Lake Minnetonka was one of the ten biggest lakes in Minnesota—a state that advertised itself as having ten thousand lakes, though in reality, it was closer to twelve. Lake Minnetonka had some hundred and twenty-five miles of shoreline. Jordan’s boat could have been anywhere along the shore. For the police to have found it so quickly was a major accomplishment, and would undoubtedly be celebrated on the evening news. It also suggested that Jordan hadn’t tried to hide his destination on Saturday night. What that meant, in the larger scheme of things, was anybody’s guess.

  Deciding to call Avi right away and not stew about it, Jane tapped in her number. She waited through several rings until Avi picked up.

  “Hey, Jane. You got my message.”

  “How come I merit an actual phone call?”

  Avi laughed.

  To Jane, it sounded less an expression of mirth than one of tension.

  “Yeah, well. About that text I sent you the other night. I hope you aren’t upset. I was pretty hammered. My first mistake was sending you a text when I was in such bad shape. My second mistake was sending it.”

  The subtext in that message, while cryptic, seemed clear enough to Jane. She’d read it over several times, always coming to the same conclusion.

  “Not sure what you thought I meant,” continued Avi. “Actually, I wrote it and I’m not even sure what I meant.”

  Getting into this can of worms over the phone wasn’t smart. This was a conversation they needed to have face-to-face. “How are the revisions going?”

  “Good. I’m pretty much done until I see see Elaine Ducasse again on Wednesday. I started thinking, hell, I’ve got a free day tomorrow. Why don’t you fly down? From Minneapolis to Chicago is like, half an hour in the air. We could spend the entire day together. What do you say?”

  “If it’s such a short trip, why don’t you fly back here? Just let me know when the plane arrives and I’ll meet you at the airport.”

  “But, see, I promised I’d stay in Chicago until all the revisions are done.”

  “Are you suggesting you’re trapped? That Elaine would drop the book if you weren’t available the instant she asks to see you?”

  Another nervous laugh. “No. Of course not.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Me? Where am I?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m—”

  “At the hotel?” asked Jane.

  “Actually, I’m at a cabin on Lake Michigan. It’s only about an hour away.”

  “Really? A cabin. Is it nice?”

  “It’s amazing. Right on the water.”

  “How’d you find out about the place?”

  Silence. “It belongs to a friend of Julia’s.”

  Ah, Julia. Jane assumed they’d get there eventually. “She with you?”

  “No.”

  “So you’re there all by yourself.”

  “Yeah. Right now I am.”

  Splitting hairs, thought Jane.

  “She drove up yesterday around noon. I came up later in the day.”

  “And spent the night.”

  “Now, don’t go making this into something it isn’t. I slept in one bedroom, Julia slept in the other. She was just being nice to offer the cabin. I’ve been wound pretty tight with this book. She left to drive back to Chicago right after breakfast. I decided to stay on for a few more hours, do some thinking about the story arc for my next book. So, come on, what do you say? Can you fly down? I guarantee I’ll show you a good time.”

  “I can’t,” said Jane, doing her best to ignore the obvious seduction in Avi’s voice. “Too much going on here.”

  “Oh. Okay I understand. Well. Um. I, ah—”

  “Let me know how everything goes with Elaine on Wednesday.”

  “Yeah, for sure. Maybe I’ll stay up here another night. It’s really beautiful. A great place to relax.”

  They talked for a few more minutes about nothing in particular, and finally said their good-byes. Jane sat for a moment with her hands on the steering wheel, staring out through the dirty windshield. So this was the way it was going to be. Half-truths mixed with outright lies. Had it always been like that with Avi, and she was just now seeing it?

  Cut your losses, Lawless. Don’t be a fool. Get out now.

  Starting the motor, Jane sat for another moment, forcing her feelings away. She had to stay focused on the matter at hand. There would be time to think about Avi—to make decisions—later. Switching on the turn signal, she edged away from the curb. Next stop: the Heidelberg Club.

  17

  With throngs of business types, band members, and other assorted friends arriving at the summerhouse since early morning, Booker was slowly losing his mind. Chloe seemed to take comfort in the bedlam, spending part of her time in the family room helping brainstorm plans for the funeral and the rest of her time in the kitchen making sandwiches. She’d always loved to be around food. Loved to cook, even read cookbooks. What she didn’t like, strange as it sounded, was eating. Booker had never seen her wolf down an entire package of cookies before. He figured it was the way she dealt with grief.

  The ever inebriated Tommy crept around the edges of the activity, sipping surreptitiously from his mug of eighty-proof coffee, looking gloomy, and fearful that someone might actually say something to him that would require more than a one-word response. Beverly, playing her usual role as Ethel Mertz to his mother’s top-banana Lucy Ricardo, busied herself by ferrying trays of Chloe’s sandwiches between the rooms.

  By eleven, Booker was up to his eyeballs in family solidarity, in soldiering bravely on, eyes fixed on the handsome visage of Jordan Emory Deere, the newly minted country music saint. When placed in the hands of their expensive public relations machine, his father’s death seemed, for all its heartbreaking significance, to be simply one more excuse for an orgy of lavish promotion. Booker found the entire enterprise grotesque. He needed a bump, a joint, or failing that, some fresh air.

  Grabbing his keys, he ducked out a back door, jumped in his rented Lincoln, and tore out of the compound, heading back up to King’s Bay. Something had been bothering him ever since he’d watched Erin melt down after learning about his dad’s murder. He’d formed a theory and, with nothing else on his plate, decided to take it for a test drive.

  Yesterday afternoon, after returning to their table at the Hofbrau, Erin had stuck around long enough to be polite, to express her sorrow, though not long enough to finish her Irish coffee. For such a creative woman, she’d offered a pathetically standard excuse about not realizing how late it was and needing to get back to her room at the Gasthaus. Booker offered to walk her up the hill, but she made more excuses and eventually, after thanking him for lunch, left without so much as a backward glance. It would have been impossible not to notice that all the color had drained from her cheeks during that phone conversation out in the lobby. Again, an excessive reaction over the death of a man she hardly knew.

  Booker stopped for gas in the town of King’s Bay. As he sailed along the back road to the club’s front gate, he mulled over his options. He could approach the situation any of several ways. By the time he was standing in front of the reception desk, he’d made his choice.

  “Hi,” he said, smiling at the young woman behind the counter. Since he had no perceptible charm and his looks never got him anywhere, he came straight to the point. “I’m Booker Deere, Jordan Deere’s son.”

  “Oh. My.” She seemed flustered. “I was so sorry to hear about your father. He was such a wonderful man.”

  “You knew him?”

  “I didn’t exactly know him, like as in friends, but we talked sometimes.”

  “That’s nice.” It was also odd. His parents maintained their family membership to the club, but as far as he knew, neither of them ever drove up here anymore. They preferred the newer clubs with better amenities, the ones closer to the summerhouse. Booker’s dad loved the championship golf course at the Wayzata Country Club. The Heidelberg’s course wasn’t in the same league. “I’m tying up some loose ends,” he said, drumming his fingers on the counter. “I understand my father made a room reservation for a friend—Erin O’Brian. I need to know if he paid for her stay. If not, I’ll take care of it now.”

  The receptionist tapped the computer keyboard in front of her, checked the monitor. “It’s all been handled. Looks like he put it on his credit card.”

  “He did? I mean, good. That’s good.”

  “Anything else I can help you with?”

  So Booker’s theory had been correct. His dad was the “friend” who’d booked Erin’s stay at the club. Had she called him or had he called her? That begged the question about why she was in town. She’d never really said. Was it possible that Erin and his father had stayed in touch all these years? Or had she called out of the blue to ask for the favor because she’d once been close to Chloe? Seemed like a stretch. It was even more of a stretch to think Erin’s reaction to his father’s death was simply because he’d paid for a room at the Heidelberg Club.

  The receptionist’s expression turned sad again. “It’s such a shock. Your father, I mean.”

  “It’s a shock, all right,” said Booker. After reading his dad’s manuscript, he’d gotten used to the idea that his old man had lied to him all of his life. The more he thought about those secrets, the more it all seemed kind of silly. But this? This was fascinating. You devious old goat, he thought, smiling to himself. What the hell were you up to?

  * * *

  Striding up the concrete jetty into the Heidelberg marina, Jane felt lost in an alternate universe—either that, or at a huge boat expo. She wasn’t poor, by anyone’s standards, but the people who docked their sport yachts, cruisers, and sailboats in this marina were in a different class altogether. Must be nice to own one of these monsters, she thought, knowing each cost more than most people’s homes.

  Finding slip 127 was easy enough. The crisscrossed yellow police tape had been visible from her car, even before she walked out to take a closer look. The boat itself was gone, as was any indication of police activity—except for the tape.

  “They hauled it away about an hour ago,” said a man sitting on a chair bolted to the aft portion of his yacht. He was attempting to untangle a fishing line on one of the dozen or so rods leaning against the rail.

  Shading her eyes from the sun, Jane asked, “Did you know the man who docked his boat in that slip?”

  “Deere? Not well. My wife has a bunch of his CDs, thought he was the sexiest man alive—well, except for me, of course.” He winked. “Awful what happened to him.”

  “Did the police talk to you about it?”

  “Nope. As I was heading in, they were leaving.”

  Jane stepped a few paces closer. “Deere left his boat here on Saturday evening. We’re trying to figure out where he spent the night.”

  “We? You a cop?”

  “I’m private, working for Kit Deere’s lawyer.”

  “Ah.” He yanked on the knotted fishing line, looking frustrated. “Deere was around quite a bit this summer. Most times I’d see him with his golf bag heading up to the clubhouse.”

  “Don’t suppose you saw him on Saturday night.”

  “As a matter of fact, I did. No golf clubs that night. He tied off his boat, then waited in the parking lot until a car picked him up.”

  “Can you describe the car?”

  He shrugged. “Black. Everything’s either black or white these days. What happened to color? Yellow. Green. Blue. Anyway, don’t quote me, but I think it was an Audi. Newer model.”

  “Did you get a look at the driver?”

  “Sorry.” He pointed to the top of a utility pole. “But I’ll bet that thing did.”

  Jane turned to find a security camera. She wondered if the police had noticed it. It didn’t seem like something DePetro would miss. “Did you ever see Deere with anyone? A friend. Man? Woman?”

  “He ate at the Rhineland Grill on occasion. I’m afraid I never took much notice of who he was with.” Instead of continuing to try to untangle the knot, the man took out a nail clipper and cut it off. After reattaching the hook, he secured it to the cork at the bottom of the pole and stood up. “Wish I could be more help.”

  “No, this is all good,” said Jane. She handed over one of her cards. “If you think of anything else, give me a call.”

  “Will do,” said the man, pocketing the card. “Somebody needs to fry for what happened to that poor guy. I hope you find the bastard. Or, you never know. I suppose it could be a woman.”

  * * *

  “I wondered where you’d hidden that,” said Kit, leaning her shoulder against the edge of the garage. “Since the police didn’t find it, I figured you’d stashed it somewhere.”

  Beverly was down on all fours, a pile of dirt on either side of a small, deep hole. She’d just removed a metal box and was brushing clumped soil off the top. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people.”

  “Your secret is safe with me,” said Kit.

  Beverly gave a bitter grunt, sitting down cross-legged in the grass and pulling the box toward her. She did it the way she did everything, aggressively and impatiently. Opening the top, she removed a terry cloth towel wrapped around a 9mm Smith & Wesson.

  “Why’d you bring that along?”

  “Protection.”

  “Who from?”

  Beverly shrugged. “Better safe than sorry.”

  “The police could come back. Maybe you should leave it buried.”

  “I need to get rid of it.”

  “Your father’s gun? You said it meant the world to you when he gave it to you.”

  Beverly shook her head. “This is a nightmare.”

  Kit was learning firsthand about nightmares—the waking kind. She’d been imprisoned inside one ever since Jordan had asked for a divorce. Those few words had quite literally turned her life upside down. Her focus at the moment was simply hanging on. She had to stay strong, to protect her children and her husband’s legacy. When she’d glanced at herself in the mirror this morning, an old woman had stared back at her. How could that be? Where had the time gone?

  “Come sit down,” said Beverly, holding out her hand. “Misery loves company.”

  Glad that she’d thought to change into a pair of jeans and a sweater for her walk down to the beach, Kit joined her on the dying grass.

  “Did Archie finally leave?” asked Beverly.

  “Poor man. All he wants to do is help.”

  “He’s driving everyone crazy.”

  “I know.”

  “Including me.”

  Hands clasped around her knees, Kit said, “You know, years ago, I thought maybe the two of you—”

  “No way,” said Beverly. “Not my type.”

  “No.” She knew that. Why had she said it? Maybe it was habit. But then, for Kit, pretending wasn’t just habit, it was her life. “I need to say something.”

  “No. You don’t.”

  Why did one moment of truth always necessitate another? “I don’t know what I’d do without you. Ever since I can remember, you’ve been the rock at the center of my life.”

  Beverly wrapped the gun up and placed it back into the metal box.

  “You know I love you.”

  “Sure.”

  Except, not the way you want, thought Kit. “Listen to me.”

  Beverly started to get up. “What should we have for dinner? I’ll run up to the grocery store this afternoon. I could make a big pot of chili, or we could have—”

  “Sit down. I don’t want to talk about dinner. I want to talk about us.”

  “Nothing to say that hasn’t been said.”

  Kit slipped her hand around Beverly’s. “I know … you have … feelings for me. Feelings I’ve never been able to reciprocate. The only way I could deal with it and not lose you—and that was my greatest fear—was by pretending I didn’t notice. By ignoring the elephant in the room. You have no idea how much I wish I could be the way you want me to be.”

  “Just stop, okay?”

  “No. Now that it’s out there on the table, you have to let me finish. I’ve taken from you and given very little in return.”

  “Not true. You’ve shared your life with me. Given me a job. A home. A family.”

  “But not what you really wanted.”

  Beverly closed the lid on the box. “Not everyone wants to jump your bones,” she said, her voice full of bitterness. She seemed to regret the words the moment they left her mouth.

  “It’s just … I’m not attracted to women. I’ve thought about it, but it’s not me.”

  “I get it, Kit. You don’t need to draw me a picture.”

  “Do you get it? This has been hard for me, too. I owe you so much.”

  “Fine. You’ve acknowledged the elephant. Let’s move on.”

  For years, Beverly had been a valued partner in crime. She’d known, and probably loathed, some of the men Kit had dated, and yet she’d helped her keep many of those assignations and long-term affairs a secret. How hard it must have been for her to watch Kit rushing off, in the flush of some silly new infatuation, leaving her behind to take care of business.

  And that brought Kit back to the elephant. Had acknowledging Beverly’s feelings been a mistake? Watching her brush dirt back into the hole and pack it down with her hands, she feared that the uninvited pachyderm wasn’t merely some enormous unwanted visitor. It was a dangerous, mercurial, beast. Once acknowledged, given its due, but still shown the door, it could easily trample all Kit’s delicately balanced plans on its way out.