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For a child who’d lived less than three years, Lucy had been photographed more than all of them. She was beautiful, a joyful, giggling doll, the hands-down family favorite. Like a painter’s dream, she had enormous blue eyes in a heartshaped face and a wild fluff of long, golden curls.
Brooke’s chest ached as she turned pages. She’d loved her baby-doll sister with all the passion an eight year old could muster. But she’d been jealous, too. For six years, she’d been the baby until Lucy had come along.
There was Dad giving Lucy a piggyback ride. A water-splashed Mom giving Lucy a bath. Dad, arms out, waiting to catch Lucy as she toddled her first steps.
A Christmas photo the year Lucy turned two showed a big, happy family celebrating right here in this room beneath a tree laden with gifts. Brooke remembered that Christmas. They’d all dressed in their Christmas best and gone to Denver to have a group portrait made. Mom had sent out dozens of embossed, photo Christmas cards from “George Jr., Marion and family.” It was the last time they’d ever taken a family photograph.
There had been happiness in this home once. The evidence was here on these pages.
The last book, though, was different. Life had changed. Lucy was gone. As Brooke turned the pages, she didn’t find one photo of her parents. She knew why, of course. The family was shattered. Sadness had come to live in George Jr.’s home. Pictures were empty without Lucy’s joyful glow.
Rationally, Brooke knew Lucy’s death was not her fault. She’d been a child, too, but she could still hear her mother’s screams inside her head and her father’s furious demands to know what had happened. Why hadn’t Marion been with Lucy?
The answer was always the same. Brooke was supposed to be watching her.
Brooke slammed the book closed and sat in the middle of the floor, still grieving something that happened fifteen years ago.
“Why, Lord? Why did it happen? Why can’t I move on?”
The old house echoed once and then fell silent again.
She’d ask the questions before and gotten the same answer. Nothing.
Lonely, sad and full of memories, Brooke cleaned each binder and slowly put everything back into the armoire.
What she needed was a good gym workout or a swimming pool. A dozen laps would shake off the melancholy.
But there was no pool in Clayton and the only gym belonged to the school.
With a quiet click, the only sound in the rambling house, she closed the armoire door and headed to the kitchen.
She washed the dust from her hands, chugged water to quench her thirst and considered taking another run. The idea of a year without a health club made her crazy.
At times like this, she wondered if she could really do this. Was an inheritance worth a year in Clayton surrounded by relatives who didn’t like her and too-vivid memories?
Her cell phone vibrated against the kitchen counter. She unplugged it from the charger and answered. “Hello.”
A woman’s muffled voice said, “Brooke.”
Brooke glanced at the caller ID and saw, Unavailable. “I think we have a bad connection. I can barely hear you.”
The muffled voice deepened to a harsh whisper. “You’re not welcome here. Go away.”
Goose bumps quivered down Brooke’s spine. “Who is this?”
“Did you find your key?” the voice rasped. “Be careful. Something could happen.”
Brooke rushed to the window over the kitchen sink and looked outside. All she could see was Gabe Wesson’s house.
“Who is this? What do you know about my key?” Her fingers trembled. The bandaged splint, dusty from cleaning, clicked against the plastic phone.
“Leave now—” the voice drew out each word in an eerie threat “—if you know what’s good for you.”
Then the line went dead.
Brooke leaned against the counter, her pulse thrumming fast enough to lap the track at Indianapolis. Her first thought was Vincent, but the caller had been a woman. Cousin Marsha, then, Vincent’s sister. They’d always flocked together like vultures waiting to peck out an eye. Now, they’d do anything to inherit Grandpa’s money. Anything. That was the scary part. If any of Great-Uncle Samuel’s bunch of mischief-makers wanted to cause trouble, they were mean enough to do it.
