Dark Redemption - Charlotte Byrd Page 0,48

five. Some people went out for breakfast. I am not aware of what Allison or Lincoln did."

"So you don't know when she left?" I ask.

"Sometime after five."

I swallow hard; that was hours ago.

It's early afternoon now and she's still not back. "Was Lincoln with anyone else? Like his girlfriend?" I ask. "Wife?"

"No. He came by himself. Listen, I have to go. I have to clean up and set up for the afternoon. But I didn’t tell you any of this,” she adds.

“Thank you,” I mumble. “One more thing. Do you think that Allison might be coming back?"

"Usually we have a rule that you attend only one party a week, that way we have a good variety of people circling through."

Cassandra’s phone rings and she ushers us out, saying that she has to take this call.

Out on the doorstep, when the door closes in our face, I look up at Dante who looks crestfallen.

"It may not be him," I say. "I mean, the guy could be using an unusual name."

"She said that he could be my brother."

He rubs his temples.

"Yes, but that doesn't mean that he is your brother. Your brother was at home with his pregnant wife. He didn't leave her to go to this party."

"Yeah, I never thought that he would, but now I don't know."

"We can't just doubt him because of this whole story; we have no idea who Allison met last night."

"He was by himself," Dante says, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, but you of all people know that it is possible to get into this place on your own."

He shakes his head.

"Let's go back," I say, taking his hand.

"Go back where?" he asks.

"I'm going to call her again, but I just want to, I don't know, maybe drive around a little and check the cottage again.”

"No," Dante says, "I need to talk to Lincoln."

29

Dante

Jacqueline insists on going back to the rental and walking around the town aimlessly looking for her friend, but I can't wait.

I need to know now the answers to the questions that I seek. When Cassandra said Lincoln's name, I had some doubts at first. No, it wouldn't be my brother. There's no way. It's just some guy using a cool name to draw attention to himself or away from who he really is.

But when she looked at me closely and said that he could be my brother, that just changed everything. Lincoln and I don't really look like we could be related on the outside, not if you look from far away.

But if you look closer, if you really look, past the hair color, skin color, I'm much more olive skinned than he is, then everything changes.

That's what I saw in Cassandra's eyes, the realization that we may be related. I drive back to the house pressing on the accelerator and weaving through traffic.

I can't get there fast enough.

No matter what I do, it's not enough. After my uncomfortable conversation with my mother and her threats to call the police, you'd think that she'd leave and go back to Cape Cod. But no, when I walk back into the house, I find her swimming in the pool.

I wave a brief hello, and she smiles, climbs onto a lounge chair and opens her book, taking a sip of a cocktail.

The arrogance of my family is hard to explain to strangers and so, I never even try.

"Where's Lincoln?" I ask Marguerite who is washing an apple in the sink.

She looks refreshed after the shower and the nap, and she has her own novel and non-alcoholic cocktail set up to drink on the kitchen table.

"He's upstairs, working. Why?”

"I just need to talk to him."

Our eyes meet and hold there for a moment. I consider how much her life would change if she found out.

My brother has always been so faithful and honest, but the truth is that no one ever knows what's really going on in people's heads, lives, and marriage.

I only see them as a couple. I see them only from the outside. But ever since Marguerite got pregnant, she and I have gotten close. Much closer than we ever were before and now I consider her my friend, a close friend at that, and I cannot stand my brother doing this to her.

I hop upstairs, skipping three steps at a time and find him in their bedroom sitting on the bed with a laptop across his legs. He's dressed in a button down shirt and boxer shorts fresh from a shower. A half drunk glass