"He had a child," Kitty said. "It was the result of a crazy love affair in his youth."

"Robbie was almost twenty," Lindsey said. "The child would be eighteen in a matter of weeks."

"How do you know that?" Kitty was clutching the water bottle in her hands so tight that her knuckles were turning white.

"The sun tattoo on his arm has the child's birth date in it," Lindsey said. "Sun meaning a son."

"That's ridiculous," Kitty scoffed. It sounded forced. "The child was given up for adoption as soon as it was born. He never even laid eyes on it. He doesn't know whether it's a boy or a girl."

"But there was a child born on that day," Lindsey pressed.

"No. I don't know," Kitty said. "You'd have to contact the mother. Oh, that's right: you can't, because no one knows who she is."

"Susan Dalton," Lindsey said.

Kitty's jaw dropped open.

"Really not that hard to figure out if you do some research," Lindsey said. "She was an American soap opera star and Robbie's girlfriend for six months. The child was born about five months after their breakup."

"That doesn't mean she's the mother," Kitty protested. "It could be that she found out he'd fathered a child with someone else and dumped him."

"Yeah, but I looked up the story line of her soap opera and her character in particular. Funny how her character was written as being pregnant at the same time the mother of Robbie's child would have been, don't you think?"

"I think librarians have too much time on their hands," Kitty snapped.

"No, we just have some very formidable research skills," Lindsey said. "Either way, it shouldn't be that hard to prove that she was pregnant in real life."

Lindsey was bluffing. She didn't think there was any way she could hunt down the former soap star and find out if she'd given birth almost eighteen years ago, but if she convinced Kitty that she could, well, it might be all the leverage she needed.

"So what?" Kitty asked. "Why do you even care? Were you that taken with Robbie that you now have to console yourself by scouring his past? I mean, what relevance does it have?"

Lindsey glanced down at the desktop. How much did she want to tell Kitty? That Robbie's child was alive and well and quite possibly here in Briar Creek? How would Kitty react to that information? Then again, did she already know?

"I think his child is here," Lindsey said. "In fact, I'm sure of it."

"What?" Kitty asked. But her voice didn't sound as shocked as it should have.

"But you already knew that, didn't you?" she asked.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Kitty insisted.

"Dylan," Lindsey said.

Her eyes never left Kitty's face, but Kitty broke eye contact and glanced at anything but Lindsey.

"Dylan Peet is his son, isn't he?" Lindsey persisted. "Did Robbie know?"

"You're crazy!" Kitty said as she shot up from her chair. "There is no child. The actress being pregnant on her soap opera was just a story line. In fact, probably that's why people thought Robbie fathered her child, because they were dating and she was portraying a pregnancy on the show. Yeah, that's it."

"And you called me crazy?" Lindsey asked. "That's mental."

"You need to leave this alone!" Kitty said.

"Why?" Lindsey asked. "Are you afraid that your cut of Robbie's estate will be taken away from you if it's discovered that he has a child?"

Kitty glared at her.

"Oh, my god, that's it, isn't it," Lindsey said. "You're afraid you're going to lose your inheritance if it becomes known that Robbie has a child."

"Wrong." Kitty slammed her water bottle down on the desk. "Not that it's any of your business, but I know exactly what his will states, and his estate is not going to me. The bulk of his fortune was left to someone else."

Lindsey opened her mouth to ask who, but Kitty held up her hand, stopping her.

"I will not tell you," Kitty said. "You'll just have to wait to find out with everyone else when the estate is settled, but rest assured I am not the beneficiary."

"Is it his child?" Lindsey asked. Kitty's gaze slid away from hers, and Lindsey knew her guess was correct. "You have to tell."

"No, I don't," Kitty said.

"But don't you see?" Lindsey protested. "Who has the most to gain from Robbie's death? If it's not you, then-"

"But Dylan didn't know-" Kitty clapped a hand over her mouth.

"Didn't know what?" Lindsey asked. "Come on, Kitty, you've come this far."

"No!" Kitty raged. "Look, I promised Robbie I wouldn't say anything and now that he's gone . . ."

Her voice broke as if she didn't have the strength to keep going and for the first time, Lindsey saw the grief that Kitty was feeling at the death of her husband and business partner. Lindsey felt sorry for her, truly she did, but Robbie had been murdered, which meant his killer was out there and Kitty couldn't keep his secrets anymore.

"Kitty, have you considered the possibility that Robbie's child might have figured out who his father was?"

Kitty looked at her. Her light-brown eyes were watery with unshed tears.

"Think about it," Lindsey said. "How would you feel if you were a seventeen-year-old boy with a famous father who just abandoned you? Wouldn't you be angry? Wouldn't you want revenge?"

"No," Kitty said. "I made a promise to Robbie to keep his secret safe. I won't break it no matter what you say. It's the last thing I can do for him."

She strode out of the office, slamming the door behind her. It really didn't matter. Kitty had confirmed enough for Lindsey to go and talk to Emma Plewicki.

She hated to think that Dylan had anything to do with Robbie's death, but there was no way she couldn't tell Emma what she knew if it meant catching Robbie's killer. Even if the killer was his own son.

22.

Emma was not in the station when Lindsey stopped by. The officer on duty let her leave a note for Emma to call her, and promised to get it to the chief as soon as she came in. Lindsey couldn't deny that she was relieved. She really didn't want to tell Emma about Dylan's probable connection to Robbie, and even though she knew it was the right thing to do, she was loath to do it.

Dress rehearsal was scheduled for seven o'clock, and Lindsey knew it was an all-hands-on-deck sort of evening. She glanced at her cell phone and noted that she had an hour until she had to be at the theater.

There was a nip in the air and the temperatures were supposed to drop into the forties tonight. She glanced across the street at the Blue Anchor. She could feel the lure of Mary's stuffed flounder calling her with the little cheesy potatoes and steamed broccoli on the side paired with a nice, crisp glass of white wine. Yes, definitely. If she was going to get through tonight, she needed to fortify herself.

Lindsey hurried across the street and cut through the small town park. She was almost at the restaurant when she saw the familiar, stumpy figure of Harvey Wargus striding across the parking lot ahead of her. He stopped beside a big Lincoln Town Car with commercial plates. The window in back rolled down and Harvey leaned close to talk to the occupant. Interesting.

Lindsey knew Violet had banned Harvey from coming into the theater. There was nothing she could do, however, about stopping him from buying a ticket for opening night. Lindsey studied the car. Who in Briar Creek would have a driver? There were a few New Yorkers who owned summer houses and were driven up from the city for long weekends and short vacations, but they wouldn't be here in the off season unless it was a holiday.

No, this was someone who knew Harvey, someone who was wealthy; and with the tinted windows, Lindsey could only surmise that it was someone who didn't want to be seen. Someone like Charlene's father, Sterling Buchanan.

Without pausing to think it through, Lindsey crossed the parking lot and leaned into the open window beside Harvey. She wanted to get a good look at the man who had broken Violet's heart, abandoned his daughter and now, according to Charlene, seemed to think he had a right to have it all back.

"Well, hello, Harvey," she said. "Whatcha doing?"

Harvey jumped and banged his head on the top of the door frame.

"What? Huh?" he asked. He clapped a hand on the top of his head and rubbed the sore spot. Then he glowered at her. "What are you doing here?"

"Just being neighborly," Lindsey answered. She didn't look at him. Her gaze was fastened on the man in the backseat. If there was a stereotype of the narcissistic, egomaniacal corporate billionaire, Sterling Buchanan fit it to perfection.

He was dressed in a suit that probably cost as much as Lindsey made in a year. Large, square diamonds flashed at his cuffs and on his tie. His fingernails were buffed and polished, and his gray hair was cut with such precision that Lindsey wondered if his stylist had used a level to make sure it was perfect.

This was a man who was not only wealthy but clearly felt the need to let everyone else know precisely how wealthy he was. When she'd been working at Yale, Lindsey had come to know many alumni who were wealthy, and her favorites were always the ones who looked as comfortable in jeans and sweaters as they did in suits and gowns.

"How do you do, Mr. Buchanan?" she asked.

He raised his eyes in surprise. "This was a private conversation."

"Like I said, I'm just being neighborly," Lindsey said. "And I'm sure my dear friends will be interested to hear that you're in town. So, are you just passing through or staying awhile?"

He glared at her. "I'm sorry. Who are you?"

"Lindsey Norris, the town librarian." She extended her hand, which he ignored with disdain, making her feel as if she was something that just crawled out of the compost heap. Nice. "Harvey and I are old friends. Right, Harvey?"

He swallowed and looked panicked. "No! I just use the library, that's all. I hardly even know her."

"Aw, really, Harvey?" Lindsey asked, batting her eyelashes at him. "After all that we've meant to each other."

Harvey looked like he'd swallowed a golf ball whole.

"Well, Ms. Norris," Sterling said. "We wouldn't want to keep you."

Lindsey knew that this was his way of dismissing her. It was fine. She was pretty sure she wasn't going to get any information out of either of them, but it was interesting that Sterling was in town. And it gave her hope-a small, flickering flame of hope-that maybe there was someone who wanted Robbie dead more than Dylan.

"So thoughtful of you," Lindsey said. "But I imagine I'll see you both at the show?"

Harvey glanced away, but Sterling just stared at her. His eyes were cold, and Lindsey wondered what the warm and vivacious Violet ever could have seen in him.

She stepped away from the car and continued on to the Blue Anchor. She pulled her phone out of her purse to see if Emma had called. She hadn't, but Lindsey figured she now had two things to tell the chief of police and she sincerely hoped that she was right about one of them.

Lindsey pulled open the door and stepped into the restaurant. Ian was working behind the bar and greeted her with a wave.

Mary was in the corner, talking to their assistant manager, Kelly Martin, who would oversee the operation of the restaurant while Ian and Mary were at the theater. Lindsey took a seat at the bar, and Ian strolled over with her glass of wine already in hand.

"Lindsey, what can I get you to eat?" he asked. "Or do you need a menu?"

"Stuffed flounder, please," Lindsey said.

"I like a woman who knows her own mind," Ian said. He turned around and hollered her dinner order through the small square window that overlooked the kitchen.

"Are you ready for dress rehearsal tonight?" she asked when he came back.

"Oh yeah," he said. "I'm looking forward to it."

"Why didn't you audition earlier?" Lindsey asked.

"You mean, aside from my horrible case of bashfulness?" he asked. Lindsey laughed. Ian was about as bashful as a Kardashian.

"No, really," she said.

"Honestly, I didn't think I'd have time," he said. "The restaurant business is never ending, you know."

"Well, it was great of you to step up," Lindsey said. "You're really saving the day."

"Don't praise him," a voice said from behind her. "He can barely get his swelled donkey head through the door as it is."

"Well, it takes an ass to know an ass," Ian quipped.

Lindsey spun on her stool to find Sully standing behind her. He grinned at Ian and then at Lindsey, and she felt her insides do the same cartwheel they always did when he looked at her just that way.

"Hi, Sully," she said.

"Hi," he said. "Mind if I join you?"

"No, please do," she said.

"What are you having?" he asked.

"The stuffed flounder," she said.

Sully looked at Ian. "Make that two."

"On it." Ian glanced between them with an affectionate smile. He poured Sully's usual beer and put it on the bar before strolling off to check on his other customers.

"So, how are you?" Sully asked.

"I'm all right," Lindsey said. She glanced down at the bar. This was awkward, given that the last time she had seen him, she had come very close to kissing him.