“Fine. But don’t get me involved. I don’t want to hear about it.” Sarah took the house key and stuck it in the lock. The door opened easily.
“No, honestly,” Natalie said behind her. “I want to. My father, before he retired, was Cassandra’s longtime attorney. In his files, he has all sorts of her correspondence that I need to read because that is not the way I want to work with her in future.”
“Good luck with that.” Sarah bumped her luggage and briefcase over the threshold and into Cassandra’s inner sanctum. It smelled like paint and turpentine. “Social services tried to reach her when I was twelve. Repeatedly. When the woman decides to disappear, she really disappears.” Sarah glanced around at the room. It really hadn’t changed that much in twenty-eight years.
Natalie had followed her inside and was turning over papers on Cassandra’s kitchen table. “I’m sorry, but I’m not going to let this go that easily.”
Sarah just shrugged. She’d spent most of her life fighting in just the same manner. Fighting for answers. Fighting for power. Fighting to keep what was hers.
She should have left well enough alone when it came to Cassandra. She could have gone anywhere for this forced summer sabbatical of Richard Lee’s. Hawaii, for one. Tahiti or the South of France.
Sarah didn’t even honestly know why she’d chosen to come see Cassandra after all these years.
The meditation stuff...anyplace had people who could teach her that skill.
The rest of her reason for being here was...the subconscious cry of the little girl still inside her who was upset that she’d been abandoned by her aunt and wanted some honest answers why.
Completely ridiculous. Honest answers didn’t always come. Time and again, Sarah had learned that the only thing worth fighting for was her own personal power. If she had enough of it, she would always be in charge. And no one could hurt her again.
Cassandra had proven her wrong in that belief, too. Sarah saw now that she could be queen of the universe, and Cassandra would do whatever the hell she wanted to do, regardless of what was going on with the people around her. Even the little people—including her only vulnerable niece.
Natalie stopped rifling through the papers on the kitchen table. “Look at this.” She held up a letter. “It’s to you, from Sam’s daughter.”
Sarah snatched it from her. And immediately put her hand to her mouth.
In childish handwriting, a girl named Lucy Logan had written,
Dear Sarah,
I’m so glad you’re coming to visit us! I admire you and hope to meet with you soon.
Your friend, Lucy Logan
The girl had decorated the edges with tiny, skillful drawings of seashells and aquatic life.
Sarah just sighed and closed her eyes. “How old is Lucy Logan?” she asked Natalie.
“Eleven, I think.”
“And where is her mom?”
“She lives a few towns over. The rest is up to Sam Logan to tell you. Or not.” Natalie’s lips twisted.
Sarah sat and put her head in her hands. “I really hope that little girl is okay.” She looked up at Natalie. “Can you give me Sam Logan’s contact information, please? I need to follow up with him.”
The lawyer hesitated.
“I need to know that Lucy is okay,” Sarah insisted.
“Come here.” Natalie beckoned her to the side window. When Sarah had joined her, Natalie pointed to the two-story home with the back porch beside them. “See that house?”
Sarah saw two Adirondack chairs and a grill. A wetsuit hung over the railing, along with a beach towel. “Are you saying that’s where Sam lives? Right next door to me?”
Natalie nodded.
If Sarah stayed, there would be no avoiding him.
She didn’t know what to think. She was too tired and emotionally drained to even know what her true feelings were anymore. She just knew that her old reaction—to fight harder—seemed futile all of a sudden.
After Natalie left, Sarah brought in her bags and briefcase full of books and set about finding a place to sleep.
Her old room was set up for her. Plus, there were the cats her aunt had mentioned. Two of them, one large and black, the other small with a white belly and paws. They climbed out from under the bed when she sat on it.
She gave a little scream and jumped up. “Dammit, I don’t like pets! Go away!”
They both skittered back under the bed. Returning to the kitchen, Sarah saw that two containers with dry cat pellets were set up beside the table, along with two silver bowls full of water. There was also another, more detailed note explaining their care.
Cassandra obviously believed Sarah would feed and water her cats for however long she would be missing. She’d left instructions, but she hadn’t left a timeline.
Anger curled in her belly. But who was present for her to be mad at? She was all alone, yet again. Sarah climbed under the covers and pulled the crisp, clean sheet over her head. Before long, she was sobbing her heart out. Pathetic. A Silicon Valley tech executive, reduced to crying on her childhood bed because an aunt she didn’t have much of a relationship with anyway had left her on her own. Again.
And then she was vaguely aware of a shift on the mattress beside her.
She peeked out over the covers.
Two purring, furry bodies were snuggled up, one on either side of her.
Sarah had never lived with pets. But she buried her cheek beside the big one’s head. He purred her to sleep, and for a second before she drifted off, she could swear she didn’t feel so alone and angry anymore.
SAM DOUBLE-PARKED his truck on Wallis Point’s Main Street. Then he got out and ran across two lanes of traffic toward the town library, up two short stone steps and through the heavy oaken doors, breathing heavily. He was barefoot and shirtless, but he wasn’t going to stop now. The air inside the library was cooler, but his skin was hot. He was filled with panic.
He just needed to find his daughter, and then he could breathe easier. Something must be terribly wrong with Lucy. Wouldn’t she have phoned him if she were here and safe?
He stopped just inside the lobby, perplexed. He didn’t often come inside this building—his middle school had its own library that he visited with his students—so he looked around for guidance.
A sign for the children’s section pointed down a set of stairs. No, Lucy wouldn’t be in the children’s section. Try the magazine reading room. Sam headed in that direction, but the only people there were two old men sitting on overstuffed chairs who didn’t even glance up from their newspapers.
Now what? Sam turned, heart in his throat, wondering who to ask for help, when a serious-faced librarian behind a desk called him over.
“Hello, sir.” With wide eyes, she looked him up and down and gave him a censuring frown.
He exhaled and held up his hands. “Sorry, but this is an emergency. I’m looking for my daughter, Lucy. She’s eleven. Medium-length brown hair. Yea high.” He used his hand to approximate her height. “Please, I can’t get hold of the woman who was taking care of her. Cassandra Shipp, you must know her? She’s a children’s book illustrator who lives on Wallis Point beach.”
“Yes, of course I know Cassandra.” The librarian smiled and stepped out from behind the desk.