it fit in the Porsche’s extremely limited truck space under the front hood. In the end, though, just as with the card game, luck had been on their side—and she could only imagine how pleased the man was going to be to bring the masterpiece home to his wife.
God, she wanted to meet Mrs. Lenghe at some point, she really did. Dollars to doughnuts, as the saying went, the woman was going to be as down to earth and kind as that billionaire was.
And now, it was time to get back to work.
The plan for the morning, after she ate whatever ambrosia Miss Aurora was serving, was for her to go for a check-the-grounds tour and try to find something to mow: Making neat on a John Deere outside in the fresh air just seemed like her idea of heaven.
After all, the interment of William Baldwine was scheduled for that afternoon, and watching Lane put his father to rest was not going to be easy.
Pushing her way into the kitchen, she said, “Miss Aurora, what’s cooking—”
Except the woman wasn’t at the stove. And there was no coffee brewing. No fruit out. No sweet smell of cinnamon bread.
“Miss Aurora?”
Lizzie went in further, checking the mudroom and the pantry. Even poking her head out the back door to see if the red Mercedes Lane had given the woman was still there—and it was.
It had been a late night, true, and their out-of-town guest had also left early, but there were still people in the house to feed, and even if the woman had worked the Fourth of July until one a.m., she was always on breakfast—besides, it was pushing eight a.m.
That was almost the middle of the day for the woman.
Going over to Miss Aurora’s private quarters, Lizzie knocked. “You in there, Miss Aurora?”
When there was no answer, fear curled a fist in her gut.
Knocking louder, she said, “Miss Aurora …? Miss Aurora, if you don’t answer, I’m coming in.”
Lizzie gave every opportunity for there to be a reply, and when none came, she turned the knob and pushed. “Hello?”
Taking a couple of steps inside, she saw nothing out of place. Nothing that was—
“Miss Aurora!”
Running into the bedroom, she crouched down by the woman, who was sprawled on the floor as if she had fainted.
“Miss Aurora!”
FIFTY-THREE
Lane made it to the Red & Black in record time, and as he skidded to a halt next to the three police cars parked in front of the caretaker’s cottage, dust and gravel kicked up all over the place.
He didn’t know whether or not he turned off the engine. And he didn’t care.
Taking the shallow steps on a oner, he burst in on a tableau that was a never-forget: Three uniformed police officers were standing with their backs against the wall of trophies while Deputy Ramsey loomed in the opposite corner, looking like he wanted to hit someone.
And in the center of the room, Detective Merrimack was standing over Edward, who was sitting in that chair.
“—for the murder of William Baldwine. Anything you say can and will be used against you—”
“Edward!” Lane rushed forward, but Ramsey caught him and held him back. “Edward, what the hell is going on!”
Even though he knew. Goddamn it, he knew.
“You can stop with the Miranda rights,” Edward said impatiently. “I did it. I killed him. Take me down, book me, and don’t bother getting me a defense attorney. I’m pleading guilty right now.”
Annnnnnd that was how you turned the volume of the entire universe down: Lane literally went deaf as Merrimack said something further, and Edward replied, and there was more conversation—
A blond woman entered the cottage in the same way Lane had, in a panic.
But unlike him, no one had to drag her back. She stopped on her own and, after she got a gander at everyone, she crossed her arms over her chest and kept silent.
“Edward …” Lane was not consciously aware of speaking. “Edward, no.”
“I’ll tell you how I did it,” his brother said as he looked over. “So you can have your peace about this. But after I’m finished speaking … Lane, you don’t come to see me down there. You keep going about your life. You marry that good woman of yours. You take care of the family. You do not look back.”
Merrimack opened his mouth, and Edward turned on the guy. “And you just shut up, okay. Get your pad out. Take notes. Or wait for me to do this again a hundred times