Kate followed her. "Actually, Uncle Paul did it, and I supervised."

Sh.e.l.ley unlocked the door and shoved it open. "You ever regret dropping out of college to help out with the blueberry farm? You'd have made a terrific designer. You have such a great eye."

"Sometimes. But I still get to decorate for fun." They both knew the blueberry farm wasn't the real reason she had dropped out of college. Her diagnosis had changed everything.

Kate stepped inside and glanced around. The wood floors gleamed, and she smelled the lemony scent of furniture polish.

Sh.e.l.ley dropped the keys on the entry table, a walnut antique with a marble top. "Wicked cunning. I love blue and yellow decor. Where you want these screws?"

Kate pointed. "Mom's room." She led the way down the hall to the last room on the left. Her arms were about to break by the time she reached the bedroom. She stacked the closet items on the area rug so they wouldn't scratch the wood floor.

Her mother's room was the most recently redecorated. Kate had chosen crisp white and tan bedding that complimented blue-gray walls. The picture of the barrens in their full autumn glory added a bright splash of red to the elegant room with its white beachy furniture.

Kate opened the door to the walk-in closet. "Let's get started hauling stuff out of here."

The aroma of cedar and perfume wafted over her. If she closed her eyes, she could remember hiding here with her imaginary friend, Rachel. They'd stifle their giggles as Mom called for them. Mom had worn White Linen for as long as Kate could remember. She ran her fingertips over the smooth surface of her mother's silk blouses. Maybe it was time to get rid of some things too. Mom hadn't worn anything this glamorous in ages.

In a few minutes, clothing lay in mounds on the bed, and the women had moved on to carrying out shoes and miscellaneous boxes. Reaching on her tiptoes, Kate tugged at one last box nestled in the back corner. She finally managed to nudge it to where she could grab it better, but as she pulled it down, she lost her grip and the box fell on its top, spilling the contents onto the oak floor. It was a mishmash of pictures and mementos. And her favorite doll when she was a kid, Miss Edith.

"Fudge!" Kate knelt to put everything back. She laid her doll aside. "I'm taking her home. I forgot she was here." Her fingers paused over a familiar face.

She studied the old picture. Her father had been so handsome. His blond hair and striking blue eyes made him look like a surfer. She must have been around four here, and he was in his twenties. The adoration on her face as she'd looked up at him made her heart clench.

Sh.e.l.ley peered over her shoulder. "Is that you with your dad?"

"Yes."

"You never talk about him. Did he die?"

The pain in Kate's chest intensified as she shook her head. "He and my mom were never married. He did have a wife, though. I was about twelve the last time I saw him. I have this crazy collection of pictures of him in my closet at home. Once I called his office, but I got chicken and hung up. Which I guess is good because Mom would've been furious. She forbade me to contact him."

Sh.e.l.ley put her hand on Kate's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Katie. That has to really hurt. Why didn't your mom want you to contact him? You're still his daughter. He owes you something."

"He bought Mom the blueberry barrens. I guess it was his payoff to get rid of us. Mom has this fear that if we ever break his edict about no contact, he will take it all away."

"I guess you wait until he contacts you, then. I bet he will."

Kate put the picture in the box and closed the lid. "Maybe someday."

The way her heart tried to beat out of her chest was from this reminder and not a symptom of her disease. But when her head spun, she stayed seated and pretended to look at other things in the closet. She'd be fine.

Claire shifted in the chair in her sitting room at the hotel while her mother hovered nearby with a plate of fresh veggies, warm bread, and hummus. The aroma of fresh sourdough bread filled the room. Her stomach revolted at the thought of food. With the pain med humming through her veins, Claire forced herself to take a deep breath, then another. She shook her head when her mother tried to set the plate on her lap.

"You haven't eaten since breakfast, Claire Nicole, and it's after five."

Claire forced herself to accept the small plate, though she couldn't bring herself to take a bite yet. "I'm fine, Mom. I just need to rest. And, Dad, could you open the door? I need some fresh air." She'd never sleep with them fussing over her. There had to be some way to get them out of her room.

Her dad pulled open the drapes and opened the French doors to the balcony. The sea breeze rushed in and cleared Claire's head. When he turned, his expression was grim. "Someone tried to kill you today, Claire. And someone hit you over the head yesterday. You have to have some idea of why. What have you gotten yourself into? Have you offended anyone at work?"

The condemnation in his voice tightened her gut, but she lifted her chin and glared at him. "I hardly think it's my fault, Dad. I never even got a good look at him, though Luke says he was wearing camo. I wondered if he was poaching and thought I'd seen him and would turn him in."

She knew she was grasping at straws. Why commit murder over a little thing like poaching? "I have to wonder if it's the same guy who pushed Jenny off the cliff. He was wearing camo hunting clothes too."

Her father frowned and dropped into one of the chairs by the balcony door. "And what were you doing with that Luke Rocco? A man with his background is just interested in your money."

Her father's favorite tactic was misdirection. He didn't have any idea of the kind man Luke really was. "You're only upset because he told me something you'd hoped I'd never find out. You should have told me yourself." When her father's lids flickered, she knew her barb had struck home. "When do we meet with Ric to talk about the merger?"

Ric Castillo had arrived, but Claire hadn't seen him yet. She winced as she reached for her case. "I have the balance sheet and our income and expenses for the past ten years. Even I was surprised at how much our bottom line has improved. With the Castillo name and fortune behind us, we'll be in a position to rival Cessna."

The hard line of her dad's jaw eased, and he smiled. "I like the way you think. Our first meeting is tomorrow. With the time change from Madrid, Ric wanted to rest up and be fresh for our discussion."

She glanced at the door. "I'm really tired. I think I'll go to bed early. The meds are making me sleepy."

Her mother rose. "I'll check in on you before I go to bed."

"Don't bother. I'll be sleeping. If I need you, I'll call your cell phone." Claire tried to ignore the hurt in her mother's eyes, but a p.r.i.c.kle of guilt made her reach out and grasp her mother's hand as she turned toward the door. "I'm sorry, Mom. I'm just a little grouchy."

Her mother's eyelids flickered, but she reached down and brushed a kiss across Claire's cheek. Her Hermes perfume made Claire's eyes water, and she pulled away as soon as she could. When the door shut behind them, she heaved herself up, ignoring the tightness in her back and chest. She'd be lucky if she could move tomorrow.

Opening the closet, she lifted out the satchel containing her paint supplies. Even the slight weight made her wince, but she pulled out the small canvas and propped it on the table against the vase. With her brush in hand, she closed her eyes and tried to remember the man's face she'd seen so briefly before he struck her yesterday. She'd been sure it was the same man she painted over and over again, but what if her terror had clouded her thoughts?

Dipping her brush in the green watercolor, she began to paint. An hour later she studied the image. The man's blue eyes had cruel lines around them, and his mouth held tight-lipped anger. Was this Jenny's killer or some remnant of her constant nightmares?

NINE.

A light kiss brushed over Claire's forehead, and she opened her eyes to see her grandmother hovering over her with a gentle smile. "Grandma." She sat up and brushed her hair out of her face. "Where did you come from?"

"Your mother called us and told us what happened. I couldn't stay home."

Nearly eighty, her grandmother was still beautiful to Claire in spite of her wrinkles. Her dark hair and hazel eyes glowed in her olive skin. In her day, she'd been drop-dead gorgeous, and Grandpa had swooped her up when she was nineteen and he was twenty-two. Claire nestled into her grandmother's embrace and soaked in the unconditional love. Tabu, the perfume her grandmother had worn as long as Claire could remember, was just a faint scent this late in the day.

Her grandmother smoothed Claire's hair. "Are you okay? You're very pale."

"I'm fine, Grandma."

"I am going to see the sheriff tomorrow. He must find that man at once."

No one was ever able to resist Emily Cramer's determination. Claire pitied the sheriff for a brief moment. Her grandmother would roll into that office like an implacable machine and demand results. She was richer than Croesus, but her main power over people was the way she loved them. No one wanted to see the light in her hazel eyes dim.

Claire pulled away from the embrace and swung her legs off the bed. "The sheriff will find him. In the meantime, I'll stay close to other people."

Her grandmother rose and smoothed her blue dress. She'd taught Claire the art of a perfect French roll, and not a hair on her head was out of place. She'd never adopted the bare-leg rage and always wore hosiery and pumps. But in spite of her care about her appearance, she was the most genuine person Claire had ever met.

Claire rose and began to roll up her hair. "What time is it?"

"After nine. I intended to come up the moment I heard what happened to you, but your grandfather insisted I finish dinner. You know how he can be. And your mother said you were resting. Neither of them would give me a key to your room, so I had to cajole one of the hotel employees." Her grandmother caught her hand. "Leave your hair down, honey. Get your pajamas on and climb right back into bed. If your mother comes in and finds I've disturbed your rest, I'll be in hot water."

Claire smiled. "You wouldn't be there for long. No one can stay mad at you."

She did as her grandmother suggested and let go of her hair, then raked her fingers through it. Her slacks and top were wrinkled from sleeping in them, and she went to the dresser and pulled out pink silk pajamas, wincing at the movement.

"It hurts to move?" At Claire's nod, her grandmother came to help her.

Claire let her grandma a.s.sist her in the dim light, and two minutes later she climbed under the sweet-smelling sheets. Her grandmother always made her feel treasured. Being with her was like catching a whiff of heaven.

Grandma pulled up a chair beside the bed and plumped the pillows before having Claire lean back. "I know everything that's been happening, Claire. I told Lisa all along she should have been honest with you about what happened here, but your father was adamant about keeping it mum. Your mother is entirely too easygoing with him."

Her mother had always been content to let her husband handle the messy details of life while she put her hands over her eyes. For a strong woman like Claire's grandmother, having such a weak daughter was probably a trial.

"What can you tell me, Grandma? Did I say anything after I was found that might tell you where I had been all that time?"

Her grandmother blinked and looked away. "Some of this needs to come from your father, child. One thing I can tell you is that I've loved you from the first moment I laid eyes on you."

A strange response. Claire stared into that beloved older face with its wise eyes and loving mouth. "I know that, Grandma. I've never doubted how much you love me. But about that missing year . . ."

Her grandmother leaned forward to brush another kiss across Claire's cheek. "Rest now, honey. I told Harry this day would come, but he didn't believe me." Her lips trembled. "I fear the repercussions now." She took hold of Claire's shoulders and looked into her face. "Promise me you won't ever forget how much you're loved."

Though she didn't understand her grandmother's intensity, Claire nodded. "I promise."

Claire watched in puzzlement as her grandmother rose and rushed for the door. What kind of repercussions?

Kate smiled as she watched her mother take in the closet transformation in the light of the overhead lamp. Dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt with her light-brown hair caught back in a ponytail, Mary Mason looked closer to forty-five than her fifty-five years old. Her flawless skin needed no makeup, and as far as Kate knew, she'd never even dyed her hair. She had that elusiveness so many men found attractive, but that standoffishness sometimes made Kate feel as if she were an afterthought. Or a duty, like a dog needing to be fed twice a day.

Maybe that was why Kate tried so hard. Just like this closet redo. Someday she would do something that would make her mom rush to embrace her and tell her she loved her. Those three words had seldom come out of her mother's mouth.

Her mother's smile was radiant. "Kate, it's just beautiful."

"I'm glad you like it, Mom." No hug. Kate had been silly to hope for one.

Her mother turned to her brother, Paul, who looked on with an indulgent smile. "And you were in on this?"

Kate had always adored Uncle Paul. Ten years younger than Mom, he'd been like an older brother or a young father to her. He was her island to stand on in the middle of a raging ocean. When Mom got the blueberry barrens, he'd sold most of his lobster pots and taken the reins of the business. He learned everything there was to know about the wild bushes, and Mason Blueberries flourished. He'd never married, though his dark good looks attracted plenty of female attention. Kate had seldom seen him without a girlfriend, though he changed them nearly every season.

He straightened his tall, rangy form and grinned at his sister. "Now you know why I didn't hurry you in the yarn store. I wanted to give Katie time to work her magic."

"Well, it's a lovely surprise for my birthday. And do I smell German chocolate cake?"

Kate nodded. "Yep, Sh.e.l.ley made it. She had papers to grade tonight but said to give you her best wishes."

Her uncle turned toward the door. "And I have several pounds of fresh lobster all ready to go. I'll get them started in the kitchen."

Her mother smiled at him. "No wonder you turned down my offer to buy dinner."

Kate waited until her uncle's heavy footsteps faded and she heard the squeak of the aging refrigerator door. "Mom, I need to talk to you about something."

Her mother closed the door to the closet. "Yes?"

Kate refused to let her cool tone put her off. "I've been thinking about Dad. Have you heard anything from him at all?"

Her mother's eyes widened before they shuttered back to their usual placid green. "No, and I don't expect to. He is out of our lives, Katie. You know that."

"D-Does he even know I've been sick?"

Her mother narrowed her eyes. "He doesn't need to know. He made it quite clear he wants nothing to with either of us."

"He's my father. What if he's a good donor match?"

Her mother moved toward the door, her movements brisk, as if she could erase their entire conversation. "You're doing fine. Just look at all you've done today-all this work! You're in perfect health."

The fatigue that hovered close seemed to settle in a heavy weight on Kate's shoulders. She wasn't about to show it to her mother, though. The lobster waiting in the kitchen would help. She hadn't eaten since breakfast.

Her mother paused in the doorway and looked back at her. "Besides, haven't we been getting along just great without him all these years?"

Kate gave a jerky nod. "I was just thinking about him. He was always so much fun."

Her mother whirled to face her. Bright spots of hectic color spotted her cheeks, and her eyes burned. "And was it fun when we saw him in town that day?"

Kate's eyes filled. "No."

She'd been twelve, and it was the last time she'd seen her father. They'd gone to a blueberry festival in Bar Harbor. She spotted him across the street and shouted, "Dad!" before starting to run to him. He took one look in her direction before all the color drained from his face and then he dashed into a liquor store. Her mother had caught her arm or she might have followed him inside.

The humiliation still made her face burn.

"I didn't think so either. That's when I knew we couldn't go on the way we had. None of us."

"Why did you do it, Mom? Why did you let him treat us like that? You deserved better. So did I."

Her mother's hands curled into fists. "I loved him. I thought someday he'd change. That someday he'd leave his wife for me. But that never happened."

This was the most honest conversation she'd had with her mother in her entire life. Most of the time Mom brushed off questions like an annoying bee. Kate craved more.

"Maybe he has changed. I can find out where he lives."

Her mother's eyes went wide, and she reached out a hand toward Kate. "You can't contact him! Promise me, Katie. Never, never go near him."

Kate backed away. "I don't think I can make that promise, Mom. I want to at least see him. Even if it's from a distance."

Her mother shook her head with so much vehemence that her ponytail loosened. "I forbid it!"

"I'm twenty-nine years old. I'm not a child."