"Hopefully she's at least a little cheered up now that she has her necklace back."

"What?" Frances looked alarmed, then leaned closer and whispered, "What do you mean?"

"Miss Montgomery's necklace. I brought it back last night."

Frances reached out and grabbed her arm. Tight. "What did you do with it?"

A cold and sharp sensation worked its way through Lauren. "I left it with Willow."

"Why does that not surprise me?" Frances dropped her grasp and glanced back toward the house, shaking her head. "That girl, she is trouble, that's what she is."

"You mean to tell me that she didn't give it to you or Miss Montgomery?"

Frances shook her head. "No. And she left late last night. She never said a word about it."

"Maybe she left it in her room, since Miss Montgomery was so worn out last night."

"What do you mean, worn out? That woman is a night owl if ever one existed, and a little outing does nothing if not perk her up."

"Willow told me she'd been in medical tests all day and was too exhausted for either you or her to come to the door."

Frances shook her head. "Of course that's what she said." She wrapped her hands around the wrought-iron rungs of the fence and rested her chin on her left arm. "The three of us spent the day window shopping in Santa Barbara proper and then Montecito. There are some artists there whose work Miss Montgomery admires." She sighed. "Poor Miss Montgomery. It will just crush her if she finds out that Willow has made off with her favorite piece of jewelry."

"She has to know that Willow is not exactly a loving niece."

"She always suspects something when someone is kind to her, as you have experienced in full force. But in the case of Willow, I believe that she has allowed herself to hope."

"Then I'm going to allow myself to hope that she did indeed leave the necklace somewhere for you to find this morning." Lauren knew even as she said it that this was not the case.

"I've already cleaned her room, so that is hardly likely." Frances looked toward the house, shaking her head. "Do me a favor and don't mention this to her. I'm not asking you to lie, if she should ask, but unless she brings it up, don't you bring it up either. Let her just believe the necklace is still lost."

"Really? Don't you think it's better for her to know the truth?"

"I think her heart has had one too many blows. I hate to see her dealt another one at this point. Let me have a week or two to try to get the truth, and the necklace, out of Willow. Eventually we will have to tell her, if Willow doesn't come clean. But let's give it a little time."

"Whatever you think is best." Even if this went against everything inside of Lauren. She would try to hold out for a little longer before she either blurted out the truth or wrapped her hands around Willow's scrawny neck.

Frances grasped Lauren's arm again. "Thank you. Whether she realizes it yet or not, you truly are the first ray of sunshine that poor woman has seen in a long time."

"I'm pretty sure she does not realize that." Lauren grinned, but she didn't feel like smiling. She felt like crying. She walked back toward her home, pondering Frances's words. Was she indeed a ray of sunshine? A light in the darkness? She certainly hoped that she was, but it didn't feel that way.

twenty-two.

On Monday, Lauren drove to the school, fitted Priscilla, and then spent the rest of the day hand beading the dress. Her fingers were aching when a text message came through from Kendall.

Can you meet me at the little turnout outside the gate? I've got something to show you.

Surely that could only mean good news.

I'll be right there.

Lauren needed to stretch her legs after a long day of st.i.tching, so she pulled on her running shoes and sprinted down the lane. She waved at Sam as she made her way past the guardhouse.

Kendall was sitting in her car, parked in the little gravel turnout area. It was obvious that she was texting. Lauren waited until she looked up. "Hi. What have you got?"

Kendall waited just a moment before she said, "You first. Anything new in the neighborhood?"

Lauren opened her mouth and started to speak but then stopped herself. Something definitely felt wrong about sharing what was currently happening. Miss Montgomery had been deceived by the one relative with whom she had contact, and Lauren did not want to add to her list of betrayers. "She doesn't want anything to do with me. You said yourself, she is very secretive."

"I need you to put forth a little effort here. Believe me when I say I am putting forth more than a little effort on your behalf right now. I know you have been over there enough to meet Willow. Are you really going to try to tell me that you have no contact with anyone at that house?"

"I have spoken to her a maid a few times. As I have already told you, I returned something from the potting shed and had a conversation with Willow."

"What's her maid's name?"

"I'm sure her maid has nothing to do with the murder you're investigating, so I don't see that it matters."

Kendall turned her head away for the s.p.a.ce of a deep breath, then turned back toward Lauren. "You're right. Just forget Charlotte Montgomery, and I'll forget Marisa Remington. I'll forget anything about the photo I was going to show you about Marisa's mystery helper."

Lauren's heart raced. Could it be this close? "Who is it?"

Kendall shrugged. "Doesn't matter, because I'm tired of talking about this. If you're not willing to so much as tell me the name of the woman's maid, then I'm heading back to LA now. See you." She started up her car.

"Wait . . ."

"I'm tired of waiting." Kendall put the car in gear.

"Her maid's name is Frances."

Kendall looked up, her expression hard. "What's her last name?"

"I have no idea."

"Have a nice evening." Kendall pushed the b.u.t.ton to start rolling up her window.

"Stop. You might be interested in the item that I returned to Miss Montgomery from the potting shed." Lauren pulled out her phone and held up the picture of the necklace.

Kendall immediately put the car in park and shut it off. She reached for the phone through the window.

Lauren pulled it back. "You're withholding info. . . . Well, I can, too."

Kendall narrowed her eyes. "You're more cagey than I'd given you credit for."

Lauren shrugged, trying to look nonchalant, while inside she already felt sick at the betrayal. "Maybe so."

Kendall nodded, then grinned. "I like it. All right, then. Let's get down to some serious business." She reached over for an envelope in the pa.s.senger's seat. "I got an additional piece of information about Marisa's trip to the bathroom." She pulled out a photo and handed it to Lauren. It showed Marisa and a second woman coming down a hallway, and this time it showed the other woman's face. She looked vaguely familiar. She was maybe thirty, very thin, with sharp features, and wearing an over-the-top hot pink gown.

"The woman with her is Cindy Salmon, an up-and-coming designer. She's the one who went into the bathroom, and according to rumor, Marisa told her if she would help rig some sort of malfunction, in the future she could count on her wearing Cindy Salmon designs on the red carpet. Of course, there is no way that Cindy Salmon will ever admit this to anyone, because that kind of truth is not going to help her reputation. You know that for a fact, I daresay."

"So that's how it happened. Marisa certainly wouldn't know enough about design for it to work out like it did."

"That's right." Kendall sat silently and looked toward Lauren's phone.

Lauren pretended not to notice. Maybe she should do a little more research into the murder, but for right now, she felt nothing but guilty for having shown the picture at all. Even if it was apparently going to save her in the end. Even if Charlotte Montgomery was a truly disagreeable person. "Do you really believe that Charlotte Montgomery had something to do with that man's murder?"

Kendall studied Lauren's face, glanced back toward the gate, and then looked back at Lauren. "Absolutely, I do. Just remember, anything you show me may help finally bring closure to a family that's needed it for the past sixty years."

Lauren nodded but didn't say anything else. Something about all this didn't feel right. "You prove to me you're actually going to do something about this, and we'll talk more about the picture I've got."

Kendall let out a sigh. "I'm almost ready to go public with Malfunction Gate, as I have affectionately termed it. You need to be prepared to share the picture before I share my story." She glanced again toward the phone.

"Okay."

"Speaking of pictures, I have another one that's rather interesting." Kendall flipped through the photos on her phone for just a moment, then held it out. It was a picture of an African woman holding up a purse. "I believe your friend Chloe is involved with the manufacture of these purses, is that true?"

"Yes. She started a nonprofit for widows in Uganda. Those purses are their main means of support."

"I've been doing a little research. It seems to me your friend might be working with some sort of sweatshop. It sort of looks that way here, doesn't it?"

"That is not a sweatshop. That is a cottage industry that they have started for those women so they can have gainful employment."

"Yes, but the purses are sold here in America."

"Those women are paid a fair wage, and every bit of the profits goes back into helping them. They are being lifted out of poverty by these jobs."

"I'm betting I could run an article that would convince people otherwise."

"But it wouldn't be true."

"No, and eventually it would come to light that it had all been a misunderstanding, sort of like Malfunction Gate. Although, in the meantime, that could prove disastrous to your friend, couldn't it?"

"Why would you want to intentionally do something to hurt a nonprofit that is helping women living below the poverty line in Africa?"

"Why would you want to protect a woman living above the wealth line in America? It's all just perception, everything is. All I'm asking for is basic details. I'm not asking for you to eavesdrop on conversations or riffle through her personal papers."

Lauren turned to leave. "I think we've talked enough for now."

Kendall started her car. "Talk to you soon, then. Got to run." She drove away.

Lauren walked slowly back toward the cottage, taking deep breaths of fresh air, hoping to clear her mind. She sat on the steps to her front porch and looked toward the mansion next door, silhouetted against the starlit sky. Did a woman live there who needed her help? Or was it a murderer who needed to be exposed?

Neither seemed all that likely to Lauren. She thought of Miss Montgomery as a grumpy old lady who had too much money and not enough kindness.

Then she thought back over her own life. What would have happened if Chloe and Rhonda had looked at her based on outside appearance only? A poor girl with a mother who was drunk or high most of the time and a father who lived with one woman and then another for years, Lauren had been the girl a lot of parents didn't want their children to spend time with.

Rhonda had looked through all that immediately. She had taken Lauren under her wing and shown her what true mother-love was like. Lauren was thankful that Rhonda had looked past a.s.sumptions. It had changed her life.

She still didn't know what to believe about Miss Montgomery, so she decided to pray. "G.o.d, forgive me if I've judged her unfairly. In fact, forgive me for judging at all. I know I've got my own issues. Please help me to show your love to Miss Montgomery. Show me the right thing to do about giving anything to Kendall. Just show me what to do, one minute at a time. That's all I ask."

She went inside and closed the door, having no idea what to do next but believing that when the time came, G.o.d would show her the next step.

twenty-three.

By the time Lauren got out of bed the next morning, she was full of remorse for even half showing the necklace picture to Kendall. Another voice inside her head tried to convince her that it was fine, that the necklace was something she had found, after all, not something in the privacy of Miss Montgomery's home. It was not like she had gone snooping around looking for it. Maybe it was something she was supposed to find, so she could show it to Kendall and the truth about that murder could come out.

As much as she tried to convince herself of this, even a little bit, she failed. Showing even a flash of that picture felt wrong. Then again, she reasoned that Kendall might run an unflattering story about Chloe's work in Africa, and she needed to do what she could to protect her friend.

That was the reason. Right?

It surely had nothing to do with saving her own career. It was to keep her friend from being falsely accused of having a sweatshop in a country where she was doing everything she could to help widows provide their own means of support.

But, if Kendall Joiner was the kind of person who would blackmail someone who was doing charity work in a third-world country, could she really be depended upon to tell the truth in any dealings?

The answer was more than clear. No, she could not.

How Lauren wished she could get back that moment when she'd flashed the photo. But she'd done it in a fit of desperation, and there was no going back. Was it really any different than ripping up the flowers by the root? She was no better than Miss Montgomery, and now she knew it. She reached for her phone, pulled up the pictures of the necklace, and hit the Delete b.u.t.ton. At least she wouldn't be tempted to take it any further.

There was nothing left to do but make up for it in any way she could. She walked over to the blue fabric. She carried it to her work bench, determined to sketch the most beautiful gown she'd ever made. She vowed that she would never again be taken in by Kendall. At that moment, she received a text.

I've gotten the green light from my editor to run the Malfunction Gate article. Stay by your phone, because I'll be calling you for some quotes in a while.

I'll be at the cottage all day, so call whenever you need something.

Perfect. Make sure you take good care of that photo. My editor is dying to see it.

Too late. I deleted it a little while ago.

You are joking. Right?

No. I really did.

The article about the malfunction was going to run tomorrow. My editor is going to pull it if I tell her this.