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I frown. “Liam? He’s here somewhere.”
“His car isn’t.”
“What?” I walk to the kitchen window and peer out. “When did he leave?”
“Before I arrived.”
I run my hands over my face. “Damn it. I hope he’s not in a mood. I figured he’d just come down without waking me, since it’s almost”—I check the microwave clock—“noon.”
I pull out my cell phone. “No message, either. Wonderful.” I tap in a text and send it. “Well, if he took off in a snit, that’s one less problem for everyone today. How’s Daisy doing?”
“Fine. We’re clearing the side weeds.” He nods down at the two other coffees he just poured. “I should get this to her before it goes cold.”
“Tell her not to worry about lunch. I’ll drive into town and pick us up something.”
Daisy
I’m clearing the brambles at the side of the house. While they seemed a mere eyesore, they’re damaging the wall. Humid climate plus aggressive ivy can do that. This is my house, and I fully intend to restore her, starting with these little bits to slow the damage until I can take back what’s mine.
Clearing brambles also gives me the opportunity to avoid the woman who calls herself by my name. That Celeste definitely won’t offer her manicured hands to the demon god of weeds.
Today, I feel something I don’t want to feel when it comes to this woman. The stirrings of pity. Yet I can’t forgive her trespasses. She stole my birthright. I don’t mean the house. I don’t give a damn about that. But she took away my last chance to reunite with my grandmother. And, possibly, she stole my grandmother herself, rushing along that “inheritance.” That is what I am here to find out.
When my story is revealed, the first question will be why I didn’t just call the police on her. The answer is obvious. I am not giving her a chance to run. If I report her for identity theft, she’ll flee before I can convince the police that she may also have murdered my grandmother.
I need proof. I need ID with the imposter’s real name. Otherwise, if she flees, she’s a nameless ghost. I also need my grandmother’s diary. I know she kept one, and I know she didn’t let anyone see it—I only found it myself, when I was snooping about as a kid.
Is it possible the imposter found the diary and destroyed it? Or that she murdered my grandmother without Maeve suspecting a thing? Yep. But I wasn’t going to find my answers sitting up North, poking around on a computer. I don’t trust the justice system. Can’t afford a private investigator. There was only one option left: get my ass to Florida.
Come here. Get a read on my adversary while I search the house for her ID.
Was it a perfect plan? Hell, no. But it was the only one I had.
This morning, I snuck downstairs before Celeste woke. I’ll keep calling her that, even in my head. It’s safer, especially now that I don’t need to worry about Liam giving me away.
I heated up a cinnamon bun and took it outside with my coffee. Two hours later, and I haven’t seen her. For all I know, she’s still in bed as I wrestle with these brambles and vines, and that’s fine by me.
“Looks like you could use some help,” a voice says.
I glance over to see Tom, looking sheepish. He thrusts out a box. “I brought cinnamon buns, but I see you already had one.” He nods toward my plate and mug on the lawn. “I’m hoping that means you like them and you’ll take these off my hands, too.”
His smile is crooked, tentative, and in my mind, I see a boy holding out a penny-candy bag after we’d argued.
I got you sour balls. You still like sour balls, right?
Even at that age, I’d sensed something heartbreaking in those words. A boy desperate to resolve a fight, terrified that even a minor dustup could cost him a friend. That’s the life he led, where a flare of temper earned a week of blows.
That boy still lurks behind the crooked smile and the anxious eyes as he thrusts out that box of cinnamon buns. But we aren’t children anymore, and I don’t need to worry that I’ll scare him off if I reject his peace offering.
So I just look at him, hedge clippers in hand.
He takes a deep breath. “Liam wasn’t the only asshole here last night. I screwed up. I’m sorry.”
“You weren’t an asshole.”
He sets the box down. “If I wasn’t, then I treaded dangerously close to that line. I was upset with Liam, and I tried to drag you off like some caveman. I was worried but...” He rubs his mouth. “I wasn’t listening when you said you could handle it. And I’m not sure how much of it was honest fear, and how much was just wanting to get you away from him.”
“Take your toys and leave the sandbox.”
