The Last Time I Saw You

He caught her eye and walked over.

“Hello, Gordon.”

“Blaire. Blaire Norris.” His squinty eyes held no warmth.

“It’s Barrington now,” she told him.

His eyebrows shot up. “Oh, that’s right. You’re married. I must say, you’ve become quite well known.”

She didn’t really care for him, but his acknowledgment of her literary success pleased her nonetheless. He had always been such a tight-ass, so superior as he looked down his nose at her.

He shook his head. “Terrible thing about Lily, just terrible.”

She felt her eyes fill again. “It’s horrifying. I still can’t believe it.”

“Of course. We’re all quite shocked, of course. I mean, murder. Here. Unthinkable.”

The room was filled with people who had lined up to pay their respects to Kate and her father, who stood by the mantel, both looking as though they were in a trance. Harrison was ashen, staring straight ahead, not focusing on anything.

“Please excuse me,” Blaire said to Gordon. “I haven’t had the chance to speak with Kate’s father yet.” She made her way toward the fireplace. Kate was swallowed up by the crowd before Blaire reached them, but Harrison’s eyes widened as she approached.

“Blaire.” His voice was warm.

She moved into his open arms, and he hugged her tight. She was ricocheted back in time as she breathed in the scent of his aftershave, and she felt a poignant sadness for all the years they’d missed. When he straightened, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face, clearing his throat a few times before he was able to speak.

“My beautiful Lily. Who would do such a thing?” His voice cracked, and he winced as if in physical pain.

“I’m so sorry, Harrison. Words can’t convey …”

His eyes dulled again, and he dropped her hand, twisting the handkerchief until it was a tight ball. Before Blaire could say anything more, Georgina Hathaway strode over.

Blaire’s heart sank. She’d never liked either mother or daughter. She’d heard somewhere that Georgina was a widow now, that Bishop Hathaway had died some years ago from complications of Parkinson’s disease. The news surprised her. Bishop was always such a vibrant man, athletic and toned, with a runner’s body. He’d been the life of the party and the last to leave. It must have been torture for him to watch his body wither away. She used to wonder what he saw in Georgina, who was more self-involved than Narcissus.

When the woman put her hand on Harrison’s shoulder, he looked up, and she handed him a tumbler filled with amber liquid Blaire assumed was bourbon, his old favorite. “Harrison, dear, this will settle your nerves.”

He took the glass from her wordlessly and swallowed a large gulp.

Blaire hadn’t seen Georgina Hathaway in over fifteen years, but she looked practically the same, not a wrinkle to be found on her creamy skin, no doubt due to the services of a skilled plastic surgeon. She still wore her hair in a chic bob and looked smart in a black silk suit. The only jewelry she wore today was a simple strand of pearls around her pale neck and the exquisite emerald-and-diamond wedding ring she’d always sported.

Georgina gave Blaire a tight-lipped smile. “Blaire, what a surprise to see you here. I hadn’t realized you and Kate were still in touch.” She still sounded like a character from a 1940s movie, her accent some blend of British and finishing school lockjaw.

Blaire opened her mouth to answer, but Georgina turned back to Harrison before she could utter a word. “Why don’t we go have a seat in the luncheon area?”

She certainly wasn’t wasting any time staking her claim on Harrison, Blaire thought, though hopefully he had the good sense to avoid getting romantically involved with her. The first time Blaire had gone to Selby’s house, it was a hot June day at the end of eighth grade, when Kate insisted on bringing her along to sit by the pool. She’d never seen an Olympic-sized pool at a private home before. It looked like something out of a resort, with potted palm trees, waterfalls, an enormous hot tub area, and a four-room pool house decorated more lavishly than Blaire’s own house in New Hampshire. Blaire was wearing a new lime-green string bikini she’d just gotten at the mall and thought looked sensational on her. The hot sun felt good on her skin, and she dipped a toe into the sparkling blue water.

After they swam for most of the morning, the housekeeper had brought lunch out for them. They sat around the large glass table, still dripping from the pool, letting the hot sun dry them while they all grabbed sandwiches from the heaping platter. Blaire settled on a roast beef and Swiss and had just reached over to grab some chips from the bowl in front of her when Georgina’s voice rang out.

“Girls, make sure you eat some raw veggies too, not just chips,” she called as she sauntered over, looking chic in a navy one-piece and sarong.

Selby unenthusiastically introduced Blaire to Georgina, who gave Blaire a tepid smile and then stared at her for a long moment. She tilted her head.

“Blaire, dear. That suit’s a bit revealing, don’t you think? It’s rather nice to leave something to the imagination.”

Blaire dropped the chip still between her fingers and looked at the ground, her face hot with embarrassment. Kate’s mouth had fallen open, but nothing came out of it. Even Selby was quiet for a change.

“All right then, enjoy your lunch.” And with that Georgina turned around and went back inside. She’d been a bitch then, and Blaire would bet she still was.

She shook off the unpleasant memory just as she noticed Simon coming back into the room.

Blaire studied him for a moment before making her approach. He was still as over-the-top gorgeous as he had been fifteen years ago, leaning casually against the doorjamb, that lock of hair that never behaved grazing his forehead. Women were probably still falling at his feet. And she noticed that now everything about his look was expensive, from his exquisitely tailored black suit to his Italian leather dress shoes. The first time Kate brought Simon home over spring break, she had confided to Blaire that he felt out of his element. He had grown up on the Eastern Shore of Maryland in a family of modest means. His father’s death of a heart attack when Simon was twelve had devastated the family, both emotionally and financially. His mother never really recovered, and if not for the scholarships Simon earned, it would have been impossible for him to attend Yale. When he and Kate married, he had finally been in a position to make his mother’s life more comfortable, until her death shortly after Annabelle was born. And clearly he’d made his own life more comfortable too, Blaire reflected.

A young brunette woman was by his side. She was good-looking, but what grabbed Blaire’s attention was the way she was looking at Simon, with a mix of adoration and expectancy. Simon smiled as she said something and touched his arm. Their body language made it clear that they knew each other well. Blaire wondered how well. After a moment, Simon seemed to end their conversation, though Blaire couldn’t hear his words. The young woman’s eyes followed him as he approached Kate. Then she turned and stalked away, stopping for a long moment in front of a mahogany sideboard. After she’d left the room, Blaire walked over to see what had caught the woman’s attention. It was a silver-framed wedding photo of Kate and Simon, both smiling as if they didn’t have a care in the world.

A bell tinkled, and a uniformed man announced that it was time for lunch. Simon was standing across the room alone, and Blaire seized her opportunity. As she approached him, his expression turned leery.

“Simon, hi. I’m so sorry for your loss,” she said with all the sincerity she could muster.

He stiffened. “What a surprise to see you here, Blaire.”

Anger surged through her like acid, starting in her belly and burning as it rose to her throat. The memory of what had happened the last time she saw him pushed against her with the force of a tidal wave, but she pushed back. She had to stay cool, composed.

“Lily’s death was a terrible tragedy,” she said. “Now isn’t the time for pettiness.”

His eyes were cold. “How kind of you to come running back.” He leaned in closer, putting an arm on her shoulder in a way that a casual observer would have seen as friendly, and angrily hissed, “Don’t even think of trying to come between us again.”

She recoiled, incensed that he had the nerve to speak to her that way, today of all days. Squaring her shoulders, she flashed him her best author smile. “Shouldn’t you be more concerned with how your wife is dealing with the murder of her mother than worrying about my relationship with her?” Her smile disappeared. “But don’t worry. I won’t make the same mistake again.” This time, I’ll make sure that you don’t come between us, she thought as she walked away.

She was heading to the first-floor bathroom to freshen up before lunch when something outside caught her eye. She moved toward the window and saw a uniformed man standing in the shadows, next to the driveway. It took her a minute to recognize him as Georgina’s driver. What was his name? Something with an R … Randolph, that was it. He’d driven them around whenever Georgina had carpool duty. Blaire was a little surprised he was still alive. He’d looked ancient to her all those years ago, but looking at him now, she realized he was probably only in his forties at the time. Then she saw Simon approach him and shake his hand before reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out an envelope. Randolph looked around nervously, then took it with a nod and got into his car.

Simon was already heading up the front walk, so Blaire quickly ducked into the powder room before he could see her. She couldn’t imagine what business Simon would have with Georgina’s driver. But she intended to find out.

3

The murderer was at the gravesite today—maybe even in our house.” Kate’s voice cracked as she handed her phone to Detective Frank Anderson of the Baltimore County PD. His presence comforted her, his manner sure and confident, and she was struck again by how his appearance of physical strength made her feel safe.

Taking a seat across from Kate and Simon in their living room, he read the text message with a frown. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. It could be a crank who read about your mother’s death and the funeral—there’s been a lot of coverage.”

Simon’s mouth dropped open. “What kind of a sicko does that?”

“But this is my personal cell phone,” Kate objected. “How would a stranger have gotten the number?”

“It’s easy enough to get a cell number these days, unfortunately. There are plenty of third-party services people can use. And there were several hundred people at the cemetery. Did you know all of them?”

She shook her head. “No. We debated having a private funeral, but Mother was so tied to the community, we felt she’d have wanted it to be open to anyone who wished to pay their respects.”

He was making notes as they were talking. “Normally we’d assume this was a crank, but since this is an unsolved murder, we will take it more seriously. With your permission we’ll put in for a consensual Title Three wiretap. I’d like to add it to your home phone and computers as well. Then we can see in real time if you receive more threats, and we can track the IP address.”

“Of course,” Kate said.

“I have equipment with me that can take a mirror image of your phone. When we finish I’ll do that, and we’ll see if we can trace this text and find out who sent it. Whatever you do, don’t respond if you hear from him again. If this is a crank, that’s exactly what he wants you to do.” He gave Kate a sympathetic look. “I’m very sorry that you have to deal with this on top of everything else.”

Kate felt only slight relief as her husband walked Anderson to the door. She thought back to the last time she’d gotten terrifying news on her phone, that awful night when Harrison had found Lily. She’d seen her father’s number pop up, and when she answered, he’d sounded frantic.

“Kate. She’s gone. She’s gone, Kate,” he sobbed across the line.

“Dad, what are you talking about?” Panic spread through her body.

“Someone broke in. They killed her. Oh my God, this can’t be real. It can’t be true.”

Kate had barely been able to understand his words, he was crying so hard. “Who broke in? Mother? Mother is dead?”

“Blood. Blood everywhere.”

“What happened? Have you called an ambulance?” she asked him, her voice high-pitched, hysteria threatening to overtake her.

“What am I going to do, Katie? What am I going to do?”

“Dad, listen to me. Have you called nine-one-one?” But all that came through had been his hacking sobs.

She had leaped into her car and driven the fifteen miles to her parents’ home in a daze, texting Simon to meet her there ASAP. She could see the red and blue flashing lights from two blocks away. When she neared the house, her SUV was stopped by a police barricade. As she got out of it, she saw Simon’s Porsche pull up behind her. EMTs, police, and crime-scene investigators were going in and out of the house. Her panic swelling, Kate ran from the car and pushed her way through the crowd, but an officer barred her way, standing there with his arms crossed, legs in a wide stance, and an angry scowl on his face. “Sorry, ma’am. This is an active crime scene.”

“I’m her daughter,” she said, trying to push past him, as Simon rushed to her side. “Please.”

The officer shook his head and put a hand out in front of her. “Someone will be out to speak to you. I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to step back.”

And then they watched and waited together, horrified, as investigators came and went, carrying cameras and bags and boxes, putting up yellow crime-scene tape, and refusing to even look in their direction. It hadn’t taken long for the television crews to arrive, with their cameras focusing on the breathless reporters, mics in hand, detailing every gruesome detail they could glean. Kate wanted to press her hands to her ears when she heard them say the victim’s skull had been bashed in.

Finally she saw her father being led out of the house. Without thinking, she rushed toward him. Before she’d taken more than a few steps, powerful hands grabbed her and held her in place.

“Let me go,” she yelled, struggling against the officer restraining her. Tears streamed down her face, and when the police car pulled away, she cried out, “Where are they taking him? Let me go, damn it. Where is my mother? I need to see my mother.”

He had loosened his hold then, but not his expression. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I can’t allow you inside.”

“My father should be with her,” Kate cried. Simon had appeared beside her, and she inhaled deeply, trying to calm herself. Even though she was still angry at him, his presence was comforting.

“Where have they taken him? Dr. Michaels, my wife’s father—where have they taken him?” Simon said, putting a protective arm around Kate.

“To the station for questioning.”

“Questioning?” Kate asked.

A woman in uniform approached Kate. “Are you the daughter of Lily Michaels?”

“Yes. Dr. Kate English.”

“I’m afraid your mother is deceased. I’m very sorry for your loss.” The officer paused for a moment. “We’ll need you to come to the station to answer a few questions.”

Sorry for your loss? So perfunctory. Glib, even. Is that how the families of patients saw her when she gave them bad news? She had followed the officer, but all she could think about was her mother lying dead, being photographed and scrutinized by investigators, studied by medical examiners, and finally taken to the morgue for an autopsy. She’d seen her share of autopsies in medical school. They weren’t pretty.

“Have you eaten anything?” Simon asked, startling her out of her memories as he entered the room.

“I’m not hungry.”

“What about a little soup? Your father said that Fleur made some homemade chicken rice.”

Kate ignored him, and he sighed loudly, sitting in the chair next to a flower arrangement from her colleagues at the hospital, fingering the tip of a leaf as he read the card. “Nice of them,” he said. “You really should eat, even a bite of something.”

“Simon, please. Just stop, will you?” She didn’t want him acting all husbandly and caring after all the tension of the past few months. When the arguments and bad feelings had reached the point where Kate couldn’t concentrate on her work or anything else, she’d gone to Lily. It was just a few weeks ago that they’d sat by the fireplace in her parents’ cozy den, warmed by the flames, Kate in her hospital scrubs and Lily exquisite in white wool pants and cashmere sweater. Lily had looked at Kate intently, her face serious. “What is it, darling? You sounded terribly upset on the phone.”

“It’s Simon. He’s …” She’d stopped, not knowing where to begin. “Mother, do you remember Sabrina?”

Lily frowned, giving Kate a puzzled look.

“You remember. Her father was the one who sort of took over when Simon’s father died, became a mentor to Simon? Sabrina was a junior bridesmaid at our wedding.”

“Ah, yes. I remember. She was just a child.”

“Yes, she was twelve years old at the time.” Kate leaned forward in the chair. “Do you remember how, the morning of the wedding, as we were all here getting ready, Sabrina went MIA? I went to look for her. She was in one of the guest rooms, sitting on the edge of the bed and crying. I started to go in, but then I saw that her father was with her, so I stood to the side, out of sight. She was terribly upset that Simon was getting married. Told her father that she’d always believed Simon would wait for her to grow up and marry her. She sounded so pitiful.”

Lily’s eyes widened, but her face remained calm. “I’d forgotten that, but it was years ago. She was young and had a crush.”

Kate’s face had grown red. “But nothing has changed. I tried to understand and be kind, I really did. Her mother died when she was five, and I thought maybe I could be a good friend, even a confidante.” Kate sighed. “She completely rebuffed my efforts. Oh, she was never rude in front of Simon, but when we were alone, she made it clear that she wanted nothing to do with me. And now, ever since her father died, she’s clingier than ever, calling all the time, wanting more and more of Simon’s time.”

“Kate, what does that have to do with you, really? As long as Simon isn’t encouraging her, you don’t have anything to be upset about. And the poor girl is an orphan at such a young age.”

“But that’s just it. He is encouraging her. Whenever she calls with some sort of problem or something that needs fixing, he jumps. And she’s calling more and more often. He’s there a lot. More than he should be.” Kate’s voice was louder. “He says it’s nothing, that I’m overreacting, but I’m not. Now that she’s working with him, they’re together all the time. They have dinners together, she comes riding at the house, she completely ignores me and gushes over him. I’ve reached the point where I just can’t take it anymore. I’ve asked him to move out.”

“Kate, listen to what you’re saying. You can’t break up your family over something like this.”

“Well, I can’t put up with this anymore. He never should have hired her, but her father asked Simon to look out for her on his deathbed. She asked Simon for a job right after he died.”

Her mother gave her a look. “It doesn’t sound like Simon had much choice. Things will settle down. Perhaps she’s just grieving.”

“Quite honestly, Mother, I’m tired of being the sympathetic, long-suffering wife. It’s ridiculous for me to be treated like that and then have my husband tell me I’m being unfair.”

Lily rose and began to pace. She walked to where Kate sat and put her hands on Kate’s shoulders, her eyes locked on her daughter’s. “I’m going to talk to Simon. Get this all sorted out.”

“Mother, no. Please don’t do that.” The last thing she’d wanted was for her mother to call Simon on the carpet. That would make things worse than they already were. But she’d heard nothing more from her mother on the topic. If Lily had spoken to him, neither she nor Simon had mentioned it.

Now she looked at Simon as he leaned forward in the chair, his elbows resting on his knees.

“Please don’t push me away,” he said. “I know we’ve had our problems, but now is the time for us to pull together and support each other.”

“Support? It’s been a long time since you’ve been there for me. I never should have agreed to let you move back in.”

“That’s not fair.” Simon frowned. “You need me here, and I want to be with you and Annabelle. And I’d feel much better being here to watch out for you both.”

She felt a chill go up her arms and pulled the cardigan more tightly around her at the reminder: there was a killer on the loose out there. The last line of the text played over and over in her mind. By the time I’m finished with you, you’ll wish you had been buried today. That implied more was to come. Had the killer taken her mother to punish Kate? She thought of the grief-stricken parents of the patients she was unable to save and tried to identify anyone who might have blamed her. Or maybe blamed her father. He’d practiced medicine for over forty years, plenty of time to make some enemies.

“Kate.” Simon’s voice broke through her musings again. “I’m not leaving you alone. Not with a threat against you.”

She slowly raised her eyes to his. She couldn’t think straight. But the idea of being alone in this big house was terrifying.

She nodded. “You can continue to stay in the blue guest suite for now.”

“I think I should move back into the master bedroom.”

Kate felt the heat rise from her neck and across her cheeks. Was he using her mother’s death as a way to worm himself back into her affections? “Absolutely not.”

“Okay, fine. But I don’t understand why we can’t just put the past behind us.”

“Because nothing is resolved. I can’t trust you.” She stared at him, feeling like her eyes could bore holes into him. “Maybe Blaire was right about you.”

He spun around, a dark look on his face. “She had no business coming today.”

“She had every right,” she replied hotly. “She was my best friend.”

“Have you forgotten she tried to ruin us?”

“And you’re finishing the job.”

He pursed his lips and was quiet for a moment. When he finally spoke, there was a steely edge to his voice. “How many times do I have to tell you that absolutely nothing is going on? Nothing.”

She was too exhausted to argue with him. “I’m going upstairs to tuck Annabelle in.”

Annabelle was on the floor with a puzzle, Hilda in a chair nearby, when Kate walked into Annabelle’s bedroom. What would she have done without Hilda? She was wonderful with Annabelle—loving and patient, and so devoted to Annabelle that Kate had to remind her that just because she lived with them didn’t mean she was on duty all the time. Hilda had been nanny to Selby’s three sons. When Annabelle was born, Selby had suggested that Kate hire her, since Selby’s youngest would be going into first grade and would no longer need a full-time nanny. Kate had been relieved and grateful to have someone she knew and trusted to care for her daughter. They had known Hilda forever, it seemed, and her brother, Randolph, had been Georgina’s driver for years, a reliable and trustworthy employee. It had worked out perfectly.

Kate knelt next to her daughter. “What a good job you’ve done.”

Annabelle looked up at Kate with that cherubic face, her blond curls bouncing. “Here, Mommy. You do it,” she said, handing her a puzzle piece.

“Hmm. Let’s see. Does it go here?” Kate asked, and began to put it in the wrong space.

“No, no,” she puffed. “It goes here.” She grabbed it and placed it where it belonged.

“It’s almost bedtime, sweetheart. Would you like to pick a book for Mommy to read with you?” She turned to Hilda. “Why don’t you go ahead to bed? I’ll stay with her.”