“It wasn’t so bad. Arnie and I made some good memories here.”

  He turned to her, draping an arm on the seat behind her. “I never understood what you saw in that guy. Sometimes, I thought maybe it was because he was hurt and needed help.”

  “It was more than that,” she muttered, glancing at the second story. “At least in the beginning.”

  With a slow exhale, Tommy removed the keys from the ignition and jingled them inside his hand. “You know what I think, sis? Even though I’ll miss you like crazy, your plan to leave the country is the best idea you’ve ever had.”

  With a burst of delight, she sat up a little taller. Besides Arnie, Walter, and his sister, Tommy was the only one who knew she was leaving. She’d laid awake in her childhood bed most of the night, worried she was making a mistake. “You think so?”

  He gave an affirmative hum. “You’ve never understood how special you are. You should take this time away to really think about what you want out of life and try not to get caught up in worrying about others. You don’t realize it’s not up to you to save every less fortunate person you meet. Now, I’m not saying you should remain celibate while you’re over there. I just want you to step back and understand you’re too good to fall in love with just anyone. You should wait next time until you find someone worthy of you.”

  Beaming, she leaned over to kiss her brother’s cheek. “I love you, Tommy. Sometimes you sound a little crazy, but I love you all the same.”

  “Love you too, sis.” He jerked his chin at the building. “Let’s hurry up and get this over with. I wanna try that new taco stand we passed on the way here.”

  Tommy led the way up to the apartment, repeatedly sweeping his eyes around them as if waiting for an ambush.

  As soon as Twila unlocked the door, she sensed something was amiss. A funny premonition lingered in her chest as she breathed in the stale summer air breezing through the apartment’s sole window.

  “What’s wrong?” Tommy asked.

  “I’m not⁠—”

  Then she saw it.

  Her beloved painting of Miss Penny had been ripped to shreds. From the sharp lines left behind, Twila presumed a knife had been used to desecrate the canvas.

  Mouth ajar, she dropped down onto the couch.

  “Oh, god,” she whispered as her mind raced to understand what had happened. Had one of the bums who squatted inside the old buildings nearby broken into their home?

  Eyes watering, she scanned the rest of the small space, almost praying to find signs of a break-in. She couldn’t imagine her Arnie would be responsible for such a deplorable act, but the rest of the apartment appeared in its normal condition.

  Until she spotted the bowl filled with her precious Polaroids.

  They, too, had been ripped to shreds.

  “That psycho!” Tommy exclaimed, shouldering past her to point at her miniature studio beneath the window. “I’ll kill him!”

  When she stepped in behind her brother, she saw her art supplies had also been destroyed. The easel Arnie had built lay in a pile of scraps. The two canvases she’d been working on were smeared with various oil paint colors, and the empty tubes had been discarded on the floor.

  “Hurry up and get your things packed,” Tommy told her, forming fists at his sides. “Then you’re coming to L.A. with me until you leave for Europe. I won’t let this lunatic anywhere near you again.”

  Twila’s heart pounded furiously as she stuffed her remaining belongings into her battered suitcase, leaving behind her destroyed artwork and memories.

  She couldn’t leave Papaya Springs soon enough.

  PART III

  14

  PAPAYA SPRINGS, CALIFORNIA

  APRIL 9TH

  With the conclusion of Twila’s story, Bexley set her right hand over Twila’s. “You told me your relationships all ended amicably.”

  “My brain must’ve done everything in its power to cast those ugly memories of Arnold aside,” Twila decided, blinking back tears. “I haven’t thought about that day in forever.”

  “It’s called self-preservation,” Brewer said to her, his expression oozing with kindness. “Happens to the best of us.”

  An unexpected wave of sadness swept through Bexley as she recalled some of the ugly memories her husband had cast aside. She gently rubbed the back of her elderly friend’s hand. “I can’t believe he destroyed that painting of your friend. At the same time, it’s not too far of a stretch to imagine someone with that kind of anger evolving into a killer.”

  Twila swiped her tears with the back of her free hand. “You really think he killed that woman?”

  “I think it’s likely,” Bexley answered, “especially when considering his nickname for you and the note left at the scene.”

  Brewer reached behind him to grab a box of tissues from the counter and set them on the table in front of Twila. “I agree with Bex. We need to fill Deputy Danks in on this Arnold guy and request they keep a squad car parked outside your house until they locate his whereabouts.”

  Bexley gently squeezed her friend’s hand. “I know you aren’t going to like this, but it’s time to call J.J., too. He’ll skin me alive if he gets word of this from another source.” When Twila opened her mouth to protest, Bexley gave a terse shake of her head. “He’d never forgive himself if something were to happen, and he wasn’t here to protect you, Twila.”

  Twila sighed heavily as she removed a tissue from the box and patted her eyes. “I suppose you’re right.”

  Out of the blue, Bexley’s last bite of tuna casserole rose inside her stomach and climbed up her esophagus. She excused herself with hardly a minute to spare before losing her lunch inside the toilet bowl of Twila’s guest bathroom. Once done, she rinsed her mouth with water and gazed back at her reflection over the sink. She looked every bit as tired as she felt.

  Grasping onto the edges of the porcelain sink, her mind raced as she tried to remember the last time she’d had a period. She remembered having one a month or so after Easton was born because she’d joked to Brewer that night that her body had reminded her by menstruating a few days early. But after that…she came up with nothing. She’d been taking her pills religiously. How could she be pregnant?

  “Oh, my god,” she muttered. “This can’t be happening.”

  Another bout of nausea forced her to kneel down in front of the toilet a second time.

  Late Monday morning, as Bexley pulled up to the gate in front of Carla and Diego Garcia’s residence, she willed her pulse to become steady. While it had only taken Red a handful of minutes to locate the address for Tabitha’s sister, it was dumb luck that Carla Garcia had recently posted a search for a nanny on social media.

  Still, Bexley’s anxious mood went far beyond Jack’s situation. It had been a painfully long night, even with J.J. and a deputy watching over Twila. In addition to worrying about her friend’s safety, she dreaded having to tell Brewer that she may be carrying a rugrat that neither of them wanted.

  “One crisis at a time,” Bexley muttered, squeezing her eyes shut.

  “May I help you?” a sultry female voice called over the intercom at her side.

  Bexley leaned out her window to speak into the metal box. “I’m here to meet with Carla Garcia.”

  “Who are you?”

  “My name is Bexley Hawkins.” As there was no way of knowing whether Tabitha would’ve mentioned Bexley’s name to her sister, she decided her married name was the safest bet. “I’m here about the nanny position.”

  “I don’t see your name on the list.”

  Bexley’s hands tightened on her steering wheel. “Check again. I’m the woman Temperance Rose called to recommend earlier this morning.”

  There was a hesitation before the voice replied, “Oh, right. Come on in, Miss Hawkins. You can park right in front of the house.”

  As Bexley rolled through the open gates, she made a mental note to do something special for Temperance. She already owed her friend a mountain of favors and had felt guilty about asking for another one. At least when Bexley called, the former reality star had already been awake, making breakfast for Olive before she left for school.

  While Bexley recognized the neighborhood, she hadn’t been expecting to find a dwelling merely a step or two down from that of Carla’s famous news anchor sister. After all, Diego Garcia’s online resume revealed a history of positions in fast food management, and Carla’s last known job involved customer service. The 2-story stucco monstrosity with a red terracotta roof and arched windows was not something an average office manager could afford.

  A curvy, middle-aged woman with unremarkable features answered the door. Although Carla had the same sharp eyes and dark hair as her sister, the skin from the woman’s mouth down to her chin was pulled unnaturally tight from either Botox or surgery. In a revealing 2-piece swimsuit with a mesh coverup draped over her shoulders and oversized sunglasses perched on top of her head, it was apparent Bexley had interrupted a leisurely morning.

  Bexley flashed a cheerleader-worthy smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Garcia. I’m Bexley.”

  The woman shook Bexley’s hand before ushering her inside. “Please, call me Carla.”

  “Your home is beautiful,” Bexley commented, trailing behind as the woman headed farther into the house. The house was elaborately designed with dark wood beams and high-end furniture the same shade of off-white as the carpet. Bexley couldn’t begin to imagine what it must’ve been like for a child to live in such a pristine environment.

  The woman tsked. “I’m sure it’s not half as impressive as Temperance Rose’s estate.”

  “You got me there,” Bexley admitted.

  As they passed through a grand sitting area flanked by gaudy water fountains, a family portrait caught Bexley’s attention. Sitting between Carla and a round-faced man, a handsome boy around ten beamed at the camera.

  The same boy Tabitha had picked up from the gym.

  On closer inspection, the boy possessed Tabitha’s dark eyes, and his skin was darker than most Caucasians could get from a healthy tan. His Anglo-Saxon nose and lips shared nearly identical angles to those of Jack’s as a child. Most telling, his flaxen hair, grown past his ears in a trendy style often seen on young boys, appeared natural as there wasn’t the slightest bit of darkness at his roots.

  “Is that your son?” Bexley asked.

  The woman regarded the portrait with a hesitant smile that spoke volumes. “That’s our Johnny.”

  Bexley suppressed the urge to yell at the woman. That was Jack’s father’s name. “He’s adorable,” she said, forcing herself to smile. “I bet he’d look great in front of a T.V. camera. I understand that career path is common in his family—on both sides.”

  Carla whirled on her, crossing her arms beneath her chest. “Are you a reporter?” she spat with an accusatory glare.

  “I’m a private investigator,” Bexley admitted, mirroring the woman’s body language. “I’m here because I know that boy’s parents are your sister and Jack Squires.”

  “W-what?” Mouth agape, Carla dropped down onto the couch. She stared straight ahead, chest heaving with panicked breaths. “You don’t—I can’t⁠—”

  “Deep breaths, Mrs. Garcia. Don’t make me call an ambulance.” Bexley shuffled closer. “I’m here to discover why you’re raising Tabitha’s son without telling his father of his existence and what made your husband flip out on your sister.”

  Carla’s eyes filled with tears as she met Bexley’s gaze. “Who told you?”

  “I saw Tabitha with little Johnny the other day. With a few minor exceptions, he’s a clone of his father at that age.” Mustering the slow, gentle tone Cineste teasingly referred to as her “teacher’s voice,” Bexley perched on the couch at the woman’s side. “Listen, Mrs. Garcia. I’m not going to tell anyone your secret. I’m here because your sister filed a bogus claim against Jack, that boy’s father, and he’d very much like to see it dropped. Jack is also interested in having a relationship with his son.”

  “Everything spiraled out of control so quickly,” Carla admitted among more tears. “My sister and I were once very close—it’s the only reason I volunteered to take Johnny in as my own. She didn’t want the burden of a child, and she didn’t want the public to judge her for giving him away. I loved him long before he came into this world. I couldn’t let him live with some stranger. He was family! Our arrangement worked out perfectly because my husband and I could not have children of our own. Then Diego lost his job and got it in his thick head to extort money from Tabby.”

  “And that’s when the police got involved,” Bexley assumed. “He hadn’t merely lost his mind, as she suggested in her interviews. He was demanding money.”

  “I tried to talk him out of it. I didn’t want to do that to my sister! She was already kind enough to help with the expenses we incurred from raising Johnny. Then Diego threatened her with a gun, and I called the police. I never imagined the situation would lead to Diego serving time in prison.”

  Bexley slowly shook her head as if she agreed such an illegal action shouldn’t lead to any serious consequences. She would do anything to encourage the woman to continue.

  “Diego made me swear I would never reveal our secret to anyone. I have…until now. It’s just…I’m so tired. Being a single mom to such an active boy is more work than I imagined. I begged Tabby to help me out…to step up a little in her role as his aunt. She’s been giving him a ride here and there to his activities but claims she’s too busy to do anything more. That’s why I’m looking to hire a nanny.”

  Maybe you should ask his birth father to help out, Bexley thought, finding it extremely difficult not to utter the words aloud. “Why did Tabitha wait this long to go after Jack for money?”

  “With every day Diego has spent behind bars, he’s become more and more delusional. He thinks Tabby should reward him for going to prison. He claims she wouldn't have become rich and famous if he hadn’t threatened her with that kind of force. She finally gave in and sent large sums of cash—enough to rent this place. But that still wasn’t enough for Diego. He said he’d tell Jack Squires her secret if she didn’t hand over five million. She tried to tell him she doesn’t have that much equity, but he wouldn’t listen.” More tears spilled down her cheeks. “I don’t want her money! I don’t need a house this big! I just want my friendship with my sister back!”

  Bexley wasn’t sure how anyone could possibly untangle the mess Tabitha had created. As far as she was concerned, she had completed the job Jack had asked of her. It would be up to him to decide what to do next.

  Giving the woman a barely masked look of disgust, Bexley stood. “I’m sure Jack’s lawyer will be in touch.”

  15

  Tears filled Jack’s eyes as Bexley told him everything she had learned from Carla Garcia earlier that morning. “I can’t believe it,” he whispered. “I have a son.” His lips bent with a little smirk. “I’m a dad.”

  Bexley grabbed his arm as he started to lower. He was a foot away from the makeup chair he’d been sitting in when she’d arrived at the station. “Easy, big guy,” she said, guiding him to the proper spot. “Don’t want that pretty face all banged up when you go on air.”

  “What now?” Jack asked, sounding completely overwhelmed. He ran his fingers through his perfectly styled hair. “Do I go to their house and demand to see him?”

  “I’d suggest you start by calling your lawyer,” Bexley answered truthfully. “Tabitha’s sister may be overwhelmed and ready to accept help, but I sense she won’t hand Johnny over without a fight. They’ve raised him as their son.”

  “Johnny,” Jack repeated with another little grin as a tear slipped down his cheek. “I can’t believe they named him after my father.”

  Bexley handed him a tissue from the makeup table. “I guess Tabitha did her research.”

  As Jack patted the moisture from around his eyes, Bexley’s phone buzzed inside her pocket. She held a finger up to him before she stepped away.

  “Bexley Squires.”

  “She took Johnny!” a woman’s voice cried.

  Bexley paused to place the voice. “Mrs. Garcia?”

  “She must know about our conversation! I don’t know how, but—oh god, she must have the house bugged!”

  Bexley put more distance between herself and Jack, worried he’d overhear the conversation. “Take it easy, Carla. Let’s start from the beginning. You think Tabitha took Johnny?”

  “I know she did! I drove to the school to pick him up like always, but he wasn’t there! I spoke to one of the aids the school hired to keep an eye on the kids after school lets out, and she said my sister came to get him, said something to Johnny about going for his first ride on a private jet!” The woman began to sob loudly. “Why’s she doing this…to me? How could she…give him to me…then take him away again?”

  “Carla,” Bexley warned, “you need to calm down. I can’t help if you’re hysterical.”

  Carla exhaled stutteringly, then sniffled. “You’re right…I’m sorry.”

  “Does your sister have access to a private jet?”

  “She goes through a broker—always flies out of the PS private airport.”

  Bexley glanced back to where Jack grinned at his reflection in the mirror, surrounded by dozens of lightbulbs. She hated to burst his bubble, but it seemed necessary given the situation.

  “Thanks for calling me,” she told the woman. “This time, you did the right thing.”

  Jack’s Tesla zipped in and out of traffic so quickly that it felt like the other cars weren’t moving. Bexley felt the blood drain from her head as she gripped her seatbelt. “You aren’t going to help the situation with your son if he meets you for the first time as a mangled piece of flesh inside a casket.”

  “If Tabitha gets on a private jet with him, I’ll never see him again anyway!” Jack snapped. His strained gaze briefly met hers. “She has the means to disappear, Bex!”