Drew was fine. He was just busy. She reached into the pocket of the last jacket in the closet, and her fingers closed around a piece of paper. She pulled it out. It was a travel itinerary. But there was something different about it. And then it hit her. Garrett Malone's name was on the top of the paper, followed by a list of flight numbers, hotel reservations, book signings, and radio appearances in Los Angeles. The date was for today.
Laura walked into the bedroom and sat down on the bed, still staring at the piece of paper in her hand. Why did Drew have Garrett Malone's travel itinerary? Was he planning to contact the man? But Drew was on a business trip. A business trip in Los Angeles. A shiver ran down her spine. Drew and Garrett Malone were both in L.A.
She couldn't believe that Drew was behind the book. That didn't make any sense at all. There was no motive, no reason, nothing to be gained. He must have gone to L.A. to meet with Malone. Or maybe he was .just going to combine law business with personal business. He was probably trying to protect her. That's why he hadn't said anything. That had to be why.
But she didn't like that Drew was keeping secrets from her. They were supposed to be partners in everything. If he was keeping secrets about Malone, what else was he hiding? The lack of communication in their marriage seemed suddenly insurmountable. They should be talking about Malone and Emily and the book and everything else that was happening. They should be working on it together, instead of separately.
The phone rang, interrupting her thoughts. Hoping it was Drew, she picked it up and said, "Hello?"
"Laura McKinney?" a woman asked.
"This is she."
"Are you the same Laura Hart who married Drew McKinney?"
"Who's asking?"
"Laura? It's Kathy Allen," the woman said. "Remember me? I went to college with you."
"Of course I remember you." She searched her mind for a face to go with the name. Kathy Allen had been a freshman pledge when she'd been a senior. They'd known each other only in passing. Still, a sorority sister was a sorority sister. "How are you?"
"I'm fine. I'm a reporter now for the Santa Cruz Sentinel. I loved this area so much I decided to stay after graduation."
"Really?" Laura didn't like the sound of that. Why would Kathy be calling her from Santa Cruz?
"Have you heard about a book called Fallen Angel? It's supposed to be a fictitious murder mystery, but the buzz is that it's really the story of that girl who fell off the roof of our sorority house two years before I came to school. You were friends with her, right?"
"I'm sure this book doesn't have anything to do with Emily."
"That's not what people are saying."
"What people?"
"I've had some calls from a few of the girls who were in the house that night. I guess they think since I'm a reporter, I can figure out what's going on. Have you read the book, Laura? I wasn't there, but a lot of it sounds familiar to me just from having heard everyone talk about it. You're in it. Although the names are changed, it's pretty clear it's you, and those two other girls you hung out with." She paused, the sound of paper rustling in the background. "Natalie and Madison, right?"
"It's just a novel," Laura said with a little laugh. "I can't believe everyone is so interested in it."
"The book suggests that Emily's accident was murder, and your friend Natalie was the murderer."
"She wasn't just my friend, Kathy. She was and still is our sorority sister. I hope people can remember that."
"You sound a little defensive," Kathy remarked.
"I stand by my friends. Don't you?"
"I didn't know Natalie. She was long gone by the time I got there. But I'm not out to get anyone. I'm just looking for the truth."
"Emily fell. That's the truth."
"That's the official version anyway. I spoke to a Detective Boland at the local precinct here. He remembers the case. And he said, off the record, that he always thought there was something funny about it. He also said that he would check out this book."
Laura's heart began to race. If the police reopened the case, it would garner even more publicity. What could she do to stop it? What could she tell Kathy to make her forget about it? The woman was a reporter. She wasn't going to let this go, especially when it involved her own sorority.
"You were easy to find," Kathy added. "I got your number from the alumni directory, but I haven't been able to locate Natalie or Madison. Do you know where they are?"
"No, I don't," Laura lied.
"I'll keep looking. With the Internet, it's not easy to hide."
"I doubt they're hiding."
"I hope you're right, Laura. It would be a terrible scandal to discover that one of our sisters committed murder, especially against a fellow sister. Even worse if the other two covered up for her."
"Thanks for the call, Kathy. I have to pick up my daughters now."
"I'm sure I'll talk to you again."
Laura hung up the phone with a shaky hand. She remembered Kathy now, a ruthless bitch who'd always loved to stir the pot, mix things up, then watch the fireworks. A little like Drew, she thought idly. He'd always loved a good fight. It was that trait that made him a good lawyer. What else did it make him? She looked down at the itinerary for Garrett Malone and wondered again if Malone was the real reason Drew had gone to L.A.
She knew Natalie and Madison and even Cole had Drew on their list of possible sources for Malone's book. She'd dismissed the idea out of hand earlier. Now she couldn't help wondering. Drew had been so secretive the past few months, working late at the office and even here at home in his study downstairs. She remembered the way he'd blacked out the screen the previous day, so she couldn't see what he was working on. He'd said it was business, but was it?
It was ridiculous to think Drew was behind the book. He was obsessed with his law job, with making partner, with setting himself up for a political career. Why would he make such a huge detour to the past? He and Emily had barely been friends. And he had no ax to grind with Natalie. She couldn't think of one good reason why he'd let himself get involved in the book.
Except for money. Drew had grown up poor, and she knew money was important to him. Financial security fueled his ambition.
Getting up from the bed, she walked down to the study and opened the filing cabinet. Drew took care of all the family finances. She was embarrassed to say that in this day and age of independent, smart women, she had no real idea of their monetary worth, because Drew handled everything. Their roles were very traditional. He was the provider. She was the homemaker. It had worked perfectly ... for a while.
But it wasn't working perfectly now. And she didn't know what was widening the gap between them. Was it another woman? Or was it the past? She pulled out the bank statements from the last year and sat down at the desk. She was going to eliminate the secrets in her life one at a time.
They'd missed Malone again. Cole stared at the empty table in the front of the bookstore where the man was supposed to be sitting and felt the wind go out of his sails. After their discoveries in Malone's hotel room, he'd become convinced they were only moments away from discovering his true identity.
"The manager said he left ten minutes ago. The books went much faster than they'd anticipated, and they ran out of stock," Natalie said with an expressive sigh. "This sucks."
"It certainly does."
"I told you we should have gotten here earlier."
"If we'd rushed through Malone's room, we would have missed the wig and makeup. We'll have to try to catch him at the radio station."
"That's not until three o'clock."
"It's all I've got. Do you want to get something to eat?" He stopped, realizing Natalie had paused next to a book rack, an odd expression on her face. "What's wrong?"
"I can't believe I didn't think of this before." She pointed to the row of slim books in front of her. "Emily wrote in a journal just like that every single night we were at school, starting with the very first day in the dorms." She looked at him with a new light in her eyes. "What better place to learn the secrets of our lives than from Emily's journal? When I was reading Fallen Angel, I thought it sounded like Emily was talking. Malone must have gotten the information for his book from her journal. What she didn't write down, he filled in with his own imagination. It makes perfect sense. We used to joke that Emily could use that journal for blackmail." She paused, giving a confused shake of her head. "But how did Malone get her journal? You and your parents cleaned out our room after the funeral."
His jaw tightened as he remembered that terrible task. "I didn't pay attention to what we were packing."
"Where did everything end up?"
"In Emily's bedroom in my parents' house. If the journal is anywhere, it's there."
"I don't think it's there. I think it's with Malone."
"It wasn't in his hotel room."
"He probably didn't bring it with him. We can certainly ask him about it when we find him ... if we find him."
"We will," Cole said confidently. "He can't run out of the radio show early. We'll catch up to him there. And we'll ask him about the journal. Let's get out of here."
"And go where?" she asked, as they moved toward the door.
He thought about that. They needed a distraction, something to do for a couple of hours to take their minds off Emily and his family. Since food seemed to be of little interest to either of them, he sought another idea. And suddenly he had it. "Take me home," he said abruptly.
Natalie looked at him in confusion. "Now? We have to meet Malone at three o'clock."
"Not my home. Yours."
"I don't understand."
"Yes, you do." He saw the light slowly dawn in her eyes. "Show me where you grew up, Natalie. Take me home."
"Absolutely not."
"When was the last time you saw your mother?"
"Five years ago. She was in rehab. She asked me for cash and a bottle of whiskey. I gave her the cash. She probably used it to get the whiskey as soon as she got out."
"So why give her the money?"
"I don't know. Habit, I guess. Duty, responsibility, guilt."
"What would you have to feel guilty about?"
"I don't want to talk about my mother."
"We don't have to talk. Let's just take a drive through the old neighborhood. We won't stop unless you want to."
Natalie shook her head. "Do you ever have an idea that is not stupid or dangerous?"
"Not lately," he said with a grin.
"I should have my head examined for agreeing to them all." She studied him thoughtfully. "Why the interest now, Cole? You never wanted to know anything about my past before. Are we just killing time?"
"Maybe I wasn't ready to know before," he said candidly.
"That's a perceptive statement."
"Give me some credit. I have matured a little in the past ten years."
"I think I'll reserve judgment," she said as they walked out of the bookstore and back to their rental car.
As he unlocked her door, he said, "I'll drive. You tell me where to go."
She smiled. "I've already told you where to go— a number of times. But you're still here."
"Very funny. You know, if you're not careful, you may actually develop a sense of humor in your old age."
Natalie felt every year of her age as Cole drove down the streets of her youth. In some ways it seemed like yesterday since she'd been home. In other ways, it felt as if a lifetime had passed. With each turn, they drew closer to the house where she'd spent her early childhood. She didn't know why she'd directed him to go there. Maybe because it was so far removed from her life it was easier to look at. The one-story, ranch-style home sat at the end of a cul-de-sac in a modest neighborhood in North Hollywood, the kind of street where young families settled. It was the picture of suburbia with bikes in driveways, toys on lawns, and the sound of a barking dog.
"This is where you grew up?" Cole asked with surprise. "I thought you lived in an apartment building."
"This was my first house—where we lived when my dad was alive. It's smaller than I remember."
"Most things are." Cole stopped in front of the house. "When did you move out of this place?"
"When I was eight. About six weeks after my father died. We couldn't stay here. We didn't have enough money. There was no life insurance. My dad was thirty-six years old. He hadn't anticipated dying of a heart attack, so he hadn't prepared."
"That's understandable."
"I guess." She stared at the house, imagining the rooms inside, the green tile on the kitchen floor, the recliner in the living room, the old TV where the cat liked to nap, the small bedroom where she'd had her own twin bed, her own posters, her own things. They hadn't been rich, not even when her father had been alive, but they'd had enough.
"What are you seeing?" Cole asked quietly.
"My mom and dad sitting at the dining-room table, talking, laughing." She offered him a sad, wistful smile. "They loved to sit after a meal. I'd bring my homework to the table. I liked being around them, hearing them talk, even when they would bicker with each other. I could hear the love in their voices. It was powerful."
"I didn't think you remembered anything good about your childhood."
"I didn't think I did, either," she said, surprised at herself. "For a long time I only had one image in my head, the night my father died. My mother and I were sitting on the couch in the living room, watching television. My dad came into the room and started to say something to my mom about the credit card bill. I remember being worried, because I knew mom spent more than dad wanted her to. Mom said I needed the clothes, and I felt so guilty when she said that." She paused, remembering that moment in vivid detail. "Dad looked like he was going to argue; then his eyes got wide and scared, as if something had just jumped out of the closet at him. He put a hand to his chest, then fell to the floor. My mom screamed. She just sat there and screamed. I ran over to him and tried to shake him, but he stared back at me without blinking. His eyes were so big. They said he died instantly, but I couldn't tell, not with the way he was looking at me ..." Her voice broke at the memory, and it took her a moment to catch her breath.
"I thought he was begging for my help," she said, lifting her gaze to meet Cole's. She saw compassion and understanding in his eyes and felt a trust that she hadn't felt in a long time. She hadn't told anyone about that night—ever. For some reason she wanted to tell Cole now. "I didn't know what to do. My mother couldn't seem to move. She just kept crying. I felt so helpless, and I was angry with her for not helping him." Natalie wiped the moisture gathering in the corners of her eyes. "I think that's when I first knew I wanted to be a doctor. I didn't want to ever feel that helpless again."
"I never realized it was your father's death that motivated you to be a doctor. Was that why you chose to work in the ER?"
"Partly. I thought about cardiology and also pediatrics. Those were my first choices, but I realized quickly that I was better at the quick fix than the long-term doctor-patient relationship. As you know, I'm not very good at personal relationships. Emily's death, the breakup of my friendships, my family, you ..." She shook her head helplessly. "All failures. In the ER someone comes in with a problem, I fix it and send them home. Or if I can't fix it, I send them to someone who can."
Cole's gaze never left her face. Natalie didn't like it, wishing he would look away. He was reading between the lines of their conversation, an annoying habit as she recalled.
"In and out," he said. "No messy complications."
"Exactly. They don't get to know me. I don't get to know them. Believe me, they're safer that way. Can we leave, please?"
"Where did you go after you lived here?"
"We moved in with my mom's younger sister, Gail, for a year. Then Gail fell in love with a business executive who didn't want us living with them. Gail chose the big, two-story house in Brentwood over us, not that I could blame her. Mom lost it after dad died. She couldn't hold herself together. She drank. She took sleeping pills. She worked as a waitress or a cashier but could never hold a job longer than a few weeks."
"That must have been rough on you."
"I had to become the mother. We moved in with one of my mom's boyfriends next. He was all right, I guess. He didn't pay much attention to me. At least we had a roof over our heads. That lasted about two years. Then he took off. Mom fell apart again. She hated being alone. It's sad when I think about it."
"But she also pissed you off, because she was weak. And you despise weakness in a person."
"That doesn't make me sound very nice. But yes, I did resent her. I was a kid. I should have been protected, provided for."
"Every kid deserves that," he agreed. "How did you ever get enough money to go to college? I know you worked a couple of jobs, but they couldn't have paid all the bills."
"My grandfather died, and shock of all shocks, he left me fifteen thousand dollars in his will. He'd wanted nothing to do with us before that. I guess he and my mom had some fight over something, and he wrote her off, but apparently he wanted to do something for me after he was gone. If he hadn't left me the money, I probably wouldn't have been able to get through school, even with all the other jobs I was working. I got some scholarships, too, and I still have a lot of loans to pay back, but someday I will, every last one of them." She'd make sure of that. She wouldn't be indebted to anyone. Someday she would be completely free of every tie, every obligation. "Anyway, we can go now. I've seen enough. And you must be bored out of your mind."
He grinned at that. "Natalie, you've been a lot of things to me, but boring isn't one of them. It's interesting to see where you come from. It helps me understand you."
That made her more uneasy. She didn't particularly want to be Cole's focus. Not that she was deluding herself. They were just killing time until Cole could connect with Malone. After that, he would forget all about this little trip down memory lane. Unfortunately, it would probably last a lot longer in her mind.
"Your mother must be proud that you became a doctor," he continued. "You're quite a success story."
Was that admiration she heard in his voice? "I don't know if she's proud, but she believes I'll be able to take care of her. That's really all that matters."
"Does she live alone now?"
"She has a boyfriend who lives with her. I've never met him, but he's answered the phone when I've called."
"You've called?"
"Yes, you're not the only one with a sense of family duty. Despite everything, I can't forget that we're related and that she's my mother. I won't let her starve or get thrown out on the streets. As for a deeper relationship, it's not going to happen." She shook her finger at him. "And don't try to make me think about changing the way things are. A five-minute discussion doesn't make you an expert on my life or my psyche. Besides that, it's none of your business."
"Are you done?"
"That depends on what you're going to say next. I warn you, Cole. You need to back off. You're not my boyfriend, or even my friend for that matter. My personal life is my personal business."
"It doesn't sound like you have a personal life. I'm beginning to understand why. You don't let anyone get close to you. You've built a wall around your feelings. No one will hurt you ever again."
"So what? It's my life. I like it that way."
"It's not healthy."
"And you're the expert on healthy relationships?" she asked in amazement. "Do I need to remind you about the girlfriend who threw the stapler at your head?"
"We're not talking about me. We're talking about you dealing with your past."
"Oh, just shut up," she said in exasperation. "If I've built a wall around my feelings, it's not because of my mother, it's because of you." The words flew out of her mouth and once spoken, they couldn't be taken back. Nor could she seem to stop herself from continuing. He'd pushed her too far, and now he would have to bear the consequences.
"Do you know that you're the first and only man to whom I said the words I love you?" she asked, looking him straight in the eye. "Do you know what it cost me to bare my heart and soul to say those words? And what did you do? You said, That's great, Nat. The next thing I knew you were blowing me off, not returning my calls, avoiding me. I was the stupid girl who'd taken sex far too seriously, wasn't I?" She didn't wait for an answer. "You hurt me, Cole. And I should have told you that a long time ago. If anyone made me cold and hard, it was you."
He stared at her with a grim look on his face. "I'm sorry."
"No, you're not."
"I am sorry," he reiterated. "I am." He gazed into her eyes. "When you said you loved me, you scared the shit out of me. I didn't know how to handle it. I was young and stupid. I didn't know what you wanted from me. I didn't know how to say no to what you wanted, because part of me wanted it, too."