contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  Sneak Peek

  Acknowledgments

  Books by Barbara Barrett

  A little about Barbara Barrett

  Copyright © Barbara Barrett 2024

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted to any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.

  E-book ISBN 978-1-948532-69-3

  This book is dedicated to my Florida condo neighbors: Barb and Jeff, Janice and Kayla, Erica and Ray, Diane and Chris, Arlene and Curt and Lesley and Andy. You’ve been there for me throughout the last fifteen years.

  one

  Marla Dane patted the damp remains of her three-hundred-dollar haircut and sighed with resignation. She had no idea when she’d be able to afford such a luxury again. Welcome back to Minnesota, Marla. Not exactly the homecoming you were expecting.

  Five minutes earlier, a sudden autumn downpour burst the minute she emerged from her rideshare. An hour and a half before that, she’d arrived at the Minneapolis-St. Paul Airport and then waited in vain for sixty minutes to be picked up by her sister, Kitty Lovejoy.

  Where was Kitty, anyhow? It wasn’t like her to be late for anything, let alone be a total no-show. Was her absence one more hint things were not as they should be with her younger sister? To make matters worse, without Kitty to let her in, she was locked out of the secure building and stranded in the rain.

  Kitty had been the one to suggest an extended visit to her home state after Marla had been let go from the television show on which she’d starred for six seasons, Carruthers on the Case, where she’d played Letitia Carruthers, PI.

  The network had convinced her showrunner that the only way he could keep the show afloat another season was to bring in a younger cast. The title was changed to Carruthers on the Case, The Early Years. Some smart-aleck reporter had come up with the headline, “Letitia Carruthers Youthanized,” and everyone ran with it. The media attention following her unprecedented “firing” had been brutal.

  Clinging to an unreal hope that casting directors would be breaking down her door when the news got around that she was available, Marla had thanked her sister for the invite but remained in LA waiting for the offers to roll in. Even when those offers didn’t magically materialize, she stayed on the West Coast, thinking the stigma of being fired would cool down eventually. But days turned into weeks, which turned into months. The new network TV season had come and gone, and she was still no part of it.

  Increasingly desperate for a role, she foolishly invested a significant part of her nest egg in a project that died on the vine. Humiliated and depressed, she’d backed away from LA’s social life to the point of almost becoming a recluse.

  Kitty’s calls became less frequent, and her urging to come join her was forgotten until Kitty’s next-door neighbor, Tom Casey, called and asked Marla to reconsider Kitty’s invitation. He wouldn’t say why he was calling instead of Kitty, nor would he divulge why he thought a visit at this time was necessary. But his tone was definitely serious and concerned. The mystery had scared Marla enough to find a house sitter for her place in Santa Monica and head east.

  A sudden gust of wind blew over a small planter next to her on the bench where she sat under the building’s portico. Righting the hydrangea bush in the planter not only soaked the front of her hoodie, the action left behind several stray leaves and petals and ruined her Prada designer jeans and Tory Burch ballet flats. Before her recent troubles, she would’ve thrown out the damaged goods with little thought to the money going down the drain. Now, she’d have to do her best to revive them.

  Just as she was about to slip even further into this morass of self-pity, a ray of sunshine showed up in the form of a woman opening the front door. She appeared to be somewhere in her mid-sixties like Marla with her gray hair cut short, bangs off to the side. “Locked out?” she asked.

  Marla resisted the urge to ask why else she’d be sitting out in this downpour, her own graying red locks emerging from the hoodie, dripping water. “I’m visiting my sister, who seems to have forgotten about my arrival. And can’t be reached by phone.”

  “We’re not supposed to admit strangers to the building, but I can’t let you stay out here in this deluge. Follow me. I can at least get you inside and out of this rain.”

  “Thanks,” Marla mumbled as she attempted to carry both her bags at once.

  “I’m not allowed to carry more than ten pounds or I’d get that second one. But I’ll wait in the lobby to let you back in if you want to return for it.”

  Not much choice. Marla accepted the offer.

  “Who’re you visiting?” the woman asked once Marla and both bags were inside the building.

  “My sister, Kitty Lovejoy.”

  Realization dawned in the woman’s eyes. “Then you’re …?”

  “Marla. Marla Dane. I used the storm to arrive incognito so I wouldn’t be recognized,” she joked.

  Her rescuer offered her hand. “I’m Scottie Richards. Glad you still have your sense of humor. I should have recognized you even after the rain had its way with you. I loved your show. I’m sorry about …” She didn’t finish. They both knew what she meant.

  Marla offered the standard reply she’d developed since she found herself unemployed. “Thanks. I appreciate your support. But that’s the name of the game in the entertainment industry. Youth sells.”

  “Well, this audience is still wanting to see more of you. There aren’t that many TV shows that feature older actresses as bright, independent beings.”

  True. Unfortunately, the powers that be in the entertainment industry appeared completely unaware of that notion. “The right part will come along soon. In the meantime, Kitty convinced me it’s time for another visit.”

  “And then she goes and forgets today’s your arrival day.” Richards angled her head, considering. “Unusual for her. She’s usually on top of these details. If I could let you into her condo, I would, but I don’t know her code. They warn us about oversharing information like that.”

  Although tempted to follow up on Scottie’s comment about Kitty’s forgetfulness being so unusual, it was more important to get to Kitty’s condo. “I’m just thankful you trusted me enough to let me into the building so my luggage and I can dry off before she appears.”

  “I know!” Scottie held up an index finger. “Tom Casey, her next-door neighbor is a friend of mine. I’ll call him. He should have the code.”

  Tom Casey. The guy who called her with his concerns about Kitty. She should’ve thought of him first.

  Scottie returned within a minute. “Tom wasn’t home, so I contacted someone else in the building. He’s a retired police officer who most of us trust with information like that. His name is Rex Alcorn. He’ll be down shortly.” She waited with Marla.

  Almost immediately, a male form emerged from the elevator. In his charcoal-gray sweatpants and blue sweatshirt, the guy gave new meaning to the term silver fox. Over six fee t tall, he showed no sign of the prominent gut so prevalent amongst men her age. His wide-set blue-gray eyes narrowed just short of a scowl. “Gotta make this fast. Top of the fifth and the Twins are behind by one run.” Only after he made this pronouncement to the world in general did he turn to Marla. “You’re Kitty’s older sister. I missed meeting you the last time you were in town.”

  “Thank you for taking pity on me in this situation. I have no idea where Kitty is,” she said, attempting to get off on the appropriate friendly foot while she fought the temptation to take in this gorgeous sight.

  “That why you deigned to visit her again?” he asked. “So we can all take pity on the poor millionaire actress who got the ax?”

  “Uh …”

  “Be nice, Rex,” Scottie said. “Kitty’s disappeared and can’t be reached by phone. And this poor woman got caught outside in that rain.”

  Rex gave her the once-over, which consisted of a brief flash of something until his eyes hooded over.

  She knew that look. That male-spots-female look and likes-what-he-sees look. But it was gone in a flash.

  “I see. Guess you don’t have your makeup and wardrobe people at your beck and call these days.”

  A real sweetheart, this Alcorn.

  “Today anyhow,” she replied. “Could you help me with my bags?”

  He disappeared without a word, returning seconds later pulling a luggage cart. “Got a bad back. Although this place isn’t devoted to senior living, there are a lot of us here with that problem. That’s why we keep these contraptions around.”

  He lifted one, then the other suitcase ont
o the cart, bad back and all.

  “Thanks,” she said, not sure what else to say.

  Marla thanked Scottie, who scuttled off as soon as Rex appeared to have taken over.

  Marla let him push the cart onto the elevator. Neither spoke on the way to the third floor, though she was hard-pressed not to sneak a few surreptitious glances at the man who seemed so anxious to be rid of her.

  Once they arrived at the third floor, he pushed the cart off the elevator and down the spacious hallway.

  He paused when they reached Kitty’s condo. “What’s your sister’s maiden name?” he asked.

  “Thatcher, the same as mine. If you weren’t sure it was me, why did you wait until now to ask me that question rather than when we were in the lobby?”

  “I figured you are who you say you are, but it never hurts to check. You look vaguely like the woman on the TV show although a little worse for wear today.”

  “I hadn’t planned on getting caught in a monsoon,” she replied. “Then you have watched my show. I got the impression you preferred sports to TV crime dramas.”

  “I do, but Kitty harassed me enough about watching it that I finally gave in just so I could get her off my back.”

  “What did you think of it?” she asked before she realized how needy that sounded.

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “Too grisly?”

  “Grisly, no. I’ve seen more than my share of grisly in my life. But a sixty-something woman in designer pantsuits and stilettos chasing bad guys? Totally unbelievable.”

  “There was that, but what about the acting?” It was out before she thought better of asking.

  “You really want to know?” he asked.

  “I guess when you put it like that, no,” she replied, although she couldn’t help wondering what he might’ve said.

  After what seemed like minutes but had only been seconds, he punched a code into the door lock. He opened the door for her, and she entered cautiously. What if Kitty was sick and couldn’t come to her phone? Worse yet, what if … Marla couldn’t even finish that thought. She tried to rid her brain of such an image, but she’d worked with dead bodies so long, even though they were pretend dead bodies, it wasn’t easy.

  “Kitty?” she called as she walked tentatively through the living room, then the kitchen and dining room and finally the bedrooms. No sign of her. What she did find was Kitty’s cell phone resting on the charger. This wasn’t good. Maybe Tom Casey had been right to summon Marla.

  “She wouldn’t go anywhere without her phone,” she told Alcorn.

  “Apparently she did,” he replied laconically. “Want me go down to the garage and see if her car is there?”

  He was offering to help? Didn’t he have a ball game to get back to? “Yes, okay, if you wouldn’t mind.”

  “I assume she’ll put you in her only guest room. I’ll push this cart in there and unload your bags before I go down. Want ’em on the bed or elsewhere?”

  Maybe he wasn’t quite the jerk she thought he was at first. The verdict was still out on that one, but his status was beginning to rise in her book.

  After he left, she strolled from room to room seeking some sort of clue where Kitty was. Her sister must’ve done some redecorating. Bright yellow met her everywhere, along with touches of red, black and purple. Soft blue had been the dominant color the last time she visited.

  She found her sister’s purse in her bedroom but no wallet. The phone had charged to a hundred percent. But that wasn’t conclusive. Kitty could’ve been gone a couple of hours or just dashed out with the percent already on a high charge.

  Next, she studied the contents of the fridge. Kitty had stocked it with Marla’s favorite type of soda, Diet Coke. “Pop,” now that she was back in the Midwest.

  Finally, she snooped in the various waste containers around the condo looking for bloodied bandages and fortunately discovered nothing of that nature. She couldn’t believe she’d succumbed to something Letitia would do. Unlike Letitia, though, she hadn’t been able to figure out anything about her sister’s disappearance. Some detective she’d turned out to be.

  Once again, she had to remind herself to stop thinking like that.

  “Her car’s still in its usual spot in the garage,” Rex called out as he returned. “Hey, where are you?”

  She emerged from the corridor leading to Kitty’s bedroom. “I’ve been reconnoitering. Thought maybe I’d find something to suggest where she went or what happened to her, but I found nothing.”

  “Let a pro do that,” he told her, swaggering past as he went by, presumably to check Kitty’s bedroom.

  He seemed to know his way around the condo. Was he a frequent visitor? Especially to Kitty’s bedroom. One more question for her sister whenever she showed up.

  That was exactly when the door flew open and Kitty rushed in, soaking wet. “Oh, Marla, I’m so sorry I missed you at the airport and then wasn’t here to let you in.” That last part made her pause. “Wait. You are in. How did you manage that?”

  “That would’ve been me, Kitty,” Rex said, coming from the bedroom hallway. “Scottie Richards found her under the portico attempting to stay out of the rain and let her in. She called me because I know the code to this place.”

  Kitty glanced from Rex to Marla, taking in the explanation. “I’m so glad someone let you in after that sudden shower. Look at me. I caught got in it myself.” Where Marla’s appearance resembled that of a soaking dog, her hair matted down with droplets of moisture still inching down her neck, Kitty, two inches shorter than Marla’s five-eight, barely looked the worse for wear. Her shoulder-length blond bob just slightly glistened.

  “Where were you?” Marla asked, trying not to sound accusatory.

  Kitty groaned. “I got a last-minute invitation to check out Roger Halliwell’s new boat over on the St. Croix River.” She avoided Rex’s gaze at this point, something Marla made a mental note to ask about later after Rex left. “Some new boat! New to him, so new he flooded it and then couldn’t restart the motor. We sat out there drifting in the middle of the river for what seemed like ages before someone rescued us and pulled us in to shore. But not until after the rain. Everyone else was smart enough to get off the water by then.”

  “Why didn’t you take your phone?” Rex asked a little too pointedly.

  “I started to and then noticed it was down to five percent battery. And Roger forgot and left his in his car.”

  “Mystery solved,” Rex said, “except for why you’d ever go out with Roger Halliwell in the first place.”

  “He had a boat, Rex. I love to be out on the water, although not after today and certainly not ever again with Roger.”

  Yes, there was definitely a story there. Something to discuss while they treated themselves to ice cream sundaes later. Her sister’s love life seemed much more interesting at the moment than Marla’s lack of new acting roles.

  two

  “Now that Rex has left and we have our bowls of ice cream, tell me why you’re really here,” Kitty said as the two of them clustered around the small island in her kitchen.

  Marla pulled out the necklace she usually wore beneath her knit pullover and fingered it. It was a diamond pendant her late husband, Carson Grant, had given her at the conclusion of her first successful season of On the Case. She wore it all the time except when shooting the show. Touching it had become her go-to whenever she was unsure of her next steps.

  She suspected she’d receive some sort of grilling from her sister because she hadn’t communicated much with Kitty or anyone else since her attempt to revive her career had bombed. But she didn’t want to rat out Tom Casey and his plea for Marla to come help her sister.

  If only there was a reluctant or rejected lover she could tell her sister about. Kitty could relate to either situation, but failed million-dollar movie deals weren’t in her sister’s wheelhouse. Still, Kitty wasn’t a flake. She could understand the tenets of business as well as any other Minnesotan. “I came back home to escape my life in California, Kitty.”