Death by Scones (17 page)

Was he referring to Mom?

She didn't see me. She was with a couple of friends, on their way home from school. She looked as beautiful as I remembered. Just like her mother.

Me?

I haven't seen Lily in a while either. It's on purpose, I'm sure. She's happy with her husband and daughter. The girl—Riley—has an infectious smile. I wanted to get closer, to see if she resembled me at all. But I didn't.

The book almost slipped from my hand. What? Oh my God. Resembled him? Was I Nathan's child?

I blazed through the rest of the book. He learned he didn't get a movie part, and he was beyond upset. He drank every night, becoming unable to function sometimes. His agent frequently came by and put him to bed. How sad. All over a movie deal, or did some of his pain have to do with Mom and me? I shut my eyes for a second. I couldn't believe Mom had an affair with Nathan Dearborn. I couldn't believe I became a part of their secrets. I couldn't believe he may have been my father.

My stomach lurched. I wanted to cry out. This wasn't fair, and it shouldn't have been happening. I took in two semi-deep, cleansing breaths to calm my stomach and my mind.

Then I opened my eyes and read.

This isn't just about the one lousy part. I know this. It's years of disappointment. I just can't seem to shake it. My agent used the word "depression" today. I ordered him out. Nathan Dearborn wasn't going to be one of those head cases. No shrinks. No pills.

In the last entry, his handwriting was different—scratchy and uneven. It was dated the day of Mom, Dad, and Aunt Sandra's accident. My stomach seized at the memory.

What did I do? I can't believe it. No, please, God. It has to be a bad nightmare, but I don't even remember it. The last I recall, I was home, pouring myself a whiskey. My agent came by, and we argued. He left. Then I woke up in my driveway, behind the wheel. The front of the car is smashed.

For the second time that night, I felt sick to my stomach. No, he wasn't responsible. He couldn't have been.

The news talked of the accident. Lily. Poor Lily. She's dead. It can't be my fault, but there's blue paint on the front of my car. Their car was blue. I want to die too.

Oh my God, it was true?

"You shouldn't be reading that," said Max.

I flinched and looked up. He stood in the doorway with Tara.

She frowned. "Riley, what is it?"

Tears filled my eyes. "Were you going to tell me Nathan killed my parents?"

Tara gasped.

Max shook his head once. "No."

I swallowed hard. "Were you going to tell me he could be my father?"

He hesitated. "No."

With the journal firmly in hand, I pushed past Max, ran out, and puked in his front yard, by his neighbor's bush.

*   *   *

I paced my living room, staring at the journal that rested on my coffee table like a black hole into hell.

"Okay, we need alcohol," Tara said and went into the kitchen. She came back two seconds later. "You're out."

"A drink is exactly what I need," I whispered and thought of Nathan. He'd allowed alcohol to consume him, to kill my family. No,
he'd
killed them. The alcohol had diluted his abilities to drive correctly, but he was responsible for their deaths.

"You do not have to tell me twice," Tara said and grabbed her purse and keys. "I'll be right back.

When I didn't reply, she gripped my shoulders and shook me gently until I looked into her eyes. "I will be right back. Please don't go storming off. Be. Safe."

Did she think I was going to hurt myself? No. The only one I wanted to hurt was Nathan. But I would never get that chance because someone beat me to it. Maybe I could find his killer and thank them.

I couldn't form words, so I simply nodded.

"Good." She let me go and raced out of the house.

I continued my pacing. Back and forth. The book mocked me. I lifted it and threw it at the far wall. It smacked against it, nicked the paint, and fell to the floor. I considered tearing out each page and ripping them into tiny pieces, but then my proof would be gone. I wasn't sure why I needed proof. Nathan couldn't be prosecuted now. And it wouldn't bring my folks back. Aunt Sandra. Amber.

I sighed and fell onto the sofa. I had to tell Amber. I couldn't keep this from her. And Uncle Doug. Grams. They all deserved to know.

I glanced at my cell on the table. Part of me wanted to pick it up and dial Jared. If he was here, he'd wrap an arm around my shoulders and let me lay my head on his chest and cry it out.

I didn't want to cry. I did want Jared here though. I leaned forward and reached for the phone.

The doorbell rang, and I flinched. I practically ran to it and flung it open, ready to snatch the booze from Tara. But Max stood there instead. "What are you doing here?"

"We need to talk." He didn't wait for me to invite him in. He pushed through, probably afraid I'd slam the door in his face, and stepped into the living room.

I sighed and slammed the door shut. I wasn't mad at him, but his presence still angered me. "Have you known this whole time?"

He stood by the end of the sofa and faced me. "About which?"

"All of it," I shouted.

He shook his head. "I did know about Nathan possibly being your father."

"How? Why?"

"I recalled one of his visits to our house. I was only a kid, around ten years old, but I heard him talking to my father about Lily. He said that he still loved her, but she was already married. My dad asked, 'And what about the daughter?' Uncle Nathan said he didn't know if she was his. I don't think he wanted to know."

My right knee shook. I sat on the sofa. So Nathan hadn't wanted me? That was fine. I'd had a great father. Dad's goofy smile came to mind. I couldn't not be his. Had he suspected anything? I hoped not. My thoughts raced so fast, a headache formed in my temples.

"And the accident? When did you learn about that?" I asked.

He nodded to the journal on the floor behind us. "When I found the box and read that."

The letter. It had to be from my mom. "What did the letter say? The one in the same box. It was from my mom, right?"

His expression didn't change. He knew. "I hadn't read it yet. Did you take it?"

"No. Holly did. She saw me snooping."

He huffed air out of his nostrils, making them flare a bit.

"What do she and her sister know?" I asked.

"I'm not sure. We haven't discussed it. I didn't think they knew anything. Every conversation is about the house and his possessions."

"But you inherited the house. What are they still arguing about?" It dawned on me that if Nathan was my biological father, Max would be my cousin.

"I only inherited the house. Not the things inside."

That was odd. "Who do they go to?"

"That's why I'm here too. I said that I wasn't going to tell you the truth about Nathan maybe being your biological father. That's not exactly true. I wasn't sure what to do. When I first came to town, I didn't know if you knew about Nathan and your mother or not. After tonight, it was obvious you didn't. But I needed time to figure out if you were on the up and up. When I arrived, I'd only known that he'd died in your bakery. I hadn't learned how yet, so I had to wonder if you killed Uncle Nathan."

I opened my mouth and then shut it. "You thought that?"

Maybe I shouldn't have been surprised. I'd wondered if he'd killed his uncle. But up until Nathan Dearborn walking into the bakery, I'd barely known he existed. And I certainly had no idea that this man was a part of my life.

"For a moment, yes. I had to."

"Why did you have to?" I asked, thoroughly confused again.

"I'm the executor of Uncle Nathan's will."

 "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Uncle Nathan left a portion of his estate to you," Max said.

I disbelievingly chuckled. "Excuse me? That's crazy."

"He left you close to a million dollars."

Holy cupcakes!

The next morning, I woke up earlier than I thought I would, considering I hadn't gotten to bed until almost 3:00 a.m. Max had left right when Tara returned, and then she and I had drunk and talked about it all—Nathan, Mom, the accident, the inheritance, and even Will. I cried for hours. Tara had no idea how to comfort me. There was nothing she could do. My entire life had changed in less than a month, and since all of the people involved were already dead, I wasn't sure if there was anywhere to go for answers.

Tara was concerned about leaving me alone, so in order to try to cheer me up, she turned on my laptop, and we did several thousand dollars worth of virtual window shopping. Luckily, my credit card balance had very little left on it, so I didn't actually buy anything. But damn, I saw the nicest pair of black suede pumps.

Now, I pulled on my black just-below-the-knee gaucho pants—which were really just super-wide-legged capris—a sleeveless red-and-white striped knit top, and in-line skates. I rolled out of the house, determined to find out exactly what had happened to Nathan. The best plan of action was to speak to the other people at the bakery that day. Mallory Winchester, the PTA mom with the penchant for gossip, was first on my list. But before I headed to her house, I had a pit stop to make.

I rolled into Danger Cove Cemetery and over to the three graves I visited often. I sat between Mom's and Dad's graves and lay down on the grass. The sky was blue and bright, and it looked almost unreal.

"Well, you'll never guess how my weeks are turning out. Mom, I wish you were here to tell me what happened between you, Dad, and Nathan. Who is my father?"

I patted the grass on top of Dad's grave. "Not that it matters. I had the best daddy in the whole world."

A bird chirped in a nearby tree. Did they have parental problems? Did birds mate for life? Mom must've known I belonged to Dad, otherwise, why would she have married him. Right?

I shut my eyes. Oh shut up, Riley. It doesn't matter anymore. They were happy. I knew that. It was the only thing that still mattered.

When I was done, I headed over to Mallory's. I rang the bell, and she answered wearing a lime-green jogging bra and black biker shorts. Her hair was shorter than the day at the bakery. It was up in a stubbly ponytail, and sweat flattened several tendrils of loose hair to her forehead. Her breathing was heavy, and she sucked on a pink-colored bottle of water. At least I assumed it was water.

She squinted, then widened her eyes. "Riley, hello. What are you doing here?"

"I was hoping we could talk about that day at the bakery," I said.

She frowned, looking uncertain as to what I was talking about.

"The day Nathan died," I added.

Her eyes widened again, and she stepped back. "Oh sure. Come on in."

That got her attention. I reminded myself to be careful what I said, because she was a busybody.

She led me through the immaculate, brown and sage-green, TV-less living room, the kind that was just for show and no one actually used. We passed the wood and stainless steel dining room-slash-kitchen and stepped into a den. The entire room was decorated in beiges. Even the tables were a very light brown. This family had a love for earth tones.

An enormous TV was on, but the volume was turned down low. An exercise tape was paused, and the woman leading the group of perky exercisers, in neon-colored shorts and an assortment of tops from sports bras to T-shirts, had her mouth open, in the midst of saying something. The camera had zoomed in on her face, and I could almost make out her tonsils.

Mallory didn't work outside of her home, but what I knew of her, she never sat around. She was not only a part of the PTA, but she was a true soccer mom—the kind who enjoyed her kids in every after-school activity and spent more time in her car than her house. She was a hardworking Capricorn to the letter, and I only knew that because she often talked about how awful it had been growing up with a Christmas birthday.

"So what did you want to talk to me about?" Mallory pushed a navy sweatshirt off of the cushion of the sectional and stacked several magazines on the coffee table. Now this room was lived in.

I sat down. "I was wondering if you saw anything suspicious that day."

That caught her attention. She stopped mid-organizing and slowly sat on the sofa. "Like what?"

I shrugged, trying to act nonchalant, but come on. I had to have a legit reason for the question. No one made a surprise visit to an acquaintance unless they had a good reason.

"The e-mail about the freebies. You received one?" I asked.

"Yes. That's how I knew about the event. I had an appointment at The Clip and Sip hair salon just before I got the invite. I don't normally eat carbs, but I figured one time wouldn't hurt." She rolled her eyes and pointed to the TV. "As you can see, I was wrong. That cookie went straight to my hips. I gained four pounds. I should've known better."

It took all my willpower not to roll my eyes. She needed to buy a new scale or to start journaling her food intake if she truly believed half a cookie had caused her to gain weight.

"Any chance you saw someone carry in a plate of scones?" I asked as if it was the most common question.

She shook her head. "No. That would be silly. Why would someone bring in their own food?" She giggled, not catching on. That was just as well.

"What do you remember of that morning?"

"Well, let's see. I got the e-mail, decided to take a detour, and ate some excellent cookies, even if they were extremely fattening." She chuckled as if she'd said something funny.

"I mean at the bakery. Who do you remember seeing?"

"Oh, well that's easy enough." She cocked her head and looked off past me. "If I go around the room, there was Glenda, Shirley, and Patricia—the women who dote on your grandmother's every word."

So those were the names of the Bitty-Batty women.

"Norma Childs, Susan Monroe, the Cinnamon Sugar Bakery employees, Jeff Truman, Lorna…"

As she named every single person there, I wished I'd brought a notebook. I hadn't expected her attention to detail. Damn, she was good. But when she was done, I was no closer to finding the truth. She hadn't mentioned Holly or Gloria Dearborn.