Copper Lake Confidential - By Marilyn Pappano Page 0,60

for a treat.

Or maybe walked down to Stephen’s house for playtime with Scooter.

When this was all taken care of and she and Clary had settled—well, wherever—she was sending her brother and sister-in-law on the best honeymoon ever as thanks.

The sweat had gone away and the fluttering stopped, though the knot in her gut was slower to unwind. Not a panic attack. Not even a precursor to one, even if it was identical to all the other precursors she’d ever suffered.

Throwing back the covers, she gathered clothing for both of them and headed for the bathroom. “Come on, sweetie, up, up. Time’s a-wasting.”

Clary giggled as she rolled across the mattress, then slid to her feet. “That’s what Grandpa always says.”

“Well, Grandpa’s always right.” He was a role model for his children and grandchild.

Mark’s grandfather had been a role model, too, damn him.

They brushed their teeth and dressed, Macy in denim shorts and a purple tank top, Clary in a watermelon-print sundress with green-and-red polka-dotted flip-flops. With a white sunhat, she looked adorable. She skipped downstairs ahead of Macy and turned toward the kitchen.

The aromas of coffee and bacon drifted down the hall. Brent and Anne were early risers and, always thoughtful, Anne had fixed breakfast for them. They sat at the kitchen table, interrupting their talk to greet Clary.

“Guess what?” Clary helped herself to a piece of bacon from Anne’s plate. “Me and Mama are gonna do something special this morning. Aren’t we, Mama?”

Nothing like easing into a subject. Macy poured herself a cup of coffee before facing them. “If it’s okay with you guys. She’s bored with packing.”

“So are you, I bet,” Brent said.

Macy responded with the raise of her brows.

“Go ahead,” Anne added. “We’ll work in the library. All the books are going to the local library, right?” She made a shooing gesture. “Go on, take your coffee and get out of this house.”

“Thanks, guys.” Macy hugged each of them, then went to the island. She slung her purse strap over her shoulder, then hesitated. Her keys were supposed to be right there next to her bag. Maybe she’d left them inside...but why would she have put them inside after letting them into the house last night after dinner? “Have you guys seen my keys?”

Brent cut into the over-easy egg on his plate. “You had them in your hand when we came in the door.”

She glanced at Anne, who shook her head. “I was helping Clary carry the ice cream. I didn’t pay attention. Maybe you put them in the freezer?”

Macy checked. No keys. She rummaged through the papers on the island. Nothing. Brent and Anne left the table to help her look, and even Clary helped, though the first time she looked in a box and saw books, she lost interest.

“Here they are,” Anne called from down the hall.

Macy followed her voice into the living room, where her sister-in-law dangled the keys from her finger. “Where were they?”

Anne looked at Brent, then shrugged. “On the fireplace mantel.”

Under their wedding portrait. Macy chilled. Not once in the six years she’d lived there had she ever left her keys on the mantel. And not once last night after dinner had she set foot in the living room. She knew it.

“Th-thanks.” She took the keys from Anne, avoided making eye contact with either her or Brent and called for Clary. “Let’s go, pretty baby.”

“Have fun,” Brent said with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm.

As she buckled Clary into her car seat, she considered how the keys had wound up on the mantel. 1) Brent had put them there. 2) Anne had. 3) Stephen had. 4) A ghost had. Or 5) she’d had another episode and done it herself. The only thing she could say beyond a doubt was that Clary hadn’t done it because she couldn’t reach the mantel, and there wasn’t a single piece of furniture in the room the girl could have moved by herself.

But why would Brent or Anne or Stephen move her keys? The idea was ludicrous. When had any of them had the chance? Brent and Anne had come in from dinner and gone straight to the guesthouse. When Stephen arrived, he’d been in the kitchen with Macy before they’d gone to the guesthouse. When he left, she’d walked him to the door, where he’d given her a couple of toe-curling good-night kisses. He’d never had the chance to go into the living...

Except the twenty minutes or so he was alone on the patio while she bathed