I turned the page to a collage of the earlier photographs. Koby, Celia, Portia, and I. We looked like the Four Musketeers, showing off for the camera at each victory.
I leaned on one elbow. How could I even contemplate leaving my team? We were making good progress. Five more families had a place to call home. Besides, Brad hadn’t even contacted me. He must have a very good reason for wanting me to stay in Del Gloria. And if I showed up unannounced back in Michigan, he might be less than thrilled to see me.
Over the past months, the ache that shot up my arm at any thought of Brad had become little more than a twinge. I squeezed a hand to the scar. My injury was barely visible, the hurt a mere memory.
My eyes wandered to a rain-splattered window. Isn’t that what I wanted? Isn’t that what I’d hoped for-to forget?
But why? The question nagged at me. Why would I want to forget? I closed my eyes, concentrating on my last moments in Port Silvan. Candice LeJeune lifted her pistol-but no, before that… what had she said before that? She’d said, “Remember, I’ll always love you.” Then there’d been the blast of the gun and then… the flash of white dropped over the past.
I sighed and closed my scrapbook. It seemed useless to even try remembering.
My fingers beat a rhythm on the cover. Think… what had happened just before? Candice came into the room and grabbed Frank Majestic from behind, gun to his head. Then Brad came in the room.
I grabbed my temples, massaging them against the building pressure. Why couldn’t the synapses in my mind link up so I could remember whatever it was I was trying so hard to forget?
Brad. He was in the room when the gun went off. He came in right after Candice did. So why couldn’t I remember anything about Brad afterward? He must have helped me after I’d been shot. He wouldn’t have just left me there, bleeding, all alone. I knocked my knuckles against my skull. Think, think… but nothing came to me beyond the glaring whiteness.
I glanced at the bedside clock. Already 9:30. I’d slept in and lounged long enough. I dressed and wandered downstairs, making myself available in case Ms. Rigg broke down and wanted help for once.
She didn’t.
I snuggled on a chair in the parlor, catching up on my reading as I waited for our dinner guests to arrive. Around me, the gilded walls became stone, and I was in the deepest, darkest dungeon beside Edmond Dantes. With the help of his prison mate, he planned his escape. Soon he would be back in France, back to his old life, which he would reclaim at the expense of his enemies. Best of all, he would have a great treasure at his disposal with which to exact his revenge.
The doorbell rang, tearing me from Edmond’s discovery on the Isle of Monte Cristo. Book aside, I opened the door to greet six members of the Revamp Program. Only Celia had nearby family to visit with over the Thanksgiving holiday. The rest took advantage of the professor’s invitation to a traditional feast served in the formal dining room at Cliffhouse.
We enjoyed hors d’oeuvres and rousing conversation, followed by the unexpected arrival of Ms. Rigg’s daughter Jane.
The room quieted as the pseudo-sophisticate entered, laying on her Hollywood poise and charm.
“Hello, all. What a perfectly miserable day to give thanks.” Her svelte figure, draped in a loose white satin pantsuit, captured every eye.
“Jane. What a surprise,” Denton said. He turned his back to the party crasher, focusing his attention on Maize Martin, who commenced babbling at her usual rate of five hundred words a minute.
“Denton, dear brother. Where else would I be but home for the holiday?” She touched his shoulder.
He flinched away.
The elder Ms. Rigg scooped up an empty bowl of dip and slinked out of the room.
Beside me near the buffet, Portia raised an eyebrow. “What’s that woman doing here? Is that really his sister?” she asked under her breath.
I dabbed a carrot in ranch dip and crunched. “Mm mm mm,” I said to the tune of “I don’t know.” I waited until I was done chewing. “Her mom’s the housekeeper. I guess she grew up with the Braddocks. Apparently she’s like family to the professor.”
“Maybe the black sheep of the family,” Portia said.
I chewed and watched Jane work the room. She started with Simon, practically purring as she laughed at something he said. Having conquered her first victim, she meandered seductively toward Koby.
Portia tensed. “She’s such a parasite.” She glared knives in Jane’s direction.
“Simon doesn’t look too upset about it.” I couldn’t help but grin at the way his eyes followed her shape.
“She is twisted and evil. You can almost see it in her eyes.” Portia’s venom grew.
I touched her arm. “Stay calm. She’s just making the rounds. She’s not hurting anybody.”
Portia gestured toward Denton, who kept his back directed at Jane as if calculating her every movement. “I’m not so sure. The doc seems pretty upset. That woman shouldn’t be here. And she knows it.” Portia took a sip of punch.
I shrugged. “Last time I had a run-in with Jane, Uncle Denton made her seem harmless.”
“Harmless as a jellyfish. Just don’t get wrapped in her tentacles.”
“Uh oh,” I whispered. “Human jellyfish headed our way.”
Jane sauntered toward the food, plucked a square of orange cheese from a platter, and plopped it in her mouth.
“Hello, Alisha. And you are…?” She nodded her head in Portia’s direction, waiting for an introduction.
“Miss Romero. How do you do?” Portia’s voice was cool.
“I’m good. Thanks for asking.” Jane turned toward me. “So. How are you surviving Del Gloria?”
I refused to read a deeper meaning into her words. “Great. Loving it.”
“Not antsy to be getting home to… where is it… Galveston, right?”
I slanted my head. What was she up to?
“Yes, Galveston,” I said. “And no, I’m not antsy to get back there.”
“Can’t say I blame you. What is it? Hurricane season right now?”
I nodded, no clue about the weather in Galveston.
“Of course,” she went on, “I hear Michigan just had its first big blizzard of the year. I guess things could always be worse.”
Her tongue slithered behind her lips, I was sure of it. Next to me, Portia’s fingers twiddled against her pant leg, as if fighting the urge to punch Jane in the mouth. In the background, Denton peered over his shoulder, checking on the rogue actress. If he had a move up his sleeve, I wished he’d make it and spare me the woman’s line of questioning.
“So, Alisha”-Jane’s eyes scooped me back into her net-“what do you think of that whole drug drama going on in northern Michigan? Have you been keeping up?”
I gave her a blank look and shook my head, praying she couldn’t see the beads of sweat breaking out on my temples.
“Some big drug lord got nabbed in a sting operation. Big shoot-out, bodies everywhere… It’s so LA. Who would think that kind of thing happens in those teeny little backwoods towns?”
My throat constricted. Was she talking about Frank Majestic and the morning at my log cabin?
Her hands swooped the air as she prattled on. “It’s all gone to trial now-thank heaven the fiend lived to face a jury. Too bad some of the others weren’t as lucky.”
I drew in a strangled breath. Why was she telling me this? What did this have to do with me?
I blinked and stared at the food. Movement in the corner of my eye. Denton grabbed Jane by the wrist and swooped her toward the kitchen. Her mock protest sounded more like laughter.
The only thing in focus was a ring of ice floating in frothy pink punch. Cold, hard ice.
I gasped. Had anyone winterized my cottage? If it was really as cold in Michigan as Jane said, there could be ice in the pipes right now. I should get on a plane and take care of the place myself instead of frittering away my life fixing up houses for other people while my own fell to ruin.
A hand touched my arm. Through tears swimming in my eyes, I saw Portia, her face squinched in concern.
“You okay?” Her raisin-colored satin blouse caught my tear as she leaned to hug me. “I don’t know what just happened,” she said, “but I’m guessing it has something to do with your landlord?”
