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I clear my throat. “I’m in love with Ava, Dad. She’s important to me, and her family is important to her. So I don’t want to get into anything that will bring down the Steels.”
“Even if they’re behind your great-uncle’s death?”
I stop myself from pounding my fist on the table. “Dad, for God’s sake. That was over fifty years ago. I didn’t even know the man, and you were just a kid yourself. Was Bradford Steel involved? Maybe. Does it really matter at this point? None of the Steels alive today were even born yet. They couldn’t have been involved.”
“That doesn’t mean they don’t know something.”
“They don’t.”
“How can you be sure of that?”
“Because they’re good people, Dad. If they knew something, they’d tell you. We’re talking about Brad Steel here. A man who faked his own death, not once but twice. He was shrewd, brilliant. And he’s dead, Dad. For good this time. He’s been dead for twenty-five years.”
“I see your point. The trail is cold, for sure.” Dad shakes his head. “But it doesn’t sit well with me.”
“Do yourself a favor,” I say. “Do Mom a favor. Let this go.”
“But the messages…”
“Right. The messages. Whatever’s going on with the Steels involves us somehow. And you’re right, your uncle seems to be the only commonality, but still, for Mom, let this go.”
“I love your mother.”
“I never said you didn’t. But this relentless pursuit isn’t going to help your marriage.”
“My marriage is my business, Brendan. Mine and your mother’s. None of yours.”
“That’d be nice if it were true, Dad, but it isn’t. You’re my parents, and I love you both. Your happiness is important to me.”
Dad doesn’t reply, and just when I’m sure he’s done talking altogether—
He slides a piece of paper across the table to me.
On it is written an address for Lauren Wingdam.
“Damn. She lives in Barrel Oaks, the next town over.”
“Surprised me too.”
“You doing anything tomorrow morning?”
“Going to Barrel Oaks,” he says.
“Good. Me too.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Ava
“She looks so old and helpless,” I say to Brock.
I’m staring at Sabrina Smith, aka Dyane Wingdam, aka Wendy Madigan.
“Did I tell you about Dyane Wingdam’s rap sheet?” Brock asks. “That’s no helpless old lady there. She’s sedated. And strapped down.”
I move her sheet down to regard her wrists. They are indeed strapped down. Her skin tone is good for her age, and her hands still look young. Her fingernails are painted. Odd. Who would have painted them? Surely not Pat Lamone.
Her face is wrinkled yet serene, and her lips are a soft pink. I can see that she was a beauty when she was young. And her nose. I absently touch my own. It’s just like my father’s…and mine.
“Why do they have her strapped down?” I ask.
“Probably because she’s psycho.” He twists his lips. “Sorry, Ave. I didn’t mean—”
“Yeah, you did. It’s okay. She’s messed up. Or she’s not, and that makes her even scarier. What if she doesn’t have any mental illness? What if she’s just that evil?”
He cocks his head. “You’re right when you say she looks the part. Old and helpless. But her record is a mile long. Felony forgery, bank fraud, insider trading. Never did any time, though. Somehow she managed to get away with everything.”
“She just changed her name and went into hiding.”
“I had our PI team look into her. Into Dyane Wingdam, that is. Her crimes were all committed within the last twenty-five years.”
“After Wendy Madigan died,” I say.
“Right. The alias goes back about forty-five years, but she didn’t commit any crimes as Dyane until later.”
“So she faked her death and became Dyane for good.”
“That’s how it looks.”
“And Dyane has a record, so later she created the new alias of Sabrina Smith to evade capture.”
“Makes as much sense as any of this does,” Brock agrees.
I let out a heavy sigh. “This woman is my grandmother. The nose. I have her nose. What color are her eyes?”
“Apparently they’re blue, according to my dad. Daphne’s were brown.”
“Have you heard how my father was always considered the handsomest and most jovial of all the Steel brothers?” I ask.
“Who hasn’t?”
“I’ve seen photos of Daphne. She was classically beautiful. And our grandfather was ruggedly handsome. Looked just like your father. So how could my father be the handsomest when your dad and Uncle Tal came from Daphne?”
“Genes are funny things,” he says. “Who knows? We don’t know what Dyane—or Wendy—looked like. She could have been gorgeous too.”
Yes, she was gorgeous. Even in old age, it’s clear. But none of this matters. Whether my father is the best-looking Steel brother doesn’t matter. And this woman… This woman can’t do anything to my family. She’s old and frail and strapped to a hospital bed.
This? This is my collapsing tower?
She’s nothing.
She’s nothing to me.
Except I feel her. I felt her when I drew those cards. I always knew I wasn’t feeling Daphne Steel. I just didn’t realize there was a reason for it.
