Copper Lake Confidential - By Marilyn Pappano Page 0,78

were closer than any other family she knew. Her time in the hospital had been as hard on them as her. Besides, if Brent had wanted control of her money, he’d had it for months.

As far as she knew, she didn’t have any enemies. Well, there was Louise Wetherby, who was so accustomed to getting what she wanted. Could she want Fair Winds enough to terrorize Macy to get it?

And Lorna Howard. Mark’s mother had been deeply disappointed in her for believing the authorities’ tales about him. Could she have decided she didn’t want her only grandchild or her son’s fortune under the control of a woman who didn’t honor his memory? Who’d never protested his innocence?

Macy couldn’t believe either of them would do such a thing. She was sure they were capable, but not even Louise or Lorna would stoop to such levels.

She couldn’t believe anyone in her life would do such a thing.

“Maybe it’s Mark’s ghost,” she said with a sound somewhere between laughter and choking. “Maybe I’m being haunted for not standing up for him.”

Stephen gave her a look.

“Fair Winds is haunted. Everyone who’s spent time there knows it. Maybe our house is haunted, too. Maybe Mark’s angry with me, so his ghost is punishing me.”

As they turned into Tia Maria’s parking lot, Clary piped up from the backseat. “Ghosts are just on TV and in books. They’re not real. Grandma said so.”

Macy took a deep breath to get a grip on her emotions. “And Grandma’s always right, isn’t she, sweetie?”

Lunch was a subdued affair. Brent and Anne both ordered margaritas, an attitude of relief as they drank them, and Macy ate too much queso and guacamole. Only Stephen and Clary acted their usual selves, teasing, talking, telling silly jokes. He was very good with her daughter. Mark had loved Clary, but he hadn’t been much of a hands-on father. That might have changed for the better as she grew older, but Macy suspected it wouldn’t have.

Besides, what did love mean when it came from a serial killer? If he didn’t value other people’s lives, could he have truly loved anyone but himself?

Rubbing her temples, she wished she’d ordered a margarita, too. Maybe a pitcher.

After lunch, they delivered the boxes to the library, then Brent and Anne stopped to pick up more cartons while she and Stephen and Clary drove home. He and Clary went searching for Scooter, and Macy walked through the house and out onto the patio.

The pool still looked calm, undisturbed. Water dotted the flagstone around it from the sprinklers that had come on while they were gone. Had it been wet the last time she’d stood here? She couldn’t remember. She hadn’t thought to check, hadn’t been able to focus on anything except that clear expanse of water where her daughter wasn’t floating. The rescue hook was in its usual place. Everything was identical to her gruesome vision, except, dear God, for the body.

“What did you see?”

Startled, she stiffened, and it took a moment to relax even after Brent had slid his arm around her shoulders. “I would swear on my life it was Clary, floating facedown, not moving.”

“Thank God it wasn’t.”

“But it looked like her. Brown hair, pink and purple clothes.” The image was clear in her mind. It would never completely fade.

“I know this is hard for you.”

She stiffened again as she tilted her head to study him. His expression was so serious, so grim—a look she’d seen practically every day she was in the hospital. He’d driven the two hours from Charleston so often he’d joked he could do it in his sleep; he’d sat with her, held her, told her every little thing Clary had done or said. He’d been her anchor.

And now he thought she was hallucinating.

“I’m taking my medication, Brent. I’m keeping busy. I’m not losing control.” She would have held out one hand to show him she was steady as a rock, but she knew it would betray her. As her mind had? “I’m not imagining things.”

Except for the intruder in the guesthouse. The contract magically moving itself from the living room to the office. The cologne bottle doing the same upstairs. Now the body in the pool.

“The important thing is Clary’s all right. We’ll be done here soon. You can leave town in a few more days, and you can put all this behind you.”

Frustration welled inside her. If she was breaking down again, leaving wouldn’t cure it. But she wasn’t breaking down. She knew