was acceptable under the circumstances.

Rickie jerked his head away. “I didn’t steal anything from Mr. Lucas. The door was locked, and then I saw that woman in there. The guys are gonna kill me ’cause I didn’t get that money.”

I doubted Vince and the other sixth graders were going to kill Rickie, but maybe I could use his fear to my advantage. “I won’t let them,” I assured him.

He snorted. “How you gonna stop them?”

“Fred.”

“You can’t tell Fred. He’s in with the cops and those other people. I don’t want to go to prison.”

My warning had made an impression.

“Fred’s not a snitch. He never once told on me to my mom.”

“You done things you didn’t want your mom to know about?”

I laughed. “You have no idea.”

He waited.

“And I’m not going to tell you. Go home. Your mom probably has dinner ready. It’s all going to be okay. I’m going to help you.”

He rose and started toward the door then looked back at the remaining pieces of torte.

“Take them,” I said. “All of them.”

Chocolate was the final deal sealer.

He snatched up the plate and left.

I sat down to get my thoughts in order before I called Fred.

Rickie had repeated his story of seeing a woman in Mr. Lucas’ house. A strange woman had showed up today claiming to be Paula’s sister, claiming to know Mr. Lucas.

I had sworn I wouldn’t tell Rickie’s mother about his escapades. However, that left a little over 330 million people in this country that I had not sworn to keep his secrets from.

I would start with Fred.

Chapter Six

The thought barely had time to enter my brain before my phone rang.

Fred.

“What took you so long to call?” I asked sarcastically.

“I was waiting for Rickie to leave.”

That was not the reply I’d been expecting, but it wasn’t surprising. Fred knows things.

“What do you make of Rickie’s story?” I asked.

A moment of silence. “Rickie’s story?”

“Yeah. The business about him and his buddies smoking dope and how he saw that woman in Mr. Lucas’ house.”

“I have not heard any of that. Please enlighten me.”

So much for my theory of him having my house bugged.

I repeated Rickie’s story.

“That’s very interesting,” he said when I concluded. “It gives us some new options to consider.”

“Do you think the woman Rickie saw was Paula’s sister?” I asked.

“Paula’s sister?”

“I mean the woman who says she’s Paula’s sister.”

Silence.

He didn’t have Death by Chocolate bugged either.

I told him about the morning’s events.

“I’d like to see those documents and pictures,” he said. “Would you call Paula and ask if we can come over now?”

“Right now? They may be having dinner.”

“I wouldn’t want to interrupt their dinner, but I’d like to talk to her as soon as possible.” He disconnected.

As soon as possible. Fred knew something. He hadn’t known about the sister’s visit…but he knew something.

I called Paula.

“We already had dinner,” she said. “I would very much appreciate it if Fred would look at everything and give me his opinion.” She hesitated. “Matthew’s here.”

I smiled. Good news in the midst of so much bad. “It’s okay. Matthew likes Fred and me, and we like him.”

“He heard about Mr. Lucas and came by. He’s here to help Zach deal with the loss.”

So careful to assure me Matthew was visiting Zach, not her. “Whatever. You have ten minutes to hide Matthew in the window seat before we get there. Good-bye.”

I disconnected the call. I was learning from Fred. Hang up before people have time to ask questions.

***

Henry and I met Fred on my porch and proceeded to Paula’s place. Henry split off halfway there to pursue some creature in the bushes. I hoped none of those creatures would end up on my front porch. He loves to bring me gifts.

“Matthew’s at Paula’s,” I informed Fred.

“Yes,” he said.

“You knew that? How?”

He pointed ahead of us. “His car’s sitting in her driveway.”

Fred often tries to explain away his psychic abilities.

We continued to Paula’s front door.

She opened it before my second knock.

I was barely halfway through the door when Zach greeted me in a desperate embrace. I hugged him back tightly. He was going through his first experience with death.

“Zach, let Aunt Lindsay get inside,” Paula said.

Zach released his grip and looked up at me with sad eyes. “Mr. Lucas is gone.”

“I know,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

Matthew appeared behind Zach and placed smooth tanned hands on the boy’s shoulders. “Come on, buddy. Let’s sit down and have some more hot chocolate.”

Zach nodded and allowed Matthew to lead him to the sofa. Zach retrieved a cup from the coffee table and drank.

Matthew looked the quintessential history professor even in his khaki shorts and blue t-shirt that read: Don’t make me repeat myself. —History. His dark blond hair was streaked from the summer sun. He could easily fit into this family of blondes.

The way he interacted with Zach…and Zach with him…sealed the deal…if Paula would let him.

“The window seat?” Paula whispered as I passed her.

“Cary Grant. Arsenic and Old Lace,” I reminded her. We’d watched the movie several times together. Zach loved it. So did I.

“Sometimes, Lindsay, I worry about you.” She straightened. “Lindsay,” she said in a normal voice, “I know you want a Coke. Fred, coffee? Water?”

Paula’s from Texas. Every guest must be offered refreshment. If a robber came to her door in the middle of the night, she’d offer him a cup of coffee or a glass of tea while they waited for the police to arrive.

Both Fred and I turned down the offer of a drink. He’s very picky about his coffee, and I—maybe for the first time ever—was totally Coked out after the events of the day and my meeting with Rickie.

“I have the documents in the kitchen,” Paula said. “Matthew, would you stay in here with Zach for a few minutes?”

“Sure.” He beamed down at Zach. “Let’s play with your trucks. I get the green one!”

They sank to the floor among Zach’s toys, and Fred and I followed Paula to the kitchen.

The table that only a few days ago had been littered with drawings and colored pencils was almost bare tonight. Only Lilly’s folder lay there now.

Paula slid it to Fred.

He sat and went through the contents, studying everything carefully.

For a long time.

Finally he slid the pictures over to Paula. “These appear to be legitimate photographs with appropriate aging and with hair styles and clothing from that era. It is possible Mr. Lucas was the younger man in some of the pictures. There’s a resemblance. We can computer age the image for a better comparison if you’d like.” He moved the birth certificates to the middle of the table. “These also appear to be authentic. Whether one of these is your original birth certificate, I can’t tell at this point.”

“I have a copy of my birth certificate.” Paula’s voice was soft and uncertain. Very unlike her. “Would you like to see it?”

“Yes.”

She left the room then returned so quickly it was obvious she knew exactly where the certificate was. She had probably been studying it today.

She handed it to Fred.

He took a picture with his phone and handed it back.

“It says I was born to Barbara and Kenneth Roberts,” Paula said. “Not Nora and Carson Fields.”

“Yes. At that time the birth certificates of adopted children were changed to reflect that the child was born to the adoptive parents.”

“So it’s possible I was adopted.”

“It’s possible. I can find out if you want to know.”

She bit her lip. “I don’t know. I’ll think about it.”

He nodded and returned his attention to the other papers. “As for the DNA tests, there’s no proof they’re for the individuals specified.” He pulled one of the tests from the stack and turned it toward Paula. “Specimen A and Specimen B are definitely related, likely grandfather and granddaughter. However, we have no proof that Specimen A is Lucas Harrington or that Specimen B is Melanie Fields or that you are Melanie Fields.”

“Was his name really Lucas Harrington and not Harry Lucas?” I asked.

“Yes, his driver’s license identifies him as Lucas Edward Harrington. He purchased the house in that name.”

Lilly had told the truth about the man’s name.

“He lied to us?” Paula asked. “Why? We trusted him. I trusted him with Zach.”

I could almost hear a gurgling sound as her recent advance in trusting people went right down the drain.

“How do we know that’s his real name?” I asked. “He could get a fake ID. I see it on television all the time.”

“Yes, he could,” Fred agreed. “But he did not. When his identification didn’t match the name you gave the police, they did a search. His real identity has been verified. His fingerprints and DNA are in the system.”

I didn’t like where this was going.

“Why?” Paula’s question came out as more of a gasp than a word. “Why are his fingerprints and DNA in the system?”

“He was released from Huntsville State Prison in Texas six months ago.”

Paula’s face crumpled, but her voice was strong when she asked, “What crime did he commit?”

Fred cleared his throat and looked as uncomfortable as I’ve ever seen him look. “Murder,” he said softly.

Chapter Seven

“Murder?” I repeated. “That’s not possible. He was such a gentle man. He must have been wrongly convicted. Or maybe it was self-defense.”

“He could have been wrongly convicted,” Fred agreed, “but a sentence of thirty years indicates it was not self-defense.”

“Omigosh! What happened?”

“I don’t have all the details yet.”

“When will you?”

He lifted an eyebrow above the metal frame of his glasses. “Can I get back to you on that?”

Paula rose and left the room.

It was not like Paula to leave the room without a word, deserting her guests.

She was accustomed to Fred and me bickering, so that couldn’t be the problem.

I looked at Fred.

He shrugged.

We followed her.

She stood in the living room in front of the painting of the ethereal blond woman in the field of colorful flowers, the blond woman who looked remarkably like her.

“He painted it for me,” she said softly.

“Yes,” I said. “It’s a wonderful picture.”

“He lied to me about his name. What else did he lie to me about?”

“I’m sure he had a good reason to use a different name.”

She turned to face me, her features stony, eyes hard. “Yes, he had a reason. He wanted to hide his past, the fact that he was a criminal, a murderer.” She reached for opposite corners of the frame, but it was wider than her reach. She grasped one corner and the bottom.

“What are you doing?” I asked. “You’re going to get splinters in your fingers.”

“I don’t want this in my house.” She tugged at the beautiful distressed wooden frame.

“Wait! You don’t know the whole story,” I protested. “Fred’s going to find out what happened.”

Fred took her hands in his and gently removed them from the painting. “Let me do it,” he said. “My arms are longer.”

I widened my eyes at Fred in an attempt to let him know I did not understand or approve of his helping her with her irrational action.

He ignored me, took down the painting, and set it on the floor against the wall. “I’ll take it home with me until Paula can decide what she wants to do with it.”

Okay. That made sense.

“I’ve already decided what I want to do with it,” Paula said firmly. “I want it destroyed and gone.” She turned to leave, probably in search of an axe or maybe a chain saw.

I caught her arm. “Not in front of him.” I nodded to the other side of the room where Zach and Matthew sat on the floor, watching us, the toy trucks still.

“I’ll take it home with me,” I said. “I have a place where it will look great.”

Paula’s brows drew together.

“I’ll take good care of it.” I winked. “I’ll bring it to work tomorrow.” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “We have a bigger trash bin at work.”

She looked dubious, as if she didn’t trust me. Fair enough since I had no intention of destroying that exquisite painting.

Finally she nodded. “There are more upstairs.”

Zach got to his feet. “Mommy?”

Matthew rose and gave me a questioning look. “What happened?” he whispered.

“Tell you later.”

We all followed Paula upstairs to her son’s room.

The dinosaur spread I’d last seen on his twin bed had been replaced with one covered with images of baseballs, bats, and players in various stances. Mr. Lucas’ influence.

Above the bed hung a painting of Zach holding a bat over his shoulder and wearing a Kansas City Royals uniform. The work was so well done, I could almost feel the ball just out of sight, advancing toward the bat. Mr. Lucas might be a murderer, but he was a very good artist.

A picture on the other wall showed this house with Zach and Paula sitting on the front porch. Another portrayed Zach on a swing set, sailing high and laughing.

Paula marched to the wall at the foot of the bed and lifted down a mesmerizing painting of a mesquite tree under a night sky covered with stars whose reflections glowed on the sand. The scene conveyed a feeling of serenity and peace.

Mr. Lucas was a damned good artist.

“Mommy, no!” Zach charged across the room and tried to take the painting from her. “Mr. Lucas made that for me.” He burst into tears.

Paula dropped the painting, sank to the floor and gathered her son into her arms. “It’s okay, baby. I’m sorry. I won’t take away your paintings. I know you loved Mr. Lucas.”

Matthew crossed the room silently and rehung the painting then stooped to put one hand on Paula’s shoulder and the other on Zach’s.

Paula slid away from Matthew’s hand and rose. “Thank you for coming by. This has been a difficult day. We should all try to get a good night’s rest. Lindsay and I will have to be at the shop very early in the morning.”

She did not use the words, Get out of my house right now, but that was what she meant.

I went to Zach and gave him a hug. “Goodnight, Hot Shot. Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

He giggled. “We don’t have bedbugs.”

“Are you positive?” I rumpled his hair, flipped my hand into the air, then stomped on the floor. “Okay, I think I got the last of them.”

He giggled again.

“Get ready for your bath,” Paula said. “I’ll be right back.”

The adults went downstairs.

I headed straight for the painting leaning against the living room wall.

“Don’t worry about it,” Paula said. “You’re right. The trash bin at work is large enough. I’ll take it in tomorrow.”

“It won’t fit in your trunk. I’ll take it.”

“Your car is smaller than mine.”

“But I’ve got that hatchback. I can get a small house in there. Besides, you’ll have Zach with you in the morning, and you don’t want him to see you taking it away.”

Fred lifted the painting. “She’s right, Paula. I’ll carry it for you, Lindsay.”

“Well, I—” Paula began.

“No problem.” Fred was already halfway to the door.

I hurried after him. Paula was no match for Fred and me when we teamed up.

Fred, the painting, and I went out the front door.

“Interesting reaction,” Fred said as we headed down the sidewalk. “It’s not like Paula to lose control and become so emotional.”

“She’s hurt. She liked Mr. Lucas, trusted him. Now she finds he lied to her. She already had trust issues. This isn’t going to help. Damn him!” I forced myself to walk calmly instead of stomp. Stomping down a sidewalk is much harder on my feet than it is on the concrete. “If he hadn’t let that woman in his house to kill him, we wouldn’t have found out about him going to prison, and everything would be fine.”

“Or he could have refrained from killing someone.”

“That too.”

Behind us Paula’s door opened and closed.

We both looked back and saw Matthew crossing the porch. Alone.

I waved.

He waved back. Though evening shadows obscured his features, I could tell he wasn’t smiling.

The farewell between him and Paula had taken about as long as I expected.

“I need to talk to the woman who claims to be Paula’s sister,” Fred said.

“Did you miss that Paula sent Matthew on his way without so much as a goodnight kiss?”

“I noticed when she stepped away from his hand, and I noticed the abrupt departure. We can’t do anything about it right now.”

“Paula was making progress. She was getting close to Matthew, and now, thanks to Mr. Lucas, it’s all ruined. Do you think he really was her grandfather?”

“I don’t know. For Paula’s emotional health, we need to find the truth about him and about her parents. I have to talk to Lilly.”

“Paula threw away her phone number, but she’s staying at Pleasant Grove Manor.” I turned down the walkway to my house.

Fred did not follow. “You’re not really going to take this painting to work and throw it in the trash, are you?”

“I should, but it’s a beautiful painting of my beautiful friend. It’s kind of like when Rick used to send me flowers. I couldn’t blame the flowers for their association with evil. I’m going to keep this work of art in my house until Paula gets past this trauma and wants it back.”

Fred nodded. “The painting has done nothing wrong. I’ll take it with me. It will fit in with my décor.”

“No, it won’t. Everything in your house is perfectly matched, and you don’t have any bare spaces on your walls. I have plenty of bare spaces. This will fit better with my décor.” Why did Fred want the painting? He was up to something.

“Your décor is general chaos.”

“And this painting will fit in perfectly.” I grasped the frame and tugged.

He held on tightly. “Why do you want it? You’ll have to dust it. You hate dusting.”

“I want it because you want it. Why do you want it?”

He stood quietly for a moment, moonlight glowing on his hair, simulating a misleading halo. “Has it occurred to you that the woman Rickie saw in Mr. Lucas’ house may have been hunting for this painting?”

“No. Why would she want a picture of Paula?”

“I don’t know at this point. Perhaps this painting is covering a famous painting. Perhaps there’s gold hidden in the frame. Perhaps I’m wrong, and it’s only a painting. But I’d feel better having it in my house for the time being in case that woman comes back. What would you do if that woman broke into your house?”

“Henry would scream like a mountain lion and wake me. Then I’d call you while Henry scratched her eyeballs out. You’d rush over and put her in a chokehold. Case closed.”

He shook his head. “Lindsay—”

“You let me have this painting, and there’ll be something chocolate in the deal for you.”

He sighed a third time but carried the painting into my living room and hung it on the blank wall over my grandmother’s sewing machine, between my armchairs.

“It looks good there,” he admitted. “Be sure to lock your doors tonight.”

“You mean like I do every night?”

He departed, and Henry strolled in as if he’d been waiting on the porch for Fred to leave.

“My guard cat’s here,” I called after Fred. “I’m safe.”

I went to the kitchen where I’d hung Zach’s drawing on my refrigerator with a magnet.

I searched through old pictures until I found a frame that fit. I would get a better one, but this would do for the moment.

I hung it beside Mr. Lucas’ painting in my living room, directly over my favorite armchair.

Chapter Eight

“Where’s that painting?” Paula asked the next morning as soon I walked into the kitchen of Death by Chocolate.

“I took care of it.”

She turned away without a word and continued pounding her cinnamon roll dough.

I tried to talk to her while we prepared breakfast, reason with her about her rejection of Matthew just because Mr. Lucas killed somebody. “You once thought you killed your ex. That didn’t make you a bad person. I was still your friend. That small act didn’t change my opinion of you at all. He deserved to be killed. Maybe whoever Mr. Lucas killed also deserved to be killed.”

She glanced up from buttering her dough. “Would you please hand me the cinnamon canister?”

I handed her the cinnamon.

She mixed it with sugar and sprinkled the dough, then rolled it up and cut it into pieces.

During all that time, she didn’t speak a word, didn’t respond to what I’d said, gave no sign she’d even heard me.

I had no choice but to continue talking until she at least acknowledged she heard me.

We worked and I talked.

“Being upset about Mr. Lucas has nothing to do with your relationship with Matthew. Matthew didn’t kill anybody.” I was relatively certain of that. Fred had checked him out.

Finally she spoke.

“I can’t put these rolls into the oven until you move away from the oven door.”

“Oh.” I moved. “Yeah, I need to finish my Chocolate Torte with Caramel Sauce. You’re going to love it.” Yes, I was trying to buy her forgiveness with chocolate tortes.

***

Breakfast was over, and we were preparing for the lunch crowd when she finally said something that didn’t involve food preparation.

“She tried to call me last night.”

I almost stopped stirring the melting sugar for the caramel sauce. That would have been a disaster. “She?” I resumed stirring.

“That woman.” Paula continued chopping chicken as if she hadn’t just said something momentous.

That woman.

A phrase used by both Paula and Rickie.

Was it the same woman?

“Are you referring to your new-found sister?” I asked.

“I am referring to that woman who claims to be my sister.”

“What did she say?”

“She left a message that she needed to talk to me about something important.”

“Did you call her back?” I added butter to the melted sugar and continued stirring. Build up my arm muscles.

“No.”

“Aren’t you curious?”

“No.”

“Well, I am, so you have to call her back.”

Paula frowned. Smiled. Laughed. “I’d reply with the snarky response that you should call her yourself if you want to know, but you’d do it.”

“Duh! Don’t you want to know if she really is your sister, if Mr. Lucas really was your grandfather?”

“Do I want to know if my grandfather was a murderer who was then murdered by someone else? No.”

“What about Lilly? She could be your sister.”

Paula tossed her chopped chicken into a bowl containing already-mutilated onions, celery, and apples, then stirred them together vigorously. “When you first met me, I was a mess. Broke, hiding from the police who weren’t even looking for me. Now I have a good job, a happy son, and a best friend I can always count on even if she’s nosy and bossy and sometimes drives me crazy.”

“You have another best friend besides me?”

She ignored me…as usual…and continued working on her chicken salad. “I have all I need. I don’t need a sister or a criminal grandfather. My life is good.”

She didn’t include Matthew among her assets.

“I understand that. But aren’t you curious? Don’t you want to know if you’re related to these people, if you were adopted, who your birth parents were?”

She snapped a plastic lid onto the bowl of chicken salad. “No. I had wonderful parents. If they didn’t give birth to me, that’s inconsequential, and I don’t want to know.”

I removed my pan from the heat to cool a few minutes before adding the cream. I studied the uninteresting contents carefully while considering what she’d said. “I understand.” And now I did. Depending on what Fred and I learned, I might have to withhold information from Paula, not tell her if her parents were not her biological parents. That would be difficult. I tend to be a blabbermouth and tell everything I know.

But I would protect Paula from hurtful news even if it meant stuffing my mouth with a lot of chocolate brownies to keep certain words from coming out.

***

We were getting ready to close for the day when Lilly came through the door. Obviously she knew our hours of operation.

They were posted on the door and on the Internet, so I guess that knowledge wasn’t suspicious.

Paula and I were both standing behind the counter when she came in. “Interesting,” Paula said softly, “that people you refuse to allow into your home can easily stroll into your business with no invitation and no repercussions. I have work to do in the kitchen.”

I was very well aware of that idiosyncrasy. Rickhead often came to the shop when I refused to talk to him.

Paula strode away. She could move pretty fast for a short girl.

“Good afternoon, Lilly.” I twisted my lips into a smile. “Couldn’t stay away from my brownies, could you?”

Lilly returned my smile. She probably did a better job of it than I did. “They are delicious. But I brought someone to meet Paula.” She looked toward the kitchen door. Paula was fast, but not so fast Lilly hadn’t seen her. “I tried to call several times. Something must be wrong with her phone.”

“Yeah, our neighborhood sometimes has problems with bandwidth interference from conflicting inertia.”

My nonsensical babbling stopped her for only a moment. She stepped aside to let a tall, distinguished man come in behind her.

“Lindsay, this is Gilbert Sloan,” she said. “Granddad’s lawyer. He wants to talk to Melanie…I mean Paula…and me about Granddad’s estate.”

Gilbert Sloan looked like a lawyer. Well, the Hollywood version of a lawyer. Dark suit, designer tie, gray hair styled immaculately, gray mustache and goatee, both trim and perfect.

My dad’s a lawyer. None of the lawyers I knew looked like that in real life. But there was no law that said they couldn’t.

The man strode toward me, extending his hand. “How do you do?”

He gripped my hand firmly.

I gripped his hand firmly right back. Making brownies and cookies and caramel sauce builds strong hands. “Paula’s busy at the moment. If you’ll leave your card, I’ll have her call you and set up an appointment.” It was what Paula would want me to say, but I didn’t really want these people to leave. I wanted to know about Mr. Lucas’ estate. I wanted to know more about Lilly. I wanted to know more about Gilbert Sloan. “Or you can give me the information, and I’ll pass it on to her. She’s a very busy person. I’m not sure when she’ll be able to work you into her schedule.”

The words had barely left my mouth when Paula emerged from the kitchen. “Hello, Lilly. I’m sorry I missed your calls. I can take a few minutes to talk to Mr. Sloan.”

She’d been listening. When I do that, she calls it eavesdropping.

Whatever. She hadn’t been able to contain her curiosity about this man and this estate thing. I was pleased she was acting like a normal person again.

“Let me clear a table for us.” She went to a table for four and began gathering up the dirty dishes.

I rushed to help her. One extra chair. That was a subliminal invitation for me to join the three of them.

Okay, we have no tables for three, but that detail was immaterial.

“I’ve got this,” she whispered.

“And you’ve got me,” I whispered back. “You didn’t offer them cookies. That tells me you don’t really want to talk to them.”

“If you’d like to have a seat,” she said in a louder voice, “I’ll bring over some coffee.” She gave me a snarky look—as if offering coffee was anywhere close to offering cookies—and handed me the tray of dishes she’d gathered. “Would you be so kind as to take these to the kitchen, Lindsay?”

“Of course, Paula.” I took the tray and walked rapidly toward the kitchen. I have long legs. I would be back before they had a chance to say much without me.

I ditched the dirty dishes and hurried back to find Gilbert Sloan and Lilly seated at the clean table while Paula brought cups and a pot of coffee.

I grabbed a Coke and joined them, taking the fourth chair, the one between Sloan and Paula, the one obviously reserved for me.

Sloan opened a folder and spread some documents on the table. One was entitled Last Will and Testament. “My dear friend, Lucas Harrington, has left his entire estate to his granddaughters, Lilly and Melanie.” He smiled at the two women.

Lilly returned the smile.

“You were Mr. Harrington’s friend?” Paula steepled her fingers under her chin. She has a pleasant face, a kind face. At the moment, however, she looked fearsome. Ferocious.

Sloan nodded. “For many years. I knew him when the two of you were born. I know how much it hurt him to give you up and how hard he tried to find you.”

He sort of slid right past the thirty years in prison for murder thing. I opened my mouth, but Paula kicked me under the table. She wasn’t even looking at me. How did she know?

I shut my mouth.

Sloan tapped the document with a long, manicured finger. “Lucas set this up several years ago. He wasn’t sure at that time if he’d be able to find you girls. If he didn’t, everything would go to the ASPCA. He loved animals, but I know he loved the two of you more. I’m sure he’s celebrating in heaven right now because his granddaughters will inherit his estate.”

If I puked, I’d have to clean it up.

Therefore, I resisted the urge.

“What does his estate consist of?” Paula asked.

“The house next door to you, of course. There’s no mortgage. He paid cash.”

Paula did not bat an eye.

I did. Rickie’s story about Mr. Lucas having a lot of money suddenly had credence.

“He has a savings account at a bank in Dallas that holds around three quarters of a million dollars. Not a fortune when split between the two of you, but it should help with your finances.”

“Wow,” Lilly said softly. “That’s a lot of money. I had no idea.”

Sloan spread out more documents. “I have some papers for you to sign, and then we can move forward with getting that money to you.”

“How did he make that money?” Paula asked.

Sloan looked up from the papers. “I’m sorry. I should have told you more about your grandfather. He was a wonderful man, a dear friend. And a very successful artist. He was well on his way to becoming a household name when your grandmother died and then your mother. The life went out of him, especially when he made the terrible mistake of letting you two go and then couldn’t find you. He stopped painting.”

The story was taking on substance, becoming more believable.

“He didn’t paint while he was in prison?” Paula asked.

The sound of silence.

Suddenly I understood what Simon and Garfunkel heard.

Sloan looked shocked.

Lilly looked shocked.

If Sloan was his best friend, surely he knew about that little incident.

Was Lilly shocked to find out or shocked that we knew?

Sloan placed his hand over Lilly’s. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. And you, Melanie. He hoped you would never have to know. It’s not what you think. If I could please have a little more coffee, I’ll tell you the story.”

Chapter Nine

Paula and I rose at the same time.

“Let me.” I grabbed the coffee pot before she could. Her expression was guarded, difficult to read even for me, but I judged her to be somewhere between ordering both of them to leave and pouring the pot of hot coffee over Sloan’s head.

The latter would make quite a mess.

I poured more coffee in Sloan’s cup. He was the only one drinking the beverage. Paula usually stuck with water, and yesterday Lilly had opted for a Coke. I went behind the counter, got a bottle of water and another Coke then gave the water to Paula and the Coke to Lilly.

“Thank you,” Lilly said.

Paula didn’t trust her. I wasn’t sure if I did either, but she liked Coke and my brownies. Two marks in the positive column.

Sloan lifted his cup and sipped. “Excellent coffee.”

“She makes it.” I nodded toward Paula. “She gets all the credit for that.”

Sloan smiled at her.

She continued to give him the stare a diamondback rattler gives his victim before he strikes.

Sloan set his cup on the table, leaned back in his chair, and surveyed his audience.

Dreading that he must tell a sad story?

Or taking his time so he could make up that story?

Good grief! I was getting as paranoid as Paula.

“It’s okay,” Lilly assured him softly. “We can handle it. We just need to know the truth.” She reached a hand toward Paula who didn’t notice because her gaze was fixed on Sloan.

Or she pretended she didn’t notice.

Lilly drew her hand back and looked down at the table.

I felt a little sorry for her. She didn’t understand that Paula’s reticence wasn’t personal.

Or maybe it was.

“Lucas and I met in college. University of Texas at Austin. He was studying art, and I was taking pre-law classes. Opposite ends of the spectrum, and I was a freshman when he was already a junior, yet we had a lot in common. He was a good man. And a fun guy. Always ready to party. We lifted a few beers together.” Sloan paused and took another sip of his coffee. “I was with him the night he met Amelia.”

“Amelia?” I asked the question because I knew Paula wouldn’t.

“Our grandmother,” Lilly answered. “He loved her very much.”

“Yes,” Sloan said, “he did. She was beautiful, intelligent, fun. Half the guys on campus wanted to date her. Hell, I wanted to date her. But from that first night when Lucas saw her in the Student Union, there was nobody else for either of them.” He gave a wistful smile as if remembering something poignant from the past.

“They married as soon as he graduated,” Sloan continued. “Lucas took a job as a salesman for an office supply company. He was good at it, but art was his passion. He painted in his spare time and actually sold a few. When Amelia graduated, she got a job in marketing and did very well. She wanted Lucas to quit his job and paint full time, but his pride wouldn’t let him do that.”

He drank more coffee. “Then Nora, your mother, came along. She wasn’t planned. But after she was born, they became the absolute stereotype of adoring parents. They spoiled her rotten. She was a delightful child. Always laughing and bouncing around. Never met a stranger.” He nodded toward Paula. “You look a lot like her.”

Would that have been Paula’s personality if she hadn’t married that crazy man and been abused and forced to go through hell?

Had that been her personality when she was a child?

“Lucas and Amelia wanted more kids, but it didn’t happen, so they focused all their love on Nora.” He wrapped his hands around his almost-empty cup and dropped his gaze. “When Nora was six, Amelia found a lump in her breast.”

I gasped involuntarily.

Paula said nothing, didn’t even twitch.

“They fought it, of course. We didn’t have all the treatments then that we have now, and she was dead within the year.”

I rose, lifted the pot, and poured more coffee for Sloan. Keep him caffeinated. Keep him talking.

“Lucas changed. He was sad, of course, but it went beyond that. He never got over losing Amelia, and he became very protective of Nora, afraid something would happen to her. And there were money issues. Amelia had quit work to be a stay-at-home mom when Nora came along. They did all right on Lucas’ salary, but they weren’t saving anything. The expensive cancer treatments put them in debt. Lucas had become a single parent, trying to do all he could for his young daughter. He was determined she would have the best life possible. Then someone offered Lucas an opportunity.”

The word opportunity dropped through the air like a bomb then hovered, waiting to explode.

Was this the part where the murder came in? Had Mr. Lucas become a paid hit man? I understood that he wanted to take care of his daughter, but…

“Lucas and Jonas Moncrief, the owner of the art gallery where he sold the occasional painting, had become friends over the years. He knew Lucas was very talented and needed money. He suggested that Lucas do paintings in the style of the old masters…Monet, Dali, Picasso, van Gogh…the ones Lucas had studied in school. Moncrief had someone who could authenticate the paintings, create provenance, and they could sell them around the world for a lot of money. Turns out Lucas was very good at creating art forgeries. His income increased. He was able to stay home and be with Nora. He justified his work by saying people enjoyed his paintings. So what if they thought a painting was created by someone other than him? That didn’t make it any less a work of art.”

“He told you he was committing a crime?” I asked. “You’re a lawyer.”

Sloan nodded. “He told me because I was his friend and his lawyer. He wanted to know how bad it would be if he got caught. Art forgery is a crime, but the consequences are not usually terrible. Lucas decided it was worth the risk.”

Silence ensued.

I always take silence as an invitation to speak. Somebody has to do it. “He was a very good artist,” I said.

“Yes,” Sloan agreed. “He was talented. And things went well for him for several years. Nora grew up and married Carson Fields. Lieutenant Carson Fields. He was a West Point graduate who planned a career in the Army. They were happy. He was stationed at Ft. Hood, an easy two-hour drive from Dallas, so Lucas was able to see Nora often. Since Nora no longer relied on his support, he decided to cut back on his career which was, after all, illegal. But Moncrief didn’t want him to cut back. He had become greedy, dependent on Lucas’ excellent forgeries, and he wanted more, not less. When Nora announced she was pregnant, Lucas agreed to continue his work for a while longer. His grandchild…” He paused, smiled, and looked from Paula to Lilly. “His grandchildren, as it turned out, might need his help.” He drew in a deep breath. “Then Carson shipped overseas and Nora returned to live with her father. When Nora was seven months pregnant, Carson was killed in Somalia.”

Lilly’s eyes misted.

I thought Paula gasped but her lips didn’t move. She remained stoic.

Must have been me who gasped.

“Your father died a hero,” Sloan continued, “but that was scant consolation for Nora. She was devastated, of course. In only a few weeks you two were born. Lucas and Nora loved you both very much.” He paused and drank more coffee.

Elbows on the table, Sloan clasped his cup between both hands and lifted his gaze to each of us, one at a time.

Effective technique. I made note of it.

Not that I doubted his veracity.

I simply admired his story-telling style.

Maybe I doubted his veracity just a little bit.

“I’m not sure exactly what happened after that. Lucas showed up at my office and asked me to draw up this will.” He tapped the document. “I asked why he was leaving everything to his granddaughters, what about his daughter? He said she was dead and he had killed her murderer then left both of you at a local hospital to be adopted. As soon as he signed the will, he turned himself in to the authorities.”

He stopped talking.

The air in the room stopped moving.

I had to remind myself to breathe.

I looked at Paula. She hadn’t moved a muscle, but now it was more than stoic. She appeared to be frozen in place.

I poured more coffee into Sloan’s cup.

“Would you like another Coke, Lilly?” I asked.

When in doubt, offer beverages.

Lilly shook her head slowly.

Sloan gathered his documents, pushed his chair back and stood. “I’m going to leave now and give you some time to think about all this. Shall we meet again tomorrow? I’d offer my hotel room, but this place is much nicer.” He smiled weakly. “And the coffee is great.”

Lilly slid her chair back and rose. “Yeah. Sure.”

I stood. “Yeah, here tomorrow.” Nobody had asked me, but this was my place so I felt I had to say something.

Sloan left.

The bell jangling over the door sounded unusually loud as he departed.

Paula slid her chair back. I was glad to see she could move. “Well,” she said, “we need to get busy cleaning this place for the breakfast crowd tomorrow.”

I looked at Lilly.

Lilly looked at me.

“Paula,” I said, “we need to talk about this. You can’t pretend it didn’t happen.”

She picked up the empty coffee pot, Lilly’s unused cup, and Sloan’s empty cup. “How do we know that ridiculous story is true? How do we even know Sloan’s really a lawyer?”

“He has all those documents,” Lilly said. “Our granddad’s will.”

Paula carried the dishes to the counter, set them down, and turned to face us. “I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know if that’s really Mr. Lucas’ will. I don’t know what Mr. Sloan wanted us to sign. For someone who claimed to be a close friend of the man, Mr. Sloan showed no emotion as he told that horrible story. It was as if he was reading from a script.”

“People don’t always show their emotions,” Lilly said.

I had to agree with her. The very lady who was criticizing Sloan often came across as cold because she was so good at hiding her emotions.

“Lilly, do you need a ride back to your hotel since you came with him?” Paula asked.

“No. We came in separate cars.” She extended a hand tentatively toward Paula as if attempting a connection but dropped it when Paula made no response.

Speaking of coming across as cold and emotionless…

“I’d really like for us to spend some time talking about this,” Lilly said. “I think he’s telling the truth. I think you’re my sister, and I’d like to get to know you better. We’re family.”

I waited for Paula’s expression to soften. She actually has a kind heart. It’s just been trampled on so many times, she keeps it hidden a lot, tucked away safe from harm.

A flicker of something…compassion?...crossed her face but vanished immediately.

I clapped my hands together, creating a diversion before Paula could say something she might regret later. “I know! Why don’t you two get together for a DNA test? I have a friend who can make that happen.”

“That’s a great idea,” Lilly said.

Paula hesitated.

At least she didn’t discard the idea outright.

“I’ll think about it,” she finally said. “But right now we have to get this place cleaned. I need to pick up my son from day care.” She gathered the dishes and headed to the kitchen.

I grabbed a piece of paper from the pad next to the cash register, wrote my phone number on it, and handed it to Lilly. “I live next door to her, and I’ll answer my phone.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I’m in room 309 at the Pleasant Grove Manor.”

Lilly left, and I locked the door behind her.

Sloan had told us a lot that might or might not be true. But I had learned something from Lilly. Surely she wouldn’t have agreed to a DNA test unless she knew what the results would be.

Chapter Ten

As I drove past Mr. Lucas’ house, I noticed the coleus plants on his front porch were drooping badly. The begonias didn’t show any wilting, but they probably needed water too.

Fred could wait. The flowers were desperate.

I took my bag of leftover desserts to my house and let Henry out then went to Mr. Lucas’ house to water the thirsty plants.

I found a hose coiled on the side of the house, unwound it, turned on the water, and dragged the gushing hose around to the front porch.

Henry strolled up to join me.

“Hey, buddy! I didn’t realize you were interested in plants. Well, catnip, yeah, but this isn’t catnip.”

Pots of coleus and begonias alternated across the porch on each side of the door. I watered the first pot of coleus while Henry sniffed each plant carefully then settled beside a begonia down by the table and chairs. It was a beautiful plant with an abundance of red blooms. Had Henry chosen that plant because it was larger than the others? He was a smart creature.

“That one is pretty, isn’t it? More blooms than the others.” I aimed my water into the first pot. “But don’t get any ideas. Begonias are poisonous for you, and coleus isn’t much better. I could plant some catnip. I should look into doing that. It’s a mosquito repellent and has very pretty flowers. But you’d have to promise not to eat the whole lot at one sitting.”

“I promise.”

I gasped and dropped the hose on the porch where it squirmed, shooting water everywhere, including on Henry.

He leapt into the air, shrieking like a jungle cat under attack. On his way down, he knocked the begonia plant off its stand then landed on his feet beside the broken pot and scattered plant parts.

I grabbed the hose before the stream could hit him again.

His blue eyes narrowed to angry slits. He shook his head, casting off a shower of water, glared at the plant then at me. With two long strides and a graceful leap, he was over the porch rail and into the yard.

“I’m sorry,” I called after him. “You startled me! I didn’t know you could talk!”

Laughter burst from behind me.

I whirled around and saw Rickie standing on the top step. “You…” he gasped between bursts of laughter. “Your cat…” He shook his head. “He can’t talk.”

I turned the hose on Rickie and doused him thoroughly.

He laughed harder.

I totally understood Henry’s anger and his actions, but I couldn’t leap over the porch rail to escape my tormentor. “Stop that or I’ll shove this hose up your nose and the water will go through your scalp and squirt all the hair off your head.”

He sobered. “You can’t do that.”

“Are you sure?”

He pushed his wet but intact hair off his face. “It was pretty funny you thought I was Henry.”

“You just surprised me!”

“You thought your cat could talk.”

I tried unsuccessfully to keep my face from forming a grin. It was kind of funny. “He’s a really smart cat. He could probably talk if he wanted to. He hasn’t found anybody worth talking to. But that’s beside the point. What are you doing here?”

“I saw you. I thought you were going in the house.”

“Well, I’m not. I’m watering Mr. Lucas’ plants.” I aimed the water into the next plant. “Now I’m going to have to find a pot and replant that begonia Henry knocked over.”

Rickie crossed the porch and picked up a bit of the plant.

I didn’t try to stop him. It wasn’t as if he could make the poor thing any worse.

“It ain’t real,” he said.

“It’s NOT real,” I corrected automatically.

“That’s what I said.” He tossed a bit of greenery toward me.

I reached to grab it, but it fell to the porch at my feet. I was the kid chosen last to play baseball at recess. Becoming an adult had not improved my catcher skills.

I tossed the end of the hose off the porch to avoid any more mishaps and picked up the small stalk that had a few leaves attached.

Rickie sat down on the porch and began poking through the mess that had once been a potted plant.

The leaves he had thrown to me were soft and silky. The stem was…pliable. It bent rather than broke.

I pushed a leaf with my thumb nail. The expected dark crescent did not appear. My nail did not pierce the leaf.

Mr. Lucas had imitation plants on his porch? I was watering plastic plants?

No. The coleus leaves were drooping. They needed water. But the begonias…

I reached down to the begonia plant I had just watered. Pinched off a leaf. Pushed my thumb nail through. It was real.

I tested the next plant and the next.

Real.

“Look what I found!” Rickie held up a dirty hand clutching a dirty bit of something.

“Big deal. There’s plenty of dirt in the yard, in all our yards.”

Rickie scrambled to his feet, knobby knees streaked with grime, but a huge grin on his face. “It’s the key to the house. We can go in and look around. I can find that money.” He fumbled with his discovery, tossing aside bits of plastic wrap that encased something metal.

Damn. Had Mr. Lucas hidden a spare key to his house in a pot of fake begonias? It was, I supposed, better than putting it under the pot.

If only somebody besides Rickie had found it.

He charged over to the front door.

I followed. “Rickie, give me that key.”

He continued to fumble with the door.

I knew he wouldn’t give it to me. I’d have to follow him into the house and track him to be sure he didn’t damage anything…or steal anything.

And if he should find something interesting, I needed to be there to know about it too.

I looked over my shoulder to see if anybody was watching.

We were clear.

“Damn thing don’t work.” He turned around and held up a small key.

I snatched it from him.

“Gimme that back!”

I held it above my head.

He could almost reach it when he jumped.

Kid was growing.

“It’s not a house key,” I said. “It’s too small.”

He stopped jumping. “What does it go to? It’s got to go to something important or he wouldn’t have hidden it.”

I tended to agree with that, but I wasn’t going to admit it to him.

“Calm down,” I said. “Let’s think this through.”

“That’s my key. I found it. Give it back to me.”

“Technically, since you found it on Mr. Lucas’ property and he’s dead, it belongs to his heirs…Paula and her sister, Lilly.”

“Who’s Lilly? I didn’t know Paula had a sister.”

Aha! I could use this. “There’s a lot you don’t know. Tell you what, you clean up the mess Henry made. Guess we don’t have to repot the plant since it’s not real. I’ll go home and break out some Coke and chocolate. You come over and we’ll talk about the key and Paula’s sister.”

He looked daggers at me for a moment, but I could tell I had him. Coke, chocolate, and gossip.

Chapter Eleven

Henry was waiting on my porch when I got home. He still had a few wet spots, and he refused to look me in the eye.

I opened the door and let him stroll in first. “I should have listened to you. Then I’d have found that key instead of Rickie. Well, maybe listen isn’t exactly the right word. You didn’t say anything until you got doused with water. But I should have paid more attention to your actions. Obviously you detected something different about that plant.”

I followed him to the kitchen where he looked at his empty food bowl then up at me, blue eyes slitted rather than open wide. He was still angry with me, but he’d get over it when I provided food. Maybe catnip later.

“Okay, I understand you this time.”

I filled his bowl and made a mental note to work on learning cat language. Perhaps Rosetta Stone had a course in that.

Someone knocked on my kitchen door. Had to be Fred. Nobody else came to the back.

I unlocked the door and flung it open. “Have I got news!”

“So do I,” he replied.

“My news is bigger than yours.”

“Okay. Do you have cookies?”

That was disappointing. The win was too easy.

“Of course,” I said. “Come on in.”

“Rickie’s at your front door.”

The words were barely out of his mouth before I heard knocking at my front door.

“How did you know that?” I asked.

“I saw him when I was coming over.”

Since Rickie came to the front door and Fred came to the back, that didn’t really make sense, but I would save that discussion for later. “Let him in while I get the cookies.”

While Fred went through the house, I took the leftover cookies and brownies from my bag and put them on a plate then grabbed a couple of Cokes and a bottle of water.

Henry looked up from his empty bowl.

“Okay, I get it. First I sprayed you with water, and now there are two people in your living room that you don’t like. I understand how traumatic all that must be for you. I suppose a little catnip is in order.”

He gave a happy cat smile. Chocolate soothes the angry human, and catnip soothes the angry feline.

I set everything down on the table and prepared Henry’s fix.

With him placated, I retrieved the people goodies and headed to the living room.

Rickie and Fred sat on opposite ends of the sofa, each staring straight ahead, pretending the other wasn’t there.

When I entered, both jumped up and rushed to meet me.

“Let me help.” Fred took the plate of treats and the bottle of water.

Rickie grabbed one of the Cokes and a brownie. “I gotta go. I told him I was here to see you. I’ll come back when he’s gone.”

“And I told him he needs to be here now while I’m here.” Fred set the plate on the coffee table and returned to his seat on the sofa.

Fred was usually as eager to be around Rickie as Henry was.

This could be an interesting evening.

I took the key from the pocket of my jeans and held it up. “Rickie, if you want to talk about this, sit.”

He grumbled, but he sat.

I put the key back in my pocket and settled in my armchair. I should get a pedestal of some sort and put it under the chair. Then it would feel like a throne. Even without the pedestal, I sat upright and tilted my head at a regal angle. “Fred, you may speak now.”

“Rickie, I think you need to be aware that Richard Elmore, the father of one of your friends, is a convicted felon.”

Rickie looked at Fred then at me, confused.

“His son is Vince Elmore,” Fred clarified. “Vince the Viper.”

Rickie shot to his feet, eyes blazing. “You told him! You promised you wouldn’t tell anybody.”

“I promised I wouldn’t tell your mother, and I didn’t.”

“Not Lindsay’s fault,” Fred said. “I read her mind.”

Rickie’s head spun back toward Fred. “You can’t do that.” But he sounded unsure.

“Can’t I? Do you want me to tell you what you’re thinking right now?”

Rickie shook his head. “No! Tell me what she’s thinking.” He pointed at me.

Fred closed his eyes for a moment then opened them and looked at me. “Lindsay is thinking about a key.” He turned his gaze to Rickie. “A key that you believe will unlock…” His forehead creased as if he were concentrating. “Gold. No, money. Stacks of money.”

“Stop that!” Rickie grabbed his head with both hands. “Get out of my head!” He snatched up his Coke and ran from the house.

I got up and closed the door behind him. “That was impressive.” And creepy. I didn’t like the idea of somebody reading my thoughts. I wanted to clutch my head the way Rickie had done.

Fred shrugged. “It’s only a party trick. A few minutes ago you held up a key that made him stay here, and you told me he’d seen Mr. Lucas counting money.”

I returned to my chair. I wasn’t positive I believed his facile explanation. I’d have to control my thoughts until I could determine whether he really could read my mind.

“Is that true, what you told Rickie about Vince the Viper’s father?”

“Yes. However, it’s not as bad as it sounds. He was convicted of dealing drugs a few years ago. First offense. He got three years probation which will end in six months. He’s subject to random drug tests. He’s been clean for over two years. Even though marijuana is legal in Missouri, I don’t believe he would take the chance. I don’t believe he would have marijuana in his home for the kids to steal.”

“So…Rickie lied?”

“I don’t know. Maybe Vince lied about where he got the weed. Maybe it’s not weed at all. Maybe it’s regular tobacco.”

“But Rickie described the signs of being high on weed. How would he know that?”

Fred arched an eyebrow. “How do you know the signs of being high on weed?”

I swallowed, lifted my chin, and tried to close my brain to any of his mind reading tricks. “I could have read it on the Internet.”

“Rickie could have also read it on the Internet.”

“You think he made up the whole thing? Joining a gang? Smoking weed? Needing to get money for the gang?”

“It’s unlikely but not impossible that those kids threatened his life if he didn’t get the money. I’m not sure about the other kids, but Vince is two years older than Rickie.”

“Big deal. I’m three years older than Trent.”

Fred raised both eyebrows. “I did not realize you were a cougar.”

I smiled proudly. “Actually, it’s two years and four months, but I think I still qualify.”

“For adults, a couple of years difference in age is inconsequential. But there is a great deal of difference between a boy who’s not quite twelve years old and one who’s fourteen, especially when the younger boy is vulnerable and has been through a difficult childhood.”

“Is this going to be the He’ll be a serial killer because of his childhood discussion?”

“We might have that discussion a few years from now, but tonight we’re going to have the He doesn’t seem to have many friends and maybe he’s trying too hard to be friends with these guys discussion.”

“I was surprised when he told me he had friends,” I admitted. “I’ve always thought of him as kind of a loner.”

“That’s not normal.”

“Nothing about Rickie is normal. What’s your point?”

“That he may be going through a difficult time. He may be letting these kids push him into doing things he shouldn’t do so he can fit in.”

“Rickie doesn’t want to fit in. He does everything he can to be different, and that’s not a bad thing. I was a rebellious kid, and look how I turned out.”

He pursed his lips and sat quietly for a moment. “We’ll set that topic aside for later discussion. Tell me your news.”

I told him about the unexpected visit from Lilly Fields and Gilbert Sloan. “Paula doesn’t trust him.”

“Do you?”

“I don’t know. Paula made a good point. He talked about being Mr. Lucas’ friend, but he didn’t sound very emotional about any of the horrible things that happened to his friend.”

“Were you able to read any part of the will?”

I shook my head. “I saw Last Will and Testament in big letters, but I didn’t pay much attention to the rest. I was too enthralled by the tale Sloan was telling. It was like something out of a movie.”

“Movies are often inspired by real life incidents.”

“I think Lilly believes him.”

“And you believe Lilly?”

“She seems sincere. She agreed to take a DNA test with Paula. Doesn’t that prove something?”

“No. The DNA test will prove or disprove everything. Her willingness to do it suggests but does not prove. You want to believe her.”

“Yeah, I guess I do. I think it would be great for Paula to discover she has a sister.”

“I need to meet these people. Why don’t you have a cookout tomorrow evening and invite Lilly and Sloan? I assume you’re seeing Trent tomorrow night since it’s Friday.”

“And I assume you’re seeing Sophie tomorrow night.”

He grinned. Fred doesn’t grin often, but when he does, it’s usually related to Sophie. “I was planning to invite her. You and Trent, Sophie and me, Paula, Zach and Matthew, Lilly and Sloan. I will provide all the food and drinks except for dessert, of course. Sophie and I will have it set up by the time you get home.”

“Want me to leave you a key to get in?” I laughed heartily at the idea that Fred would need a key to get in anywhere, especially my house.

“That would be a good idea,” he said.

“Okay, fine. I’ll give you a key and we’ll pretend you need it. What if Paula refuses to come?”

He reached into the front pocket of his slacks, produced a folded piece of paper, and handed it to me. “Show her this.”

I unfolded the paper. “Beneficiary Deed?”

“The original is signed by Lucas Harrington. He left his house to Paula.”

“Oh. Well, that supersedes his Last Will and Testament. Makes it easier. His estate won’t have to go through probate. At least, the house won’t.”

Fred waited.

It finally hit me. “Lilly said he found her first, before he moved next door to Paula. Why didn’t he put her name on the house too?”

“Good question. Perhaps Paula would be interested in helping us discover the reason for that.”

Chapter Twelve

“Absolutely not.” Paula turned away from me and attacked her yeast dough with a vengeance.

She was not excited about Fred’s plans for a barbecue. I had approached her as soon as I arrived at Death by Chocolate, hoping to catch her while she was still half asleep and vulnerable to suggestions. Didn’t work out that way.

Lilly had been eager to accept the invitation when I called her last night. She promised to get in touch with Sloan and bring him along. I told her the casual setting might be an appropriate place to get the legalities sorted out. The use of might meant that shouldn’t count as a lie. Anything might happen. Tornado, hurricane, visit from the Easter Bunny.

I told Trent we were having friends over to grill burgers. That wasn’t a lie either. I didn’t see any point in going over every little detail on the phone.

Now all that remained was to con the guest of honor into coming.

I tied on an apron and considered my options.

I could plead and coerce and bargain…but every time I asked, she would become more adamant in her refusal. I knew her well.

I decided to lead with my ace. “Mr. Lucas deeded his house to you.”

That news caused a slight break in her rhythmic pounding, but she recovered quickly. “I don’t want his house.”

“Then sell it. But that’s not the point. He left it to you, not to you and Lilly.”

She flattened the dough and grabbed her rolling pin. “I’ll sell it and give her all the proceeds. I don’t want anything to do with that man or his house. Lilly is not my sister. Mr. Lucas was not my grandfather.”

“You don’t think Lilly is your sister, but you’re ready to give her all the money from the sale of the house Mr. Lucas left to you? That really doesn’t make sense.” I carefully measured and chopped chocolate for my dessert of the day, Raspberry Chocolate Torte, thus creating a dramatic pause before I moved in for the big moment.

“I don’t care what happens to that house,” Paula said. “I don’t want it. Where did you come up with the crazy idea that he gave it to me anyway?”

I added butter to the bowl of chopped chocolate, put it in the microwave, set the timer for thirty seconds, then spread the document on the counter. “Take a look.”

She peered at the paper. Frowned.

“Think about this,” I said. “He found Lilly before he found you. So why is your name the only one on the Deed? Did he find out something bad about Lilly and doesn’t want to include her? Is Lilly your evil twin? Did she murder Mr. Lucas, hoping she’d inherit his ill-gotten gains?”

Paula ignored me, sprinkled cinnamon and sugar over her dough, then began rolling it up. “Perhaps this proves she’s not really my sister.”

I took my chocolate and butter from the microwave, stirred it, then put it back for another thirty seconds. “But Lilly is willing to take a DNA test to prove that you and she are sisters. You’re not willing. So maybe you’re the phony sister.”

Paula lifted a large, sharp knife…and began slicing her roll of dough. “You have a way of saying the most irrational things and making them sound almost logical.”

“Thank you. So you will come to the party tonight?”

“What about Zach?”

“Of course Zach’s invited. He’d get his feelings hurt if I had a party and didn’t invite him.”

“I meant…I don’t know if I want him around those people.”

“Those people? Are you referring to Trent or Fred or Sophie or me?”

“I’m referring to Lilly and Gilbert Sloan, and you know that.”

“Trent’s a cop, and Fred’s a…well, he’s Fred. Are you seriously worried anything’s going to happen with them around? Oh, and bring Matthew too.”

“I will not involve Matthew in this craziness.”

“It’s a little late for that. He was there the night you lost it about the paintings. No reason he can’t be there tonight.”

She exhaled a frustrated sigh. “All right. I’ll do whatever it takes to get this mess settled and over with.”

I took out pans for my Raspberry Chocolate Torte and promised myself an extra piece as a reward for a job well done.

***

I pulled into my driveway, retrieved my bag of desserts for the barbecue, and headed to my front door.

“Lindsay! Aunt Lindsay!”

I looked up.

Rickie hurried across the street toward me. I’d become so engrossed with the plans for getting Sloan and Lilly drunk then forcing them to tell us the truth, I’d forgotten about Rickie’s dilemma.

He rushed up, out of breath, his face flushed. “I gotta have that key.”

“Why? You don’t even know what it unlocks.”

“Yes, I do.” He tapped his phone a couple of times then handed it to me. “Look.”

The sun was bright. I couldn’t see the image clearly. “Is it a house? Whose house?”

“It’s a dollhouse. The back door’s got a little lock on it. I think our key would fit that door.”

“Where did you get this picture? Whose dollhouse is this?”

“Mr. Lucas.”

I stood perfectly still for a moment, trying to make sense of this development. The summer sun blazed into my brain but failed to ignite any rational thoughts. The only thing that occurred to me was totally irrational.

“Where did you find this dollhouse?”

Rickie shrugged with one shoulder, looked away, and mumbled something.

“What?”

“Mr. Lucas’ house. In the attic.”

My thought wasn’t irrational after all. “How did you get into the attic of Mr. Lucas’ house?”

“There’s a ladder. You pull it down and climb up.”

I clutched my head with my free hand to keep it from exploding. “I know about the attic ladders in these houses. But how did you get into his house in the first place?”

“I found a window that wasn’t locked. I crawled in.”

“Was the window unlocked when you got there or after you jiggled it a while?”

“These old houses don’t have good locks on the windows.”

I shook my head. “Forget it. I don’t want to know any more.”

“You don’t want to know what I found?”

Of course I wanted to know what he found. I just didn’t want to know how he broke in because I didn’t want to be complicit in his crime. “You already told me you found a dollhouse in the attic.”

“That woman looked everywhere for that money, but she didn’t find the dollhouse.”

“If she was so thorough, why didn’t she find the dollhouse?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. I guess she’s not as smart as I am.”

Definitely a chip off the old Rickhead. “She’d have to be blind not to see a dollhouse.”

“It was disguised.”

“Disguised? How? A beard on the roof and a pair of glasses on the windows?”

Rickie wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “It was in the attic with a bunch of painting stuff. There were some old picture frames, all broken up, stacked in the corner, but I thought it looked like they might be hiding something. The dollhouse is full of money, all that money Mr. Lucas was putting in stacks.”

That woman.

Was it possible Lilly was that woman, that she had found those DNA tests and pictures in Mr. Lucas’ house?

But Rickie had described that woman as having long hair and an ample bosom. Lilly had medium length hair and a slim build.

Besides, if she’d wanted to get inside his house, he would have welcomed her. He had tracked her down, claimed her as his granddaughter, included her in his will.

But not in the Beneficiary Deed.

“Aunt Lindsay?”

“Huh?” I’d almost forgotten Rickie was standing there.

“The key.”

“Why do you think there’s money in the dollhouse?”

“I looked in and saw it.”

I narrowed my eyes and tried to look dangerous. “Through tiny windows in a dollhouse in a dark attic?”

“It was hidden in the attic, and the key was hidden in a phony plant. What else could it be but money? We won’t know until we go in and unlock it.”

He did have a point. If Mr. Lucas had hidden the dollhouse and the key to open it, surely something important was inside.

And it wasn’t as if we’d be breaking into a stranger’s house. Mr. Lucas had deeded the house to Paula. I was always welcome at her house, and now Mr. Lucas’ house was also her house.

But not with Rickie along, demanding to have some or all of whatever we found.

“We’ll talk about this later,” I said.

“When?”

“Tomorrow. I’ve got people coming over for dinner tonight.”

“I need that money now. You can give me the key. I’ll get the money and split it with you.”

If I pointed out to him that whatever we found in that dollhouse would belong to Paula because the house belonged to her, he might decide to break in with an axe and destroy the dollhouse to get the money he imagined was in there.

I couldn’t appeal to his sense of right and wrong. That had already failed. It was time to bring on the smoke and mirrors.

“Let me see that picture again,” I said.

He handed his phone to me.

I still couldn’t see the image clearly, but I could identify some details. I pointed to a peak in the roof. “See this?”

“It’s the roof. So?”

“No, I mean that dark spot just below the peak. That looks very much like a dissociative fissionable coil.”

“What’s that?”

“Seriously?” I scoffed. “I can’t believe you’ve never heard of that. It’s the trigger for a mellifluous, perspicacious flux capacitor that’s the size of a marble.” That wasn’t exactly a lie since it was meaningless gibberish.

His jaw dropped. “What? What does that mean?”

“That we have to handle the dollhouse very carefully before we unlock the door. The key should disarm the mechanism. It’s basically an anti-theft device. If somebody tried to get into the dollhouse without using the key, it would explode and leave nothing but a bunch of hundred-dollar bill confetti for the thief to find.”

Rickie’s eyes became so large I feared they might burst. He gulped.

“No worries,” I said. “We have the key.”

Rickie nodded slowly. “Yeah. We have the key. Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow as soon as I get home from work.” I smiled.

Rickie seemed convinced by my jibber-jabber, but I wasn’t sure how long that conviction would last. He’s a smart kid. He could figure out I was scamming him, break in, and get the dollhouse along with whatever was in it.

Somehow I had to get there before Rickie. If he’d climbed in a window, I could get in through the same window.

But tonight was Friday night. That meant Trent would be spending the night. Usually he slept quite soundly. But I’d never before left him to go on a breaking-and-entering mission.

First time for everything.

Chapter Thirteen

I hurried to my house. Tonight was going to be a busy night with the Dinner of Drama followed by committing the crime of Breaking and Entering into Mr. Lucas’ house.

When I opened my front door, the mingled smells of baked beans and fresh bread wafted from the kitchen to greet me.

Fred was here.

Fresh bread? Was he actually making the hamburger buns?

Of course he was.

Fresh bread, baked beans, a couple of bottles of good wine, and my chocolate desserts. Before the evening was over, Lilly and Sloan would be spilling secrets their therapists didn’t know about.

I paused as I crossed the living room, my gaze drawn to the painting hanging over my grandmother’s antique sewing machine.

Lilly and Sloan would surely see Mr. Lucas’ picture of Paula as they passed through the living room on their way to the kitchen. Fred thought they might be interested in that painting…or any painting by Mr. Lucas. Seeing it here could generate some interesting comments.

But what if they were so preoccupied with thoughts of the upcoming evening, they overlooked it or saw it but didn’t realize it was painted by Mr. Lucas?

I needed to be sure they saw the painting and had time to focus on it. I needed to be there to start the conversation and direct it.

We should have dessert in the living room. If no one mentioned the painting, I could bring up the subject. We could discuss Mr. Lucas’ artistic skills, talk about the lighting and shadows in the painting…talk about why he chose to paint Paula and not Lilly.

That topic had lots of potential.

I looked around the room. I don’t entertain a lot. I have a sofa and two armchairs. That would seat four, maybe five people. But nine people would be here tonight.

I took four folding chairs from the coat closet and put two on each side of the sofa, facing the painting. Problem solved.

New problem encountered. Paula thought I had destroyed the painting. I didn’t tell her that exactly. I told her I took care of it. Not my fault if she misinterpreted my words. But she was not going to be happy to see it on my wall, the center of attention.

I could warn her, prepare her, but she might leave immediately upon hearing about it.

I could wait until she noticed it then deal with her reaction. She might be happy I’d saved the painting. Or she might not.

Whatever.

No point in worrying about something until it actually happens.

With Rickie temporarily on hold and a plan in mind to help Fred’s discovery process, I surrendered to the promise of delicious food. Like a cartoon character, I floated through the air to the kitchen, buoyed along by the delectable scents.

My kitchen table was covered with condiments of every variety, all in crystal dishes except the fresh-baked buns which rested in a large basket lined with a red and white checked cloth.

“The beef patties are in the refrigerator, ready to be grilled,” Fred said. “I decided to do some of the cooking in your home so the fragrances would linger. The smell of freshly baked bread makes people feel relaxed and comfortable.”

“Sort of a truth serum?”

“Precisely. Sophie made the baked beans this morning, but I’m warming them to disperse the evocative scent.” He peeked in the oven, closed the door, and adjusted the temperature slightly.

“Good plan.” I set my tote bag of goodies on the table. It looked out of place amidst the crystal dishes. Even the plastic cutlery was in two silver holders. Two sizes of disposable plates rested in baskets that matched the one holding the buns, and the paper napkins were in a silver napkin holder. However, the group of eight of my mismatched wine glasses and one small jelly glass blended well with my mundane tote bag.

“This looks great,” I said, “but the glasses for the adults don’t match. Do you think you can handle watching everybody drinking from a glass that doesn’t match anybody else’s? I wouldn’t want you to have a seizure or something.”

He straightened the dish holding chopped onions. It hadn’t been crooked. “I congratulate you on noticing that incongruity. I will explain. We need everyone to drink from a glass that is distinctly theirs so I can be certain which DNA belongs to whom.”

Now I understood the real purpose of this event. “So we need Paula’s DNA to compare to Lilly’s and Mr. Lucas’, but Mr. Lucas is…uh…he’s not coming to the party tonight.”

“He’s a convicted felon. His DNA is in the system.”

And of course Fred had access to The System.

“I assume you plan to keep this DNA collection thing a secret,” I said. “Paula’s already freaked out about everything, and Trent…he’s so…” I hesitated, searching for the right word. Conventional? Straight-laced? Honest?

“He’s every inch a cop,” Fred finished for me.

“Yeah, that’s what I was going to say. It isn’t as if we have to lie to them. We simply won’t tell them all the details of what we’re doing.”

“No, I do not plan to tell anyone else. I didn’t mention it to you earlier because you’re not good at keeping secrets. But now that you know, you can help. In order to be certain we get some of Lilly’s DNA, I cleaned your bathroom.”

“What?” I tried to think how I had left things that morning. Hair in the shower drain? Wet towel on the floor? Dirty underwear? “I can’t believe you went in my bathroom!”

“I’ve been in your bathroom many times.”

“I mean…when it wasn’t clean.”

“Precisely. It needs to be clean for your guests to use tonight.”

“I was going to clean it when I got home, which is now.”

“It’s quite clean already. It would be helpful if you could somehow mess up Lilly’s hair tonight so she has to comb it in your bathroom. Tangle it a bit if you can so she will be more likely to leave a few strands with roots attached.”

“You want me to get in a fight with Lilly and yank out her hair? What if she yanks out mine too? I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m a baker, not a fighter.”

“I didn’t say you should have a fight. You’ll figure out a way to get a few strands. Be careful not to confuse it with your cat’s hair. He’s also blond, and he sheds a lot. That could cause some confusion. I’m certain his DNA would not be a match for either Paula or Mr. Lucas.”

“Speaking of Henry, where is he?”

“He left. I put food in his bowl, but he turned up his nose then demanded I let him outside.”

I looked down at the bowl of cat food. I’d get Fred back for cleaning my bathroom. “You didn’t put his food in the bowl right. Haven’t you ever fed a cat before?” I lifted the bowl and moved a few pieces around.

For a moment he looked panicked, horrified that he hadn’t been able to do something as simple as pour cat food into a bowl.

I couldn’t stop myself from laughing. “Kidding. He always goes outside first. He’ll be back.”

I set his bowl on the floor and unloaded my bag of goodies from work…chocolate chip cookies, brownies, and several pieces of Raspberry Chocolate Torte.

Fred produced large crystal serving plates and arranged the desserts on them. “I checked on Gilbert Sloan. He is an attorney, licensed and practicing on a semi-retired basis in Dallas, Texas.”

“Was he friends with Mr. Lucas?”

“I have no way of knowing that.”

“I don’t believe you. You could find out.”

“Perhaps, but it would take more time. I did learn that he did not represent Lucas Harrington in his murder case.”

I lifted an eyebrow in surprise. Only one. I was only half-surprised. “Who did?”

“Nobody. He pled guilty and refused legal assistance.”

“Okay, that kind of goes along with what Sloan told us, that Mr. Lucas turned himself in. What kind of law does Sloan practice? If it’s not criminal law, he might not have felt qualified to represent his friend. Since he has possession of Mr. Lucas’ will, he’s probably in estate planning.”

“None of the above. He’s in-house counsel for a small insurance company.”

I thought about that. My dad’s an attorney who specializes in real estate law. That doesn’t mean he can’t practice in other areas, but he refused to handle my divorce when I got rid of Rickhead because he didn’t feel he had enough expertise in that field. Or maybe he just didn’t want to have to deal with Rickhead.

“Writing a will is easy,” I said. “You can download a form from the Internet.”

“Only if it’s a simple will, no trusts or other complications. I don’t suppose you noticed how many pages comprised this document.”

I looked at him closely. He was serious. “Let me see…I estimate the stack of papers was six inches high.”

“That would be approximately one thousand seven hundred sheets of paper.”

“Okay, it was an uneducated guess. I have no idea how many sheets of paper. I was too busy being freaked out by the story about Mr. Lucas killing somebody. Counting pages did not even cross my mind.”

“Hello,” Trent called from the front door.

“Come on in,” I replied. “You know the way.” He has his own key, but he insists on being polite and never entering without permission. Probably his cop training. If he entered a residence without permission, he could get shot. Not by me, of course. I only have a purple stun gun which requires up close and personal attacks.

He came back to the kitchen carrying an ice chest and looking very un-cop-like in his blue jeans and red t-shirt with the number 15 on it. Patrick Mahomes. His favorite football player.

Yes, I have finally learned to differentiate between football and baseball. The football shirts are red, and the baseball shirts are blue.

He set down the ice chest, gave me a peck on the cheek, then turned to shake hands with Fred.

Men are so strange. They want to greet each other and acknowledge that they’re friends, but only with the barest minimum of touching. They extend a hand far away from their body then clasp fingers briefly. I’m surprised they don’t stand four feet apart, lift a leg and touch heels as a greeting.

Henry strolled in behind Trent, wound around my legs, went straight to his bowl, and began munching.

Cats have the greeting thing perfected.

However, I decided not to suggest to Fred and Trent that they try winding around each other’s legs.

“Let’s take the desserts to the living room,” I said.

Fred frowned. “What? Why? We always eat dessert on the patio when we grill.”

“It might rain.”

“There’s no rain in the forecast.”

“Fifty-fifty chance it will rain tonight.”

Trent looked out the window at the sunny sky then checked his phone. “Fred’s right. Zero percent chance of rain tonight.”

“It either will rain or it won’t rain. That means there’s a fifty-fifty chance of rain.”

Trent and Fred looked at each other.

Trent shrugged. “There’s no point in arguing with her when she gets like this.”

Fred grimaced and nodded. “I know.”

Trent picked up the plates of cookies and brownies then headed toward the living room.

Fred took the plate of Raspberry Chocolate Torte slices, one of the containers of cutlery, and the basket of small plates. “I only have one napkin holder. We’ll have to take it with us when the time comes.”

“I’ll remember,” I promised.

He left the room.

Henry looked up from his empty bowl.

“You can have some catnip if you want even though it’s early. We’re expecting some strange people to be here tonight. But you may want to stay alert in case you need to attack one of them.”

He looked at me for a long moment, his blue eyes wide, pondering his options, then turned and went to the back door. Decision made.

I let him out. “Have fun! Just be sure to come home as soon as they leave.”

I closed the door and turned to see Fred and Trent coming back from the living room.

Fred folded his arms. “The picture? That’s actually quite clever.”

Trent stood beside him and imitated the gesture, except he leaned slightly back and looked a little threatening. Hot! “Clever,” he said, “but potentially dangerous. I’ll have to spend every night here until we get this situation with Lilly, Sloan, and Mr. Lucas’ death resolved.”

I batted my eyelashes. “You mean all I had to do to get you to spend every night with me was put my life in danger? Who knew?”

Trent did not look amused.

“Kidding,” I said. “My life is not in danger. We’re just going to watch how Lilly and Sloan respond to Mr. Lucas’ painting. Besides, Henry is a great guard cat, and Fred has cameras set up everywhere and watches me all the time.”

Fred’s eyes widened in mock innocence. “I do not.”

“Knock, knock,” someone called from the back door.

“Come in, Sophie,” I answered.

Fred went to the door and opened it for her. Always the gentleman.

Trent and I exchanged a smile. It took Fred a long time to admit his feelings for Sophie, but now he was blatantly and obviously smitten.

Sophie stepped into the kitchen, stood on tiptoe, and kissed Fred on the cheek.

He blushed. So cute.

“I brought coleslaw.” She extended a large glass bowl covered with plastic wrap. Probably crystal to match everything else.

I accepted it and put it on the table with the other food.

Sophie looked great in her white blouse and navy shorts. Olive skin, long, dark hair without a sign of frizz, beautiful smile…I’d hate her if she weren’t such a nice person.

“I smell our beans,” she said. “Have you tasted them yet?”

Our beans? Fred and Sophie had made the beans together? That was the ultimate sign of commitment for him.

Fred opened the oven and took out the casserole dish of baked beans topped with strips of crisp bacon.

I swallowed to keep from drooling. “You all seem to have everything under control. I’m going upstairs to take a quick shower. Baking and serving chocolate can be hard, sweaty work.”

“I’ll get the grill going,” Trent said.

“Don’t scatter DNA all over the bathroom,” Fred called.

Chapter Fourteen

When I came downstairs, freshly showered and starving, the scents of charcoal burning and burgers cooking on the grill greeted me.

Except for the delicious smells, the house was empty. Everyone had gone outside to enjoy the weather and be closer to the burger action.

I followed.

Smoke trailed lazily upward from the grill on one side of the patio. Trent stood beside that grill, talking to Zach while wielding a spatula in one hand and a can of beer in the other. He rarely drinks wine. Oh well, we didn’t need Trent’s DNA.

Paula, Sophie, and Fred sat on the other side of the patio, avoiding the smoke from the grill. Fred and Sophie were drinking wine from mismatched glasses. I should get a picture of that. Use it to blackmail Fred later.

Paula had a bottle of water. We should be able to get DNA from that…as long as nobody else drank water.

Even if we didn’t get her DNA, I could use the information Fred had shared about hair and pull out some of Paula’s at work tomorrow. Oops! I accidentally got chocolate in your hair. Let me get it out for you. Oh, sorry, did I pull out a few hairs? Well, they’ll grow back.

Matthew was not among the guests. That wasn’t surprising. Tonight was for gathering DNA and talking about the painting. I’d deal with the Paula/Matthew problem later.

***

When Lilly and Sloan arrived, I went around the side of the house to lead them straight to the back yard. I wanted them to be properly surprised when we all finally moved into the living room.

The evening progressed as if it were a normal dinner party.

Sort of.

Paula assiduously avoided Lilly and Sloan who made every effort to talk to her.

I put on my best hostess face and entertained Lilly and Sloan with jokes and stories and general babble. I didn’t want them to get bored and leave before the main event.

When I filled Zach’s jelly glass with cranberry juice, I filled my wine glass with the same thing. I had to stay alert for the long evening of interrogation and burgling.

I noticed two brands of bottled water in my refrigerator. One for Paula, another for anybody else who wanted water. I should have known Fred would not take any chances.

The food was incredible, of course. When we were all stuffed, I suggested we adjourn to the living room for dessert. “Everything is from that fabulous bakery, Death by Chocolate. Let’s indulge tonight for tomorrow we diet.”

I could tell from the silence and the strange looks that my joke fell flat.

“This way.” I motioned toward the living room.

“I’m so full, I don’t think I can eat another bite,” Sloan said.

“You’ll change your mind when you see these desserts.” I waved him into the living room.

Paula and Zach approached.

“Cookies?” Zach asked.

“Absolutely.” I took Paula’s arm, detaining her. “Zach, why don’t you go with…”

Sophie and Fred came up.

“Sophie! Would you please take this starving boy into the living room and give him some cookies while I talk to his mother?”

Sophie beamed. “I’d love to.” She took Zach’s hand, and he willingly went with her. Sophie has a way with kids. And men. And people in general.

Paula looked at me askance.

I had never used that word before she gave me that look, but I suddenly knew exactly what it meant.

“I have to tell you something,” I said quietly.

She waited, still looking extremely askance.

I leaned close to her ear so I could whisper. “I didn’t destroy your painting. It’s hanging in my living room.”

She tensed.

I drew back and looked at her face.

Narrow eyes, narrow lips, narrow nose.

She drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I’m not even surprised. When you said you took care of it, I recognized that as evasive language. You’re very good at skirting the truth.”

That went better than I expected. She didn’t explode or go up in flames.

“It’s working out well because we can use the painting to get Lilly and Sloan to talk about Mr. Lucas and find out if they’re telling the truth.”

“I really don’t want to do that.”

“I know you don’t, but please do it for me,” I said. “I’ll owe you.”

“You already owe me more than you can possibly repay in one lifetime.”

“Okay, well, if I get reincarnated, I’ll owe you in that lifetime too.”

“You have successfully trapped my innocent son in your living room so I’ll have to go through with this. You owe me big time, this lifetime and the next two.”

I nodded. “Deal.” After the first couple of lifetimes, what’s one more?

I entered the living room to see everyone enjoying the desserts Fred and Trent had set out on the coffee table.

“This is delicious!” Lilly said, indicating the remnants of a piece of torte in her plate. I really wanted her to be Paula’s sister.

She was sitting in the folding chair near the end of the sofa where I stood. Sloan was in a folding chair on the other side of the sofa, closer to the door.

Fred and Sophie sat on the sofa with Zach between them. Trent was in his favorite armchair.

I had to make a quick decision. If I took my other armchair…my favorite place to sit, the one with an exact mold of my backside, the one with Zach’s drawing above it…Paula would have to sit next to Sloan or Lilly. She might be forced to interact with one of them, which could be a good thing. On the other hand, she would probably be so angry, she wouldn’t say a word.

I grabbed a cookie, took the chair beside Lilly, and motioned Paula to the armchair facing us. Now she and Trent were bookends for the painting. Good combination.

Fred rose and refilled Lilly’s wine glass with a deep red liquid. He lifted the bottle in my direction. “An excellent dessert wine.”

I gulped the last of my cranberry juice and held out my glass for him to fill. A little alcohol might help the next part of this event.

Nobody was talking about the painting.

Nobody was talking.

Well, they were eating chocolate.

I’d give them a few minutes, then I’d take control.

So many details. Who knew interrogations could require so much setup work?

When the crystal serving plates had only chocolate smears left, I shot to my feet. “Let me take your used plates. Just like at a restaurant!” I gathered all of them and took them to the trash bag in the kitchen.

I returned to find Zach standing at the front door.

“What’s he doing?” I asked. And why wasn’t Paula stopping him from leaving?

“Henry wants in.” He opened the door and Henry strolled in.

Henry gave Zach a leg wrap then moved on. Odd for him to return so early, especially when he knew all those people were still here. He must be jonesing for a catnip fix.

But he stopped and sat regally at Lilly’s feet.

He didn’t know Lilly.

Why had he chosen her?

Was he showing his approval of her?

More likely he was trying to tell me what to do as he’d done with the begonia plant on Mr. Lucas’ porch. He was telling me to focus everyone’s attention on her.

I resumed my seat next to her. “Lilly,” I said, “I think it would be a great idea if you and Paula swapped stories about your childhoods, your adoptive parents, all the years you were apart.” I could almost feel the angry darts Paula’s gaze was shooting in my direction. “Most of us here already know about Paula, so why don’t you go first?”

Lilly smiled at Paula. “Yes, I’d like for us to get to know each other.” She straightened in her chair and clutched her glass of wine with both hands. “I was raised by Abby and Robert Baxter in Duncanville, Texas, a little town a few miles south of Dallas. My name was Maggie Baxter. They were wonderful parents. We lived in a nice brick ranch home. They don’t have basements in Texas like you do here. We had a nice yard with a swing set for me to play on. I had a lot of friends in the neighborhood.” She lifted her glass and took a long sip.

She had given us a lot of information, but it sounded off…scripted, every word perfect, and she spoke in a monotone.

When she lowered her glass of wine, her hands seemed to shake a little.

Or it could have been shadows from the stained-glass lamp on the table beside the sofa.

I pushed those thoughts from my mind. I had put the girl in the spotlight, forced her to tell strangers her life story. Of course she was a little nervous.

But the quality of her story had been reminiscent of Sloan’s recitation about Mr. Lucas.

Henry rippled to a standing position and looked up at me.

He agreed that Lilly’s story was suspicious.

I gave him a small nod to let him know I understood.

He sauntered on to the kitchen.

“I went to high school in Duncanville,” Lilly continued, “then college at the University of Texas, and was teaching third-graders in Dallas when Granddad found me.” She sipped her wine again, lowered it to her lap, looked around the group, and smiled.

“Which elementary school?” Fred asked. “I have a friend who teaches first grade at Northlake Elementary. Margaret Wilson.”

Lilly looked at him. Blinked. Shook her head. “No, I don’t know her. I teach at Casa View.”

“I understand. Dallas is a big city with a lot of school districts.”

“Yes,” Lilly said. “It is.”

Fred must be suspicious too. I had no doubt he would check with Casa View Elementary and find out if Lilly was a teacher there.

There might be a Margaret Wilson in Texas who taught first graders, and she might be a friend of Fred’s, and my cookies might win first place in a national chemistry contest. Baking is all about chemistry, so the last was more likely than the first two.

“Have you seen any of your grandfather’s paintings?” Fred sat with one arm draped along the back of the sofa, his tone casual as he asked the big question.

I watched Lilly’s face closely.

She blinked.

Okay, most people do that. Regularly. Might not be significant.

Too bad Henry had left the room. I could have used his take on things.

“No,” Lilly said, “I don’t think I have.”

Fred inclined his head toward The Painting. “This is one of his recent works.”

I wanted to see Lilly’s expression as well as Sloan’s at the same time, but had to settle for shifting my attention back and forth between them.

Lilly’s eyes widened, and she turned to Sloan for an instant, then directed her gaze to the painting, back to Sloan, back to the painting.

Fred leaned forward, focusing on Lilly. “How long did your grandfather stay with you before he found Paula and came here?”

“A couple of months.”

Fred smiled benevolently. That meant he was up to something. “At least you got to spend a little time with him. He lived next door to Paula for two months also. How long did you know him before he told you he was your grandfather?”

“Only a couple of weeks. He moved into my apartment building and immediately began coming to all the events and hanging out at the pool. Everybody there was really friendly, and he fit right in. One evening we were talking, and he just blurted it out.” She paused and took another sip of wine.

I tried the wine. It was excellent. If it weren’t for the fact that I needed to stay sober, I’d drink the whole glass and ask for more.

“How did you feel when he told you he was your grandfather and that you were adopted?” Fred asked.

“I always knew I was adopted. When he said he was my granddad…well, it was a surprise, but it was nice. My granddad…my adopted granddad…” She took in a deep breath. “He died when I was very young.” She actually had some emotion in her voice when she said that.

She took another sip of wine. Her glass was almost empty.

She should be close to snockered by now.

Fred was keeping track too. He opened another bottle.

I took this as my cue to jump in. Okay, it wasn’t an obvious cue, but Fred can be subtle. “Did he do a painting of you?” I asked.

“No, he didn’t have time to do any painting while he was with me. He was searching for Melanie.” She tilted her head in Paula’s direction.

Fred took the fresh bottle to Lilly and refilled her glass.

Sloan rose and strolled casually across the room to stand beside the armchair where Paula sat. He ignored Zach’s drawing but studied the painting closely.

Even though I was a good ten feet away, I could feel Paula shrink from him.

“Lucas was a very talented artist,” Sloan said. “He was able to imitate the styles of many artists, but the simplicity of his own style was incredible. I’m happy to see he emerged with his talent intact after all those terrible years in prison.”

Fred resumed his seat on the sofa. “His loose, fluid brushstrokes are somewhat reminiscent of Monet.”

Sloan turned to Fred. “Yes. Monet was one of his favorite painters to…” He stroked his goatee and cleared his throat. “To learn from.”

To learn from was similar to but sounded better than to study in order to forge.

Sloan looked down at Paula. “Did he do paintings of your son also?”

Her jaw tightened. “No. Just this one of me.”

“Yes, he did, Mommy,” Zach said. “Mr. Lucas drew pictures of me, and I drew pictures of him. We drew lots of pictures. That’s my picture on the wall next to Mr. Lucas’ picture. I made that one for Lindsay.”

Kid was too young to lie. But…what a time to tell the truth. Would these people go to Paula’s house to search for paintings?

Sophie pulled Zach closer to her. “Yes, you and Mr. Lucas drew lots of pictures together.”

“He painted some of me too,” Zach said proudly. “They’re in my room at home.”

Sloan focused on Zach. “You should hang onto those paintings. They could be worth a lot of money one day.”

I set my wine on the coffee table and rose abruptly…though about five minutes too late to avoid the disaster of Zach’s revelation. “Well, thank you all for coming. It’s been fun. Anybody need a cookie for the road?”

Lilly gasped.

Sloan stiffened.

Even Trent, Fred, and Sophie looked a little surprised at my abrupt, rude ending to the night’s festivities.

I strode to the front door and opened it. “Oh, good! It’s not raining. Nobody will get wet on the way to their car.” I stood back, holding the door and smiling. Well, gritting my teeth and baring my lips. Best smile I could manage at the moment.

Trent came to stand beside me. “Goodnight, everybody!”

Paula shot from her chair and grabbed Zach. Fred grabbed both of them in a big hug…a hug that kept them in place, prevented them from bolting outside.

Lilly and Sloan left with gracious comments.

I closed the door behind Sloan and leaned against it.

Paula struggled out of Fred’s embrace and wrapped her arms around Zach. “I’m going to kill all of you.”

“Just me,” I said. “Just kill me. It was my idea. I bullied everybody else into going along with it. I didn’t mean for it to get out of hand with…uh…” I couldn’t blame Zach. Yeah, he was to blame, but all he’d done was tell the truth.

“I’d like to put a couple of cameras around your house tonight, Paula,” Fred said. “Motion sensitive cameras. They’ll alert me if anyone trespasses on your property.”

If anyone trespasses on your property. What a euphemistic way to say, If anyone tries to break into your house.

Or Mr. Lucas’ house. I knew one person who planned to do that tonight.

“I think that would be an excellent idea,” Sophie said.

“Cameras?” Paula did not sound enthusiastic about the idea.

“And please include me in the notification loop.” Trent took out his cell phone, entered his password, and handed it to Fred.

“You sure?” Fred asked. “We could get a few false alerts.”

“I’m sure.”

Fred tapped Trent’s phone a couple of times then returned it. “Would you mind walking Paula and Zach home while I help Lindsay clean up the mess?”

Clean up the mess?

Oh, yeah. Preserve the DNA samples. In all the excitement, I’d almost forgotten about that.

“Sure,” Trent said.

“We don’t need anybody to walk us home,” Paula protested.

I grabbed Trent’s hand. “Are you trying to say Trent isn’t needed? That’s so cruel of you.”

Paula shook her head but smiled. “Of course he’s needed. That would be great if you walked us all the way next door, Trent.”

They left.

Sophie went to the kitchen.

Fred drew rubber gloves from his pocket and picked up Sloan’s glass with one hand then Lilly’s with the other.

Sophie returned with a cardboard box divided into six compartments.

Fred placed the glasses in the box then retrieved Paula’s water bottle and Zach’s juice glass.

“You want Zach’s DNA?” I asked.

“Probably unnecessary, but a backup of Paula, just in case,” Fred replied.

“Why did you put Sloan’s glass in there?”

“Curiosity.” He closed the box carefully. “Goodnight.”

Sophie gave me a hug. “Your desserts were wonderful, and you did a great job with the painting discussion.”

“Thanks.”

Sophie always had something nice to say.

I didn’t bother to close the door after they left. It was a nice evening, and Trent would be back soon.

The event had not turned out the way I planned.

I stood in the living room and looked at Mr. Lucas’ painting of Paula. It was a work of art. I was probably putting my own emotions into it, but it seemed as though the artist had painted the subject in a loving way, as a grandfather might paint a granddaughter.

The only thing I had accomplished tonight with that painting was to let Lilly and Sloan know that other paintings by Mr. Lucas existed and were in Paula’s house.

Paula’s house would now be guarded by cameras which reported directly to Fred’s and Trent’s cell phones.

I had to go past Paula’s house to get to Mr. Lucas’ house.

On the bright side, if I couldn’t get inside Mr. Lucas’ house, neither could Rickie.

I felt a soft warm nudge against my leg.

Henry.

He’d come in to console me, make me feel loved.

I reached down and stroked along his back as he walked away, heading toward the front door.

It was possible he’d only rubbed my leg to let me know he wanted to go outside.

I opened the screen and found Trent arriving.

Henry had nudged me to console me and to lead me to someone who’d take over his consolation duties for the rest of the evening.

I smiled.

Trent smiled.

Henry disappeared into the darkness, but I knew he was smiling too.

Chapter Fifteen

Trent and I climbed the stairs and settled into my cozy antique bed. The iron frame is antique, but, fortunately, the mattress is twenty-first century.

“Tell me about your day,” I said. “Did you catch any serial killers?” I wanted to divert him from talking about the evening.

“No. Did you antagonize any potential killers tonight?”

“So you think one of the people here killed Mr. Lucas?”

He laughed softly and wrapped his arms around me. “I didn’t say that. How about we forget everything but the two of us and get some sleep tonight since you have to work tomorrow?”

I snuggled closer to him. “Good idea. That’s reason number 5,291 why I love you. Good night.”

He was silent for a moment, and I started drifting off.

“What are the first 5,290 reasons?” he asked.

I giggled. “Go to sleep.”

We both did.

For a few minutes.

Trent’s cell phone exploded with the theme from S.W.A.T.

We both bolted upright.

Trent grabbed his phone. “The camera caught something.” He swiped the screen and studied it carefully.

I held my breath, waiting to hear that Sloan was breaking into Paula’s house.

“False alarm,” he said. “It was a big moth flying close to the camera lens.”

I lay back, my heart still pounding.

Trent pulled me close and kissed the top of my head. “Relax. Fred warned us this could happen. Better to have a dozen false alarms than to miss one real alert.”

It took me a little longer to go back to sleep that time.

But I woke up just as fast when that music blared again.

This time the video showed a large raccoon ambling along, unconcerned about the chaos he had caused in my bedroom.

The third time it was Rickie going between the houses, heading home. At least he didn’t try to break into Mr. Lucas’ house. Guess my bomb story worked.

“Think we should wake Grace and tell her?” Trent asked. “A kid his age shouldn’t be out this late at night.”

“Tomorrow. She needs to sleep. We need to sleep.”

We got a little sleep in spite of the cats, owls, bats, ghosts, and maybe a werewolf or two that set off the motion camera in Paula’s yard.

Trent turned it off around six a.m.

Not all Fred’s ideas worked out well. I made a note to tell him so.

***

Paula was already slapping around her cinnamon roll dough when I dragged myself into work the next morning. I felt certain she was imagining my face on that dough.

“Good morning,” I called.

“Not yet,” she replied.

That sounded positive, as though things might get better.

I donned an apron and took a can of cold Coke from the refrigerator then gathered chocolate, butter, eggs, and other ingredients on the counter. “What do you think?”

“Of what you’re planning to make? I’m sure it will be delicious.”

“You know what I mean. What do you think about last night? About Lilly.”

She sprinkled flour on her dough mat then began spreading out the dough preparatory to rolling. She did it slowly, deliberately.

To give her time to consider her answer or just to annoy me?

“I don’t think she told us the truth about her childhood.” She spoke calmly, not angrily.

“I agree.” I kept my response calm, waiting to see where we were headed with this topic, if she was going to suggest that Lilly was an actress paid to play the role of her sister or a hired killer who got rid of Mr. Lucas and planned to do away with his descendants so the person who hired her could get control of his paintings or…well, there were many possibilities.

“I don’t think her childhood was as happy as she said it was. She didn’t sound sincere when she talked about it. Not all adoptions turn out well. Lilly’s parents may have had problems. Perhaps they weren’t kind to her, didn’t love her.”

I paused in the act of separating my eggs…yolks in one bowl, whites in another. I also thought Lilly was lying, and my imagination had been running rampant, but I had not considered Paula’s simple explanation.

Was that the reason Lilly’s story sounded rehearsed and not true? Was it just because she had a bad childhood and didn’t want to tell us about it?

“I’m not saying I believe I was adopted,” Paula said, “but if I was, I got lucky. I had a wonderful childhood. I could not have picked better parents. The only thing they did wrong was getting on that plane and crashing in the jungle. I miss them every day.”

Paula is a caring person. She loves Zach. She loves me in spite of my having a fault or two…or seven or twelve.

But she rarely talks about anything emotional.

I shoved a handful of chocolate chips into my mouth, chewed, and washed them down with Coke. I needed sustenance. “So you think Lilly may be your sister?”

“I don’t know.” She paused and drew in a deep breath. “But I’m willing to have my DNA tested.”

As if she had a choice. But it was an interesting turn that she had become agreeable to this option.

I cleared my throat. “Okay. Well. I’m sure we can arrange for that to happen.”

“Yes, I’m sure you can.” She slid a large bowl of softened butter across the counter and began spreading it on her dough. “In case the DNA I left on my three water bottles is insufficient,” she said, “I’ll be happy to let Fred swab my cheek.”

An egg fell to the floor from my suddenly useless fingers.

I cursed and cleaned up the mess.

“You knew?” I asked.

“You insist I come to a party with Lilly. Fred brings the wine, of course, because he doesn’t like your wine in a box. But he uses your mismatched wine glasses. Under normal circumstances, Fred would rather be drawn and quartered than let that happen. He must have had a reason.”

I shrugged. “Maybe he’s interested in comparing the body of the fruity flavors of wine from a certain vineyard when drunk from a regular glass as opposed to a crystal goblet.” I was using words I’d heard Fred say. I had no idea what I was talking about, but I was pretty sure Paula knew nothing about wine either.

“Or maybe he wanted to be sure he knew who drank from each glass, and he couldn’t be certain unless the glasses were all distinctive.”

“Um, yeah, that’s a possibility, I suppose.”

“And what about the two kinds of bottled water in your refrigerator?”

“I buy whatever’s on sale.”

“Fred gave me the kind with the blue label every time. I tried to switch on him once, but he told me the red label was expired. Really? Expired water?”

I focused my attention on beating egg yolks.

“I thought about letting Henry take a drink from my bottle of water to leave his DNA but decided to let you get away with your scheme.”

I stopped beating and looked up in amazement. “You’re learning offbeat humor from me. I’m so happy I have had a good influence on you.”

We both laughed.

Friends are like that…able to laugh at their own insanity.

***

Paula and I were cleaning up after the last customer left, preparing to close, when Gilbert Sloan charged into Death by Chocolate, eyes wide, face flushed, tie askew, hair and beard untidy.

Don’t ask me to explain how a goatee can be untidy. Just trust me. Everything about him appeared disheveled and untidy.

I stood at the counter with a dirty plate in one hand and a half empty glass of tea in the other. If he came one step closer, I would toss the plate at him first, then the tea and ice.

“We’re closed.” Paula’s voice from behind me was quiet but resolute.

Sloan brandished a sheet of paper above his head. “She’s been kidnapped!”

Chapter Sixteen

I froze in place.

She’s been kidnapped.

That narrowed the choices of who’d been kidnapped to half the world’s population. Not a lot of help.

“Who?” Paula asked.

Leave it to her to be logical.

“Your sister.” He shoved the paper toward Paula.

I snatched it out of his hands and studied it.

Block printing. Probably somebody who flunked penmanship the way I did. Not necessarily a bad sign.

To the traitor, Gilbert Sloan. I have Lilly. She has signed over her half of everything Lucas Harrington left. I will let her go when you make her sister sign over her share of that house and bank account and give all Lucas Harrington’s paintings to me. He stole from my father then murdered him. I should have everything that evil man owned. I will call you tonight, and you better have everything set up. Signed, Keith Moncrief. P.S. If you call the police, I will kill her.

I had never read a real ransom note before. In the movies they seemed to be shorter and scarier. But the movies have characters who never go to the bathroom no matter how much Coke they drink. Obviously the movies are not a reliable source of information.

“What’s going on?” I asked. “Who is Keith Moncrief?”

Paula took the note from me.

Sloan ran a hand through his messy hair and shifted from one foot to the other. “That’s the son of the man Lucas killed. He has problems. I always knew he had problems.” He shook his head. “But this…”

Paula looked up from the note. “What do you mean, problems?”

Though no one invited him to sit, Sloan sank onto one of the counter stools and let out a long sigh. “He was a troubled teenager…drugs, alcohol, the usual.”

Interesting family where drugs and alcohol were the usual.

Paula looked pointedly at the occupied stool then slowly up to Sloan’s face. Her expression would have sent a normal person running for the door.

Sloan didn’t flinch.

“Kidnapping?” she said. “I don’t think that’s a usual problem for troubled teens to have, and he’s got to be older than a teenager if his father was murdered thirty years ago.”

“Yes, of course he’s no longer a teenager. I’m just saying he has a history of erratic behavior. I haven’t kept up with him, but he’s probably on drugs now and needs money. Could I have a cup of coffee while we discuss this?”

“Sorry, we already tossed the coffee and cleaned the machine,” I said.

Paula took a step closer to Sloan. I wasn’t sure if she was stressed because her maybe-sister had been kidnapped and was in danger or if she thought Sloan had something to do with it.

I had no idea what was going on, but I wanted more information before we tossed Sloan out. Lilly could be in danger. I wasn’t completely convinced she was Paula’s sister, but she wasn’t all bad. She drank Coke and liked my brownies.

I took Paula’s arm to restrain her from whatever she planned to do then turned to Sloan and bared my teeth in a faux smile. “I’m sorry we don’t have any coffee, but we still have bottled water.” I refrained from mentioning the cans of Coke in the refrigerator behind the counter. He wasn’t worthy of one of my Cokes.

“Thank you,” he said. “I’d really appreciate some water. This situation has upset me. Keith’s never been violent, so I don’t think he’ll hurt Lilly, but I can’t be certain.”

“He’s never been violent?” I repeated. “But he’s on drugs and you haven’t seen him in years.”

Sloan dipped his head. “Yes, you’re right. I don’t know what he’s capable of now.”

I went behind the counter, took out two bottles of water, slid one to Sloan and one to Paula, nodding to indicate she should sit on the stool beside Sloan.

She narrowed her eyes but complied.

I popped the top on a fresh Coke for me. “Let’s be calm and think this through. Tell us about Keith Moncrief, everything you know about him.”

Sloan twisted the lid off the bottle of water, took a long drink, and set it carefully on the counter. “I didn’t tell you before because there didn’t seem any reason to tell such a tawdry tale. I didn’t think it had anything to do with you. The first time I heard of Keith Moncrief was when Lucas asked me to recommend a good criminal lawyer for his friend, Jonas Moncrief, the art gallery owner. Jonas’ son, Keith, had been arrested for driving while intoxicated. I sent him to an attorney who specialized in that sort of thing, and that was when Lucas started painting the forgeries.”

“And what did painting forgeries have to do with Keith Moncrief’s legal problems?” I asked.

“Everything. Jonas Moncrief needed extra money to pay his son’s legal fees and rehab costs. Lucas needed to take care of his young daughter. They were both concerned parents, and Jonas came up with the idea for Lucas to paint the forgeries so they could make extra money. But that’s also how things went sideways between Jonas and Lucas. Jonas needed more and more money to keep his son out of trouble. He got desperate and pushed Lucas too hard.” Sloan took another drink of water. “I don’t know all the details. I don’t know why Lucas killed Jonas. But whatever happened between the two of them, you and Lilly are innocent. He has no right to do this.”

He was talking to Paula, but that didn’t stop me from butting in. “Where did you get this note? Are you sure he’s got Lilly? Have you tried to call her?”

He nodded. “We were supposed to meet for lunch in the hotel cafe, but she didn’t show up. I called her several times. It went straight to voicemail, and she didn’t call me back. I went down to the parking lot to see if her car was there. I thought maybe she’d gone shopping or sight-seeing and forgot about our lunch plans. Her car was exactly where she parked it last night. Mine was beside it, and I found that…that note…on my windshield.”

I couldn’t think of anything else to ask. We needed to call in the experts. The note specified we were not to call the police, but it said nothing about texting Trent or speaking directly to him when he came over later or about contacting Fred who is in no way associated with the police. I slipped my phone from my pocket and held it below the counter so Sloan couldn’t see it.

“I don’t want to see my sister hurt.”

I stopped, finger poised to tap Fred’s number. Paula’s words surprised me. She was only beginning to consider that Lilly might be her sister. This sounded more definite than might be.

“I’ll be happy to sign over my share in the house and savings account as well as turn over all the paintings Mr. Lucas created. Please prepare the paperwork, and we’ll meet at my house.” She checked her watch. “It’s three o’clock now. I’ll meet you there at five o’clock. That will give us two hours to prepare.”

Sloan opened his mouth as if to speak but closed it again.

Had he not expected such rapid capitulation to his demands?

I certainly had not.

“Two hours?” Sloan repeated. “Yes, yes, I can do that. Your house?”

“Next door to Lindsay’s house where you were last night.”

He nodded. “I’ll be there in two hours.” He turned to leave then came back and took the note from Paula’s hands.

She let him take it. Something else I had not expected. We needed to keep it, look for fingerprints, study the letters and the wording, check for DNA…and other things Fred would know about.

“Two hours,” he said, “and we’ll soon have Lilly back with us, safe and sound.”

I followed Sloan to the door and locked it behind him then whirled to face Paula. “Are you nuts? It’s a scam. I don’t believe Lilly’s really been kidnapped.”

She regarded me with a cool blue gaze, no sign of doubt or fear. “Are you certain? One hundred percent certain?”

I considered Sloan’s story. It made sense in a B-movie sort of way. “Well, maybe not a hundred percent. I suppose it’s possible though highly unlikely.”

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t want that house or those paintings or any of his money. If Lilly’s life is in danger, they will serve a good purpose. If it’s a scam, I don’t care. I want to get rid of all those things and get back to a normal life.”

“All those things? How about all those people? Sloan and Lilly? You referred to Lilly as your sister.”

She hesitated only an instant before she replied. “Yes, all those people too. I referred to Lilly as my sister so Sloan would know I’m serious about giving them everything.”

Nobody else would have noticed her slight hesitation before speaking, but I did. I was not a hundred percent sure that Lilly had not been kidnapped, and Paula was not a hundred percent sure that Lilly was not her sister.

“Let’s finish cleaning up this place so we can get home in time for the big transfer of assets,” she said. “I want this all to be over as soon as possible, and then I want to forget it ever happened.”

“Right.”

This was far from over. When Fred got the DNA results, we would know if Lilly was Paula’s sister and if Mr. Lucas was her grandfather. If either of those results was positive, Paula would likely see things in an entirely different light. In the meantime, I wasn’t going to let her fall for some scam and give away items that might have sentimental value as well as monetary. The money involved could give Zach a nice college fund. It wasn’t a fortune, but it could make her life a little easier.

I would head straight to Fred’s house as soon as we finished cleaning. He’d know how to handle this.

Chapter Seventeen

I rushed home after we closed, exceeding the speed limit all the way. Okay, I usually drive a little fast because travel time is wasted time. But that day I was especially eager to get home because we were on a tight schedule.

I pulled into my driveway at sixteen minutes until four. That left a little over an hour to prepare.

I slid out of my car, grabbed the bag of leftover desserts, and sprinted halfway to my house before Rickie intercepted me.

I’d forgotten about my promise to him to unlock the dollhouse.

“Rickie!” I tried a phony smile to cover my shock. “Hi!”

His smile was genuine and eager. “I brought three bags to put the money in.” He held up three white trash bags.

I flinched. “Yeah, about that. Something’s come up.”

His smile disappeared.

“We’ll do it later,” I said. “Lilly’s been kidnapped.”

He gasped. “Paula’s sister?”

“She may be Paula’s sister. We’re not certain of that yet, but we got a note saying she’s been kidnapped. We’re meeting the contact person at Paula’s house at five o’clock, and Paula’s going to sign over everything Mr. Lucas owned to the kidnapper so he won’t kill Lilly.”

Rickie’s eyes widened to the size of baseballs. Okay, maybe not quite that big, but close. “We gotta get that dollhouse now.”

“But…” I stopped in mid-protest as I realized Rickie was about a mile ahead of me. Everything included the dollhouse since it was currently in Mr. Lucas’ house. “You’re right. Damn! I mean, darn! We have to hurry. I need to put these desserts in the house and let Henry out.”

He nodded. “I’ll climb in Mr. Lucas’ window and open the door so you can come in that way since you’re old.”

He ran away before I could slap him upside the head and show him that old didn’t mean weak.

I hurried home.

Henry met me at the front door, wound around my legs, and sauntered outside.

I looked after him enviously. If I ate his cat food, could I achieve that level of serenity?

My phone rang.

I dug frantically in my purse until I found it.

“Rickie is climbing into a window of Mr. Lucas’ house,” Fred said.

I’d forgotten about his tracking setup. “I know.”

“Do I need to intervene?”

“Yes, but give me about ten minutes, and don’t let Rickie know that I know that you know.”

Silence.

“I’ll explain it all later,” I promised. “In fact, it’s better if I don’t tell you what’s going on until after you surprise Rickie and me while we’re with the dollhouse. That way you’ll have all the right reactions, and he won’t be suspicious.”

More silence.

“Just come to the attic in Mr. Lucas’ house in ten minutes and I’ll explain everything.”

“Must I climb in the window?”

“No. Rickie’s going to open the front door for me since I’m old. I’ll leave it open for you. Don’t ask. Just do it. I’ve got to go. We’re on a tight schedule.”

He disconnected.

He’s a busy man. Never has time to say goodbye. Neither did I that day.

I rushed into the kitchen, put the bag of leftover goodies on the table, then filled Henry’s bowl with cat food. I started to set it on the floor but lifted it and smelled first.

Nope. Not going to eat that even if it brought me perpetual serenity.

I exited my house running.

Then stopped abruptly when Paula pulled into her driveway, blocking my path. Zach sat in the back in his booster seat. Hadn’t taken her long to pick him up from daycare. She must have been speeding too. That was unlike her, but this situation called for drastic measures.

“Anlinny!” Zach called through the open window. “I’m coming to see you.”

Paula leaned across the seat toward me. “Can you keep him for a few hours tonight? I’m sorry I didn’t ask before we left the shop. I hadn’t thought things through at that point.”

She didn’t want Zach to be there for Sloan’s visit.

I understood that. But I needed to be there with Paula and Sloan.

“Uh…”

“Thanks. I’m going to give him dinner before I bring him to your Den of Desserts. He can have one cookie and no Coke tonight.”

“Got it. One cookie and no Coke.” I winked at Zach.

He grinned and scrunched both eyes closed in his best effort at a wink.

“We’ll be at your place in half an hour.”

I gave her a thumbs-up.

If I hurried, thirty minutes should give me barely enough time to rescue the dollhouse, hide it, and con Fred into keeping Zach.

As for Rickie…

I’d think about that later.

Paula pulled into her garage.

I ran the rest of the way to Mr. Lucas’ house and leapt onto his porch.

The front door was unlocked.

I crept in and closed the door quietly behind me.

Nobody could hear me except Rickie, but somehow it felt necessary to be quiet.

The living room was dimly lit as if Mr. Lucas’ death had stolen the light.

I was being ridiculous.

The room was dimly lit because the curtains were closed.

Get a grip, Lindsay.

I tried to keep my gaze focused on the hallway at the far end of the room, but, of their own accord, my eyes slid to the left, to the staircase Mr. Lucas had fallen down, to the spot where he had lain staring up at nothing.

A dark stain marred the hardwood floor. No one had cleaned. Mr. Lucas would not like that. He was a tidy person.

My mouth was desert dry. Another reason to get this over with fast. I desperately needed a Coke.

I went down the hallway and saw the folding ladder descending from the attic to the floor. Rickie had kept his end of the bargain. He wasn’t a totally bad kid. Considering his genetic heritage along with Rickhead and Grace’s unique parenting skills, he could be a lot worse.

I climbed the rickety steps of the ancient ladder.

They creaked.

Rickie would know I was coming.

And that was okay.

I was being weird again.

He met me at the top of the stairs and offered me a hand up. That was sweet. I didn’t need help but accepted it anyway to make him feel useful.

Light came through a dirty window at one end of the attic and revealed opened boxes with various items strewn around. Rickie’s story about an unknown woman failing to find the dollhouse in this mess made a little more sense.

He turned on a small flashlight and focused the beam into one corner of the room.

The ornate structure appeared in the spotlight with Rickie’s trash bags lying beside it, ready to be filled with money.

I made my way through the debris. The creation was beautiful. Exquisite woodwork. It was Victorian style, and, unlike traditional dollhouses which had one side open for the child to add furniture and dolls, this one was enclosed on all sides with a large door in the back which had a keyhole and tiny hinges.

Mr. Lucas was an artist. He probably built this himself. Had it been for his daughter to play with?

For Paula’s mother to play with?

Would we find money in it?

Or just dolls and tiny furniture?

I was rooting for the dolls and tiny furniture. If it had belonged to Paula’s mother, this would be a priceless treasure for her.

“I was afraid to move it,” Rickie whispered. “I didn’t want it to blow up. Did you bring the key?”

I shook my head. “The key’s at my house. We don’t have time to open it here. Those people may come to take possession at any minute. We have to carry it to my house.”

Rickie’s gulp was audible. “But…what if it explodes?”

Oh, what a tangled web we weave.

“It won’t.” I looked at the structure. “I’ll keep my thumb on the, uh, the safety device the whole way, and we’ll be fine.”

Rickie picked up one of the trash bags and began trying to fold it.

“Leave them here,” I said. “I have plenty more at home, and we don’t have much time.”

He dropped the bag.

We each took an end of the dollhouse. The structure wasn’t overly large—about three feet long, two feet tall, and a foot wide—but I could barely spread my fingers to reach the keyhole to make Rickie feel safe.

He looked dubious. And scared.

“Okay…lift,” I said.

We both grunted.

“That mother’s heavy,” Rickie said.

I ignored his choice of words. I’d heard him say worse. “Solid wood,” I explained.

“Maybe the money’s in gold. Gold’s heavy.”

“Do you need some help?”

The voice came from behind me. I gasped and dropped my end.

Rickie screamed, dropped his, and ran toward the opening to downstairs—smack into Fred’s chest. He screamed again and flailed at Fred.

Fred grasped Rickie’s arms. “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

“We gotta get out of here!” Rickie shouted. “It’s going to explode!” He stopped squirming and looked back at the dollhouse…which was still intact. “We dropped it. Why didn’t it explode?”

No convenient lie came to mind. “Beats me.”

Rickie walked tentatively toward the structure but stopped a few feet away.

I looked at Fred and shivered. I knew on a logical basis that the bottom half of his body was standing on a rung of the ladder, out of sight. Quite normal. But being in a spooky attic after walking past a murder scene made the sight of only the top half of a body a little creepy. “Could you come up the rest of the way?”

Fred obligingly brought his entire body into the attic. “I’m sure this story is going to be very entertaining. I can’t wait to hear everything.”

“You’re going to have to wait. We’re in a huge time crunch. Help me carry this thing downstairs and over to my house.”

Fred studied the dollhouse from every angle. “Incredible. Did Mr. Lucas build this himself? It appears to be hand crafted.”

“Probably. I don’t know. I don’t care. We’ve got to get this to my house NOW.”

“Are we stealing it?”

I thought about that for a moment. Paula had not yet signed over her ownership of this house. “Not at the moment, but if you keep jacking around, we will be.”

Fred looked at Rickie who shrugged.

Fred shrugged back then reached down and lifted the entire dollhouse by himself.

“Let me help,” I said. “You’ll hurt your back.”

He carried it to the opening and set it down lengthwise then descended until he was only half a person again. “I could use your help getting this thing down the stairs.”

I rushed over, happy to be needed.

So did Rickie.

“Could you all pick up the opposite end and tilt it toward me?”

The magic door was on Rickie’s side. He placed a finger over the keyhole as he lifted with his other hand. It was good to know the kid trusted me—even when I lied to him.

The three of us managed to get the dollhouse downstairs.

I held the front door open while Fred carried it out, across the porch, and down the sidewalk.

Rickie and I hovered close as though Fred might need our help. I began to suspect he only asked us to help him get it down the ladder to make us feel needed.

We passed Paula’s house. I tiptoed. Yes, that was silly, but walking past her place with the dollhouse in full view felt ominous. I should have brought a disguise for it. Maybe not a beard on the roof and a pair of glasses on the windows, but a blanket would have helped.

I breathed a sigh of relief when we were safely past her house and going down the walk to my front porch.

“Anlinny!”

Oops. Sighed in relief too soon.

I turned to see Zach running across the yard toward me with Paula following behind.

I froze.

Busted!

Would she make us take the dollhouse back to Mr. Lucas’ house? Take it to her place to give to Sloan?

Zach charged over and flung his arms around my waist.

I wrapped my arms around him.

“One cookie and no Cokes,” he said in a whisper loud enough to be heard in the next block.

My mind blanked. What did cookies and Cokes have to do with a stolen dollhouse?

Oh. Later had arrived sooner than I anticipated. I’d almost forgotten that I had agreed to keep Zach.

Paula was close behind, of course.

“One cookie, no Coke.” I saluted.

Zach giggled at my blatant lie.

I heard my front door close. The boys had made it inside with the dollhouse.

“What on earth was Fred carrying, and what are he and Rickie doing together?” Paula asked. “They never seemed to be friends before.”

That sigh of relief was justified after all.

She hadn’t seen us come out of Mr. Lucas’ house, and she didn’t know the mysterious object belonged to her.

“Dollhouse,” I said.

“Would you ask Fred to bring that painting back to my house? I want to be sure those people have everything so I don’t have to deal with this again.”

I nodded, and my head seemed to bobble as if it wasn’t firmly attached to my neck. “I’ll tell Fred.”

So many things I had to tell Fred.

I’d have to talk very fast so we could come up with a plan before Sloan arrived.

Chapter Eighteen

Paula headed homeward.

Zach took my hand, and he and I continued to my house.

“I had a cheese sandwich for dinner, but I could eat a cookie,” he said.

“We can easily arrange that.” Arranging for Fred to babysit Zach and figuring out what to do with Rickie while I went to Paula’s would not be nearly as simple.

Henry sauntered up to join us.

Maybe…

Nah. Henry was a really smart cat, but I couldn’t trust him to babysit Zach and Rickie. Rickie might sneak him some catnip, and he’d just lie on the floor with his eyes crossed while Zach and Rickie ate all the cookies and totally destroyed the dollhouse.

I opened the front door and we all stepped inside.

Fred and Rickie looked up from examining the dollhouse which rested on my coffee table.

Rickie’s eyes and mouth opened wide when he saw us. He positioned himself in front of the structure as if to hide it with his skinny frame, and pointed a finger at Zach. “What’s he doing here?”

I was not going to let him hurt Zach’s feelings. “Henry? He lives here. Zach, would you take Henry to the kitchen and show him where his food bowl is?”

Zach looked up at me quizzically.

Henry was already halfway across the living room, on his way to the kitchen.

“There might be some cookies in a bag on the table in the kitchen.” I winked.

Zach grinned and scurried from the room.

“So Lilly has been kidnapped?” Fred asked.

“I told him,” Rickie said.

“But not a lot of details,” Fred said. “Paula is signing over all of Mr. Lucas’ assets to the kidnapper?”

I nodded. “Including this painting. She wants you to bring it to her house. Sloan will be there in…” I checked my watch. “Sloan will be at Paula’s house in ten minutes with documents for her to sign. If he’s one of those rude people who arrive early, he could be there any minute. You guys need to stay here with Zach. And with the dollhouse. Guard the dollhouse. I’ve got to get to Paula’s now.”

I turned to leave before either of them could refuse the duties I’d arbitrarily assigned them.

Fred caught my arm. “I have to go with you. I understand legal documents. I need to be there to keep Paula from signing things she shouldn’t be signing.”

Rickie grabbed my other arm. “Me too. I found the dollhouse.”

“Anlinny, Henry found his food.” Zach had returned. “What’s that?” He pointed to the dollhouse.

I pulled my arms free and gave up on my plan to escape alone to Paula’s. “It’s a toy house. We think Mr. Lucas made it.”

Zach walked closer and studied it carefully.

Fred squatted down to Zach’s level. “How would you like to spend some time with Sophie?”

Zach grinned and nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah!”

Fred rose and took out his phone. “Go,” he said to me. “I’ll be there as soon as Sophie gets here.”

“I’ll be back soon,” I promised Zach.

“Okay. Does Sophie know where the cookies are?”

“Yes,” I assured him then dashed out of the house.

Rickie followed close behind.

I didn’t try to stop him. Better he came with me than stayed with Zach and taught him a new vocabulary his mother would not be happy about.

We got to Paula’s front porch just as a large black sedan pulled up in front of her house.

“That car looks evil,” Rickie said.

He wasn’t wrong. Of course Sloan would drive an evil looking car.

I knocked on Paula’s door.

“You got a gun?” Rickie asked.

My head snapped around to look at him. “No! Why are you asking about guns?”

He pointed to the evil black car from which Gilbert Sloan was emerging with an armful of folders. “I bet he has a gun.”

“Lindsay?” Paula’s voice came from her doorway. “What are you doing here? Where’s Zach?”

“Zach’s with Fred. He’s fine.”

Paula frowned. Scowled, actually. “I left my son in your care, not Fred’s.”

Rickie stepped closer to her.

She did a double-take. She’d been so focused on killing me, she hadn’t noticed him before.

“We had to come.” He tilted his head to look up at her with his big brown eyes. He had used the puppy-dog-eyes thing often when he was younger, but now he was almost as tall as Paula, so the effort came across as a little melodramatic.

Before Paula could respond, Sloan stepped onto the porch next to me. “Good evening, Melanie. I brought everything.” He looked down at me and over at Rickie. “Will your friend and her son be joining us?”

“He’s not my—” I started.

“No, they will not,” Paula said.

“Yes, we will,” Rickie said.

Sloan’s lips tightened with disapproval.

Rickie pushed past Paula into the house.

Sometimes it’s good to have a rude kid around.

I followed in his wake, giving Paula a phony smile as I slid past her.

She frowned.

She’d thank me later.

All the paintings from Zach’s room were leaning against the wall in her living room.

She really planned to do this.

Suddenly I felt a little weak.

I hoped Sophie got to my house fast to take care of Zach so Fred could get here soon.

Sloan went straight to the paintings. He examined each one carefully. “These are excellent,” he said. “What about the big one we saw last night?”

“My friend you met at the party is bringing it over,” Paula said. “Shall we go to the kitchen? We can spread the papers on the table. I already put out a couple of pens for signing.”

“Can I have a Coke?” Rickie asked.

“Me too,” I said. Yes, it was rude, but Rickie started it, and it was a good delaying tactic.

I could tell from the stern expression on Paula’s face that she wanted to refuse, but those Texas manners are deeply ingrained.

“I’ll get Cokes for both of you,” she said through gritted teeth.

“And some coffee for Mr. Sloan,” I said. “He loves your coffee.” I turned toward him. “You know she makes all the coffee at the restaurant. I make the chocolate desserts, but I know absolutely nothing about making coffee. I don’t know where Paula learned it, but she makes absolutely the best coffee. I don’t drink coffee, so I’m not speaking from personal experience, but everybody who comes in talks about how great her coffee is.”

“Lindsay!” Paula snapped.

Just as well. I was running out of things to say about coffee. However, I could have switched to chocolate and talked all evening…at least until Fred arrived.

“I don’t need any coffee,” Sloan said. “I think getting these papers signed and Lilly back safely is more important.”

Ouch. That would have been a sharp dig if Lilly was really in danger.

And I didn’t know for sure that she wasn’t.

Even so, a bit of conversation and a few stalling tactics couldn’t hurt.

Rickie charged past us to the kitchen. Paula led Sloan and me there in a more decorous manner.

Rickie sat at the table, playing with the pens Paula had set out. “Want to see a magic trick?” he asked, holding a pen in each hand.

“No,” Paula said. “I want you to give me my pens.”

“I want to see a magic trick.” I sat in the chair between him and Paula.

Rickie shoved one pen down the neck of his faded black t-shirt that had a design of an atom and letters that said, Never trust an atom. They make up everything.

He grinned, holding out one empty hand and one hand with the other pen. “It disappeared.”

I laughed.

Nobody else did.

Rickie shrugged then withdrew the pen from his shirt and put both of them back on the table.

Sloan slid into the remaining chair and spread out several typed documents in front of Paula. “This one transfers your interest in the house next door and all its contents to Keith Moncrief.”

Rickie and I exchanged meaningful looks. The dollhouse was no longer among the contents of the house, so at least it was protected.

“This one,” he continued, “assigns all bank accounts to Keith.”

I spread my hands over as many documents as possible and drew them toward me. “I need to look at all these.” I didn’t lie. I didn’t say I was going to read them, just that I was going to look at them.

Sloan’s mouth opened then closed. “Why?”

“No, you don’t need to look at them.” Paula tried to take them from me.

My hands are bigger than hers, so she failed. “My dad’s a lawyer,” I said. “I know about these things.” That wasn’t a total lie since I didn’t specify what things I knew about. I’d helped out in my father’s office enough to know how the headings of legal documents looked.

“No, you do not know about these things.” Paula sounded quite adamant.

I ignored her, of course.

“Hello,” Fred called from the living room. “Anybody home?”

My entire body morphed from mega-tense to semi-relaxed, and I lifted my hands from the documents.

Paula shot to her feet.

“We’re in the kitchen, Fred,” I shouted. “Come on back and join us.”

He strolled into the room looking calm and unconcerned.

Paula shot him a look that would have sent a normal person running from the room. “I thought you were taking care of my son. Where is he?”

“Sophie stopped by and wanted to visit with him. You know how much the two of them like each other.”

“I do. But I didn’t leave my son with Sophie. I left him with Lindsay who passed him on to you, and now you’ve passed him on to Sophie.”

“Okay,” he said. “You have a valid point. Lindsay, you should join Sophie and Zach at her house.”

“No,” I said, “we need to go over these legal documents before Paula signs them.”

“No,” she said, “you do not. Please go back and take care of my son.”

Fred reached down to the table and picked up one of the documents. “You have to sign this in front of a Notary Public.” He scanned the pages. “Paula, why are you giving your share of Mr. Lucas’ property to Keith Moncrief? I don’t believe I’ve heard you speak of this person before.”

He’d heard me speak of Keith Moncrief, but he hadn’t heard Paula speak of him. Not a lie.

Paula took the document from him. “Thank you for your legal advice.” She returned to her seat and looked around the table, lifted the documents and peered under them, then focused on Rickie. “Where are all my pens?”

Rickie widened his eyes and looked innocent.

Actually, he looked like a guilty person trying to look innocent.

“Lilly’s been kidnapped,” I said. “Keith Moncrief is the kidnapper. Paula’s signing over all her interest in Mr. Lucas’ possessions, and Lilly will do the same so Keith can have everything.”

Fred pushed his glasses higher on his nose though they had not dared to sink lower in the first place. “I see. Mr. Sloan, you may need to revise some of these documents.”

Sloan blinked, gulped, and cleared his throat. “Mr. Summers, at the risk of sounding rude, I don’t believe this is any of your business.”

“Probably not. I just thought you all would like to know the results of some DNA tests I had run after the party.”

Sloan’s eyes widened. The expression didn’t look any more innocent on him than it had on Rickie. “No,” he said. “We are in the middle of some very important business, life and death business.”

I glanced at Paula. She sat straight and rigid, braced as if expecting an attack.

Once again it was up to me to keep the conversation going. “I want to know the results of the DNA tests,” I said.

“Me too,” Rickie said, fixing his gaze on Sloan. “Are you my real father?”

I thought he was too young to remember when Fred had run a DNA test to prove that Rick was his real father. Was this bringing back bad memories? I looked at him.

He grinned.

So did I.

Fred ignored us. “Of course we must all do whatever it takes to find the missing girl and return her to her family. However, we don’t know who her family is. Lilly is not related to you, Paula, nor is she related to Mr. Lucas or Mr. Sloan.”

Paula gasped.

I gasped. The idea of Paula finding her long-lost twin sister had been kind of sweet. She needed more family in her life.

But I wasn’t totally surprised.

Sloan didn’t gasp. He wasn’t surprised at all. “Obviously your tests are wrong.”

“Oh, I think they’ll stand up in court.” He turned to Paula. “Just to prove the validity of the testing, I included Zach’s DNA.” He smiled. “He’s definitely your son.”

She smiled.

“And,” he continued, “Paula, you are definitely the granddaughter of Lucas Harrington.”

Her smile disappeared.

Chapter Nineteen

The loudest silence I’d ever heard filled the room.

Paula’s face had turned to stone. No expression. No visible sign of the maelstrom going on behind that stoic face.

A single bead of sweat appeared on Sloan’s forehead.

I slid my eyes to the side to see how Rickie was taking this. His dumfounded gaze darted from me to Paula to Sloan to Fred to me.

No help there.

A loud screech burst through the room.

I jumped and gave a small screech in reply.

Sloan was sliding his chair back from the table. The sound of the wooden chair legs scraping across the wooden floor wasn’t really that loud. It was just abrupt and unexpected.

He was gathering all the documents.

I snagged a couple of pages.

He suddenly looked more like a dangerous villain in an old movie than a lawyer. “Those documents belong to me.”

I drew the papers close and jutted out my chin. “Come and get them.”

I’m not really all that brave. I just figured Fred wouldn’t let him hurt me.

“Lindsay,” my would-be protector said, “he’s right. Let him have his documents.”

I made a face at Fred but relinquished Sloan’s property.

He rose, clutching the papers. “You people are making a big mistake. An innocent woman is going to die because of your selfishness.”

Paula stood, and I could see her wavering. “She’s not my sister, but I will be happy to give you everything Mr. Lucas owned. I don’t want any of it.”

I stood up next to her and draped an arm around her shoulders in a friendly but restraining embrace. “What about Zach? He’ll be very unhappy if you give away his paintings. He loves those paintings. He loved Mr. Lucas.”

She closed her eyes.

I know her well enough to read her thoughts. She was thinking about shoving me to the floor then kicking me out the door.

Fred stepped forward.

Finally!

“We have had new developments in this situation, Mr. Sloan,” he said. “Before we can proceed, we need to determine if the woman we know as Lilly is still alive. We need proof of life from the kidnapper. And then we need to find out her true identity.”

Sloan moved closer to Fred, got up into his personal space. He was almost as tall as Fred, but he didn’t look nearly as frightening as he had when facing me down. Even so, he didn’t seem to be intimidated by Fred.

Fred is tall and lanky with white hair and glasses and always seems courteous and calm. When I first met him, I thought he was harmless.

I was wrong.

Sloan was in for a surprise, and I was going to enjoy watching him being taken down by the Fred-Man.

“DNA testing requires complex equipment and trained personnel,” Sloan said smugly. “You can’t do a DNA test in your bathroom.” He spit out the last word and smirked.

“No,” Fred agreed. “I have none of the requisite equipment in my bathroom. No thermocycler, no capillary electrophoresis machine, not even a centrifuge. But the lab to which I sent the DNA samples has all that equipment and more.”

Sloan took a step backward and blinked.

Fred 1, Sloan 0.

And we were just getting started.

“I will contact Keith and ask him for proof of life,” Sloan said. “I feel certain he will provide it. He’s misguided, but he’s not evil.” He turned to Paula. “I’ll be in touch with you soon.”

Paula followed Sloan to the living room. Even under these circumstances, she would be the perfect hostess and see him out.

I followed Paula.

Fred followed me.

I felt certain Rickie was bringing up the rear. With Sloan gone, he would want to get back to that dollhouse.

Sloan paused in front of the paintings that leaned against the wall. “We’re going to ask Keith for something. I think we should offer him something in return to show our good faith. How about this small painting?” He lifted the one of the mesquite tree in the desert with the starlit sky.

“That’s Zach’s,” I protested.

“I don’t think Zach would want it if he knew the truth about the man who painted it,” Paula said. “Take it, Mr. Sloan.”

I glared at Paula.

She glared right back at me.

Fred laid a hand on my shoulder.

I couldn’t tell if it was a comforting hand or a restraining hand.

Maybe both.

Sloan left.

Paula watched through the open door as his car drove away before she turned to us. “I am going to get my son, and all of you are going home. Rickie, does your mother know where you are?”

“I dunno,” Rickie mumbled.

I threw my hands into the air in frustration. “Aren’t you curious about this whole thing now that you know Mr. Lucas really was your grandfather? How could you give that man one of his paintings?”

“The big question,” Fred said quietly, “is why did he choose that particular painting?”

Fred has a way of stopping all discussion.

“Because he liked those twinkly stars?” I guessed.

Fred shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s possible they’ll be satisfied with the painting, and we’ll hear no more from them.”

Rickie and I exchanged a What about the dollhouse? look.

“There was nothing special about that painting.” Paula’s gaze lost a tiny bit of its certainty. “Was there?”

“I don’t know,” Fred said again. Amazing! Two things he didn’t know in one day. “Maybe it covered a masterpiece. Maybe the paint had flecks of gold in it. Those stars really looked twinkly.”

“I don’t care.” Paula lifted her chin. “I just want those people out of my life. I’m going to Sophie’s to retrieve my son, and I hope those people got whatever it is they wanted.”

We walked together to my house, then Paula crossed the street to Sophie’s house.

Rickie made it to my front door first. He was determined to get into that dollhouse.

But whatever was in there belonged to Paula, whether she wanted it or not.

Could this situation get any crazier?

A dark blue sedan drove past us and pulled into my driveway.

Yes, the situation could…and just did…get crazier.

It was Saturday night.

Trent and I always spent Saturday night together.

Somehow during the past few hours of chaos, that major bit of information had slid to the corner of my brain usually reserved for passwords and other inconsequential data.

Trent climbed out of the car, saw me, smiled, and headed toward me.

I smiled and waved.

Rickie said a four-letter word.

I didn’t call him on it. That same word had flown through my brain. I’m always happy to see Trent, but now he would have to be included in the Dollhouse Dilemma, and that might cause some problems.

We weren’t doing anything illegal.

Well, maybe we kind of were. We had taken the dollhouse from Mr. Lucas’ house. Maybe it sort of qualified as stolen property.

But Mr. Lucas was dead, so the property now belonged to Paula in accordance with the terms of the Beneficiary Deed.

She wouldn’t press charges against me.

However, Trent had that cop attitude that demanded he follow the precise letter of the law. He even thinks those speed limit signs defacing the highways should be taken literally.

I needed to get Paula over here so she could tell him not to arrest me and so she could claim whatever was in the dollhouse.

Or refuse to claim it. Whatever.

Trent approached and gave me a hug then turned to the others. “Hey, Fred, Rickie.”

They mumbled greetings in return and waited uncertainly.

Even Fred had not anticipated this new development.

“I was getting worried,” Trent said. “I’ve been calling you all afternoon, and you didn’t answer.”

“Oh, darn. I’m so bad about forgetting that silly cell phone.” I actually had forgotten about it. Not on my list of important items that afternoon.

He looked at Rickie and Fred, not people who usually hung out together. “What’s going on? Has something else happened with that lady who says she’s Paula’s sister?”

“A few things.” That was an understatement. I gestured to Fred and Rickie. “They’ll catch you up while I run across the street and get Paula.”

I darted away before any of them could ask questions or try to stop me. I headed straight to Sophie’s front porch where she hugged Zach good-bye while Paula waited.

“Paula! I need your help! Please help me!”

All three heads turned toward me.

“What’s wrong?” Sophie asked. “Is Fred okay?”

That made my heart happy, that she was worried about him. “Fred’s fine. He’s at my house, helping with…something we’re doing. Something very interesting. Why don’t all of you come to my house to watch?” The more people there, the less likelihood Trent would arrest me for possession of stolen property.

I turned and headed back home.

After that little melodrama, surely they would follow me to get answers.

Paula was probably not going to be happy with those answers, whatever they were, whatever was in that dollhouse.

Rickie was not going to be happy if he didn’t get a million dollars in cash.

Trent was not going to be happy that his girlfriend was involved in a burglary.

Fred would be happy if I told him Sophie had worried about him.

And I’d be happy if I didn’t go to jail.

Two out of five wasn’t bad.

I charged into the house with Paula, Sophie, and Zach close behind.

Trent, Fred, Rickie, and Henry were gathered around the dollhouse.

They all looked up as I came in.

“You stole this from Mr. Lucas’ house?” Trent asked.

Obviously Fred had caught him up to date on events.

“Technically, it’s Paula’s house now, and I borrowed it. We often borrow things from each other. She’s here now, and I’m returning it to her.”

Zach edged around the big people. “Look, Mommy, it’s a toy house, and Mr. Lucas made it.”

Paula took a couple of slow steps forward, moving as if in a trance. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “And it’s yours.”

Rickie scowled at me.

“You took this from Mr. Lucas’ house?” Paula asked.

“Yeah.” Took was a much nicer word than stole. That was a good sign.

“We’re preparing to open it,” Fred said. “Since it belongs to you, I believe you should preside. Unless, of course, you want to take it home with you and do it in private.”

Rickie turned his scowl to Fred.

So did I. What was he thinking to suggest something like that after we’d gone to so much trouble to get the thing here?

Paula waved her hands in front of her as if warding off an invisible evil. “No. I don’t want that thing in my house.”

“You said it’s beautiful,” I reminded her.

“It’s beautiful artwork, but—”

“Your grandfather made it.”

Her lips pinched. “Mr. Lucas was a very talented man, but I don’t want anything of his in my home.”

“Okay, we’ll do it here. Paula, do I have your permission to open this creation and expose the contents?” I asked.

“Sure.” She looked down at Zach. “Let’s go home.”

“No,” I said. “Legally speaking, you own this dollhouse, so you have to be here when it’s opened in order to certify the disposition of the contents.” Okay, it wasn’t exactly legally speaking. More like gibberish speaking. Often the two languages sound much the same.

She looked at me dubiously. She’s heard me do the gibberish thing before.

I attempted a sincere expression.

She caved. “Fine. Open it now. Let’s get this over with.”

I retrieved the flowerpot key from the drawer of my lamp table.

I wasn’t certain this key even fit the dollhouse lock. Or that there would be anything in the dollhouse. This could be another Al Capone’s Vault disappointment.

I moved slowly toward the dollhouse.

Rickie sucked in an audible breath.

Henry slid under the coffee table.

I got up close to the keyhole then fumbled around as if having trouble getting the key into the lock.

If this was going to be another Al Capone’s Vault, at least we should have some drama leading up to it.

I slid the key in.

Turned it.

The lock mechanism moved smoothly. It had been used recently.

“Open it!” Rickie demanded, impatient at my drama tactics.

Chapter Twenty

I pulled the small door open very slowly.

My hand bumped into Rickie’s face at the halfway point.

“Can you step back?” I asked.

He straightened. “I just want to see.”

“You will. We all will.”

I opened the door to finally reveal the contents of the dollhouse.

“It’s a book.” Zach beamed up at me. He was the only one short enough to see inside without stooping.

Rickie and I leaned down.

“He’s right.” Rickie stepped back. “Nothing but a damned book.”

I resisted the impulse to slap Rickie across the room. “A book is always a good thing, even if it’s a damned book.”

I withdrew the volume. It was bound in soft leather and had no identification. Not a published book.

“There’s gotta be more.” Rickie reached in, running his hand over the entire empty area. “There’s no money in here!”

“Rickie…” I sucked in a deep breath and bit back a few swear words. No point adding to his growing vocabulary. “Go get yourself a Coke. We’ll work out your money problem later.”

“But—”

“Now.”

He shot me an angry look then stomped across the room toward the kitchen.

I had a fresh twelve-pack of Cokes in my refrigerator. If Rickie drank them all, he would be very hyper, but I couldn’t worry about that now. One crisis at a time.

I opened the book to the first page. “It’s a journal. Lucas Harrington. It’s dated two weeks ago.” Only a few days before he died.

No one spoke.

“He has beautiful handwriting,” I said.

Again, silence.

I cleared my throat and turned the page.

“My dearest Melanie…or Paula, as you are now called…”

I paused.

I wanted to know how Paula was taking this, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at her.

“I have much to tell you, but I have not been able to work up the courage to say these things to you in person. I have made many mistakes in my life, and I don’t know if you can forgive me for some of them. I am your grandfather. I abandoned you and your sister, Lilly, when you were babies. That was one of my mistakes, and it was occasioned by another. I have regretted my actions all the years since and was thrilled to find you and Zach two months ago. I have been even more thrilled that you accepted me into your life. I am still looking for Lilly and—”

“Stop,” Paula said. She held out her hand. “It’s addressed to me. I’d like to read it in private.”

She had just admitted her relationship to Mr. Lucas.

She wanted to take his journal with her.

“Are you going to read it or burn it?”

She hesitated. “I don’t know.”

The journal belonged to her. It was her choice to read it or not. None of my business.

I closed it but didn’t offer it to her. “This could be evidence in a crime. Lilly…the woman pretending to be Lilly…has been kidnapped. This book may give us answers to what’s going on. I can’t let you destroy it.”

“She’s right,” Trent said in a quiet voice. “We need to know the contents.”

Paula nodded. “I won’t destroy it. I’ll bring it back later this evening. I’d just like to read it in private.”

I reluctantly handed the journal to her. I wanted to know the rest of the story now. But it did belong to her so I’d have to wait.

Paula and Zach left.

“Where’s Rickie?” Fred asked.

“In the kitchen, depleting my Coke supply, getting high on sugar and caffeine,” I said.

“He seemed very upset about finding that book in the dollhouse,” Sophie said. “Was he expecting something different?”

Fred nodded. “We need to help him.” He touched Sophie’s arm, and a look passed between them as though he was transmitting thoughts and she was receiving them. Were they both psychic? “I’ll call you.”

She nodded and left.

“Why did you do that?” I asked. “She’s always great with Rickie. We could use her help right now.”

“I think he may need some time guy-time.”

I looked at Trent. “Have you two been talking behind my back?”

Trent shrugged.

“Yes.” Fred turned and headed toward the kitchen.

Trent followed.

I reminded myself that I should be happy two of the important men in my life were bonding.

I looked under the coffee table.

The third important man in my life yawned, closed his eyes, and got comfortable. He wanted no part of this situation.

My inclination was to join him, but there wasn’t enough room for both of us under that coffee table so I followed Trent and Fred to the kitchen. Some guy-time? No good could come of that.

Rickie sat at the table, surrounded by empty Coke cans.

Okay, maybe not totally surrounded, but he had one in his hand, and three empties in front of him. His puppy-dog eyes were large and sad, and his boyish face had aged. He looked almost thirteen instead of almost twelve.

I joined them.

Nobody tried to run me off. I chose to interpret that as meaning they wanted me there.

“Let’s talk about your problems with Vince the Viper,” Fred said.

Rickie glared at me because I’d told his secret.

“Vince is going to kill him if he doesn’t bring a lot of money to their next meeting,” I said.

Rickie’s glare became more ferocious.

I spread my hands and tried to look innocent. “That’s what you told me.”

“That’s not what’s going on, is it, Rickie?” Fred’s voice was quiet, almost kind. “Remember, I can read your mind.”

Rickie dropped his gaze to the tabletop.

I hoped it didn’t burn a hole through the wood.

Fred closed his eyes and leaned his head back. “Vince wants money from you.” His voice was soft and slow and held a mystic tone. “But he’s not threatening to kill you.” He paused. “No, that’s not what you’re worried about.”

“Stop that!” Rickie said. “Don’t do that.”

Fred opened his eyes and laid a hand on Rickie’s shoulder.

Rickie shrugged it off.

“It’s okay,” Fred said. “I won’t tell anybody.”

I knew Fred couldn’t really read minds.

I was almost certain he couldn’t really read minds.

But whatever he was doing was impressive.

“Tell me,” I said. “I want to help Rickie, but I can’t if I don’t know what the problem is.”

Fred shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t betray a confidence.”

I did not realize keeping someone else’s thoughts confidential was one of the rules of mental telepathy.

I did not realize rules had been delineated for that activity.

Fred was making this up as he went along.

“I know what we can do to keep Vince from killing you,” I said. Fred isn’t the only one who can make up things on the fly. “We can report him to the police for allowing his minor son to use marijuana. Then his dad’s probation will be revoked, and Vince and his father will both go to prison.”

Rickie’s eyes widened in shock.

Trent opened his mouth to speak, but I kicked his leg under the table so all he could do was grunt.

We’d have to talk about this later, about why he let Fred get away with uttering nonsense but wanted to out me when I did it.

“It was just one time!” Rickie protested. “Vince didn’t bring it. I brought it. I got it from that man’s supply.”

I felt the color drain from my face. I’m quite pale normally, so I likely resembled a ghost at that point. I had not believed Rickie and his buddies were really smoking weed.

“That man?” Trent repeated.

“Rickhead,” I translated. “The sperm donor.” I directed a threatening look at Rickie. “Are you telling the truth this time? You stole illegal drugs from your father’s…from Rick’s drug supply?”

“Of course I’m telling the truth. I can’t lie with him here!” Rickie tilted his head in Fred’s direction. “Anyway, it’s not illegal in Missouri.”

“You’re a minor,” I said. “It most definitely is illegal for you. You and Rickhead will both go to jail.”

“They won’t put me in jail,” Rickie protested. “I’m just a kid.”

“Hasn’t been long ago you were bragging you’re almost twelve, not a kid anymore. Now you’re admitting to it?”

He shot to his feet. “I am not a kid! I’m almost a teenager. I can do anything them other boys can do.”

I bit my lip. I hadn’t meant to upset him this badly.

“You might as well tell them everything,” Fred said quietly. “It’s all going to come out anyway.”

It’s all going to come out anyway? What on earth did that mean?

I knew Fred was bluffing.

I knew that in my head.

But my gut believed he might actually know Rickie’s secret.

If I was half-convinced that Fred knew something, Rickie would be totally convinced. He would cave.

He did.

His shoulders drooped, and he sank back into his chair.

I got up, grabbed a fresh Coke from the refrigerator, popped the top, and set it in front of him. At this point, what was one more?

He wrapped both hands around the can but didn’t drink from it. “I haven’t got many friends,” he said to the tabletop.

His voice was tiny, the voice of a child, a sad child.

I sat and scooted my chair closer to his. “I don’t either. So?”

He almost smiled, though even if he’d managed, it would have been a pitiful attempt. “Yeah, you do. You got Paula and that cop and him.” He indicated Fred. “Even my mom likes you.”

I had learned to deal with rebellious Rickie, snarky Rickie, evil Rickie, obnoxious Rickie…but I had no idea how to deal with sad Rickie.

I looked at Trent then Fred, sending them both a silent message for help.

Either they didn’t get the message or they ignored it.

I drew in a deep breath. “I’m your friend.” As I said it, I realized it wasn’t totally a lie. In spite of everything, Rickie and I had kind of bonded over the last few years. Later I’d think about how that could possibly have happened and what the consequences might be.

The kid in question looked at me as if he wanted to believe but couldn’t quite get there.

I threw up my hands. “I helped you steal that dollhouse. I didn’t tell your mother about your middle of the night excursions. I gave you chocolate chip cookies. I gave you unlimited access to my Cokes. What more do I have to do prove I’m your friend?”

His expression didn’t change.

If I were trying to comfort Zach, I would hug him tightly, but I didn’t think that would be a good idea with Rickie, certainly not in front of two adult males.

I sat back in my chair, crossed my arms, and settled my features into a stern expression. “Are you my friend?”

“I...I guess so. Yeah. Sure.”

“Then it’s time for you to man up and be honest with me. As your friend, I’ll do whatever I can to help you, but you have to tell me what the problem is, and don’t give me any of that nonsense about those other kids…” I cleared my throat. “That nonsense about those other boys planning to kill you if you don’t show up with a fortune in cash.”

He blinked. Swallowed. Sat up straighter. Slumped. Looked at Fred. “The guys wanted me to get more weed, but that man figured out I took some of his stash and hid the rest from me. The guys won’t let me join their gang if I can’t bring them more weed or money to buy more weed.”

I closed my eyes. Clenched my fists. I couldn’t decide if I felt angry, astonished, sad, or appalled.

All of the above.

How dare those little brats do that to my friend?

I pried Rickie’s fresh Coke from his grasp and gulped half. Maybe not half, but enough to get my frenzied brain under control so I could figure out what to do about this crazy situation.

“When is their next meeting?”

“Tonight. I told them I’d have the money by tonight.”

“Okay. I’m going with you.”

“No, you’re not!”

Amazing that all three of them were able to shout those words in perfect unison.

Even more amazing any of them thought they could stop me.

Chapter Twenty-One

Rickie shot up from his chair. “I gotta go home for dinner.” He sped around the table, through the kitchen, into the living room.

“What time do you want to meet us to go to the meeting tonight?” I called after him.

He kept charging ahead, and I thought he wasn’t going to answer.

He reached the door, opened it, and stopped but didn’t turn around. “About nine, I guess.”

“Sounds good! Just come by here. We’ll be ready.”

He didn’t even slam the door behind him.

I was pretty sure he hadn’t learned any manners in the last few days, so I had to assume he was too freaked out for even that small show of rebellion.

He hadn’t asked for a cookie for the road.

Definitely freaked out.

“That didn’t work out so well,” Trent said.

I turned back to him and Fred. “Okay, shall we strategize about how we’re going to do this thing with Rickie’s tormentors tonight? The two of you could beat them up and I could zap them with my purple stun gun.”

Trent and Fred exchanged worried glances.

I hate it when they gang up on me.

“Kidding,” I said. “Rickie wants these boys to accept him. He wants to be a part of the group, to belong. He doesn’t have a real family. Grace tries to be a good mother, but she’s a little flaky. Chuck was a decent father for a little while, but then he got killed. Now Rickie’s stuck with Rickhead for a father, and that’s worse than no father at all. He’s never had a normal life. We need to get these miserable kids to take Rickie into their club, their gang. He’ll figure out later that being involved with the wrong people doesn’t help. But right now, he needs to be accepted.”

Trent cleared his throat. “That’s very…perceptive of you, Lindsay. I think this is the first time you’ve talked about Rickie without threatening to strangle him.”

I shrugged. “That part comes later. Now, are you in, or do I have to do this by myself?”

“Unless my memory fails me,” Fred said, “and it never does, you told Rickie you were going with him, and he told you that you were not.”

“Obviously he changed his mind. He agreed we could meet here at nine to go together. He needs us.”

Trent shifted in his seat. “About that us part, I didn’t volunteer.”

“Neither did I,” Fred said.

“Fine. I’ll go by myself. And by the time I’m finished with those obnoxious brats, they’ll be begging Rickie to join their stupid gang.” I didn’t have a clear idea of how I was going to do that…not even a fuzzy idea, actually, but I had a couple of hours to think about it. I’d come up with something. I could have used help from Trent and Fred, but I’d do it without them.

Fred left to take Sophie to dinner, and Trent ordered a pizza.

Trent and I ate pizza and made stilted conversation.

I tried to come up with a plan for later. Probably not a good idea to tell those snotty kids what a great kid Rickie was. That would likely defeat the purpose and make things worse. I needed to make him come off as tough and powerful.

We finished the pizza and settled on the sofa.

Trent picked up the remote.

My cell phone rang.

Paula.

She was calling, not texting.

She never interrupted my evenings with Trent unless it was something important.

This was more than an I’m out of chocolate chips, can I borrow some? call.

“Hi!” I tried to sound cheery.

“Hi.” One small word, two letters. It weighed at least a ton. “I’ve read the journal. I know Trent’s with you tonight, but do you think you could come by for a couple of minutes?”

I had often turned to Paula for help, for support. She rarely turned to me. She rarely needed help. “Of course. I’ll be right there.”

I disconnected. “It’s Paula.” I swallowed. “She read the journal. She wants me to come over for a few minutes.”

“Is everything okay?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Want me to come with you?”

“Yes, but I think it would be better if I go alone.”

He took my hand and squeezed it. “I’ll be right here if you need me, waiting for you and watching reruns of Investigation Discovery.”

“If there are some with Joe Kenda, be sure to record them for me.”

He arched an eyebrow.

“He’s so…smart.” I grinned.

“Nothing to do with the blue eyes or the way he drawls my, my, my?”

I gave him a quick kiss. “I’ll be back soon.”

The summer evening was winding down, the sunlight softer and the breezes cooler. The short walk to Paula’s house would have been pleasant if I hadn’t been so concerned about her.

She met me at the door before I could knock and lifted a finger to her lips. “Zach’s in his room watching TV. If he knew you were here, he’d want to join us.”

Ominous.

I followed her to the kitchen at the back of the house, farthest from Zach’s room upstairs.

The journal lay on one side of the table, and a fresh can of cold Coke waited on the opposite side. The only way this situation could have appeared more ominous would have been if she’d set out a bottle of wine and a large kitchen knife.

I took a seat in front of the Coke. “Thank you.”

She sat and picked up the journal. “Everything they said, it’s true.”

“No,” I said. “It’s not. The DNA tests proved you are not Lilly’s sister.”

“Yes, I know. I meant about the forgeries and the murder.” She handed the journal to me. “You can read it for yourself.”

“Maybe later. Right now, you need to give me the fast and dirty summary.”

She returned the book to the table and clasped her hands on top of it. “The story Sloan told us about how Mr. Lucas and Amelia met in college, it’s not true. They met in grade school. He did work as a salesman for an office supply company and painted in his spare time. Amelia worked in marketing and was very successful. Then they had Nora.”

Her hands clenched so tightly her knuckles turned white. She spoke in a robotic voice as if keeping all emotion at bay. “Nora’s mother died of breast cancer when Nora was seven years old. That part was true. Mr. Lucas wanted to spend more time with his daughter, but he had to work. So when Jonas Moncrief, the owner of the gallery where he had sold a few paintings, made him a deal, he jumped on it.”

“The art forgery thing,” I said.

She nodded. “He knew it was wrong, but he was desperate. He would have done anything for his daughter. The money was good, it wasn’t hurting anyone, he paid off his debts, worked from home, and raised Nora. She grew up, went to college, met and married Lieutenant Carson Fields. Mr. Lucas decided to stop forging paintings and go back to work as a salesman. But Moncrief was having financial problems because of his son, Keith, who was having problems with drugs. He had to pay for rehab and for lawyers to keep the boy out of prison. Moncrief was distressed and begged Mr. Lucas to help him.”

I blew out a long breath. “So the Keith Moncrief part is true.”

“It appears. About that time, Nora announced she was pregnant and her husband was shipping overseas. She came home to live with her father until Carson returned, and Mr. Lucas continued his work for Moncrief. Then Nora’s husband was killed in action, and Mr. Lucas resigned himself to continuing the forgeries so he could support Nora and his grandchildren. Yes, Nora was pregnant with twins. Lilly and Melanie.”

“So…but…I don’t understand. The DNA test showed that you’re Mr. Lucas’ granddaughter, but Lilly isn’t your sister. Is it possible for twins not to be related?” I shook my head. “No, of course not. I mean…”

“There is a Lilly Fields out there somewhere, but the woman we know as Lilly isn’t Melanie’s sister.”

“But you are Melanie Fields?”

Her lips thinned to a straight line. “There’s more to the story. Here’s the part Sloan didn’t mention. Here’s where everything goes off the rail.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

“The twins were born a couple of weeks early, probably due to Nora’s stress from losing her husband. But all three were fine. Nora and her father doted on the babies. In spite of losing Amelia and Carson, they were becoming a happy family again.

“But Jonas Moncrief’s life was getting worse. His son had borrowed money to buy drugs, and the lender was threatening his life if he didn’t repay the large sum of money. The man who had been facilitating the sales of the forgeries through the years came up with a new scheme so Moncrief could make some big money fast. He had a client with some diamonds he needed to move out of the country. Mr. Lucas’ job was to embed them in his artwork so they could get through customs.”

We spent a couple of moments in silence, sharing our telepathic thoughts about the painting Mr. Lucas had done for Zach, the one with all the shiny points of light in the sky and on the sand, the one Sloan had chosen to take with him.

Did those bits of paint look so shiny because they held diamonds in their depths?

What did Sloan know about the diamonds?

“Mr. Lucas refused. Selling artwork under fake names was one thing, but he would not break the law so blatantly, be involved in stealing from someone. Moncrief became angry. Said his refusal would cause Keith to be killed, and if that happened, he would kill Mr. Lucas’ daughter and granddaughters in revenge.” She paused and looked down at the journal, picked it up and opened it, then set the opened book in front of me.

If it had been anybody except Paula, I would have said her eyes were moist.

Lots of allergies this time of the year.

“You want me to read?” I asked.

“Please. But not aloud.”

I scanned the artistic handwriting, found where her recitation of the events had stopped, and began reading.

“He said if I didn’t help, his son would be killed and he would kill my daughter and grandbabies in revenge. I wasn’t sure I believed him, but I couldn’t take a chance. I agreed to camouflage the diamonds in artwork so they could be smuggled out of the country. He said he would get the diamonds from his partner and bring them to me later that evening. I went home. Nora knew nothing about the forgeries, and I didn’t want to worry her. But I felt I had to tell her about this recent development. Jonas was out of control. I feared he was capable of anything.”

This was like reading a novel. It was difficult to imagine the gentle Mr. Lucas involved in something so sordid.

“I told Nora everything…about the art forgeries and now the diamond scheme and Jonas’ threat. She was shocked by the forgeries, but said she could accept that part. However, forging paintings was a great deal different than being involved in smuggling diamonds that were most certainly stolen. She suggested we leave town and hide from Jonas. I had saved a little money, and this sounded like a good plan. We were packing necessities when Jonas came to the door with the diamonds.

“He saw the suitcases and went berserk. He grabbed Nora and held a knife to her throat. She fought him, but she was so small, and he was so big. I tried to calm him, assured him I would incorporate the diamonds into paintings and do anything else he asked me to do. He seemed to relax, handed me the envelope of diamonds, and I thought we had an agreement. Then he slashed Nora’s throat and declared that he would do the same to the babies if I tried to betray him again. He left, and I ran to Nora. I called 911 and tried to stop the bleeding, but she died in my arms before they arrived. Her last words were a request that I take care of Melanie and Lilly.”

No wonder Paula hadn’t wanted to tell me this part of the story. A description of her birth mother’s death. Even though she had not admitted that she was Melanie, Nora’s daughter, she knew it was true. DNA didn’t lie. This must have been difficult for her to read.

“The police came, and I told them it was an unknown intruder. I was afraid of retaliation against the babies if I told them it was Jonas. I stayed up all night, thinking about what I could do. What I had to do. Nora was gone. I couldn’t help her, but I had to protect the girls. Before dawn I bundled up Melanie and Lilly and took them to a nearby hospital known for taking in abandoned children and finding new families for them. I returned home and gathered a few personal items…some cash, family pictures, and Nora’s dollhouse. I took them to a storage locker and paid thirty years rent in advance in case I ever got out of prison. I went to the bank and had my savings account changed to POD to you and Lilly. I then returned home and set my house on fire to destroy all evidence of the existence of the babies so Jonas’ associates wouldn’t try to find them. I drove to Jonas’ place and shot him six times. I believe the first bullet killed him. The others were strictly my anger against him. I went to the nearest police station and turned myself in.”

There it was. Mr. Lucas had killed a man.

No, he had killed a monster. He got justice for the man who murdered his daughter and threatened his granddaughters.

“I confessed that I had lied about the intruder’s identity, that it was Jonas Moncrief. I told them he had killed my daughter and grandbabies, and I killed him. I refused to say anything further. I expected to die in prison, and I didn’t care. My grandbabies were safe. I settled into the routine of prison life and was actually a little surprised when they set me free. I retrieved the money and personal items from storage, and I set out to find Melanie and Lilly. I found you, Paula, my beloved Melanie, and your wonderful son, my great-grandson.

“I made the young couple next door an offer well over the market value of their house so I could live next door to you. I wanted to establish a friendship before I told you the truth. I wasn’t sure how you’d react to the horrors in my life. I have some leads on Lilly, and I hope to find her then tell you both at the same time.

“I am writing this down in case something should happen to me. I am probably being paranoid, but I fear Jonas’ associates may have found me. I began using the name Harry Lucas when I was released from prison, but never changed my name legally. I didn’t want to create records in the legal system, stir up my past. That may have been a mistake.

“I want you and Zach to know how very much I love both of you and how happy you have made me by accepting me into your lives.”

I flipped frantically through the rest of the pages, looking for more of the story.

They were all blank.

I closed the book. “That’s where Lilly got the pictures of your family. Rickie saw somebody in Mr. Lucas’ house before he died. He said it was a woman, and she was searching for something. He also said he saw Mr. Lucas with a lot of cash. The woman found his photo album and the cash.”

Paula sat straighter. “What? Rickie? He saw someone in Mr. Lucas’ house? He saw a lot of cash? When did this happen?”

I pushed my hair back and looked across the room. “Oh, recently.” That could mean any time in the last few days or months or years. The automobile is a recent invention. “Anyway, that explains how these total strangers got hold of those pictures.”

“Rickie saw a woman in Mr. Lucas’ house? Was it Lilly? She’s the one who had the pictures.”

“I don’t know. He could only see her silhouette. He described her as more…uh…robust than Lilly. Also longer hair, but hair can be cut. It makes sense. She’s not your sister. She’s not Mr. Lucas’ granddaughter.”

Paula drummed her fingers on the table. “She found the pictures and the cash, but not the diamonds. He doesn’t say what he did with the diamonds.”

“That’s why they were so interested in Mr. Lucas’ paintings. They figured he did what he’d promised as far as hiding the diamonds, and you had the paintings.”

“But I don’t anymore. Sloan chose the one that appeared most likely to have them. If it does, he has no more reason to harass me. Maybe this is finally over.”

“Speaking of Sloan…Mr. Lucas doesn’t mention him as a friend or as his lawyer. He tells us what he did the day after Moncrief killed Nora, how he rented the storage unit and changed his savings account to add Melanie and Lilly, but he doesn’t say anything about going to see Sloan or writing a new will.”

Paula nodded slowly. “Their story is an interesting mix of truths and lies. Who are these people? Where did they learn so many details?”

Loud knocks sounded on the front door.

I jumped so high my buttocks hurt when I landed back on the hard wooden chair.

Paula leapt from her chair and dashed up the stairs where Zach was watching TV.

Chapter Twenty-Three

I snatched up the journal and looked around for a hiding place.

If it was Sloan coming back, I didn’t want him to find Mr. Lucas’ story.

Plenty of cabinets and drawers. But what if someone wanted a glass to get a drink of water? Or a spoon for ice cream?

The refrigerator. Would the cold harm the writing?

The oven. What if somebody turned it on to preheat? Not that murderers usually preheated ovens.

The microwave. Nobody preheated a microwave.

I tossed it inside, grabbed Paula’s marble rolling pin from the counter, and went to answer the door.

I held the rolling pin behind my back, yanked the door open, and gasped.

The porch light shone on Mr. Lucas’ dollhouse suspended in mid-air.

What evil magic was this?

A closer look revealed Fred and Trent in the darkness on the sides, holding the structure.

Whew! That had been creepy.

“We’ve gone over it thoroughly,” Trent said. “Nothing else inside. No hidden compartments. It’s just a dollhouse. We thought Paula would like to have it since…” He shrugged. “It is hers.”

“And you need to come home,” Fred said. “Rickie’s waiting. It’s time for our expedition.”

I held up my arm and checked my watch. “Damn! I forgot!”

Both men stepped back.

“Why do you have that rolling pin in your hand?” Trent asked.

“Oh, this thing? We were just rolling out some cookie dough.” I moved aside to let them enter. “Paula,” I called up the stairs, “Trent and Fred are here. Why don’t you bring Zach down to say goodnight before you put him to bed?” I wanted to let her know it wasn’t Sloan or Keith at the door.

“Where should we put this?” Trent asked.

I swept Zach’s toys off the coffee table. “Right here.”

Zach came charging down the stairs, ran to Trent and hugged him then to Fred for another hug then to the dollhouse. “Is that the toy house you had, Aunt Lindsay? The one Mr. Lucas made?”

“Yes, and it’s yours now. Mr. Lucas wanted you and your mother to have it.”

Paula came down behind him and stopped when she saw the new addition to her furniture.

I handed the rolling pin to her. “We have to go,” I said. “Rickie’s waiting for us. See you tomorrow. Journal’s in the microwave.”

I hustled Trent and Fred out the door.

“Well,” Trent said as we went down the steps of Paula’s front porch, “that’s one way to be sure she doesn’t give it back.”

“She wants it. She’s just a little freaked out right now. You’re not going to believe what was in that journal.”

Rickie dashed from my front porch to join us. “What are you gonna say to Vince and the guys? I don’t think I like this. Don’t tell them not to be mean to me. That would be dumb. Are you gonna tell them I’m just a kid? I told them I’m already twelve years old.”

Trent laid a hand on his shoulder. “Relax. We’ve got this.”

Fred sighed loudly. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to get mixed up with these kids, but Lindsay says you want it, so we’re on your side. If you change your mind later, just remember, this was her idea.”

Rickie tried to look angry, but his eyes held a glint of pleading. “What are you gonna do when we get there?”

“We are going to make these kids beg you to join their gang.” I wasn’t quite sure how we were going to do that, and time was running out to develop a plan, but if all else failed, Fred could take control of their minds and make them want Rickie in their gang.

Rickie led us between houses and through back yards to a wooden storage shed that sort of resembled my garage in that it leaned to one side. Same side. Could be from prevailing winds in the area.

My garage got painted every few years, and this place seemed bare of paint. Perhaps daylight would have shown a few streaks, but nothing recent.

It was not an impressive meeting place even for the Street Rats.

We followed Rickie to the front door where he knocked three times in rapid succession then slowly two times. “It’s Scarface,” he called and pushed the door open to reveal a dimly lit interior.

“Hey, Scarface, what you got for us?” The voice broke into a high pitch on a couple of words. A kid going through puberty, trying and failing to sound tough.

Rickie hesitated in the open doorway. Fred and Trent each took an arm and the three of them proceeded inside. The event was reminiscent of Fred and Trent carrying the dollhouse to Paula’s front door, except Rickie’s feet were only about half an inch off the floor.

I came in last. I had their backs. It was an important position.

“Good evening, gentlemen.” Trent has a deep, sexy voice, but tonight it sounded deep and scary. This must be the way he talked to criminals to make them throw down their weapons and surrender.

“What the hell? Who’s he?” the first voice asked.

I peered around to see three boys sitting on the dirty wooden floor and a large kid standing, pointing to Trent.

Fred moved closer. “He’s Darkness and I’m Shadow. You must be Vince.”

Even Fred sounded menacing.

Vince’s mouth dropped open. He looked like a toad ready to snatch a fly from the air. Not a viper. Just a harmless toad.

“Who’s Roadkill?” Trent asked in that same calm but deadly voice.

Silence.

“He is.” Rickie pointed to a dark haired kid on the far side of the group. Rickie’s voice was weak, and his finger shook a little, but he was stepping up, getting into the game.

Trent turned his cop gaze on the kids. “You Badger?”

He didn’t indicate which kid he was talking to, but the one next to Roadkill dipped his head briefly in acknowledgement.

“So you must be Dirtbag.”

The remaining kid said nothing.

Except for Vince the Toad, they were just skinny young boys. They all wore ripped jeans and torn t-shirts, and they all needed to wash their hair and get a decent cut. Average kids. Running a scam on Rickie. Taking advantage of his vulnerability.

Vince drew himself up to his full height of maybe five feet. “You told them our names, Scarface? You know that’s against the rules. Why’d you bring these people here?”

I pushed past Trent and stepped closer to Vince the Toad. “Watch how you talk to our boy,” I said.

“Who…” He looked past me to Trent. “We don’t let no women in here.”

I leaned in closer, close enough to tell he’d had onions for dinner. “Mind your mouth. I go where I want to go. I’m the Dragon Rider.” Yes, it was a blatant rip-off from Game of Thrones, but I hadn’t had much advance notice to come up with a name. “You will address us with respect.” I draped an arm around Rickie’s shoulders.

He flinched but stood firm. All that Coke he’d had earlier was helping him deal with this situation.

Part of me thought these kids were going to laugh us out of the place for this ridiculous performance, but they appeared to be taking it seriously.

They seemed subdued.

Awed.

“Rick Kramer,” Fred said in that strange voice, “do you affirm that you wish to become a member of this group?”

Rickie didn’t respond. He probably didn’t recognize the name. I almost didn’t. Rick Kramer was the boy’s sperm donor. Rickie was Rickie and had used his mother’s last name, Gannon, for most of his life.

“He seems to be having second thoughts,” I said. “I don’t blame him.” I gave the boys a haughty, condescending look. “I think we should go. This is a waste of time.”

“I believe you’re right, Dragon Rider,” Fred said. “The Tree Serpents have a much better meeting place anyway.”

“The…the Tree Serpents?” Vince stammered.

“Guess you weren’t given the tour and invited to join, were you?” I snorted. “I’m not surprised. You’re not exactly Tree Serpent material.” I turned my back on Vince, forcing Rickie to turn with me since I still had him around the neck and I’m bigger than he is.

A small, chubby hand grabbed my arm.

Vince.

“Take your hands off her.” Trent’s voice had reached the you’re-about-to-be-shot-dead-in-your-tracks level. This time it had the ring of authenticity.

My heart smiled.

Vince jerked back. “Rickie…Scarface…” He reached for Rickie, looked at Trent, dropped his hand. “We…uh…we want you to join our gang.” The last few words came out in a falsetto tone.

Rickie stood as if frozen in place. He was probably a little overwhelmed.

“We were given to understand your gang collects membership dues.” Fred didn’t say, That’s a crime punishable by torture, but his tone implied it.

Vince’s mouth hung slack. Fred had used words with too many syllables. He didn’t understand the words, but he got the warning.

“He means you charge money to join your group,” I explained.

Vince shook his head so vigorously his chubby cheeks wobbled. “No! No!”

“You’re not charging Rick money to join?”

“No!”

“In that case, I guess Rick can dispense with the fee he would normally charge for his attendance.” I gently encouraged him to turn back to face Vince. “It’s up to you, Rick,” I said. “I think you should accept the offer of the Tree Serpents. They are giving you $50 to join, and their clubhouse is much nicer, but if you want to go with these…” I let my gaze linger briefly on each kid then lifted my upper lip in a sneer. “If that’s your choice, we’ll support your decision no matter how much we disagree with it.”

“Uh, well, I guess…” he stammered.

Vince interrupted him with a hearty handshake. “Welcome to the Street Rats, Scarface.”

The other boys hesitated, looked at Vince, then scrambled to their feet and rushed up to welcome their new member.

Rickie glanced at me, his expression a little confused.

I gave him a wink and a thumbs-up.

“Remember, Rick, we’ll all be taking drug tests tomorrow,” Fred warned, “so stay away from the hard stuff.”

“Make sure he gets home at a reasonable hour, boys,” I called, “because we’re going to be partying, and he’ll have to be the designated driver to get us home safely.”

“Wow! You drive?” Roadkill asked.

Fred, Trent, and I backed quietly out of the shed and closed the door behind us.

We made it almost a block through the darkness before I could no longer hold in the laughter. I leaned against a tree and cracked up.

Trent joined me, and Fred even chuckled.

“Tree Serpents?” I asked when I could get my breath. “Darkness and Shadow?”

“Dragon Rider?” Trent said. “Really?”

“Hey, I might have been able to come up with something better if you’d told me the plan in advance.”

“We didn’t exactly have an opportunity,” Fred said. “We didn’t think it would be a good idea to let Rickie in on it. He might have reacted improperly.”

“Improperly.” I considered the word then laughed some more. “He was totally freaked out. Terrified.”

“And he didn’t say anything that would have caused a problem. It all turned out quite well.”

“It did,” Trent said. “As to what happens now that he’s a member, we have no control over that.”

I shrugged. “He’s a kid. He’ll go through a lot of crazy things the next few years.”

“He’s already gone through more than most kids,” Trent said.

“But we helped him overcome one issue.” I linked my left arm through Trent’s right, and my right arm through Fred’s left. “You guys are the best.”

Fred nodded. “Agreed. It’s past my bedtime. We need to get home now.”

I wanted to ask if Sophie was waiting for him, but it was none of my business.

I’d probably still ask if Trent wasn’t there, but I didn’t want him to hear me being nosy.

We sauntered homeward, arms still linked.

As we approached the yard between Paula’s house and mine, I suddenly remembered the contents of the diary.

“Before we part, I have some very interesting things to tell you that we learned from Mr. Lucas’ journal.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Henry was waiting on my front porch when we got to my house.

The four of us went inside. Trent and I sat on the sofa, Fred took my favorite armchair, and Henry lay on the floor.

Fred didn’t seem surprised by any of the information from the journal, but he rarely seems surprised. He did make one telling comment. “That explains why Lucas’ house burned down the same day he turned himself in.”

He knew more than he was telling us. No surprise there either.

Trent ran a hand through his hair. “I had hoped this would end with the DNA results, proof we know this is all a scam. But the entries in the journal put a new spin on things. Paula gave them a painting, but if they’re looking for diamonds, they may not give up so easily.”

I sat forward. “Unless the diamonds were hidden in that painting. Sloan chose the one with the sparkly sky and sand. Maybe Sloan and Lilly and Keith have the diamonds and they’ll leave Paula alone.” I slumped back in my seat and frowned. “And that would be great, except they shouldn’t get away with stealing the diamonds and lying to Paula and killing Mr. Lucas.”

Trent took my hand. “They didn’t steal anything. Paula gave them the painting and that includes anything that might be hidden in that painting. Lying is not against the law, and why do you think they killed Mr. Lucas?”

I took back my hand. “Don’t you find it an incredible coincidence that these people showed up right after he was murdered?”

Trent retrieved my hand. “His death was declared accidental. We found no evidence of murder. Why do you think it was murder?”

I considered telling them what Rickie had seen, but that was not my story to tell.

I freed my hand a second time and held up one finger. “The coincidence.” I added another finger. “Mr. Lucas was strong and healthy, not likely to fall downstairs.” I held up a third finger and hesitated. There was no real evidence except Rickie’s story. “My gut tells me it was murder.” I glared at Trent and Fred, defying them to challenge me on that one.

They exchanged glances then nodded.

I blinked, confused. “Are you…agreeing with me?”

“Yes,” Fred said. “We had time to chat about this situation when you were at Paula’s, and we both feel Mr. Lucas was murdered. However, we have no evidence other than your gut, which is not admissible in court.”

“Yeah,” Trent agreed. “At best, Paula might have a civil suit against them for scamming her out of that picture, but it’s going to be hard to get them for anything criminal.”

“You don’t think Lilly…or whoever she is…has really been kidnapped?”

Both men shook their heads.

Henry rolled his eyes.

Yeah, it was a pretty silly question.

“So what do we do now?” I asked. “How do we get evidence?”

Silence.

Fred cleared his throat. “We’re still working on that. Do you have any ideas since you’re the one who brought it up?”

“We could…” I tried to think of something fast but nothing came.

Henry rose, stretched to his full impressive length, gave a big yawn, and headed toward the stairs.

“Henry has just reminded us that it’s late, and we were all up most of last night with those alerts from the camera on Paula’s house. We’ll be able to think more clearly tomorrow after a good night’s sleep.”

“That cat does have some good ideas,” Trent said.

Fred left, and Trent and I followed Henry upstairs where I snuggled into Trent’s arms and fell asleep almost immediately.

***

I woke to Henry’s big paw tapping my cheek gently but firmly.

“Really? Why can’t you be a little less fastidious and use a litter box once in a while, especially in the middle of the night?”

I slid out of bed, grabbed a robe—and stopped at the sound of someone calling my name.

Henry wasn’t going to fool me again. I knew he couldn’t…or wouldn’t…talk.

The sound was coming from my open bedroom window.

My open bedroom window on the second floor.

Was this a vampire?

“Aunt Lindsay!”

Not a vampire, a Street Rat.

I peered out the window.

Rickie hung from a limb of the oak tree that almost but not quite reached my bedroom window.

“What are you doing?” I whispered.

Rickie swayed on the limb and grasped at the window sill. My house is old, so the sill is large. He got a tentative hold on it. “She’s back!”

“Who’s back? Please get down from that tree before you fall.”

“Meet me downstairs,” he said. “Kitchen door. I don’t want them to see us.” He disappeared into the foliage.

Did this have something to do with the Street Rats? It would not surprise me to know that situation had gone horribly wrong.

But he’d said she’s back. No women allowed in the Street Rats.

I abandoned the robe, pulled on jeans and a t-shirt and tiptoed downstairs.

I opened the kitchen door to find Rickie standing on the patio, a few scratches on his arms, some oak leaves in his hair, and a look of terror on his face. “That car pulled up in front of Paula’s house with that woman, and now Sloan’s trying to get in her house. We gotta help her!”

I gave a passing thought to waking Trent but decided against it. I wasn’t sure Rickie actually saw anybody. He didn’t sound completely coherent. Maybe the Street Rats had been smoking something after all.

Even if Sloan was trying to get into Paula’s house, she had at least three locks on every window and door, and she knew how to call 911.

Nevertheless, it wouldn’t hurt for me to check out the situation. I could call in the special forces if necessary.

Except I didn’t have my cell phone.

I hesitated.

The sound of knocking came through the still night air.

Not pounding.

Just knocking like a normal person would knock during a normal day.

Except it was after midnight.

I could hear a muffled voice but couldn’t understand what it was saying.

“Come on,” Rickie urged.

Suddenly he was making sense. I dashed out the door and ran toward Paula’s house.

No shoes.

Glad there were no thorny bushes.

Rickie was right. The black sedan squatted in the street, and Sloan, still wearing his lawyer suit and tie at midnight, stood in the glow of Paula’s porch light, head pressed against the door. “I know it’s late,” he said, raising his voice, “but this is very important. I have proof that Lilly’s alive, but Keith has done something terrible to her.”

I moved out of the shadows toward the porch. “What are you doing here?”

He jumped, gasped, whirled toward me. “You!”

“Yeah, me. I live next door. I’m Paula’s best friend. I have insomnia, and I have every right to be here. You don’t.”

He shook his head and looked sad. “Keith hurt Lilly. I don’t know what he’ll do next.”

I climbed the steps, folded my arms, and confronted Sloan. “We already know that Lilly isn’t the real Lilly, so what kind of scam are you trying to pull now?”

He lifted a small plastic container, the kind I might use to store a couple of brownies or cupcakes.

“You’re bringing Paula dessert in the middle of the night?” I shook my head. “She doesn’t want it. Go home.”

He peeled off the lid and held it closer to me.

In the dim light I could see the white edges of something—handkerchief? napkin?—with dark coloring in the center and…something I couldn’t identify.

I looked at Sloan.

The pale glow of the porch light created shadows on his thin features and facial hair, giving him the appearance of a villain in a melodrama.

My dislike of the man might have contributed to that image.

“What is it?” I asked.

Sloan straightened and loomed over me. His eyes bored into mine with evil intensity. “Lilly’s finger.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

I was so tired, my hearing wasn’t working right. Sloan could not have said what I thought he said.

“Lady fingers?” I asked.

He shook his head slowly. “Keith cut off Lilly’s finger.”

My gaze darted to the contents of the container then flicked quickly away.

Not possible.

I gulped.

It was possible.

Whoever these people were, they were dangerous and more than a little crazy.

The door opened behind Sloan.

He spun around, and I moved toward the opening, trying to get between him and that door, to protect Paula from that thing Sloan held.

She stood in the doorway clutching a robe tightly around her. “I would appreciate it if the two of you could go somewhere else to hold your middle of the night reunions. My son and I are trying to sleep.”

I cleared my throat. “Can we come in?”

“No.”

Sloan lifted the plastic container, almost shoving it in her face.

Paula jerked back.

“Keith…” I couldn’t bring myself to say it.

Sloan pressed the lid back onto the container and handed it to me.

I accepted it reflexively then tried to give it back. “I don’t want this.”

He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, tapped it a couple of times and turned the screen toward Paula. “Proof of life and proof of mutilation.”

Paula froze.

I snatched the phone from Sloan and stared at the picture.

Lilly…or whatever her name was…looking sad, holding up her left hand with the little finger bandaged.

Sloan took his phone and his plastic container from me.

I was happy to relinquish them.

Paula stepped back and held the door open. “Come in.” Her voice had become quiet, oddly calm.

“Why don’t we go to my house?” I said. So I could wake up Trent and get him involved in this.

“I’m not going to wake Zach to go with me nor will I leave him here alone,” Paula said.

Sloan stepped inside.

I looked behind me, between the houses, in the shadows, hoping I could see Rickie and give him some secret signal that he should get Trent.

Rickie had disappeared.

That wasn’t like him to leave the scene of the excitement.

Perhaps he’d already gone to fetch Trent.

I followed Sloan inside. I couldn’t leave Paula alone with him.

Paula sat in an armchair near the window, back straight, face wearing an odd combination of fear and anger. I understood why she’d feel both. What I didn’t understand was why she had let Sloan into her home.

The unwelcome guest sank onto one end of the sofa and set his container with its grizzly contents on the coffee table which no longer held the dollhouse. I didn’t know if that was a good sign or not. Had she put it in a safe place or had she chopped it into pieces and tossed it in the trash?

“I don’t suppose you could make some of that wonderful coffee,” Sloan said.

“No.” Paula clutched her robe more tightly. “We have proven that Lilly is not my sister, and she is not Mr. Lucas’ granddaughter, so I don’t understand why you’re here.” Her voice was stronger and louder now.

Sloan looked down at his hands folded in his lap. “I can’t explain the DNA tests, but Lucas Harrington believed Lilly was his granddaughter. She believes she was his granddaughter. Keith believes it.”

My jaw dropped at hearing such blatant lies. After reading Mr. Lucas’ journal, we knew this wasn’t true. “No,” I said. “Mr. Lucas—”

Paula cut me off in mid-sentence. “Did you tell Keith about the DNA tests, explain to him that the woman he’s holding is not the real Lilly?” she asked.

“I tried,” Sloan said. “He didn’t believe me.” He leaned forward and extended his hands in supplication. “Whoever Lilly is, she’s an innocent victim in this mess. We can’t let him torture her and kill her.”

“Even though you tried to reason with Keith, he cut off this woman’s finger anyway, and you brought it to show me along with a picture of her alive but missing a finger?”

She was really freaking out, repeating all that stuff in a loud, unnatural voice.

“That’s correct,” Sloan said. “He’s not rational. I’m afraid he’s going to kill her.”

“May I see the picture and the finger again? The light outside was dim.”

I couldn’t believe she wanted to see them again. One time in dim light was more than enough for me.

Sloan took the container and his phone over to Paula.

She studied both then nodded. “If I give you everything Mr. Lucas owned, Keith won’t kill this woman, whoever she is. Is that correct?”

“He says he won’t if he gets everything Lucas Harrington owned.”

“You said he’s unstable. How can we trust him to keep his word?”

Sloan returned to the sofa, put his grizzly possession on the coffee table and his phone in his pocket. “We have no choice but to trust him. Otherwise, he’ll kill Lilly. I think this is all about control, wanting to have everything he feels was stolen from his father. I really believe he’ll take it and leave.”

“Do you know where he’s holding Lilly?”

Sloan shook his head. “The finger was left at the front desk of my hotel, and the picture was sent to my phone.”

“Hey,” I said, “Fred can look at the metadata on that picture, trace it to the cell phone that sent it, and we can track the signal and find Keith and Lilly.”

Judging from the panicky look on his face, Sloan didn’t know any more about cell phones and tracking than I did and had fallen for my gibberish. “Keith said he’d kill her if we bring in the police.”

“Fred’s not police. He’s closer to a criminal than he is to a cop. I’ve seen him do some very illegal things. He doesn’t care. He knows how not to get caught. He’ll take down Keith before the creep knows what hit him, and nobody will ever find the body.”

Sloan licked his lips. “Fred? Your tall friend with white hair?”

“Let’s get back to how we can help Lilly,” Paula said.

I shot her a questioning look. I thought I had been helping, letting Sloan know we didn’t fear Keith.

“I want to hear exactly what Keith has done to Lilly,” Paula said.

Why would she ask something like that? I didn’t want to hear it. But I said nothing. Perhaps this was her strange way of dealing with this new development.

“He cut off her finger,” Sloan said.

“Can you speak up?” Paula asked. “I can’t hear you from so far across the room.”

It was a small room.

I said nothing.

“He cut off her—”

The front door flew open.

Rickie ran inside, screaming, “Help! Help!” at the top of his lungs.

Sloan made it to the door first and grabbed Rickie, wrapping both arms around his thin torso.

I got there second and grabbed Sloan by both ears. “Turn him loose!” I screamed into the left ear while yanking the right as hard as I could.

He released Rickie and grabbed his ears with both hands.

A woman with long blond hair rushed into the house. “Get back here, you little bastard!”

Rickie pointed a shaking finger at her. “You killed Mr. Lucas!” He turned and dashed across the room.

She ran after him.

Long blond hair.

Big boobs.

Damn! He’d been telling the truth.

“Fred!” Paula shouted. “Help!”

Paula was totally freaking out. Fred couldn’t hear her shouting. He was asleep two houses away.

Unless she was trying to reach him telepathically. Maybe we’d find out if he really was psychic.

The woman caught up to Rickie when he tripped over one of Zach’s toy trucks and stumbled.

I ran toward them but Sloan grabbed my arm and yanked me backward.

I cursed, whirled, and punched him in the throat.

He grabbed my other arm and pulled me back against him.

I lifted my bare foot and pressed my heel against his knee, pushing it backward.

He cursed, turned loose of me, fell to the floor, and cursed some more.

A lot.

Repetitive, though. Not a large vocabulary. Unimpressive.

“Police!”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Police?

It took a moment for that shout to make sense, for me to recognize the voice.

Trent stood in the doorway, holding up his badge.

I was really glad to see him, but I wished he was holding up a gun instead of his badge. This was no time for following rules and regulations.

He wore jeans and a t-shirt. No place to even hide a gun.

“Officer, I’m so glad you’re here!” someone shouted.

I turned to see the unknown woman trying to subdue a squirming, kicking Rickie.

“She killed Mr. Lucas!” Rickie gave a final shove and freed himself then stumbled across the room toward me.

“What?” the woman asked. “Who’s Mr. Lucas? Officer, I was sitting in Gilbert’s car out front, and this kid attacked me, started accusing me of killing somebody.” Her voice was raspy, as if she’d smoked too many cigarettes.

Rickie moved close to me and tried to catch his breath. “She’s the one I saw that night. She pushed him down the stairs.” He looked at Trent. “I saw her in that car outside and went to get Lindsay. Then I went back to the car, and she caught me looking and grabbed me and yanked me inside.” He rubbed his arms. “She’s pretty strong for an old woman. I got away from her, and she chased me in here.”

“You saw this woman push Mr. Lucas down the stairs at his house?” Trent sounded calm, but his voice was a little loud. Wait until he saw the finger. He’d really freak out then.

But Rickie nodded energetically in response to Trent’s question.

Rickie had told me he didn’t see the woman push Mr. Lucas, just assumed she did. He was lying to one of us. I suspected that one was Trent.

Sloan had managed to struggle to his feet and was straightening his tie.

Who straightens a tie in the midst of chaos like this?

“Mr. Trent,” he said, “how nice to see you again. I did not realize you were an officer of the law. We’re very glad you’re here. This lady is Maribeth Moncrief. Her husband kidnapped Lilly…a young woman we thought was Lilly. We’re trying to get things straightened out.”

Trent regarded Sloan in silence for a moment. “That’s a good idea. Let’s all sit down and talk about it. I’m sure we can work this out.”

Rickie pushed me toward the sofa and sank down next to me.

For a moment, I thought Sloan was going to sit on my other side, but Trent got there first.

Sloan and Maribeth settled in chairs across the room.

For the first time since Rickie stormed in the door, I checked to see how Paula was doing with this latest insanity.

Zach was sitting in her lap, watching the scene with wide, fearful eyes.

I hadn’t seen him come downstairs, but it wasn’t surprising the noise had awakened him.

Maybe a good thing Trent didn’t charge in with guns blazing.

“Glad you went back and got Trent,” I whispered to Rickie.

He shook his head. “I didn’t. That woman caught me spying on her and dragged me into the car like I said. I just now escaped.”

I turned my gaze on that woman. “You’re married to the crazy man who cut off Lilly’s finger? I mean…the woman we thought was Lilly. Somebody’s finger.”

She shrugged. “Things have been tough for him since his daddy was killed.”

“That was thirty years ago.”

She frowned, causing the wrinkles around her eyes to deepen.

Note to self: Don’t frown. It’s not a good look.

“We had a hard life. All he wants is to get back what Lucas Harrington stole from us.”

“Did your husband kill Mr. Lucas? I mean, Mr. Harrington?” I asked.

“No. He has an alibi for the night that man fell down the stairs.”

How did she know what night Mr. Lucas fell down the stairs?

Unless she was there.

Unless she pushed him.

“Where is your husband holding Lilly?” Trent asked.

“I don’t know. Gilbert had me fly in from Dallas today to try to reason with him.”

“Little late for that,” I said. “Cutting off a finger isn’t reasonable.”

“Mr. Sloan,” Trent said, “could I have a look at that finger?”

I flinched.

But, as a cop, he was probably used to seeing body parts.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Sloan said. “It could be evidence. It should be kept untainted.”

I snorted. “Too late. I sneezed on it.” I didn’t, but he was being ridiculous. Paula and I had both viewed the finger already.

“I know how to handle evidence,” Trent said.

Sloan rose and brought the plastic container to him.

“And the picture of Lilly,” Trent said.

Had we mentioned the picture?

Was Trent learning telepathy from Fred?

Sloan withdrew his phone from his pocket, pulled up the picture, and showed it to Trent.

Trent shook his head sadly. “Poor girl.”

I expected him to ask for a copy of the picture, but he didn’t.

He removed the lid from the plastic container and studied the contents.

The contents. Euphemistic way to say a bloody finger.

To my surprise, shock, horror, and total disgust, he grasped the edges of the napkin, lifted the contents, and examined it closely.

I looked the other direction.

“This isn’t a real finger,” he said. “It’s one of those Halloween things. Blood isn’t real either.”

My head spun back toward him and the thing he held.

Up close, in the bright light of Paula’s living room, it was obviously a fake.

I had freaked out and not paid close enough attention when I saw it the first time.

I gave myself a mental slap upside the head for being taken in by Sloan’s parlor trick.

Trent returned the contents to the container, fitted on the lid, and handed it back to Sloan.

“Oh, well, that’s great news.” Sloan didn’t sound as if he thought it was great news.

He didn’t sound surprised by the great news either.

“So maybe this Keith person isn’t as evil as you think he is,” Trent said.

“He just wants what’s ours,” Maribeth said.

Trent nodded. “I see. The message was that your husband wants everything Mr. Harrington owned. Can we negotiate for a smaller portion of the estate? The house? The savings account? Paula only owns half, and the woman Keith kidnapped doesn’t own any of it, so we’re not in a position to give him everything. Paula gave you a painting. What else does he want?”

Maribeth shot to her feet. “That painting is worthless!” She pointed an angry finger at Paula. “Her grandpa stole millions of dollars in diamonds from Keith’s daddy. We want those diamonds!”

With a quick move, Zach slid out of his mother’s lap and planted his feet firmly on the floor. “My painting isn’t worthless. Mr. Lucas made that for me, and he told me the story about those stupid diamonds.”

He took a couple of steps toward Maribeth, but Paula pulled him back to her.

He balked at her knees, refused to climb into her lap, folded his arms and set his jaw in a perfect imitation of his mother when she got stubborn. “I want my painting.”

Maribeth strode closer to Paula.

Trent rose from the sofa and moved closer to Maribeth.

“And what did Mr. Lucas tell you about those diamonds?” Maribeth demanded.

“He’s a child,” Paula said. “He doesn’t know anything about your diamonds. Leave him alone.” She again tugged on Zach.

He again resisted, his small jaw tilting upward and clenching more tightly. “Give it back. Mr. Lucas didn’t make it for you. He told me the story and he made a picture of that story for me.”

Maribeth knelt in front of Zach. “Please tell me Mr. Lucas’ story,” she said, her voice deceptively sweet.

Zach pulled back from her. He didn’t trust that pseudo-sweetness either.

“Please?” she said. “I love stories.”

“Did Mr. Lucas really tell you a story about some diamonds?” Paula asked.

“Uh huh.”

“I would also like to hear this story, Zach,” Paula said. “Please tell all of us.”

He studied his mother for a moment then turned to face the rest of us. “Once upon a time there were some bad diamonds. They hurt a lot of people. Mr. Lucas took them out to the desert in Texas and threw them as high as he could.” He threw his arms into the air to demonstrate. “Mr. Lucas can throw a baseball really far. Some went all the way up in the sky and some fell on the sand, and they all turned into good diamonds.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“You’re lying!” Maribeth shot to her feet and surged toward Zach.

Paula shot to her feet, thrust her son behind her, and pushed Maribeth backward.

Paula’s petite. Maribeth probably outweighed her by fifty pounds.

But Maribeth had tried to assault Paula’s son.

Her butt hit the floor hard.

Trent closed the distance in two strides, caught Maribeth’s shoulders, lifted her to her feet, and restrained her.

Paula picked up Zach and dashed upstairs with him.

Lilly rushed across the room to Maribeth’s side. “Oh, Mama, what have you done now?”

I blinked a couple of times and shook my head to clear it.

Lilly?

Where had she come from?

The front door, obviously, but I hadn’t seen her come in.

I had been focused on the activity across the room.

And had not expected to see her. She was being held for ransom and tortured.

Yet there she was with both little fingers intact.

Calling that woman “Mama.”

“Damnit, Hannah! I told you to stay in the car!”

Hannah?

Maribeth struggled to get free of Trent.

He released his hold but remained close.

Maribeth continued to shout at the former Lilly. She had a really foul mouth. Rickie was probably learning a lot of new words. She drew back her hand as if to slap Hannah.

Hannah dodged expertly as though the movement was a familiar one.

Sloan moved into my field of vision, slipping across the room toward the front door.

I leapt up and grabbed the back of his jacket.

He slid out of the jacket and ran the rest of the way to the door.

I went after him, but Rickie darted past me and tackled Sloan just as he opened the door.

Sloan fell through the doorway and landed face down on Paula’s porch.

Part of me hoped his nose was broken, but that would mean blood on Paula’s porch.

Ah, what the heck. We could clean her porch. I was hoping for a broken nose.

Maybe a few missing teeth.

Rickie scrambled to his feet, looked out the door, and backed up.

Was the sight of Sloan’s head that bad?

He was still alive. His legs moved as if he was trying to stand.

That wasn’t good. We couldn’t let him get away.

I tossed his jacket on the sofa and looked around for a weapon to whack him over the head.

A Nerf ball, a drawing tablet, a few plastic dinosaurs. I didn’t want to break any of Zach’s toys.

Sloan had his feet under him and was in a crouching posture.

I lifted a bare foot and shoved his rear.

He toppled forward again.

Rickie grabbed my arm and pointed out the door.

Fred stood on the top step, watching Sloan’s efforts to rise. “I’m not going to help him up,” he said. “If you keep kicking him down, I’ll have to wait here all night.”

Fred had heard Paula’s call for help. Super-hearing or psychic ability?

Across the room, Maribeth still shouted at her daughter.

Sloan staggered to his feet. I didn’t interfere this time.

Fred spun him around and frog-marched him inside.

Sloan didn’t protest. He looked dazed, and his nose was bloody.

One point for the good guys.

“Gilbert!” Maribeth shrieked. She charged over to Sloan.

Hannah followed close behind. She was no longer the perky blond Lilly. Her shoulders drooped, and she looked sad. Beaten. Defeated.

“He threw them away!” Maribeth wailed. “The kid said that bastard threw them in the desert and then he painted that damned picture about them.”

“Maribeth,” Sloan said, “shut your freaking mouth.”

His words were slurred, and he didn’t say freaking.

She shook her head. “Our diamonds are out there in the Texas sand somewhere. We’ll never find them.”

“Shut up, you old hag, and don’t get us in more trouble.”

“It’s a little late for that,” Fred said. “I’ve got everything recorded from the time Paula let you inside.”

“You recorded us?” Maribeth screeched. She launched herself at Fred, but Trent caught her again.

Sloan sneered. “You can’t record me without my permission. That’s not legal.”

“Actually, it is legal. Missouri is a one-party consent state. Just like Texas where you practice law, so you should be familiar with the concept.”

Sloan snorted. “And whose consent do you have?”

“He has mine.” Paula had returned after—I presumed—stashing Zach somewhere safe.

Sloan narrowed his eyes at her. They were beginning to swell closed anyway. “When did you do that? I’ve been here, and this man did not come in to ask for your consent at any time.”

Paula put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes right back at him. “He called me while you were knocking on my door, pleading with me to let you come inside in the middle of the night. I’d never have let you into my home if I hadn’t known Fred was watching and recording everything.”

“Wait a minute,” I interrupted. “You knew Fred was watching all the time?”

“I sat beside the window and spoke loudly to enable his recording. I assumed you’d pick up on that.”

I had noticed it but hadn’t drawn any conclusions. Paula was giving me too much credit. I wasn’t going to admit it, of course. “Fred saw Sloan before I got here? He called you?” I turned to Fred. “How did you know he was here? This proves you’re psychic.”

“Have you forgotten the cameras we set up to monitor Paula’s house? When Sloan went down her walk, I called Paula, grabbed my recorder, and headed over.”

“Oh, yeah. But Trent turned off that app so we could sleep. He didn’t get the alert. Did you call him?”

Fred shook his head.

“Your cat got me out of bed,” Trent said. “He lay on my chest and almost broke my ribs. That cat needs to go on a diet. He kept purring loud enough to wake the dead and hitting me in the face with his giant paw until I got up. You were gone, the back door was open, and I saw you going into Paula’s house.”

Henry had been on duty, looking out for me. I’d give him catnip when I got home. And assure him he didn’t need to go on a diet, that he just had big bones.

“I saw Trent leaving your house and pulled him into the game,” Fred said.

Sloan took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the blood from his nose. “We didn’t say anything you can use against us. If anybody’s in trouble, it’s you and whoever knocked me onto the porch. That’s assault. You need to release me right now. Maribeth, call the police.”

Trent lifted his badge again. “Police are already here, but you can feel free to call for backup, Maribeth. Actually, Maribeth did make some statements about some diamonds that we can use to prove a fraud case against Paula.”

Maribeth snorted. “Go ahead and try. We’ll keep you tied up in court for the rest of your life, won’t we, Gilbert?”

Sloan flinched. “Maybe.”

Trent turned and pulled Rickie into the group. “We have this boy’s statement that he saw you push Mr. Lucas down the stairs, an action that resulted in his death.”

Rickie gulped and looked at me.

I tilted the corners of my mouth upward and tried to look positive.

I really hoped they weren’t counting on Rickie’s testimony. It was one thing to lie to a cop you knew on a personal basis, but quite another to lie in court.

Fred moved to the side and put an arm around Hannah’s shoulders. She was hanging back, obviously reluctant to confront her mother again. “I found this young lady in the back seat of Sloan’s automobile after Rickie and Maribeth ran into the house. She and I had an illuminating conversation, also recorded with consent.”

Hannah lifted her head. Her eyes were red. “I’m sorry, Mama. I had to tell him. These are nice people. We can’t hurt them any more than we already have.”

Maribeth lunged toward her daughter and grabbed her around the throat.

Fred pried her fingers loose, and Trent pinned her arms behind her back.

She spewed more invectives against Hannah, Fred, Trent, Rickie, Sloan, the mailman, Santa Claus…

Hannah rubbed her neck and looked as if she was going to burst into tears at any second.

“Are you okay?” Fred asked. “Need some water?”

She shook her head.

“Very well. Hannah, can you tell the others what you told me about this situation?”

She drew in a deep breath and nodded. “I was a baby when my granddad was killed by Lucas Harrington. I don’t remember anything about it. But my daddy—”

“That would be Keith Moncrief?” Fred asked.

“Yeah. He talked about it a lot, how much he hated the man who killed his daddy and how we could be living in a big mansion if granddad was still alive.” She dropped her gaze to the floor, drew in a deep breath, then lifted her head and straightened her shoulders. “Granddad had a business, an art gallery. He left us money, but my daddy spent a lot of it on drugs.”

“Liar!” Maribeth screamed, struggling to get to her daughter, but Trent held her firmly, effortlessly. “Your daddy was a good man. He’d have been fine if that man hadn’t killed his daddy.”

Was a good man?

“Is he dead?” I asked.

Her head whipped around in my direction. “Of course he’s dead! He’s been dead for nearly twenty years, and it’s her grandpa’s fault.” She jerked her head in Paula’s direction.

“I found his death certificate,” Fred said. “Drug overdose.”

“And you didn’t think about sharing that information with us?” I asked.

“Things have been a little hectic lately. Please continue, Hannah.”

“Mr. Sloan wasn’t Lucas’ friend. He was Jonas Moncrief’s buddy. He handled the forgeries, and then he got some diamonds from somebody in the Mafia, the people my daddy borrowed money from, and my granddad gave them to Lucas Harrington to help smuggle them out of the country. But they disappeared, and Mr. Sloan had to pay for them. It was a lot of money, and he took what we had left after Daddy bought all those drugs. When Lucas Harrington got out of prison, Mama came up with the idea to get those diamonds. She figured he hid them before he went to prison, and he’d get them when he got out. Mr. Sloan wanted to get his money back too. He tracked him here, and Mama went to talk to him.” She paused and bit her lip. “She didn’t mean to kill him.”

Sloan groaned.

Maribeth screamed invectives again.

If she kept interrupting, we’d be here all night. “Rickie, give me one of your socks.”

Everyone looked puzzled, including Rickie, but he sat on the floor, took off one shoe, peeled off a dirty sock, and handed it to me.

“Thank you.” I extended a hand to help him to his feet. He got up without my help.

I thrust the sock in Maribeth’s face. “If you open that foul mouth one more time, I’m going to shove this in it and make you chew on it.”

Maribeth flinched backward. “You can’t do that. The cop won’t let you.”

“The cop will help her,” Trent said.

Maribeth shut her mouth.

I held onto the sock, just in case.

“She didn’t mean to kill him,” Hannah said. “She gets upset a lot and can’t control herself. I guess you saw that tonight. She was just trying to get him to tell her where the diamonds were. He said they were where she’d never find them. That made her mad so she pushed him, and he fell down the stairs. She took some cash he had in his nightstand and some old picture albums and left.”

“And you’re willing to testify to that in court?” Fred asked.

“No, she is not!” Maribeth screamed.

I held the sock in front of her face.

She shut up.

Trent reached into his pocket, pulled out his keyring, and tossed it to me. “Lindsay, would you please get a couple of pairs of handcuffs from my car?”

I caught the keys. “How about the ones beside the bed at my house?”

He rolled his eyes, but I had made him blush.

“I’m on my way to your car.”

“When you return, Fred and I will take these people down to the station,” Trent said.

With that beautiful promise, I hurried out to Trent’s car and brought in two pairs of handcuffs.

He cuffed Sloan and Maribeth. Hannah went with them willingly but turned back at the door and looked at Paula. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I really like you. I wish I was your sister.” She followed the others out the door.

I gave Rickie back his sock. “Your mother is going to be crazy worried about you. Do you want me to go home with you and explain?”

“Nah. She sleeps real sound. She won’t know I’m gone.”

That was a good thing and kind of a sad thing.

I walked out on the porch with him and down the steps into the warm darkness, away from the faint glow of Paula’s porchlight. “You were great tonight,” I said. “You really helped bring this situation to an end.”

He grinned. “Especially when I tackled that asshole lawyer and broke his nose.”

I grinned too. “Yeah, that was pretty cool. That action alone entitles you to extra Coke and chocolate.” I thought about hugging him but wasn’t sure how he’d react.

He started down the sidewalk then turned back. “Those guys in that gang are kind of jerks. I don’t think I want to go see them again.”

I couldn’t help myself. I rushed down the walk and gave him a big hug. “That’s wonderful news.”

He hugged me back for maybe two seconds then disentangled himself from my arms and continued across the street to his house without another word.

One good thing had happened on this crazy day.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Maribeth was charged with murder and fraudulent activity, Sloan with fraudulent activity and accessory to murder, and Hannah as accessory to fraudulent activity and murder. I felt sorry for her. Yes, she’d been an active part of the scam, but it was obvious she had been bullied all her life by her obnoxious mother.

Hannah really was a grade school teacher in Dallas, though even if she escaped prison time, that career was probably history.

I planned to testify on her behalf, maybe get her a lighter sentence.

Paula was undecided about how to handle Mr. Lucas’ property. Yes, she still called him the name she had known him by. That probably separated him in her mind from the man who’d committed forgery and murder.

She agreed to have the painting of her returned from my home to hers. Trent, Fred and Matthew would do that Saturday night and would also hang the remaining paintings in Zach’s room where they had been before. Maribeth and Sloan had destroyed the diamonds-in-the-desert painting Zach had loved. For that, if nothing else, they deserved to go to prison for the rest of their natural lives and a few years beyond that.

That work week seemed to have at least twenty days instead of six. The only thing that saved us from total madness was my Chocolate Torte to Die For and my Crème de Cacao Torte. I put extra crème de cacao in the latter. That helped.

By Saturday afternoon, Paula and I were both ready for a peaceful weekend.

Fred and Trent planned a pizza party at my house before moving the painting back to its home at Paula’s. Sounded like a good idea to me. I never say no to pizza. It would make a solemn occasion festive.

Matthew was coming with Paula. That was a good sign.

I arrived home that afternoon to a spotless house.

I had cleaned my bathroom the night before just in case Fred got any more dumb ideas.

I let Henry outside, showered, then plated chocolate chip cookies, brownies, and a few pieces of each of my chocolate tortes for dessert. I had plenty of Cokes in the refrigerator as well as some beer for the boys. Fred would bring wine, of course.

Henry returned home and demanded catnip as soon as he finished his dinner. I’d rewarded him every day and feared he was becoming addicted, but he wasn’t a dangerous addict. He never picked fights with other cats in the neighborhood or tried to hold up a convenience store for more catnip. In fact, he never left the house when he was stoned. He just wandered around cross-eyed and grinning for a little while then went to sleep.

Trent arrived first. He got a beer and settled in his favorite armchair.

Paula, Matthew, and Zach came shortly after Trent. I gave them water, beer, and cranberry juice, in that order. I would have loved to give Paula wine. She was still a little tense, but I was glad to see she and Matthew sat close on the sofa, thighs touching.

Zach went straight to the painting and studied it carefully, as if to make sure it wasn’t damaged the way his diamond painting had been. “I’m glad it’s coming home. Mr. Lucas made that for Mama.”

“Yes, he did,” I said. “He made beautiful paintings for you and your mother because he loved you.”

“I love him. I miss him.” Zach took his glass of cranberry juice and went to the sofa to sit beside his mother. My sofa has bright, colorful flowers, so if Zach spilled a little cranberry juice on it, nobody would notice.

I had invited Rickie, but he said he had other things to do. I hoped those things did not involve hanging out with the Street Rats, but if they did, at least he wasn’t expected to bring drugs or money to the meeting.

Sophie arrived without Fred.

“He’s gone to pick up the pizzas,” she explained.

I closed the door behind her. “Really? He’s never heard of pizza delivery?”

“He doesn’t want anybody to touch the boxes his food arrives in.”

That sounded like Fred.

Zach ran to Sophie for a hug. She picked him up. “You’re growing so fast, soon you’ll have to pick me up.”

“I can do that on my next birthday. I’ll be six years old, and then I can go to school.”

We sat around, drank, talked, and relaxed.

And waited for dinner.

“Where is the pizza place?” I asked.

“Oh, it’s north of here.” Sophie waved a hand in a generally north direction.

That left it wide open. Most of the metroplex was north of my house.

Finally someone knocked. “Food’s here,” Fred called.

I rushed to the door.

Fred stood there with a large stack of pizza boxes from a pizzeria about ten minutes away.

He thought we were very hungry, and he’d driven home very slowly.

“Let me take those.” Trent pushed in between us.

Hmmm. Fred was perfectly capable of carrying a few pizzas through the living room into the kitchen.

But Trent took them and gently eased me to the side of the doorway.

I stepped back but didn’t go far.

Something was going on.

Fred held the door open and extended a hand to a woman.

She was short with blond hair and blue eyes and came inside hesitantly as if uncertain of her welcome.

“Paula,” Fred said, “let me introduce you to—”

Paula rose, her gaze focused on the newcomer. “My sister.” Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper.

Fred nodded. “This is the real Lilly Fields. I tracked her down this week, and I checked her DNA. You and she are definitely sisters.”

Paula appeared to be in a daze. Guess that wasn’t surprising.

She took a tentative step toward Lilly.

Lilly moved a few inches closer to Paula.

Yes, this was definitely Paula’s sister. Looked like her and acted like her. Left to their own devices, they might finally connect in about six months.

I rushed to Lilly and enveloped her in a big hug. “Welcome to the family. I’m Lindsay. I’m your sister’s best friend, so I’m sort of your pseudo-sister. And this is your nephew, Zach. Zach, this is your Aunt Lilly.”

Of course he ran to her and hugged her.

She laughed and returned the hug. “I’ve heard so much about you, Zach.”

“I have two aunts now.” Zach turned to me. “She’s Anlinny.” He pointed across the room. “And that’s Uncle Matthew, and that’s Uncle Trent.”

After that, Paula had no choice. She approached Lilly with a huge smile. “I’m Melanie.”

“I know.” Lilly returned the smile. “Your name is Paula now. Mine is Emily, but it’s okay if you want to call me Lilly. Kind of a sister nickname.”

“You can call me Melanie, if you like,” Paula said. “That’s my sister name.”

They appeared perfectly calm, but I could feel my eyes getting wet. “Lilly…Emily…please have a seat. What would you like to drink? We have Cokes, beer, wine, cranberry juice, and water.”

“Water, please.”

That didn’t surprise me.

“My husband and son are outside. Can they come in?”

“Of course.” I yanked the door wide to find a tall man and a boy about Zach’s age.

“This is my husband Ned and our son Rodney,” Lilly said.

“Come in,” I said. “I’ll get you beer and cranberry juice.”

Paula had a sister. Zach had another aunt, another uncle, and a cousin.

Their small family had grown.

Uncle Matthew, Zach had said.

That family might keep growing.

“Fred,” I called, “can you help me in the kitchen with drinks?”

He followed me into the kitchen, and I whirled on him. “Did everybody know about this except me?”

“Paula and Zach didn’t know.”

I spread my hands and looked to the ceiling. “This is all great, but why didn’t you tell me, let me know what was going on?”

“You know what they say.”

“No, I don’t know what they say, I don’t know who they are, and I don’t care what they say.”

“Two people can keep a secret if one of them isn’t Lindsay.”

They were always saying rude things.

I wrapped Fred in a huge hug. “I love you anyway! I’m glad you’re my friend and my family and I’m grateful to you for finding Paula’s sister so she has family who can love her and drive her crazy too.”

THE END

Read on for some of Lindsay’s favorite recipes.

More books by Sally Berneathy:

Death by Chocolate:

Death by Chocolate

Murder, Lies and Chocolate

The Great Chocolate Scam

Chocolate Mousse Attack

Fatal Chocolate Obsession

Deadly Chocolate Addiction

Guns, Wives and Chocolate

Spies, Lies and Chocolate Pies

Charley’s Ghost series:

The Ex Who Wouldn't Die

The Ex Who Glowed in the Dark

The Ex Who Conned a Psychic

The Ex Who Saw a Ghost

The Ex Who Hid a Deadly Past

http://www.sallyberneathy.com

Chocolate Cake with Raspberry Filling

Raspberry Filling:

1-1/2 Tbsp. water

1-1/2 Tbsp. cornstarch

3 cups (12 oz) raspberries, fresh or frozen

1/3 cup sugar

1 tsp. lemon juice

1 tsp. vanilla

Mix cornstarch and water in medium pan. Add sugar, lemon juice, and raspberries. Bring to a boil over medium heat, stirring often. Boil about 5 minutes. Remove from heat. Stir in vanilla.

Allow to cool for 15-20 minutes. Put in covered bowl in refrigerator for at least four hours. (I let it stay overnight and made this cake over two days.)

Cake:

1-3/4 cups flour

3/4 cup cocoa powder (I round it up a little)

1-3/4 cups sugar

2 tsp. baking soda

1 tsp. baking powder

1/2 tsp. salt

1/2 cup vegetable oil

2 large eggs (or 3 small) at room temperature

3/4 cup sour cream at room temperature

1/2 cup buttermilk at room temperature

1 Tbsp. vanilla

1/2 cup crème de cacao

1 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips tossed in a tablespoon of flour

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease three 9-inch cake pans and dust with cocoa. If you use parchment paper, it makes it easier to get the cakes out without big holes.

Mix flour, cocoa powder, sugar, soda, baking powder and salt in a large bowl and set aside.

In mixing bowl, beat eggs, oil, and sour cream on medium speed until mixed well. Add buttermilk and vanilla and beat until combined.

Heat crème de cacao in microwave for 1 minute.

Add dry ingredients to wet and mix on low speed. When combined, add hot crème de cacao. Beat on low until combined. Fold in flour-coated chocolate chips.

Pour into pans. Bake for approximately 25 minutes until toothpick comes out clean.

Remove cakes from oven and set on wire rack to cool.

Chocolate frosting:

1/2 cup butter, softened to room temperature

8 ounces cream cheese, softened to room temperature

5 cups powdered sugar

3/4 cup cocoa

3 Tbsp. cream (or milk)

Dash of salt

1 Tbsp. vanilla

Whip butter and cream cheese until creamy and well-mixed. Add powdered sugar, cocoa, cream, salt and vanilla. Beat slowly until well mixed to avoid powdered sugar and cocoa flying all over the place. Then beat on high until it looks right.

When cake is cool, put one layer on a plate and top with a thin layer of frosting.

Put about a cup of frosting into a piping bag and pipe a thick border around the edge of the frosted cake.

Spread half the raspberry filling on the cake, inside the frosting border.

Place second layer on top of first and repeat above process.

Top with third layer. Use remaining frosting to cover top and sides of cake. Put cake into refrigerator while making Chocolate Raspberry Ganache.

Chocolate Raspberry Ganache:

8 ounces chopped bittersweet chocolate (or dark chocolate chips)

3/4 cup cream

1/4 cup raspberry liqueur, such as Chambord

Heat cream and raspberry liqueur over medium heat until it begins to gently simmer. Remove from heat.

Add chocolate and stir every few minutes as the chocolate softens. Put in refrigerator for about thirty minutes to cool.

Take cake and cooled ganache out of the refrigerator and spread ganache over the top of the cake, letting it dribble down the sides here and there.

Serve immediately or chill in refrigerator until ready to serve.

Chocolate Torte

9 oz. dark chocolate 65% or higher, finely chopped

9 ounces butter

1-1/2 cups sugar

7 large eggs at room temperature

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

2 Tbsp. crème de cacao

Preheat oven to 375 degrees F. Line a 9-inch springform pan with parchment paper and grease sides lightly with butter.

Melt the chocolate and butter together in microwave in thirty second increments, stirring after each. Stir in the sugar and allow to cool for a few minutes.

Add the eggs, one at a time, fully combining between each addition. After all the eggs are added, continue to stir until the batter becomes thick and glossy. Stir in the vanilla extract and crème de cacao.

Pour the batter into the prepared pan. Bake 30-35 minutes, until the torte jiggles slightly in the middle but is not completely set. Remove from oven and let cool in pan for ten minutes.

Remove from pan. Dust with powdered sugar.

Serve alone or with whipped cream, berries, or anything else you have on hand. Blackberry jam works very nicely.

Chocolate Torte with Caramel Sauce

8 ounces semi-sweet chocolate, roughly chopped

1 cup butter

5 large eggs

1 cup granulated sugar

1 Tbsp. vanilla extract

1 Tbsp. flour

Preheat oven to 400°F. Line bottom of 9-inch springform pan with parchment paper. Grease sides lightly with butter.

Heat chocolate and butter in microwave in 30-second increments, stirring after each, until butter and chocolate have melted. Set aside to cool slightly.

Beat sugar, eggs, and vanilla until thoroughly combined. Add flour and mix until combined. Add the chocolate mixture and mix until combined.

Transfer the batter to the prepared pan, and spread evenly.

Bake 20 to 25 minutes, or until a pick inserted into the center comes out with moist crumbs.

Cool completely before removing from pan or serving.

Caramel Sauce:

1 cup sugar

6 tablespoons butter

1/2 cup heavy cream

Heat the sugar on moderately high heat in a heavy-bottomed 2-quart or 3-quart saucepan. The sugar will begin to melt in a minute or two. As the sugar begins to melt, stir vigorously with a whisk or wooden spoon. The sugar will form clumps and will start to melt at the edges of the pan.

As the sugar starts to melt, lower the heat a little. Keep stirring until all the sugar has melted. It will clump up quite a bit during the process, but keep stirring.

As soon as all the sugar crystals have melted (the liquid sugar should be medium amber in color), immediately add the butter to the pan. Whisk until the butter has melted and mixture is again smooth.

Take the pan off the heat. Wait a few seconds, then slowly add the cream to the pan, whisking continuously.

Whisk until caramel sauce is smooth. Let cool in the pan for a couple minutes, then pour into a heat-proof container and let cool to room temperature.

Serve slices of torte with as much caramel sauce as desired.

(You can buy caramel sauce at the store. It’s good…but not as good as homemade! But it is a lot easier to prepare!)

Raspberry Chocolate Torte

Torte:

2 1/2 sticks (10 ounces) butter

20 ounces semisweet chocolate, finely chopped

1 Tbsp. vanilla

6 large eggs, at room temperature

Preheat oven to 400º. Line bottom of 9-inch springform pan with parchment and lightly butter sides.

Melt chocolate and butter in microwave in 30 second intervals, stirring after each. Stir until smooth. Stir in vanilla.

Beat eggs until light in color and tripled in volume, 4 to 5 minutes.

Fold eggs into chocolate mixture. Transfer immediately to prepared springform pan.

Bake for 17-18 minutes; the center will be jiggly when removed from the oven. Cool to room temperature. Run a knife around the perimeter of the pan. While torte is cooling, make the glaze.

Glaze:

1/3 cup heavy cream

2 ounces semisweet chocolate, chopped

Heat cream and semisweet chocolate in microwave in thirty second increments, stirring after each, until smooth. Cool to room temperature.

Pour glaze over torte (while it's still in the springform pan), then chill the torte in the refrigerator until firm, 6 to 8 hours.

Raspberry Sauce:

16 ounces fresh or frozen raspberries

1/3 cup granulated sugar

1/3 cup Chambord liqueur

2 tsp. cornstarch whisked in 1 Tbsp. water

Add raspberries and sugar to a saucepan. Bring to a simmer and cook for a few minutes. Add the Chambord and the cornstarch mixed with water. Bring to a boil and cook until mixture thickens slightly. Refrigerate until you serve the cake.

To serve the cake, again run a knife around the perimeter of the cake. Remove sides of the pan. Slice with a hot, dry knife. Serve with a spoonful or two of raspberry sauce and a few fresh berries. Garnish with whipped cream if desired.

Chocolate Torte to Die For

Cake:

10 oz. semi-sweet chocolate, broken into small pieces

1/2 cup butter

6 large eggs, separated, at room temperature

1 cup sugar, divided into 3/4 and 1/4

2 tsp. crème de cacao

1 tsp. vanilla extract

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Cover bottom of 9-inch springform pan with parchment paper and lightly grease sides with butter.

Melt chocolate and butter in microwave in thirty second increments, stirring after each.

Beat egg yolks in large mixer bowl at high speed, gradually adding 3/4 cup of the sugar. Beat until yolk mixture is pale yellow and thick, 4 to 6 minutes. Add chocolate mixture to yolk mixture and beat until completely smooth. Add crème de cacao and vanilla; beat until blended.

Beat egg whites at high speed until soft peaks form. Gradually beat remaining 1/4 cup sugar into whites; continue beating until stiff peaks form. Fold whites into chocolate mixture. Pour batter evenly into prepared pan. Smooth top.

Bake 15 minutes. Reduce oven temperature to 350 degrees; bake another 15 minutes. Reduce oven temperature to 250 degrees; bake 30 minutes. (Total baking time is 1 hour.) Turn off oven; prop open door and leave cake in oven for 30 minutes. Remove cake from oven and cool completely. Remove springform and transfer cake to serving platter.

Ganache:

1/2 cup heavy cream

8 ounces semisweet chocolate

Melt chocolate chips and cream in microwave in thirty second increments, stirring after each, until chocolate is dissolved. Allow to cool until it starts to thicken.

Spread evenly over top of cake.

Whipped Cream:

1½ cups heavy cream, well-chilled

3 tablespoons confectioners’ sugar

Whip cream in chilled mixer bowl on high speed until soft peaks form. Continue beating, gradually adding sugar, until stiff peaks form. Serve cake at room temperature with whipped cream.

Crème de Cacao Torte

Torte:

2/3 cup butter, softened to room temperature

1-2/3 cup sugar

3 eggs, room temperature

1 tsp. vanilla

2 cups flour

2/3 cup cocoa

1-1/4 tsp. baking soda

1/4 tsp. baking powder

1-1/3 cups milk

2 Tbsp. crème de cacao

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line bottom of two 9-inch cake pans with parchment and grease sides with butter.

Beat butter, sugar, eggs, and vanilla until light and fluffy.

Combine flour, cocoa, baking soda, and baking powder in separate bowl and mix well. Add flour mixture and milk to sugar mixture, alternating and blending well.

Pour into cake pans and bake for 30 to 35 minutes until toothpick comes out clean. Do not overbake!

Remove from oven and cool for 10 minutes. Remove from pans and sprinkle each layer with one tablespoon crème de cacao. Cool completely.

Crème de Cacao Filling:

1 cup heavy cream

2 Tbsp. crème de cacao

1 Tbsp. cocoa

Mix and beat until stiff.

Split each layer horizontally into 2 layers. Place one layer on serving plate. Spread with one-third filling. Put next layer on top and repeat, ending with cake layer. Cover tightly and chill for at least eight hours.

Chocolate Ganache Glaze:

8 oz. semi-sweet chocolate, broken into pieces

1/4 cup heavy cream

1 Tbsp. butter

2 tsp. crème de cacao

Combine chocolate pieces, cream, and butter. Heat in microwave in 30 second increments, stirring after each, until mixture is melted and smooth. Stir in crème de cacao. Cool to lukewarm. Mixture will thicken slightly.

Spoon mixture on top of chilled cake. Chill at least thirty minutes then serve.

About the Author:

I grew up in a small rural town in southeastern Oklahoma where our favorite entertainment on summer evenings was to sit outside under the stars and tell stories. When I went to bed at night, instead of a lullaby, I got a story. That could be due to the fact that everybody in my family has a singing voice like a bullfrog with laryngitis, but they sure could tell stories—ghost stories, funny stories, happy stories, scary stories.

For as long as I can remember I’ve been a storyteller. Thank goodness for computers so I can write down my stories. It’s hard to make listeners sit still for the length of a book! Like my family’s tales, my stories are funny, scary, dramatic, romantic, paranormal, magic.

Besides writing, my interests are reading, eating chocolate and riding my Harley.

Contact information is available on my website. I love to talk to readers! And writers. And riders. And computer programmers. Okay, I just love to talk!

http://www.sallyberneathy.com