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The Last Mrs Parrish: An addictive psychological thriller with a shocking twist!
Liv Constantine
Addictive, dark, thrilling and full of twists! You won’t want to miss this mesmerising debut from a fresh new voice in psychological suspense.Perfect for fans of B. A. Paris, Shari Lapena and Liane MoriartyAll she wants…is everything you have.How far would you go to make all your dreams come true?Amber Patterson is tired of being a nobody: a plain, invisible woman who melts into the background. She deserves more. She deserves a life of wealth, luxury and leisure.Daphne Parrish is the golden girl of the exclusive town of Bishops Harbor, Connecticut. With her modelesque looks, her picture-perfect mansion and her millionaire husband, Jackson, she has everything Amber has ever wanted.Amber’s envy could eat her alive—if she didn't have a plan. Gradually, Amber insinuates herself into the Parrish family’s life. Before long, she has become Daphne’s closest confidante, and is catching the eye of Jackson. But a skeleton from her past could undermine everything Amber has worked for, and if discovered, her well-laid plan may end in disaster…







Copyright (#ue044370d-b02e-5a23-a160-61170db16d1b)
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2017
First published in the USA in 2017 by Harper, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers
Copyright © Lynne Constantine and Valerie Constantine 2017
Cover design by Claire Ward © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2017
Cover photography © Plainpicture (https://www.plainpicture.com/en/main)/OJO/Tom Merton
Lynne Constantine and Valerie Constantine assert the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008272937
Ebook Edition © October 2017 ISBN: 9780008272944
Version: 2018-09-24

Dedication (#ue044370d-b02e-5a23-a160-61170db16d1b)
Lynne’s Dedication:
For Lynn, the other bookend, for reasons too numerous to mention
Valerie’s Dedication:
For Colin, you make it all possible
Contents
Cover (#u309c4ac2-8af1-589e-b429-204283bef4ad)
Title Page (#u3a42625e-1357-54d7-ae66-c1a73e181223)
Copyright
Dedication
Part I: Amber
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Part II: Daphne
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Part III
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Chapter Seventy-One
Chapter Seventy-Two
Chapter Seventy-Three
Acknowledgments
About the Authors
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

[PART I] (#ue044370d-b02e-5a23-a160-61170db16d1b)

ONE (#ue044370d-b02e-5a23-a160-61170db16d1b)
Amber Patterson was tired of being invisible. She’d been coming to this gym every day for three months—three long months of watching these women of leisure working at the only thing they cared about. They were so self-absorbed; she would have bet her last dollar that not one of them would recognize her on the street even though she was five feet away from them every single day. She was a fixture to them—unimportant, not worthy of being noticed. But she didn’t care—not about any of them. There was one reason and one reason alone that she dragged herself here every day, to this machine, at the precise stroke of eight.
She was sick to death of the routine—day after day, working her ass off, waiting for the moment to make her move. From the corner of her eye, she saw the signature gold Nikes step onto the machine next to her. Amber straightened her shoulders and pretended to be immersed in the magazine strategically placed on the rack of her own machine. She turned and gave the exquisite blond woman a shy smile, which garnered a polite nod in her direction. Amber reached for her water bottle, deliberately moving her foot to the edge of the machine, and slipped, knocking the magazine to the floor, where it landed beneath the pedal of her neighbor’s equipment.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” she said, reddening.
Before she could step off, the woman stopped her pedaling and retrieved it for her. Amber watched the woman’s brow knit together.
“You’re reading is magazine?” the woman said, handing it back to her.
“Yes, it’s the Cystic Fibrosis Trust’s magazine. Comes out twice a year. Do you know it?”
“I do, yes. Are you in the medical field?” the woman asked.
Amber cast her eyes to the floor, then back at the woman. “No, I’m not. My younger sister had CF.” She let the words sit in the space between them.
“I’m sorry. That was rude of me. It’s none of my business,” the woman said, and stepped back onto the elliptical.
Amber shook her head. “No, it’s okay. Do you know someone with cystic fibrosis?”
There was pain in the woman’s eyes as she stared back at Amber. “My sister. I lost her twenty years ago.”
“I’m so sorry. How old was she?”
“Only sixteen. We were two years apart.”
“Charlene was just fourteen.” Slowing her pace, Amber wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. It took a lot of acting skills to cry about a sister who never existed. The three sisters she did have were alive and well, although she hadn’t spoken to them for two years.
The woman’s machine ground to a halt. “Are you okay?” she asked.
Amber sniffed and shrugged. “It’s still so hard, even after all these years.”
The woman gave her a long look, as if trying to make a decision, then extended her hand.
“I’m Daphne Parrish. What do you say we get out of here and have a nice chat over a cup of coffee?”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to interrupt your workout.”
Daphne nodded. “Yes, I’d really like to talk with you.”
Amber gave her what she hoped looked like a grateful smile and stepped down. “That sounds great.” Taking her hand, she said, “I’m Amber Patterson. Pleasure to meet you.”


Later that evening Amber lay in a bubble bath, sipping a glass of merlot and staring at the photo in Entrepreneur magazine. Smiling, she put it down, closed her eyes, and rested her head on the edge of the tub. She was feeling very satisfied about how well things had gone that day. She’d been prepared for it to drag out even longer, but Daphne made it easy for her. After they dispensed with the small talk over coffee, they’d gotten down to the real reason she’d elicited Daphne’s interest.
“It’s impossible for someone who hasn’t experienced CF to understand,” Daphne said, her blue eyes alive with passion. “Julie was never a burden to me, but in high school my friends were always pushing me to leave her behind, not let her tag along. They didn’t understand that I never knew when she’d be hospitalized or if she’d even make it out again. Every moment was precious.”
Amber leaned forward and did her best to look interested while she calculated the total worth of the diamonds on Daphne’s ears, the tennis bracelet on her wrist, and the huge diamond on her tanned and perfectly manicured finger. She must have had at least a hundred grand walking around on her size-four body, and all she could do was whine about her sad childhood. Amber suppressed a yawn and gave Daphne a tight smile.
“I know. I used to stay home from school to be with my sister so that my mom could go to work. She almost lost her job from taking so much time off, and the last thing we could afford was for her to lose our health insurance.” She was pleased with how easily the lie came to her lips.
“Oh, that’s terrible,” Daphne clucked. “That’s another reason my foundation is so important to me. We provide financial assistance to families who aren’t able to afford the care they need. It’s been a big part of the mission of Julie’s Smile for as long as I can remember.”
Amber feigned shock. “Julie’s Smile is your foundation? It’s the same Julie? I know all about Julie’s Smile, been reading about all you do for years. I’m so in awe.”
Daphne nodded. “I started it right after grad school. In fact, my husband was my first benefactor.” Here she’d smiled, perhaps a bit embarrassed. “That’s how we met.”
“Aren’t you preparing for a big fund-raiser right now?”
“As a matter of fact we are. It’s a few months away, but still lots to do. Say … oh, never mind.”
“No, what?” Amber pressed.
“Well, I was just going to see if maybe you’d like to help. It would be nice to have someone who understands—”
“I’d love to help in any way,” Amber interrupted. “I don’t make a lot of money, but I definitely have time to donate. What you’re doing is so important. When I think of the difference it makes—” She bit her lip and blinked back tears.
Daphne smiled. “Wonderful.” She pulled out a card engraved with her name and address. “Here you are. Committee is meeting at my house Thursday morning at ten. Can you make it?”
Amber had given her a wide smile, still trying to look as though the disease was first in her mind. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

TWO (#ue044370d-b02e-5a23-a160-61170db16d1b)
The rocking rhythm of the Saturday train from Bishops Harbor to New York lulled Amber into a soothing reverie far removed from the rigid discipline of her workday week. She sat by the window, resting her head against the seat back, occasionally opening her eyes to glance at the passing scenery. She thought back to the first time she’d ridden on a train, when she was seven years old. It was July in Missouri—the hottest, muggiest month of the summer—and the train’s air-conditioning had been on the blink. She could still picture her mother sitting across from her in a long-sleeved black dress, unsmiling, back erect, her knees squeezed together primly. Her light brown hair had been pulled back in its customary bun, but she had worn a pair of earrings—small pearl studs that she saved for special occasions. And Amber supposed the funeral of her mother’s mother counted as a special occasion.
When they’d gotten off the train at the grubby station in Warrensburg, the air outside was even more suffocating than the inside of the train had been. Uncle Frank, her mother’s brother, had been there to meet them, and they piled uncomfortably into his battered blue pickup truck. The smell is what she remembered most—a mixture of sweat and dirt and damp—and the cracked leather of the seat digging into her skin. They rode past endless fields of corn and small farmsteads with tired-looking wooden houses and yards filled with rusted machinery, old cars on cinder blocks, tires with no rims, and broken metal crates. It was even more depressing than where they lived, and Amber wished she’d been left at home, like her sisters. Her mother said they were too young for a funeral, but Amber was old enough to pay her respects. She’d blocked out most of that horrendous weekend, but the one thing she would never forget was the appalling shabbiness surrounding her—the drab living room of her grandparents’ home, all browns and rusty yellows; her grandfather’s stubby growth of beard as he sat in his overstuffed recliner, stern and dour in a worn undershirt and stained khaki pants. She saw the origin of her mother’s cheerless demeanor and poverty of imagination. It was then, at that tender age, that the dream of something different and better was born in Amber.
Opening her eyes now as the man opposite her rose, jostling her with his briefcase, she realized they’d arrived at Grand Central Terminal. She quickly gathered her handbag and jacket and stepped into the streaming mass of disembarking passengers. She never tired of the walk from the tracks into the magnificent main concourse—what a contrast to the dingy train depot of all those years ago. She took her time strolling past the shiny storefronts of the station, a perfect precursor to the sights and sounds of the city waiting outside, then exited the building and walked the few short blocks along Forty-Second Street to Fifth Avenue. This monthly pilgrimage had become so familiar that she could have done it blindfolded.
Her first stop was always the main reading room of the New York Public Library. She would sit at one of the long reading tables as the sun poured in through the tall windows and drink in the beauty of the ceiling frescoes. Today she felt especially comforted by the books that climbed the walls. They were a reminder that any knowledge she desired was hers for the asking. Here, she would sit and read and discover all the things that would give shape to her plans. She sat, still and silent, for twenty minutes, until she was ready to return to the street and begin the walk up Fifth Avenue.
She walked slowly but with purpose past the luxury stores that lined the street. Past Versace, Fendi, Armani, Louis Vuitton, Harry Winston, Tiffany & Co., Gucci, Prada, and Cartier—they went on and on, one after another of the world’s most prestigious and expensive boutiques. She had been in each of them, inhaled the aroma of supple leather and the scent of exotic perfumes, rubbed into her skin the velvety balms and costly ointments that sat tantalizingly in ornate testers.
She continued past Dior and Chanel and stopped to admire a slender gown of silver and black that clung to the mannequin in the window. She stared at the dress, picturing herself in it, her hair piled high on her head, her makeup perfect, entering a ballroom on her husband’s arm, the envy of every woman she passed. She continued north until she came to Bergdorf Goodman and the timeless Plaza Hotel. She was tempted to climb the red-carpeted steps to the grand lobby, but it was well past one o’clock, and she was feeling hungry. She’d carried a small lunch from home, since there was no way she could afford to spend her hard-earned money on both the museum and lunch in Manhattan. She crossed Fifty-Eighth Street to Central Park, sat on a bench facing the busy street, and unpacked a small apple and a baggie filled with raisins and nuts from her sack. She ate slowly as she watched people hurrying about and thought for the hundredth time how grateful she was to have escaped the dreary existence of her parents, the mundane conversations, the predictability of it all. Her mother had never understood Amber’s ambitions. She said she was trying to get too far above herself, that her kind of thinking would only land her in trouble. And then Amber had shown her and finally left it all—though maybe not the way she’d planned.
She finished her lunch and walked through the park to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, where she would spend the afternoon before catching an early-evening train back to Connecticut. Over the past two years she had walked every inch of the Met, studying the art and sitting in on lectures and films about the works and their creators. At first her vast lack of knowledge had been daunting, but in her methodical way, she took it step-by-step, reading from borrowed books all she could about art, its history, and its masters. Armed with new information each month, she would visit the museum again and see in person what she had read about. She knew now that she could engage in a respectably intelligent conversation with all but the most informed art critic. Since the day she’d left that crowded house in Missouri, she’d been creating a new and improved Amber, one who would move at ease among the very wealthy. And so far, her plan was right on schedule.
After some time, she strolled to the gallery that was usually her last stop. There, she stood for a long time in front of a small study by Tintoretto. She wasn’t sure how many times she had stared at this sketch, but the credit line was engraved on her brain—“A gift from the collection of Jackson and Daphne Parrish.” She reluctantly turned away and headed to the new Aelbert Cuyp exhibition. She’d read through the only book about Cuyp that the Bishops Harbor library had on its shelves. Cuyp was an artist she’d never heard of and she’d been surprised to learn how prolific and famous he was. She strolled through the exhibit and came upon the painting she’d so admired in the book and had hoped would be a part of the exhibit, The Maas at Dordrecht in a Storm. It was even more magnificent than she’d thought it would be.
An older couple stood near her, mesmerized by it as well.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” the woman said to Amber.
“More than I’d even imagined,” she answered.
“This one is very different from his landscapes,” the man offered.
Amber continued to stare at the painting as she said, “It is, but he painted many majestic views of Dutch harbors. Did you know that he also painted biblical scenes and portraits?”
“Really? I had no idea.”
Perhaps you should read before you come to see an exhibit, Amber thought, but simply smiled at them and moved on. She loved it when she could display her superior knowledge. And she believed that a man like Jackson Parrish, a man who prided himself on his cultural aesthetic, would love it too.

THREE (#ue044370d-b02e-5a23-a160-61170db16d1b)
A bilious envy stuck in Amber’s throat as the graceful house on Long Island Sound came into view. The open white gates at the entrance to the multimillion-dollar estate gave way to lush greenery and rosebushes that spilled extravagantly over discreet fencing, while the mansion itself was a rambling two-story structure of white and gray. It reminded her of pictures she’d seen of the wealthy summer homes in Nantucket and Martha’s Vineyard. The house meandered majestically along the shoreline, superbly at home on the water’s edge.
This was the kind of home that was safely hidden from the eyes of those who could not afford to live this way. That’s what wealth does for you, she thought. It gives you the means and the power to remain concealed from the world if you choose to—or if you need to.
Amber parked her ten-year-old blue Toyota Corolla, which would look ridiculously out of place among the late-model Mercedes and BMWs that she was sure would soon dot the courtyard. She closed her eyes and sat for a moment, taking slow, deep breaths and going over in her head the information she’d memorized over the last few weeks. She’d dressed carefully this morning, her straight brown hair held back from her face with a tortoiseshell headband and her makeup minimal—just the tiniest hint of blush on her cheeks and slightly tinted balm on her lips. She wore a neatly pressed beige twill skirt with a long-sleeved white cotton T-shirt, both of which she’d ordered from an L.L.Bean catalog. Her sandals were sturdy and plain, good no-nonsense walking shoes without any touch of femininity. The ugly large-framed glasses she’d found at the last minute completed the look she was after. When she took one last glimpse in the mirror before leaving her apartment, she’d been pleased. She looked plain, even mousy. Someone who would never in a million years be a threat to anyone—especially not someone like Daphne Parrish.
Though she knew she ran a slight risk of appearing rude, Amber had shown up just a little early. She’d be able to have some time alone with Daphne and would also be there before any of the other women arrived, always an edge when introductions were made. They would see her as young and nondescript, simply a worker bee Daphne had deigned to reach down and anoint as a helper in her charity efforts.
She opened the car door and stepped onto the crushed stone driveway. It looked as if each piece of gravel cushioning her steps had been measured for uniformity and purity, and perfectly raked and polished. As she neared the house, she took her time studying the grounds and dwelling. She realized she would be entering through the back—the front would, of course, face the water—but it was, nevertheless, a most gracious facade. To her left stood a white arbor bedecked with the summer’s last wisteria, and two long benches sat just beyond it. Amber had read about this kind of wealth, had seen countless pictures in magazines and online tours of the homes of movie stars and the superrich. But this was the first time she’d actually seen it up close.
She climbed the wide stone steps to the landing and rang the bell. The door was oversize, with large panes of beveled glass, allowing Amber a view down the long corridor that ran to the front of the house. She could see the dazzling blue of the water from where she stood, and then, suddenly, Daphne was there, holding the door open and smiling at her.
“How lovely to see you. I’m so glad you could come,” she said, taking Amber’s hand in hers and leading her inside.
Amber gave her the timid smile she’d practiced in front of her bathroom mirror. “Thank you for inviting me, Daphne. I’m really excited to help.”
“Well, I’m thrilled you’ll be working with us. Come this way. We’ll be meeting in the conservatory,” Daphne said as they came into a large octagonal room with floor-to-ceiling windows and summery chintzes that exploded with vibrant color. The French doors stood open, and Amber breathed in the intoxicating smell of salty sea air.
“Please, have a seat. We have a few minutes before the others arrive,” Daphne said.
Amber sank into the plush sofa, and Daphne sat down across from her in one of the yellow armchairs that perfectly complemented the other furnishings in this room of nonchalant elegance. It irked her, this ease with wealth and privilege that Daphne exuded, as though it were her birthright. She could have stepped out of Town & Country in her perfectly tailored gray slacks and silk blouse, her only jewelry the large pearl studs she wore in her ears. Her lustrous blond hair fell in loose waves that framed her aristocratic face. Amber guessed the clothes and earrings alone were worth over three grand, forget the rock on her finger or the Cartier Tank. She probably had a dozen more in a jewelry box upstairs. Amber checked the time on her own watch—an inexpensive department-store model—and saw that they still had about ten minutes alone.
“Thanks again for letting me help, Daphne.”
“I’m the one who’s grateful. There are never too many hands. I mean, all of the women are terrific and they work hard, but you understand because you’ve been there.” Daphne shifted in her chair. “We talked a lot about our sisters the other morning, but not much about ourselves. I know you’re not from around here, but do I remember you telling me you were born in Nebraska?”
Amber had rehearsed her story carefully. “Yes, that’s right. I’m originally from Nebraska, but I left after my sister died. My good high school friend went to college here. When she came home for my sister’s funeral, she said maybe it would be good for me to have a change, make a fresh start, and we’d have each other, of course. She was right. It’s helped me so much. I’ve been in Bishops Harbor for almost a year, but I think about Charlene every day.”
Daphne was looking at her intently. “I’m sorry for your loss. No one who hasn’t experienced it can know how painful it is to lose a sibling. I think about Julie every day. Sometimes it’s overwhelming. That’s why my work with cystic fibrosis is so important to me. I’m blessed to have two healthy daughters, but there are still so many families afflicted by this terrible disease.”
Amber picked up a silver frame with a photograph of two little girls. Both blond and tanned, they wore matching bathing suits and sat cross-legged on a pier, their arms around each other. “Are these your daughters?”
Daphne glanced at the picture and smiled with delight, pointing. “Yes, that’s Tallulah and this is Bella. That was taken last summer, at the lake.”
“They’re adorable. How old are they?”
“Tallulah’s ten, and Bella’s seven. I’m glad they have each other,” Daphne said, her eyes growing misty. “I pray they always will.”
Amber remembered reading that actors think of the saddest thing they can to help them cry on cue. She was trying to summon a memory to make her cry, but the saddest thing she could come up with was that she wasn’t the one sitting in Daphne’s chair, the mistress of this incredible house. Still, she did her best to look downcast as she put the photograph back on the table.
Just then, the doorbell rang, and Daphne rose to answer it. As she left the room, she said, “Help yourself to coffee or tea. And there are some goodies too. Everything’s on the sideboard.”
Amber got up but put her handbag on the chair next to Daphne’s, marking it as hers. As she was pouring a cup of coffee, the others began filing in amid excited hellos and hugs. She hated the clucking sounds groups of women made, like a bunch of cackling hens.
“Hey, everyone.” Daphne’s voice rose above the chatter, and they quieted down. She went to Amber and put her arm around her. “I want to introduce a new committee member, Amber Patterson. Amber will be a wonderful addition to our group. Sadly, she’s a bit of an expert—her sister died of cystic fibrosis.”
Amber cast her eyes to the floor, and there was a collective murmur of sympathy from the women.
“Why don’t we all have a seat, and we’ll go around the room so that you can introduce yourselves to Amber,” Daphne said. Cup and saucer in hand, she sat down, looked at the photo of her daughters, and, Amber noticed, moved it just slightly. Amber looked around the circle as, one after another, each woman smiled and said her name—Lois, Bunny, Faith, Meredith, Irene, and Neve. All of them were shined and polished, but two in particular caught Amber’s attention. No more than a size two, Bunny had long, straight blond hair and large green eyes made up to show their maximum gorgeousness. She was perfect in every way, and she knew it. Amber had seen her at the gym in her tiny shorts and sports bra, working out like mad, but Bunny looked at her blankly, as if she’d never laid eyes on her before. Amber wanted to remind her, Oh, yes. I know you. You’re the one who brags about screwing around on your husband to your girl posse.
And then there was Meredith, who didn’t at all fit in with the rest of them. Her clothing was expensive but subdued, not like the flashy garb of the other women. She wore small gold earrings and a single strand of yellowed pearls against her brown sweater. The length of her tweed skirt was awkward, neither long nor short enough to be fashionable. As the meeting progressed, it became apparent that she was different in more ways than appearance. She sat erect in her chair, shoulders back and head held high, with an imposing bearing of wealth and breeding. And when she spoke, there was just the hint of a boarding-school accent, enough to make her words sound so much more insightful than the others’ as they discussed the silent auction and the prizes secured so far. Exotic vacations, diamond jewelry, vintage wines—the list went on and on, each item more expensive than the last.
As the meeting came to a close, Meredith walked over and sat beside Amber. “Welcome to Julie’s Smile, Amber. I’m very sorry about your sister.”
“Thank you,” Amber said simply.
“Have you and Daphne known each other a long time?”
“Oh, no. We just met, actually. At the gym.”
“How serendipitous,” Meredith said, her tone hard to read. She was staring at Amber, and it felt as if she could see right through her.
“It was a lucky day for both of us.”
“Yes, I should say.” Meredith paused and looked Amber up and down. Her lips spread into a thin smile, and she rose from the chair. “It was lovely to meet you. I look forward to getting to know you better.”
Amber sensed danger, not in the words Meredith had spoken but from something in her manner. Maybe she was just imagining it. She put her empty coffee cup back on the sideboard and walked through the French doors that seemed to invite her onto the deck. Outside she stood looking at the vast expanse of Long Island Sound. In the distance she spotted a sailboat, its sails billowing in the wind, a magnificent spectacle. She walked to the other end of the deck, where she had a better view of the sandy beach below. When she turned to go back inside, she heard Meredith’s unmistakable voice coming from the conservatory.
“Honestly, Daphne, how well do you know this girl? You met her at the gym? Do you know anything about her background?”
Amber stood silently at the edge of the door.
“Meredith, really. All I needed to know was that her sister died of CF. What more do you want? She has a vested interest in raising money for the foundation.”
“Have you checked her out?” Meredith asked, her tone still skeptical. “You know, her family, education, all those things?”
“This is volunteer work, not a Supreme Court nomination. I want her on the committee. You’ll see. She’ll be a wonderful asset.”
Amber could hear the irritation in Daphne’s voice.
“All right, it’s your committee. I won’t bring it up again.”
Amber could hear footsteps on the tile floor as they left the room, and she stepped in and quickly pushed her portfolio under a pillow on the sofa, so it would look like she’d forgotten it. In it were her notes from the meeting and a photograph, tucked into one of the pockets. The lack of any other identifying information would ensure that Daphne would have to root around to find the photo. Amber was thirteen in the picture. That had been a good day, one of the few her mother had been able to leave the cleaner’s and take them to the park. She was pushing her little sister on the swings. On the back, Amber had written “Amber and Charlene,” even though it was a picture of her with her sister Trudy.
Meredith was going to be tricky. She’d said she was looking forward to getting to know Amber better. Well, Amber was going to make sure she knew as little as possible. She wasn’t going to let some society snob screw with her. She’d made sure that the last person who tried that got what was coming to her.

FOUR (#ue044370d-b02e-5a23-a160-61170db16d1b)
Amber opened the bottle of Josh she’d been saving. It was pathetic that she had to ration a twelve-dollar cabernet, but her measly salary at the real estate office barely covered the rent here. Before moving to Connecticut, she’d done her research and chosen her target, Jackson Parrish, and that’s how she ended up in Bishops Harbor. Sure, she could have rented in a neighboring town for much less, but living here meant she had many opportunities to accidentally run into Daphne Parrish, plus access to all the fabulous town amenities. And she loved being so close to New York.
A smile spread across Amber’s face. She thought back to the time she’d researched Jackson Parrish, googling his name for hours after she read an article on the international development company he’d founded. Her breath had caught when his picture filled the screen. With thick black hair, full lips, and cobalt-blue eyes, he could have easily been on the big screen. She’d clicked on an interview in Forbes magazine that featured him and how he built his Fortune 500 company. The next link—an article in Vanity Fair—wrote about his marriage to the beautiful Daphne, ten years younger than he. Amber had gazed at the picture of their two adorable children, taken on the beach in front of a gray-and-white clapboard mansion. She’d looked up everything she could about the Parrishes, and when she read about Julie’s Smile, the foundation founded by Daphne and dedicated to raising money for cystic fibrosis, the idea came to her. The first step in the plan that developed in her mind was to move to Bishops Harbor.
When she thought back to the small-time marriage she’d tried to engineer back in Missouri, it made her want to laugh. That had ended very badly, but she wouldn’t make the same mistakes this time.
Now she picked up her wineglass and lifted it in salute to her reflection in the microwave oven. “To Amber.” Taking a long sip, she rested the glass on the counter.
Opening her laptop, she typed “Meredith Stanton Connecticut” into the search bar and the page filled up with link after link about Meredith’s personal and philanthropic efforts. Meredith Bell Stanton was a daughter of the Bell family, who raised Thoroughbred racehorses. According to the articles, riding was her passion. She rode horses, showed horses, hunted, jumped, and did anything else you could do with horses. Amber wasn’t surprised. Meredith had “horsewoman” written all over her.
Amber stared at a photograph of Meredith and her husband, Randolph H. Stanton III, at a charity event in New York. She decided old Randolph looked like he had a yardstick up his ass. But she guessed banking was a pretty dry business. The only good thing about it was the money, and it looked like the Stantons had piles of it.
Next, she searched for Bunny Nichols, but didn’t find as much. The fourth wife of March Nichols, a prominent New York attorney with a reputation for ruthlessness, Bunny looked eerily similar to the second and third wives. Amber guessed that blond party girls were interchangeable to him. One article described Bunny as a “former model.” That was a laugh. She looked more like a former stripper.
She took a last sip from her glass, corked the bottle, and logged onto Facebook under one of her fake profiles. She pulled up the one profile that she checked every night, scanning for new photos and any status updates. Her eyes narrowed at a picture of a little boy holding a lunch box in one hand and that rich bitch’s hand in the other—“First day at St. Andrew’s Academy” and the insipid comment “Mommy’s not ready,” with a sad-face emoji. St. Andrew’s, the school back home she had yearned to attend. She wanted to type her own comment: Mommy and Daddy are lying skanks. But instead she slammed the laptop shut.

FIVE (#ulink_b38bf0be-aeff-5833-ac01-a484de08041e)
Amber looked at the ringing phone and smiled. Seeing “private” on the caller ID, she figured it was Daphne. She let it go to voice mail. Daphne left a message. The next day, Daphne called again, and again Amber ignored it. Obviously, Daphne had found the portfolio. When the phone rang again that night, Amber finally answered.
“Hello?” she whispered.
“Amber?”
A sigh, and then a quiet “Yes?”
“It’s Daphne. Are you okay? I’ve been trying to reach you.”
She made a choking sound, then spoke, louder this time. “Hi, Daphne. Yeah, sorry. It’s been a rough day.”
“What is it? Has something happened?” Amber could hear the concern in Daphne’s voice.
“It’s the anniversary.”
“Oh, sweetie. I’m sorry. Would you like to come over? Jackson’s out of town. We could open a bottle of wine.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. The children are sleeping, and I’ve got one of the nannies if they should need anything.”
Of course one of the nannies is there. God forbid she should have to do anything for herself. “Oh, Daphne, that would be so great. Can I bring anything?”
“No, just yourself. See you soon.”
When Amber pulled up to the house, she got out her phone and texted Daphne: I’m here. Didn’t want to ring and wake the girls.
The door opened, and Daphne motioned her in. “How thoughtful of you to text first.”
“Thanks for having me over.” Amber handed her a bottle of red wine.
Daphne hugged her. “Thank you, but you shouldn’t have.”
Amber shrugged. It was a cheap merlot, eight bucks at the liquor store. She knew Daphne would never drink it.
“Come on.” Daphne led her into the sunroom, where there was already a bottle of wine open and two half-filled glasses on the coffee table.
“Have you had dinner?”
Amber shook her head. “No, but I’m not really hungry.” She sat, picked up a wineglass, and took a small sip. “This is very nice.”
Daphne sat down, picked up her own glass, and held it up.
“Here’s to our sisters who live on in our hearts.”
Amber touched her glass to Daphne’s and took another swallow. She brushed a nonexistent tear from her eye.
“I’m so sorry. You must think I’m a basket case.”
Daphne shook her head. “Of course not. It’s okay. You can talk about it to me. Tell me about her.”
Amber paused. “Charlene was my best friend. We shared a room, and we’d talk late into the night about what we were going to do when we grew up and got out of that house.” She frowned and took another long sip of her wine. “Our mother used to throw a shoe at the door if she thought we were up too late. We’d whisper so she wouldn’t hear us. We’d tell each other everything. All our dreams, our hopes …”
Daphne kept quiet while Amber continued, but her beautiful blue eyes filled with compassion.
“She was golden. Everybody loved her, but it didn’t go to her head, you know? Some kids, they would have become bratty, but not Char. She was beautiful, on the inside and out. People would just stare at her when we were out, that’s how gorgeous she was.” Amber hesitated and cocked her head. “Sort of like you.”
A nervous laugh escaped from Daphne’s lips. “I would hardly say that about myself.”
Yeah, right, Amber thought. “Beautiful women take it for granted. They can’t see what everyone else does. My parents used to joke that she got the beauty, and I got the brains.”
“How cruel. That’s terrible, Amber. You are a beautiful person—inside and out.”
It was almost too easy, Amber thought—get a bad haircut, leave off the makeup, don a pair of eyeglasses, slouch your shoulders, and voilà! Poor homely girl was born. Daphne needed to save someone, and Amber was happy to oblige. She smiled at Daphne.
“You’re just saying that. It’s okay. Not everyone has to be beautiful.” She picked up a photo of Tallulah and Bella, this one in a cloth frame. “Your daughters are gorgeous too.”
Daphne’s face lit up. “They’re great kids. I’m extremely blessed.”
Amber continued to study the photograph. Tallulah looked like a little adult with her serious expression and hideous glasses, while Bella, with her blond curls and blue eyes, looked like a little princess. There was going to be a lot of rivalry in their future, Amber thought. She wondered how many boyfriends Bella would steal from her plain older sister when they were teenagers.
“Do you have a picture of Julie?”
“Of course.” Daphne got up and retrieved a photograph from the console table. “Here she is,” she said, handing the frame to Amber.
Amber stared at the young woman, who must have been around fifteen when the picture was taken. She was beautiful in an almost otherworldly way, her big brown eyes bright and shining.
“She’s lovely,” Amber said, looking up at Daphne. “It doesn’t get any easier, does it?”
“No, not really. Some days it’s even harder.”
They finished the bottle of wine and opened another while Amber listened to more stories of Daphne’s tragic fairy-tale relationship with her perfect dead sister. Amber threw a full glass down the sink when she went to the bathroom. As she returned to the living room, she added a little wobble to her walk, and said to Daphne, “I should get going.”
Daphne shook her head. “You shouldn’t drive. You should stay here tonight.”
“No, no. I don’t want to put you out.”
“No arguments. Come on. I’ll take you to a guest room.”
Daphne put an arm around Amber’s waist and led her through the obscenely large house and up the long staircase to the second floor.
“I think I’m going to need the bathroom.” Amber made the words sound urgent.
“Of course.” Daphne helped her in, and Amber shut the door and sat down on the toilet. The bathroom was enormous and elaborate, with a Jacuzzi tub and shower big enough to accommodate the entire royal family. Her studio apartment would have practically fit inside it. When she opened the door, Daphne was waiting.
“Are you feeling any better?” Daphne’s voice was filled with concern.
“Still a bit dizzy. Would it be all right if I did lie down for a minute?”
“Of course,” Daphne said, guiding her down the long hallway to a guest room.
Amber’s keen eye took it all in—the fresh white tulips that looked beautiful against the mint-green walls. Who had fresh flowers in a guest room when they weren’t even expecting guests? The shiny wood floor was partially covered with a thick white flokati rug that added another touch of elegance and luxury. Billowy gauze curtains seemed to float down from the tall windows.
Daphne helped her to the bed, where Amber sat and ran her hand over the embroidered duvet cover. She could get used to this. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she didn’t need to pretend that she felt the dizzying sensation of impending slumber. She saw movement and opened her eyes to see Daphne standing over her.
“You’re going to sleep here. I insist,” Daphne said, and, walking to the closet, opened the door and took out a nightgown and robe. “Here, take your things off and put on this nightgown. I’ll wait out in the hallway while you change.”
Amber peeled off her sweater and threw it on the bed, and stepped out of her jeans. She slipped into the silky white nightgown and crawled under the covers. “All set,” she called out.
Daphne came back in and put a hand on her forehead. “You poor dear. Rest.”
Amber felt a cover being tucked around her.
“I’ll be in my room, just down the hall.”
Amber opened her eyes and reached out to grab Daphne’s arm. “Please don’t go. Can you stay with me like my sister used to?”
She saw the briefest hesitation in Daphne’s eyes before she went over to the other side of the bed and lay next to Amber.
“Sure, sweetie. I’ll stay until you fall asleep. Just rest. I’m right here if you need anything.”
Amber smiled. All she needed from Daphne was everything.

SIX (#ulink_a8562d41-7108-5d0b-a379-59f04a2cea1e)
Amber flipped through the pages of Vogue as she sat listening to the whiny client on the other end of the phone continuing to bitch about the $5 million house that had been sold out from under her. She hated Mondays, the day she was asked to sit in for the receptionist at lunchtime. Her boss had promised her she’d be free of it as soon as the new hire began in another month.
She’d started as a secretary in the residential division of Rollins Realty when she first moved to Bishops Harbor, and she’d hated every minute of it. Almost all of the clients were spoiled women and arrogant men, all with a hugely elevated sense of entitlement. The kind of people who never slowed their expensive cars at a four-way stop because they believed they always had the right-of-way. She’d set appointments, call them with updates, set up appraisal and inspection appointments, and still they barely acknowledged her. She did notice that they were only a little more courteous to the agents, but their lack of manners still infuriated her.
She used that first year to take evening classes in commercial real estate. She checked books out of the library on the subject and read voraciously on weekends, sometimes forgetting to eat lunch or dinner. When she felt ready, she went to the head of the commercial side of Rollins, Mark Jansen, to discuss her thoughts on a potential opportunity regarding a zoning change vote she’d read about in the paper and what a successful vote could mean for one of their clients. He was blown away by her knowledge and understanding of the market, and started stopping by her desk occasionally to chat about his side of the business. Within a few months she was sitting right outside his office, working closely with him. Between her reading and his tutelage, her knowledge and expertise increased. And to Amber’s good fortune, Mark was a great boss, a devoted family man who treated her with respect and kindness. She was right where she had planned to be from the start. It had just taken time and determination, but determination was one thing Amber had in spades.
She looked up as Jenna, the receptionist, walked in with a crumpled McDonald’s bag and a soda in her hands. No wonder she was so fat, Amber thought in disgust. How could people have so little self-control?
“Hey, girlie, thanks so much for covering. Did everything go okay?” Jenna’s smile made her face even more moonlike than normal.
Amber bristled. Girlie? “Just some moron who’s upset because someone else bought her house.”
“Oh, that was probably Mrs. Worth. She’s so disappointed. I feel bad for her.”
“Don’t waste your tears. Now she can cry on her husband’s shoulder and get the eight-million-dollar house instead.”
“Oh, Amber. You’re so funny.”
Amber shook her head in puzzlement at Jenna and walked away.
Later that night, as she sat soaking in the tub, she thought about the last two years. She’d been ready to leave it all far behind—the dry-cleaning chemicals that burned her eyes and nose, the filth from soiled clothing that clung to her hands, and the big plan that had gone awry. Just when she thought she’d finally grabbed the brass ring, everything had come crashing down. There was no question of her hanging around. When she left Missouri, she’d made sure that anyone looking for her wouldn’t find even a trace to follow.
The water was turning cooler now. Amber rose and wrapped herself in a thin terry-cloth robe as she stepped out of the bath. There’d been no old school friend to invite her to Connecticut. She’d rented the tiny furnished apartment just days after she arrived in Bishops Harbor. The dingy white walls were bare, and the floor was covered with an old-fashioned pea-green shag that had probably been there since the 1980s. The only seating was an upholstered love seat with worn arms and sagging pillows. A plastic table sat at the end of the small sofa. There was nothing on the table, not even a lamp, the single lightbulb with its fringed shade hanging from the low ceiling being the only illumination in the room. It was hardly more than a place to sleep and hang her hat, but it was only a placeholder until her plan was complete. In the end, it would all be worth it.
She quickly dried off, threw on pajama bottoms and a sweatshirt, and then sat at the small desk in front of the only window in the apartment. She pulled out her file on Nebraska and read over it once again. Daphne hadn’t asked her any more questions about her childhood, but still, it never hurt to refresh. Nebraska had been her first stop after leaving her hometown in Missouri, and it was where her luck had begun to change. She bet she knew more about Eustis, Nebraska, and its Wurst Tag sausage festival than even the oldest living resident. She scanned the pages, then put the folder back and picked up the book on international real estate she’d gotten from the library on her way home that night. It was heavy enough to make a good doorstop, and she knew it was going to take some very long nights and lots of concentration to get through it.
She smiled. Even if her place was small and cramped, she had spent so many nights longing for a room of her own when she and her three sisters were packed in the attic her father had turned into a bunkhouse of sorts. No matter how hard she’d tried, the room was always a mess, with her sisters’ clothes, shoes, and books strewn all over. It made her crazy. Amber needed order—disciplined, structured order. And now, finally, she was the master of her world. And of her fate.

SEVEN (#ulink_dd9937ed-566f-5ba3-b120-625d11963b97)
Amber dressed carefully that Monday morning. She had quite accidentally run into Daphne and her daughters at the town library late yesterday afternoon. They’d stopped to chat, and Daphne had introduced her to Tallulah and Bella. She had been struck by their differences. Tallulah, tall and thin with glasses and a plain face, appeared quiet and withdrawn. Bella, on the other hand, was an adorable little sprite, her golden curls bouncing as she cavorted around the shelves. Both girls had been polite but uninterested, and had leafed through their books as the two women spoke. Amber had noticed that Daphne didn’t seem her usual cheery self. “Is everything all right?” she said, putting her hand gently on Daphne’s arm. Daphne’s eyes had filled. “Just some memories I can’t shake today. That’s all.”
Amber had gone on full alert. “Memories?”
“Tomorrow is Julie’s birthday. I can’t stop thinking about her.” She ran her fingers through Bella’s curly hair, and the child looked up at her and smiled.
“Tomorrow? The twenty-first?” Amber said.
“Yes, tomorrow.”
“I can’t believe it. It’s Charlene’s birthday, too!” Amber silently berated herself, hoping she hadn’t overplayed her hand, but as soon as she saw the look on Daphne’s face, she knew she’d struck just the right chord.
“Oh my gosh, Amber. That’s unbelievable. I’m beginning to feel like the heavens have brought us together.”
“It does seem like it’s meant to be,” Amber had said, then paused for a few seconds. “We should do something tomorrow to celebrate our sisters, to remember the good things and not dwell on the sadness. How about if I pack us some sandwiches, and we can have lunch at my office? There’s a small picnic bench on the side of the building near the stream.”
“What a good idea,” Daphne had said, more animated then. “But why should you go to the trouble of packing a lunch? I’ll pick you up at your office, and we’ll go to the country club. Would you like that?”
That was precisely what Amber had been hoping Daphne would suggest, but she hadn’t wanted to seem too eager. “Are you sure? It really isn’t any trouble. I pack lunch every day.”
“Of course I’m sure. What time shall I pick you up?”
“I can usually duck out around twelve thirty.”
“Perfect. I’ll see you then,” Daphne had said, and shifted the pile of books in her arms. “We’ll make it a happy celebration.”
Now Amber studied herself in the mirror one last time—white boat-neck T-shirt and her one nice pair of navy slacks. She’d tried on the sturdy sandals but exchanged them for white ones. She wore faux pearl studs in her ears and, on her right hand, a ring with a small sapphire set in gold. Her hair was pulled back with the usual headband, and her only makeup was a very light pink lip balm. Satisfied that she looked subdued but not too frumpy, she grabbed her keys and left for work.
By ten, Amber had checked the clock at least fifty times. The minutes dragged unbearably as she tried to concentrate on the new shopping center contract in front of her. She reread the final four pages, making notes as she went along. Ever since she’d found an error that could have cost the company a bundle, her boss, Mark, didn’t sign anything until Amber had reviewed it.
Today was Amber’s day to cover the phones for Jenna, but Jenna had agreed to stay so that Amber could go out for lunch.
“Who are you having lunch with?” Jenna asked.
“You don’t know her. Daphne Parrish,” she answered, feeling important.
“Oh, Mrs. Parrish. I’ve met her. A couple years ago, with her mother. They came in together ’cause her mom was going to move here to be closer to the family. She looked at tons of places, but she ended up staying in New Hampshire. She was a real nice lady.”
Amber’s ears perked up. “Really? What was her name? Do you remember?”
Jenna looked up at the ceiling. “Lemme see.” She was quiet a moment and then nodded her head and looked back at Amber. “I remember. Her name was Ruth Bennett. She’s a widow.”
“She lives alone?” Amber said.
“Well, sort of, I guess. She owns a B&B in New Hampshire, so she’s not really alone. Right? But on the other hand, they’re all pretty much strangers, so she kind of does live alone. Maybe you could say she lives semi-alone, or only alone at night when she goes to bed,” Jenna prattled on. “Before she left, she brought a real nice basket of goodies to the office to thank me for being so nice. It was really sweet. But kinda sad too. It seemed like she really wanted to move here.”
“Why didn’t she?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Mrs. Parrish didn’t want her that close.”
“Did she say that?” Amber probed.
“Not really. It just seemed like she wasn’t too excited about her mom being so close by. I guess she didn’t really need her around. You know, she had her nannies and stuff. One of my friends was her nanny when her first daughter was a baby.”
Amber felt like she’d struck gold. “Really? How long did she work there?”
“A couple years, I think.”
“Is she a good friend of yours?”
“Sally? Yeah, me and her go way back.”
“I bet she has some stories to tell,” Amber said.
“What do you mean?”
Is this girl for real? “You know, things about the family, what they’re like, what they do at home—that kind of thing.”
“Yeah, I guess. But I wasn’t really interested. We had other stuff to talk about.”
“Maybe the three of us could have dinner next week.”
“Hey, that would be great.”
“Why don’t you call her tomorrow and set it up? What’s her name again?” Amber asked.
“Sally. Sally MacAteer.”
“And she lives here in Bishops Harbor?”
“She lives right next door to me, so I see her all the time. We grew up together. I’ll ask her about dinner. This’ll be really fun. Like the three musketeers.” Jenna skipped back to her desk, and Amber went back to work.
She picked up the contract and put it on the desk in Mark’s empty office so they could discuss it that afternoon when he got back from his appointment in Norwalk. She looked at her watch and saw that she had twenty minutes to finish and freshen up before Daphne’s arrival. She returned two phone calls, filed a few loose papers, and then went to the bathroom to check her hair. Satisfied, she went to the front lobby to watch for Daphne’s Range Rover.
It pulled up at exactly twelve thirty, Amber noticed, appreciating Daphne’s promptness. As Amber pushed open the glass door of the building, Daphne rolled the car window down and called out a cheerful hello. Amber walked to the passenger side, opened the door, and hoisted herself into the cool interior.
“It’s great to see you,” Amber said with what she hoped sounded like enthusiasm.
Daphne looked over at her and smiled before putting the car into gear. “I’ve been looking forward to this all morning. I couldn’t wait for my garden club meeting to be over. I know it’s going to make the day so much easier to get through.”
“I hope so,” Amber said, her voice subdued.
They were both quiet for the next few blocks, and Amber leaned back against the soft leather seat. She turned her head slightly in Daphne’s direction and took in her white linen pants and sleeveless white linen top, which had a wide navy stripe at the bottom. She wore small gold hoops and a simple gold bangle bracelet next to her watch. And her ring, of course, the rock that could have sunk the Titanic. Her slender arms were nicely tanned. She looked fit, healthy, and rich.
As they pulled into the driveway of the Tidewater Country Club, Amber drank it all in—the gently winding road with precision-cut grass on either side, not a weed in sight; tennis courts with players in sparkling whites; the swimming pools in the distance; and the impressive building looming before them. It was even grander than she had imagined. They drove around the circle to the main entrance, and were met by a young guy in a casual uniform of dark khakis and a green polo shirt. On his head was a white visor with the Tidewater logo embroidered in green.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Parrish,” he said as he opened her door.
“Hello, Danny,” Daphne said and handed him the keys. “We’re just here for lunch.”
He walked around to open Amber’s door, but she had already stepped out.
“Well, enjoy,” he said, and got into the car.
“He’s such a nice young man,” Daphne said as she and Amber walked up the wide stairs into the building. “His mother used to work for Jackson, but she’s been very ill the last few years. Danny takes care of her and is also working to put himself through college.”
Amber wondered what he thought about all the money he saw thrown around at this club while he nursed a sick mother and worked to make ends meet, but she bit her tongue.
Daphne suggested they eat on the deck, and so the maître d’ led them outside, where Amber breathed in the bracing sea air she loved so much. They were seated at a table overlooking the marina, its three long piers filled with boats of all shapes and sizes bobbing up and down in the choppy waters.
“Wow, this is just beautiful,” Amber said.
“Yes, it is. A nice setting to remember all the wonderful things about Charlene and Julie.”
“My sister would have loved it here,” Amber said, and meant it. None of her perfectly healthy sisters would have even been able to imagine a place like this. She tore her gaze away from the water and turned to Daphne. “You must come here a lot with your family.”
“We do. Jackson, of course, heads right for the golf course whenever he can. Tallulah and Bella take all kinds of lessons—sailing, swimming, tennis. They’re quite the little athletes.”
Amber wondered what it would be like to grow up in this kind of world, where you were groomed from infancy to have and enjoy all the good things in life. Where you made friends almost from birth with the right people and were educated in the best schools, and the blinds were tightly drawn against outsiders. She was suddenly overwhelmed with sadness and envy.
The waiter brought two tall glasses of iced tea and took their lunch order—a small salad for Daphne and ahi tuna for Amber.
“Now,” Daphne said, as they waited. “Tell me a good memory about your sister.”
“Hmm. Well, I remember when she was just a few months old, my mom and I took her for a walk. I would have been six. It was a beautiful, sunny day and Mom let me push the carriage. Of course she was right next to me, just in case.” Amber warmed to her subject, embellishing the story as she continued. “But I remember feeling so grown-up and so happy to have this new little sister. She was so pretty, with her blue eyes and yellow curls. Just like a picture. And I think from that day on, I sort of felt like she was my little girl too.”
“That’s really lovely, Amber.”
“What about you? What do you remember?”
“Julie and I were only two years apart, so I don’t remember much about when she was a baby. But later, she was so brave. She always had a smile on her beautiful face. Never complained. She always said if someone had to have cystic fibrosis, she was glad it was her because she wouldn’t have wanted another child to suffer.” Daphne stopped and looked out at the water. “There was not one ounce of unkindness in her. She was the best person I’ve ever known.”
Amber shifted in her chair and felt a discomfort she didn’t quite understand.
Daphne went on. “The part that’s hard to think about is all she went through. Every day. All the medications she had to take.” She shook her head. “We used to get up early together, and I would talk to her while she had her vest on.”
“Yes, the vibrating contraption.” Amber remembered reading about the vest that helped dislodge mucus from the lungs.
“It became routine—the vest, the nebulizer, the inhaler. She spent more than two hours a day trying to stave off the effects of the disease. She truly believed she would go to college, marry, have children. She said she worked so hard at all her therapies and exercised because that’s what would give her a future. She believed to the very end,” Daphne said, as a single tear ran down her cheek. “I would give anything to have her back.”
“I know,” Amber whispered. “Maybe our sisters’ spirits have somehow brought us together. It sort of makes it like they’re here with us.”
Daphne blinked back more tears. “I like that idea.”
Daphne’s memories and Amber’s stories continued through the lunch, and as the waiter took their plates away, Amber felt a flash of brilliance and turned to him. “We’re celebrating two birthdays today. Would you bring us a piece of chocolate cake to share?”
The smile that Daphne bestowed on Amber was filled with warmth and gratitude.
He brought them the cake with two lighted candles, and with a flourish said, “A very happy birthday to you.”
Their lunch lasted a little over an hour, but Amber didn’t have to hurry back since Mark wasn’t due back in the office until at least three o’clock, and she had told Jenna she might be a little late.
“Well,” Daphne said when they’d finished their coffee. “I suppose I should get you back to the office. Don’t want to get you in trouble with your boss.”
Amber looked around for their waiter. “Shouldn’t we wait for the check?”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Daphne said, waving her hand. “They’ll just put it on our account.”
But of course, Amber thought. It seemed the more money you had, the less you had to actually come into contact with the filthy stuff.
When they pulled up to the realty office, Daphne put the car in park and looked at Amber. “I really enjoyed today. I’ve forgotten how good it is to talk to someone who really understands.”
“I enjoyed it too, Daphne. It helped a lot.”
“I was wondering if you might be free on Friday night to have dinner with us. What do you say?”
“Gosh, I’d love to.” She was thrilled at how quickly Daphne was opening up to her.
“Good,” Daphne said. “See you on Friday. Around six o’clock?”
“Perfect. See you then. And thank you.” As Amber watched her drive away, she felt like she had just won the lottery.

EIGHT (#ulink_2edb10cd-4326-5c8a-beb9-1e2d19cec8cf)
The day after her lunch with Daphne, Amber stood behind Bunny in the Zumba class at the gym. She laughed to herself, watching Bunny trip over her feet trying to keep up with the instructor. What a klutz, she thought. After class, Amber took her time dressing behind the row of lockers next to Bunny’s in the locker room, listening to the trophy wife and her sycophants discuss her plans.
“When are you meeting him?” one asked.
“Happy hour at the Blue Pheasant. But remember, I’m with you girls tonight, if your husbands ask.”
“The Blue Pheasant? Everyone goes there. What if someone sees you?”
“I’ll say he’s a client. I do have my real estate license, after all.”
Amber heard snickering.
“What, Lydia?” Bunny snapped.
“Well, it’s not exactly like you’ve been doing much with it since you married March.”
March Nichols’s net worth of $100 million stuck in Amber’s head—that and the fact that he resembled Methuselah. Amber could understand why Bunny looked elsewhere for sex.
“We won’t be there long, anyway. I reserved a room at the Piedmont across the street.”
“Naughty, naughty. Did you book it under Mrs. Robinson?”
They were all laughing now.
Old husband, young lover—there was a certain poetry to it. Amber had what she needed, so she jumped into the shower, then rushed back to the office, excuse at the ready to explain her long absence.
Later that day, she got to the bar early and sat with her book and a glass of wine at a table near the back. As it began to fill up, she tried to guess which one he was. She’d settled on the cute blond in jeans when McDreamy walked in. With jet-black hair and bright blue eyes, he was a dead ringer for Patrick Dempsey. His camel-colored cashmere jacket and black silk scarf were meticulously sloppy. He ordered a beer and took a swig from the bottle. Bunny came in, eyes laser-focused on him, and, rushing to the bar, she flung her arms around him. Standing so close a matchbook wouldn’t have fit between them, they were obviously besotted with each other. They finished their drinks and ordered another round. McDreamy put his arm around Bunny’s waist, pulling her even closer. Bunny turned up that adorable little face to him and locked her lips against his. At that precise moment, Amber turned her iPhone to silent, raised it, and snapped several photos of their enraptured display. They finally pulled apart long enough to gulp down the second drink they’d ordered and then leave the bar arm in arm. No doubt they were not going to waste any more time at the bar when the hotel across the street beckoned.
Amber finished her drink and scrolled through the pictures. She was still laughing as she walked to her car. Poor old March would be getting some very enlightening photographs tomorrow. And Bunny—well, Bunny would be too distraught to continue with her duties as Daphne’s cochair.

NINE (#ulink_ea27c9ac-4673-5193-920d-7f7c2f96bbf9)
Amber had been counting the days until Friday. She would finally get to meet Jackson at dinner, and she was giddy with anticipation. By the time she rang the doorbell, she felt ready to burst.
Daphne greeted her with a dazzling smile, taking her by the hand. “Welcome, Amber. So good to see you. Please, come in.”
“Thanks, Daphne. I’ve been looking forward to this all week,” Amber said as she entered the large hallway.
“I thought we might have a drink in the conservatory before dinner,” Daphne said, and Amber followed her into the room. “What will you have?”
“Um, I think I’d like a glass of red wine,” Amber said. She looked around the room, but Jackson was nowhere in sight.
“Pinot noir okay?”
“Perfect,” Amber said, wondering where the hell Jackson was.
Daphne handed her the glass and, as if reading her mind, said, “Jackson had to work late, so it’ll just be us girls tonight—you, me, Tallulah, and Bella.”
Amber’s exhilaration evaporated. Now she’d have to sit and listen to the mind-numbing chatter of those kids all evening.
Just then Bella came tearing into the room.
“Mommy, Mommy,” she wailed, thrusting herself forward onto Daphne’s lap. “Tallulah won’t read to me from my Angelina Ballerina book.”
Tallulah was right behind her. “Mom, I’m trying to help her read it by herself, but she won’t listen,” she said, sounding like a miniature adult. “I was reading way harder books at her age.”
“Girls. No quarreling tonight,” Daphne said, ruffling Bella’s curls. “Tallulah was just trying to help you, Bella.”
“But she knows I can’t do it,” Bella said, her face still in Daphne’s lap and her voice muffled.
Daphne stroked her daughter’s head. “It’s all right, darling. Don’t worry, you will soon.”
“Come on, ladies,” Daphne addressed them all. “Let’s go out to the deck and have a nice dinner. Margarita made some delicious guacamole we can start with.”
Summer would be coming to an end soon, and there was a slight breeze that held just a hint of cooler days to come. Even a casual dinner on Daphne’s deck took on an air of style and sophistication, Amber thought. Triangular dishes of bright red sat on navy blue place mats, and napkin rings decorated with silver sailboats held blue-and-white-checked napkins. Amber noticed that each place setting was identically placed. It reminded her of the British films about aristocracy, where the waitstaff actually measured every item placed on the dining table. Couldn’t this woman ever relax?
“Amber, why don’t you sit there,” Daphne said, pointing to a chair directly facing the water.
The view, of course, was stunning, with a velvety lawn gently sloping to a sandy beach and the water beyond. She counted five Adirondack chairs clustered on the sand, a few yards back from the water’s edge. How picturesque and inviting it looked.
Bella was eyeing Amber from across the table. “Are you married?”
Amber shook her head. “No, I’m not.”
“How come?” Bella asked.
“Darling, that’s a rather personal question.” Daphne looked at Amber and laughed. “Sorry about that.”
“No, it’s okay.” Amber turned her attention to Bella. “I suppose I haven’t met Mr. Right.”
Bella narrowed her eyes. “Who’s Mr. Right?”
“It’s just an expression, silly. She means she hasn’t met the right one for her,” Tallulah explained.
“Hmph. Maybe it’s ’cause she’s kind of ugly.”
“Bella! You apologize this minute.” Daphne’s face had turned bright pink.
“Why? It’s true, isn’t it?” Bella insisted.
“Even if it’s true, it’s still rude,” Tallulah offered.
Amber cast her eyes downward, trying to appear hurt, and said nothing.
Daphne stood up. “That’s it. The two of you can eat by yourselves in the kitchen. Sit there and think about the proper way to speak to others.” She rang for Margarita and sent the girls off, amid protests. She came over to Amber and put an arm around her shoulder. “I am so, so sorry. I’m beyond embarrassed and appalled by their behavior.”
Amber gave her a small smile. “You don’t need to apologize. They’re kids. They don’t mean anything by it.” She smiled again, buoyed by the thought that now they could spend the rest of the evening unfettered by the little brats.
“Thank you for being so gracious.”
They chatted about this and that and enjoyed a delicious dinner of shrimp scampi over quinoa and a spinach salad. Amber noticed, though, that Daphne had barely taken two bites of the scampi and not much more of her salad. Amber finished every bit of hers, not about to waste this expensive food.
It was beginning to get cool, and she was relieved when Daphne suggested they go back in the sunroom for coffee.
She followed Daphne until they reached a cheerful room decorated in yellows and blues. White bookcases lined the walls, and Amber lingered in front of one set, curious to see what Daphne liked to read. The shelves were lined with all the classics, in alphabetical order by author. Starting with Albee all the way to Woolf. She would bet there was no way Daphne had read them all.
“Do you like to read, Amber?”
“Very much. I’m afraid I haven’t read most of these, though. I’m more into contemporary authors. Have you read all of these?”
“Yes, many of them. Jackson likes to discuss great books. We’re only to the H’s. We’re tackling Homer’s The Odyssey. Not quite light reading.” She laughed.
A lovely porcelain turtle, as blue as the Caribbean, caught Amber’s attention and she reached out to touch it. She’d seen a few others throughout the house, each one unique and more exquisite than the last. She could tell they were all expensive, and she wanted to smash them to the floor. Here she was, struggling to make rent every month, and Daphne could throw money away collecting stupid turtles. It was so unfair. She turned away and took a seat on the silk love seat next to Daphne.
“This has been so much fun. Thanks again for having me.”
“It’s been wonderful. I enjoyed having another adult to talk to.”
“Does your husband work late a lot?” Amber asked.
Daphne shrugged. “It depends. He’s usually home for dinner. He likes the family to eat together. But he’s working on a new land deal in California, and with the time difference sometimes it can’t be helped.”
Amber went to pick up the coffee cup from the table in front of her, and her grip slipped. The cup went crashing to the floor.
“I’m so sorry—” The horrified look on Daphne’s face stopped Amber midsentence.
Daphne flew from her chair and out of the room, returning a few minutes later with a white towel and a bowl with some sort of mixture in it. She started blotting the stain with the towel, and then rubbing it with whatever concoction she had mixed up.
“Can I help?” Amber asked.
Daphne didn’t look up. “No, no. I have it. Just wanted to make sure I got to it before the stain set.”
Amber felt helpless, watching Daphne attack the stain as if her life depended on it. Wasn’t that what the help was for? She sat there, feeling like an idiot, while Daphne scrubbed furiously. Amber began to feel less bad and more annoyed. So she’d spilled something. Big deal. At least she hadn’t called anyone ugly.
Daphne stood, took a last look at the now-clean rug, and gave Amber a sheepish shrug. “Goodness. Well, can I get you a new cup?”
Was she for real? “No, that’s okay. I really should be going anyway. It’s getting late.”
“Are you sure? You don’t have to go so soon.”
Normally Amber would have stayed, played things out a little longer, but she didn’t trust herself not to give her annoyance away. Besides, she could see that Daphne was still on edge. What a clean freak she was. She’d probably examine the rug with a magnifying glass once Amber left.
“Absolutely. This has been such a great evening. I’ve really enjoyed hanging out with you. I’ll see you next week at the committee meeting.”
“Drive safely,” Daphne said as she closed the door.
Amber glanced at the time on her phone. If she hurried, she could get to the library before it closed and check out a copy of The Odyssey.

TEN (#ulink_4253b31a-8cfd-5fee-90b6-c3b74aefa744)
By the third committee meeting, Amber was ready to execute the final stage of Operation Bye-Bye Bunny. Today she was wearing a thin wraparound sweater from the Loft over her best pair of black slacks. She dreaded seeing the other women and enduring their condescending glances and too-polite conversation. She knew she wasn’t one of them, and it infuriated her that she let it get to her. Taking a cleansing breath, she reminded herself that the only one she needed to worry about was Daphne.
Forcing a smile, she rang the bell and waited to be escorted inside.
The housekeeper opened the door in uniform.
“Missus will be down shortly. She left a paper in the conservatory for you to look at while you wait.”
Amber smiled at her. “Thanks, Margarita. By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask you. The guacamole you made the other evening was divine—never had any as good. What’s your secret ingredient?”
Margarita looked pleased. “Thank you, Miss Amber. You promise not to tell?”
Amber nodded.
She leaned in and whispered, “Cumin.”
Amber hadn’t actually tasted the green goo—she hated avocados—but every woman thinks her own recipes are so special, and it was an easy way to get on someone’s good side.
The room was set up with a breakfast buffet: muffins, fruit, coffee, and tea. Grabbing a mug, Amber filled it to the brim with coffee. She had already reviewed the agenda when Daphne walked into the room, perfectly turned out as usual. Amber rose and gave her a hug. Holding up the piece of paper, she frowned and pointed at the first item. “New cochair needed? What happened to Bunny?”
Daphne sighed and shook her head. “She called me a few days ago and said she had a family emergency to deal with. Something about having to leave town to care for a sick uncle.”
Amber affected a perplexed expression. “That’s a shame. Wasn’t she supposed to have finished organizing the silent auction by today?” It was a huge job, requiring good organizational skills and attention to detail. All of the items had been secured, but Amber was quite sure that Bunny had left plenty of work that still needed to be completed, given that her world had collapsed a week ago.
“Yes, she was. Unfortunately, she just let me know yesterday that she hadn’t finished organizing all of it. Now we’re really behind the eight ball. I feel so bad asking someone to step in and take over. They’ll have to work nonstop to have everything ready in time.”
“I know I’m the newbie here, but I’ve done this sort of thing before. I would love to do it.” Amber looked down at her fingernails, then back up at Daphne. “But the other women probably wouldn’t like it.”
Daphne’s eyebrows shot up. “It doesn’t matter that you’re new. I know you’re here because your heart’s truly in it. But it’s an awful lot of work,” she said. “All the item write-ups still need to be done, the bid forms have to be matched, and the bid numbers need to be set up.”
Amber tried to keep her voice casual. “I managed one for my old boss. The best thing is to have the bid form in triplicate, three different colors, and to leave the bottom copy with the item after the auction closes and take the other two to the cashier. It eliminates confusion.”
She’d hit her mark from her Google research from the night before. Daphne looked duly impressed.
“It would make me feel like I was doing something for Charlene,” Amber continued. “I mean, I don’t have the money to make big donations, but I can offer my time.” She gave Daphne what she hoped was a pitiful look.
“Of course. Absolutely. I would be honored to have you as my cochair.”
“What about the other women? Will they be okay with it? I wouldn’t want to ruffle any feathers.”
“You let me worry about them,” Daphne said and lifted her coffee mug in salute to Amber. “Partners. For Julie and Charlene.”
Amber picked up her mug and touched it to Daphne’s.
A half hour later, after eating Daphne’s food and catching each other up on their scintillating lives, the women all finally got down to the business of the meeting. It must be nice to have all morning to fritter away like this. Once again, Amber’d had to take a vacation day to be there.
Amber held her breath as Daphne cleared her throat and addressed the room. “Unfortunately, Bunny had to resign from the committee. She’s been called out of town to care for an ailing uncle.”
“Oh, what a shame. I hope it’s not too serious,” Meredith said.
“I don’t have any other details,” Daphne said, then paused. “I was going to ask one of you to step in as cochair, but Amber has graciously offered to do it.”
Meredith looked at her, then at Daphne. “Um, that’s very generous, but do you think that’s really wise? No offense intended, but Amber just joined us. It’s a lot to get up to speed on. I’d be happy to do it.”
“The main thing left is to handle the silent auction, and Amber has experience with it,” Daphne replied in a nonchalant tone. “Plus, Amber has a very personal stake; she wants to honor her sister as well. I’m sure she would welcome your help and that of everyone on the committee.”
Amber turned her gaze from Daphne to Meredith. “I would be so appreciative of any advice you’re willing to give. Once I’ve assessed where we are, I can divvy up some assignments.” The thought of having that rich bitch reporting to her made her flush with pleasure. She didn’t miss the look of irritation on Meredith’s face and struggled to hide a smirk.
Meredith cocked an eyebrow. “Of course. We’re all happy to do our part. Bunny had planned on laying out all the items in her house and having a few of us come and help with the bid sheets and descriptions. Should we plan on coming to your house, Amber?”
Before Amber could respond, Daphne dove in to rescue her. “The items are already here. I sent for them yesterday afternoon. No sense in moving them again.”
Amber fixed her eyes on Meredith as she spoke. “I’m planning on automating the forms anyhow. It will be much more efficient for me to e-mail them to each of you with a picture of the item, and you can fill out the descriptions and send them back. Then I can have them printed and set them with the items. I’ll send everyone an e-mail tonight with the groupings, and you can let me know which you’ll write up. No need to waste time all sitting around together.”
“That’s a great idea, Amber. See, ladies? Nice to have some new blood.”
Amber leaned back into her armchair and smiled. She felt Meredith’s appraising eyes on her, and noticed once again how everything about her screamed old money, from her double strand of pearls to the slightly worn camel jacket. Minimal makeup, no particular style to her hair, quiet wristwatch and earrings. Her wedding ring, a band of sapphires and diamonds, looked like a family heirloom. Nothing ostentatious about this woman except the distinct aura of Mayflower lineage and trust funds. Her arrogance reminded Amber of Mrs. Lockwood, the richest woman in the town where she grew up, who would bring her cashmere sweaters, wool suits, and formal gowns into the dry cleaner’s every Monday morning, putting them gingerly on the counter as if she couldn’t bear for her sacred garments to touch the clothes of the underclass. She never greeted Amber and never responded to a hello with anything but a forced, sour smile that looked as if she’d smelled something rotten.
The Lockwood family lived in a huge home at the top of a hill overlooking the town. Amber had met Frances, their only daughter, at a county fair, and the two had become fast friends. The first time Frances took Amber to her home, Amber had been awestruck at its size and magnificent furnishings. Frances’s bedroom was a young girl’s dream, all pink and white and frilly. Her dolls—so many!—were lined up neatly on built-in shelves, and on one long wall stood a case filled with books and trophies. Amber remembered feeling like she never wanted to leave that bedroom. But the friendship had been short-lived. After all, Amber was not the sort Mrs. Lockwood wanted as a friend for her precious daughter. As quickly as the two girls had connected, the cord was severed by Frances’s imperious mother. It had stuck in Amber’s craw ever since, but she’d found a way to get even when she met Matthew, Frances’s handsome older brother. Mrs. Lockwood hadn’t known what hit her.
And now, here she was, confronting the same condescension from Meredith Stanton. So far, though, it was Amber one, Meredith nothing.
“Amber.” Daphne’s voice startled her from her reverie. “I’d like to get a picture for a little advance publicity. Let’s have you and the rest of the auction committee with some of the items. I’m sure the Harbor Times will publish it with a blurb about the fundraiser.”
Amber couldn’t move. A picture? For the newspaper? She couldn’t let that happen. She had to think quickly. “Um.” She paused a moment. “Gee, Daphne, I’m so new to the group. I don’t think it’s fair for me to be in the photo. It should include members who have worked on this longer than I have.”
“That’s very gracious of you, but you are the cochair now,” Daphne said.
“I’d really feel more comfortable if other people’s accomplishments were highlighted.” Looking around, Amber realized she’d scored points for humility. It was a win-win. She could maintain the rank of poor but sweet and unassuming little waif to these privileged snobs. And most importantly, no ghosts from the past would come sniffing around. She just needed to keep a low profile for now.

ELEVEN (#ulink_0c0ec64f-49e3-5713-b3c1-6a6a1a066f79)
The next morning Jenna came dancing into Amber’s office, her smile so wide that her cheeks practically obscured her squinty little eyes. “Guess what?” she demanded breathlessly.
“No clue,” Amber said flatly, not even bothering to look up from the commission reports she was working on.
“I talked to Sally last night.”
Amber’s head shot up, and she put her pen down.
“She said she’d like to come to dinner with us. Tonight.”
“That’s great, Jenna.” For the first time, Amber was thankful for Jenna’s doggedness. She had pestered Amber from her first day on the job, and every time Amber refused her invitations, she had bounced back up like a Punchinello toy and asked her again, until finally Amber relented. Jenna had gotten what she wanted, and now it was all about to pay off for Amber too.
“What time, and do we have a place in mind?”
“Well, we could do Friendly’s. Or Red Lobster. Tonight they’re having all the shrimp you can eat.”
Amber pictured Jenna sitting across from her, cocktail sauce dripping down her chin as she devoured all those little pink shrimp. She didn’t think she could stomach that. “Let’s go to the Main Street Grille,” she said. “I’m free right after work.”
“Okay. I’ll tell Sally to meet us around five thirty. This is going to be so much fun,” Jenna squealed, clapping her hands together and prancing out of the office.
When Amber and Jenna arrived at the Grille, they were seated in a booth near the back of the restaurant, with Jenna facing the door so she would see Sally when she arrived. Jenna began yammering away about a new client who had come in today looking for properties in the $5 million range and how nice and friendly she was, then suddenly stopped and waved her hand. “Here’s Sally,” she said and stood up.
As Sally approached the table, Amber knew her surprise registered on her face. This woman was not at all what she’d expected.
“Hi, Jenna.” The newcomer gave Jenna a hug and then turned to Amber. “You must be Amber, the one Jenna is always talking about.” She smiled, reached a slender arm across the table, and shook Amber’s hand. Sally wore fitted jeans and a long-sleeved white T-shirt that showed off her trim figure, tanned skin, and luxuriant brown hair. As she took the seat next to Jenna, Amber was struck by her eyes, so dark they were almost black, with thick, long eyelashes.
“It’s nice to meet you, Sally,” Amber said. “I’m glad you could make it tonight.”
“Jenna and I have been promising to get together for ages, but we’ve been so busy with work that we haven’t had time. I’m glad we finally made it happen.” Amber wondered what these two could possibly have in common besides living on the same street.
“I’m starving. Do you two know what you want?” Jenna said.
Sally picked up her menu and quickly scanned it.
“The grilled salmon with spinach sounds good,” Amber said, and Jenna wrinkled her nose.
“Yes, I think I’ll have the same.” Sally put down the menu.
“Yuck. How can you choose salmon instead of a hot turkey sandwich with mashed potatoes and gravy? That’s what I’m getting. And no spinach.”
The waitress took their orders, and Amber ordered a bottle of the house red. She wanted everyone relaxed and loose-tongued tonight.
“Here,” she said, and poured the wine into their glasses. “Let’s sit back and enjoy. So tell me, Sally, where do you work?”
“I’m a special education teacher at a private school, St. Gregory’s in Greenwich.”
“That’s great. Jenna told me that you had been a nanny. You must love kids.”
“Oh, I do.”
“How many years did you nanny?”
“Six years. I only worked for two families. The last one was here in town.”
“Who was that?” Amber asked.
“Geez, Amber, did you forget? The day you had lunch with Mrs. Parrish, I told you Sally used to work for her,” Jenna said.
Amber gave her a hate-filled look. “Yes, I did forget.” She turned back to Sally. “What was it like—working there, I mean?”
“I loved it. And Mr. and Mrs. Parrish were great to work for.”
Amber wasn’t interested in a fairy tale of how perfect the Parrish family was. She decided to take another tack. “Nannying must be a tough job at times. What were the hardest parts, do you think?”
“Hmm. When Tallulah was born, it was sort of tiring. She was small—only weighed five pounds at birth—so she had to eat every two hours. Of course the nurse took the night feedings, but I would get there at seven in the morning and stay till she came back at night.”
“So the nurse fed her through the night? Mrs. Parrish didn’t nurse the baby?”
“No, it was sad, really. Mr. Parrish told me she tried at first, but her milk wouldn’t come in. He asked me not to say anything because it made her cry, so we never talked about it.” Sally took a forkful of salmon. “I sometimes wondered about it.”
“What do you mean?”
Amber detected discomfort in Sally, who seemed to be trying for nonchalance. “Oh, nothing, really.”
“It doesn’t sound like nothing,” Amber pressed.
“Well, I guess I’m not telling you something everybody doesn’t already know.”
Amber leaned in closer and waited.
“A while after Tallulah was born, Mrs. Parrish went away. To a sort of hospital where you rest and get help.”
“You mean a sanitarium?”
“Something like that.”
“Did she have postpartum depression?”
“I’m really not sure. There was a lot of gossip at the time, but I tried not to listen to it. I don’t know. There were police involved somehow. I remember that. There were rumors that she was a danger to the baby, that she shouldn’t be alone with her.”
Amber tried to hide her fascination. “Was she? A danger?”
Sally shook her head. “I had a hard time believing that. But I never really saw her again. Mr. Parrish let me go right before she came home. He said they wanted someone to speak French to Tallulah, and I had been thinking about going back to school full-time anyhow. Later, they did end up hiring my friend Surrey for the weekends. She never mentioned anything strange.”
Amber was wondering what had happened to make Daphne require hospitalization. Her mind was miles away when she realized Sally was still talking.
“I’m sorry. What were you saying?” Amber asked her.
“It was Mrs. Parrish who encouraged me to continue and get my master’s degree. She said the most important thing was for a woman to be independent and know what she wanted. Especially before she considers marriage.” Sally took a sip of her wine. “Good advice, I think.”
“I suppose. But she was pretty young when she married Mr. Parrish, wasn’t she?”
Sally smiled. “In her twenties. It seems like they have a perfect marriage, so I guess it was a good decision.”
What a load of crap, Amber thought as she divided the last of the wine between their glasses. “Jenna told me that Mrs. Parrish’s mother was thinking about moving here at one time. Did you ever meet her?”
“I met her a few times. She didn’t visit that often. She mentioned that she ran a B&B up north, but it still seemed odd that she wasn’t there more, you know, to see the baby and all.”
“Do you know why she decided not to move to Bishops Harbor?”
“I’m not sure exactly, but she seemed put off by all the help the Parrishes had. Maybe she thought she’d be in the way,” Sally said, then sipped her wine. “You know, Mrs. Parrish has an extremely well ordered and tightly scheduled life. Precision is a hallmark in her house—nothing out of place, every room spotless, and every item perfectly placed. Maybe it was a little too regimented for Mrs. Bennett.”
“Wow, it sure sounds like it.” Amber had not failed to notice the very same thing every time she visited Daphne, which was more and more often lately. The house looked as if no one lived in it. The moment you finished drinking from a glass or emptied your plate, it was whisked away and disappeared. There was never a misplaced thing, which was hard to achieve with two young kids around. Even the girls’ bedrooms were immaculate. Amber had looked into the rooms the morning after she’d spent the night and was astounded at the meticulous placement of books and toys. Nothing was out of order.
As she drank more wine, Sally seemed to be warming to her subject. “I heard from Surrey that Tallulah and Bella never get to watch cartoons or kid shows. They have to watch documentaries or educational DVDs.” She waved her hand. “I mean, not that that’s bad, but it is sad that they can’t watch anything just for fun or entertainment.”
“I guess Mrs. Parrish values education,” Amber said.
Sally looked at her watch. “Speaking of which, I really should get going. School in the morning.” She turned to Jenna. “If you’re ready to go, I can give you a ride home.”
“That’d be good.” Jenna clapped her hands together. “What a fun night it’s been. We should do this again.”
They settled the check, and Jenna and Sally left. Amber finished her wine and sat back in her seat, reviewing the nuggets of information she’d gathered.
When she got home, the first thing she did was look up Daphne’s mother. After a bit of searching, she found that Ruth Bennett owned and ran a B&B in New Hampshire. It was a quaint inn with lovely grounds. Nothing extravagant, but very nice nonetheless. The picture of her on the website showed her to be an older, not quite as beautiful version of her daughter. Amber wondered what it was between them, why Daphne’d been reluctant to have her mother move near her.
She bookmarked the page and then logged onto Facebook. There he was, looking older and fatter. Guess the last few years hadn’t been so good for him. She laughed and shut the lid of her laptop.

TWELVE (#ulink_73df898e-bb3c-5839-a684-ca31f2c16263)
Waiting on the platform, Amber sipped the hot coffee in her gloved hand, trying to stay warm. White vapor escaped from her mouth every time she opened it, and she marched in place to generate some heat. She was meeting Daphne, Tallulah, and Bella for a day of shopping and sightseeing in New York, the primary attraction being the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center. She had purposely dressed like a tourist: sensible shoes, warm down jacket, and a tote bag to hold her treasures. Just what a gal from Nebraska would wear. The only makeup she had on was a cheap frosted lipstick she’d picked up at Walgreens.
“Amber, hi,” Daphne called as she came running toward her, a little girl attached to each hand. “Sorry we’re late. This one couldn’t decide what to wear.” She tilted her head toward Bella with a smile.
Amber smiled. “Hi, girls. Nice to see you again.”
Bella eyed her suspiciously. “That’s an ugly coat.”
“Bella!” Daphne and Tallulah exclaimed in unison. Daphne looked mortified. “That’s a terrible thing to say.”
“Well, it’s true.”
“I’m so sorry, Amber,” Daphne said.
“It’s okay.” Amber squatted down until she was eye level with Bella. “You’re right. It is an ugly coat. I’ve had it forever. Maybe you can help me pick a new one out today.” She wanted to smack the little brat. She was all of six or seven, and she was wearing a pair of silver sneakers that Amber recognized from a package that had been sitting open on the kitchen table when she’d dropped off gift certificates for the auction at the house the other day. She’d gone home and looked up the shoes to discover that they cost almost $300. The spoiled kid was already a fashion snob.
Bella turned to her mother and whined, “When is the train coming? I’m cold.”
Daphne wrapped her arms around her and kissed the top of her head. “Soon, darling.”
After another five minutes of Bella’s complaints, the train pulled in and they scrambled aboard, luckily finding a vacant spot in the front of the car—two rows facing each other. Amber sat down, and Bella stood in front of her, little arms crossed over her chest.
“You took my seat. I can’t sit backward.”
“No problem.” Amber moved to the other side and Tallulah took the seat next to Bella.
“I want Mommy to sit next to me.”
Were they really going to let this little monster bark orders all day?
Daphne gave her a stern look. “Bella, I’m right across from you.
Stop this nonsense now. I’m going to sit next to Amber.”
Bella gave her a dark look and kicked her little foot against the seat across from her. “Why’d she have to come, anyway? This is supposed to be a family trip.”
Daphne stood up. “Excuse us for a moment.” She grabbed Bella by the hand and walked her to the end of the aisle. Amber could see her gesturing with her hands as she talked. After a few minutes, Bella nodded and the two returned.
Bella took her seat and looked up at Amber. “I’m sorry, Amber.”
She didn’t look one bit sorry, but Amber gave her what she hoped was a kind look.
“Thank you, Bella. I accept your apology.” She turned her attention to Tallulah. “Your mom tells me that you’re a Nancy Drew fan.”
Tallulah’s eyes lit up, and she unzipped the small backpack she carried and brought out The Secret of the Wooden Lady. “I have all my mom’s old books. I love them.”
“So do I. I wanted to be just like Nancy Drew,” Amber said.
Tallulah started to soften. “She’s so brave and smart and always on an adventure.”
“Boooooring,” the little furby next to her called out.
“How would you know? You can’t even read,” Tallulah responded.
“Mom! She’s not supposed to say that to me,” Bella said, her voice rising.
“All right, girls, that’s enough,” Daphne said mildly.
Now Amber felt like slapping Daphne. Couldn’t she see that kid needed to be put in her place? A good spank across the rump would probably do wonders.
They finally pulled into Grand Central and poured out of the train into the crowded station. Amber stayed behind Daphne as she and the girls walked up the steps and into the main terminal. Her spirits lifted as she looked around at the magnificent architecture and thought again how much she loved New York.
Daphne stopped and gathered them together. “Okay, here’s what’s on our agenda. We’re going to start by looking at all the holiday window displays, then lunch at Alice’s Teacup, then American Girl Store, and finally ice-skating at Rockefeller Center.”
Kill me now, Amber thought.


Amber had to admit that the window displays were fabulous, each one more elaborate than the next. Even the little princess was bewitched and stopped her whining. When they arrived at Alice’s Teacup, Amber groaned inwardly at the long line, but apparently Daphne was well known there, and they were whisked right in. Lunch was fine, no major incidents, and Amber and Daphne actually got to have a conversation longer than five minutes.
While the girls took their time eating their French toast, Amber finished her ham and cheese croissant and sipped her tea.
“Thanks again for including me, Daphne. It’s so nice to be a part of a family day this time of year.”
“Thank you. You’re making the day so much more fun for me. When Jackson bailed out, I almost canceled.” She leaned in and whispered, “As you’ve seen, Bella can be a little bit of a handful. It’s great to have some help.”
Amber felt her back go up. Was that what she was? Help?
“Wasn’t the nanny available today?” she couldn’t resist asking.
Daphne didn’t seem to notice the jab. She shook her head absently. “I’d already given her the day off since we had planned this.” She smiled brightly at Amber and squeezed her hand. “I’m so glad you came with us. This is the kind of thing I’d be doing with my sister if she were alive. Now I have a special friend to enjoy it with.”
“That’s funny. When we were looking at the beautiful animations in the store windows, I imagined how much Charlene would have loved it. Christmas was her favorite time of year.” In fact, Amber’s childhood Christmases had been mean and disappointing. But if Charlene had existed, she might have liked Christmas.
“Julie loved Christmas too. I’ve never told this to anyone, but very late on Christmas Eve each year, I write a letter to Julie.”
“What do you tell her?” Amber asked.
“All that’s happened in the last year, you know, like those Christmas letters that people send out. But these letters are different. I tell her what’s in my heart and all about her nieces—how much she would have loved them and they her. It keeps me connected to her in a way I can’t explain.”
Amber felt a brief stab of sympathy that quickly turned to envy. She had never felt that kind of love and affection for anyone in her family. She wondered what that would be like. She didn’t know quite what to say.
“Can we go to American Girl now?” Bella was standing, pulling on her coat, and Amber was grateful for the intrusion.
They left the restaurant and grabbed a cab. Amber sat in front with the driver. The inside of the car smelled of old cheese, and she wanted to gag, but as soon as she rolled the window down, Queen Bella piped up from the backseat.
“I’m cold.”
Amber gritted her teeth and put it back up.
When they arrived at Forty-Ninth and Fifth, the line going into the store went all the way around the block.
“The line is so long,” Tallulah said. “Do we really have to wait?”
Bella stomped her foot. “I need a new dress for my Bella doll. Can’t you get us in ahead of them, Mommy? Like you did at the restaurant?”
Daphne shook her head. “Afraid not, sweetie.” She gave Tallulah a beseeching look. “I did promise her.”
Tallulah looked like she wanted to cry.
Amber had an inspiration. “Say, I noticed we passed a Barnes & Noble just a few blocks back. Why don’t I take Tallulah there, and you and Bella can meet us when you finish?”
Tallulah’s eyes lit up. “Can we, Mom? Please?”
“Are you sure, Amber?” Daphne asked.
Was she ever. “Of course. This way, they’re both happy.”
“Super. Thanks, Amber.”
As she and Tallulah began to walk away, Daphne called out. “Amber, please stay with her in the store.”
She bit back a sarcastic retort. Like she’d really let the kid wander in Manhattan on her own. “I won’t take my eyes off her.”
As they headed south on Fifth Avenue, Amber seized the opportunity to get to know Tallulah better.
“You’re not into American Girl dolls?”
“Not enough to stand in line for hours. I’d much rather look at books.”
“What kinds of things do you like?”
She shrugged. “Well, books. And I like to take pictures, but with old cameras and film.”
“Really? Why not digital?”
“The resolution is better, and I’ve found that …”
Amber tuned out the rest of her explanation. She didn’t care. All she needed to know was what she liked, not the three paragraphs of science behind it. Tallulah was like a little professor masquerading as a kid. Amber wondered if she had any friends at all.
“Here we are.”
She followed Tallulah around the enormous store until they reached the mystery section, and she pulled out an armful of books. They found a cozy place to sit, and Amber grabbed a few books off the shelves as well. She noticed Tallulah holding a collection of Edgar Allan Poe stories.
“Did you know Edgar Allan Poe was an orphan?” Amber asked.
Tallulah looked up. “What?”
Amber nodded. “Yes, his parents died when he was four. He was raised by a wealthy merchant.”
Tallulah’s eyes widened.
“Sadly, his new parents cut him out of their will, and he ended up very poor. Maybe he wasn’t as nice to them as he was to his real parents.” Amber smiled inwardly at Tallulah’s shocked expression. It was a good lesson for the kid to keep in mind.
They spent the next two hours reading, Tallulah lost in her Poe book, ignoring Amber, Amber looking through a book on Formula One racing. She’d read that Jackson was an avid fan. When she’d had enough of that, she opened the Facebook app on her phone. Rage overcame her when she read the update. So, the bitch was pregnant. How could that have happened? The three of them smiling like idiots. Who was stupid enough to announce a pregnancy at only eight weeks? Amber consoled herself with the thought that maybe she’d miscarry. She heard someone approach and looked up to see Daphne, laden with shopping bags, rushing toward them.
“There you are!” Daphne was out of breath, and Bella’s hand was in hers as she ran to keep up with her mother. “Jackson just called. He’s going to meet us after all. We’ll grab a cab and meet him at SixtyFive. We’ll have dinner and then see the tree.” She smiled.
“Wait,” Amber said, grabbing the arm of Daphne’s coat. “I don’t want to intrude on your family time.” In truth, she was surprised at how nervous she was at the prospect of meeting Jackson. The suddenness threw her off balance. She wanted advance warning, time to ready herself to meet the man she knew so much about.
“Don’t be silly,” Daphne gushed. “You won’t be intruding. Now come on. He’s waiting for us.”
Tallulah got up immediately, putting all the books into a pile and picking them up.
Daphne waved her hand. “Leave them, sweetie. We need to get going.”

THIRTEEN (#ulink_86223b1c-072d-5b72-ba89-74ba895c9b3d)
He was waiting at the best table in the place. Its view was even more stunning than Amber had imagined. So was he, for that matter. The sex appeal practically oozed out of him. Drop-dead gorgeous. There was no other way to say it. And the impeccably tailored custom suit made him look like he’d just stepped off the set of a Bond movie. He stood as they approached, and when his dazzling blue eyes rested on Daphne, his smile widened, and he greeted her with a warm kiss on the lips. He was crazy about her, Amber realized with frustration. He crouched down, opening his arms, and the girls ran into them.
“Daddy!” Bella grinned, looking happy for the first time all day.
“My girls. Did you have a great day with Mommy?”
They both started chattering at once, and Daphne ushered them into their seats while she took the one next to Jackson. Amber sat in the remaining seat, across from him, next to Bella.
“Jackson, this is Amber. I told you about her; she’s come to my rescue on the gala committee.”
“Very nice to meet you, Amber. I understand you’ve been a great help.”
Her eyes were drawn to the delectable dimple that appeared when he smiled. If he wondered what she was doing having dinner with them, he at least had the good grace not to show it.
They ordered cocktails for themselves and appetizers for the kids, and after a little while Amber blended into the background and sat observing them.
“So tell me about your day,” Jackson said. “What was the highlight?”
“Well, I got two new dresses for my Bella doll, a stable set, and a tutu to match mine, so she can come to ballet with me.”
“How about you, Lu?”
“I liked Alice’s Teacup. It was cool. Then Amber took me to Barnes & Noble.”
He shook his head. “My little bibliophile. You come to the city, and that’s where you go? We have one right around the corner,” he said, not unkindly.
“Yeah, but’s it not huge, like here. Besides, we come here all the time. No big deal.”
Amber swallowed her anger at Tallulah’s sense of entitlement. No big deal, indeed. She’d like to ship her off to some rural location for a few years and let her see how the rest of America lived.
Jackson turned to Daphne, resting his hand briefly on her cheek. “And you, my darling? What was your highlight?”
“Getting the call from you.”
Amber wanted to vomit. Were they for real? She took a long swallow from her wineglass. No need to pace herself; he could afford to keep it coming.
When he finally tore his eyes off his gorgeous wife, Jackson glanced at Amber. “Are you from Connecticut, Amber?”
“No, Nebraska.”
He looked surprised. “What brought you east?”
“I wanted to expand my horizons. A friend of mine moved to Connecticut and invited me to room with her,” she said, then took another sip of wine. “I fell in love with the coastline right away—and being so close to New York.”
“How long have you been here?”
Was he really interested or just being polite? She couldn’t tell.
Daphne answered before she could. “About a year, right?” She smiled at her. “She’s in real estate too, works in the commercial division of Rollins Realty.”
“How did you meet again?”
“I told you, it was quite by accident,” Daphne said.
He was still looking at Amber, and she suddenly felt as though she was being interrogated.
“Hellooooooo? This is boring,” Bella sang out. Amber was grateful to the little wretch for distracting him.
Jackson turned his attention to her. “Bella, we don’t interrupt adults when they’re talking.” His voice was firm. Thank God one of them has a backbone, Amber thought.
Bella stuck her tongue out at him.
Tallulah gasped and looked at Jackson, as did Daphne. It felt like time had stopped as everyone waited to see his reaction.
He burst out laughing. “I think someone’s had too long a day.”
Everyone at the table seemed to exhale.
Bella pushed her chair back and ran over to him, burying her head in his chest. “I’m sorry.”
He stroked her blond curls. “Thank you. Now you’re going to behave like a lady, right?”
She nodded and skipped back to her seat.
Score another point for the little hooligan, Amber thought. Who knew that the biggest thorn in her side was going to be this little pint-sized gremlin?
“How about another surprise?” he said.
“What?” the girls asked in unison.
“How about we go see the Christmas show at Radio City and then spend the night here?”
The girls’ voices rose in excitement, but Daphne put her arm on Jackson’s and said, “Sweetheart, I hadn’t planned to stay the night. And I’m sure Amber wants to get home.”
In fact, Amber was thrilled to stay. Her curiosity about the Parrishes’ apartment outweighed any desire to get back home.
Jackson glanced at Amber as if she were a pesky problem to be solved. “Tomorrow’s Sunday. What’s the big deal? She can borrow a change of clothes.” He looked right at Amber. “Is that a problem for you?”
Amber was dancing on the inside, but she gave him a sober and appreciative look. “That would be fine with me. I’d hate to disappoint Bella and Tallulah. They seem really excited to stay.”
He smiled and squeezed Daphne’s arm. “See? It’s fine. We’ll have a great time.”
Daphne shrugged, resigned to the change in plans. They went into the theater and watched Santa and the Rockettes for the next hour and a half. Amber thought the show was moronic, but the girls loved every minute.
When they came out, it was snowing, and the city looked like a winter wonderland, with white lights twinkling on the bare tree branches now covered in the magic powder. Amber looked around in awe. She’d never seen New York this late at night. It was a sight to behold, the lights making everything shimmer and glow.
Jackson took the phone from his pocket, pulled off his leather glove, and, hitting a key, brought it to his ear and said, “Send the driver to the front entrance of Radio City.”
When the black limousine with dark windows pulled up, Amber craned her neck to see what celebrity might step out, but as a tall, uniformed chauffeur got out and opened the back door, she realized that the limo was empty and that it was there for them. Now she felt like the celebrity. She’d never been in a limousine. She noticed that Daphne and the girls didn’t look the least bit fazed. Jackson took Daphne’s hand and guided her in first. Then he gave Bella and Tallulah a playful shove, and they followed after their mother. He gestured to indicate that Amber should enter next, but he barely looked at her. The car was large enough for the two women and two children to sit four across. Jackson spread out on the seat opposite them, his arm draped across the back of the seat and his legs spread wide. Amber tried with difficulty to keep her eyes off him. He was positively brimming with power and masculinity.
Bella was leaning against her mother, almost asleep, when Tallulah said, “Are we going right to the apartment, Daddy?”
“Yes, I—”
But before he got another word out, Bella shot up, now wide awake. “No, no, no. Not the apartment. I want to go where Eloise is. I want to sleep at the Plaza.”
“We can’t do that, sweetheart,” Daphne had said. “We don’t have a reservation. We’ll do that another time.”
Bella wasn’t having it. “Daddy, please. I’ll be the first one in my class to stay where Eloise lives. Everyone will be so jealous. Please, please, please?”
At first Amber had wanted to grab the little whiner and wring her selfish little neck, but there was something in her that Amber recognized, something that made her see how she could turn her into an ally instead of an enemy. And anyway, who cared whether they stayed at the apartment or the Plaza? Either one was a treat for Amber.


The next morning Amber rolled over, pulling the duvet closer around her until it touched her chin. She sighed and wriggled her body against the silky sheet, feeling its softness caress her. She’d never slept in such a sumptuously comfortable bed. In the one next to hers, Tallulah stirred. The suite had only two bedrooms—Bella had bunked with her parents, and though Tallulah hadn’t looked too happy about sharing a room with Amber, she’d obliged. Amber threw off the covers, rose, and went to the window. The Grand Penthouse Suite looked out over Central Park, and New York lay before her as if for the taking. She scanned the beautiful room, with its tall ceilings and elegant furnishings. The suite was fit for royalty, larger than the average house. Jackson had succumbed to Bella’s request, of course, had even sent his chauffeur to get clothes for everyone from the apartment. Unbelievable, how easy it was for the rich—how unfairly easy.
She slipped off the pajamas Daphne had lent her, then showered and dressed in the clothes she’d also been given last night: a pair of blue wool slacks and a white cashmere sweater. The material felt divine against her clean skin. She looked in the mirror, admiring the perfect cut and clean lines. When she glanced at the bed, she saw that Tallulah still slept, so she tiptoed quietly out of the room. Bella was already up, sitting on the green tufted sofa with a book in her hands. She looked up briefly as Amber entered, said nothing, and gave her attention back to the book. Amber sat on a chair opposite the sofa and picked up a magazine from the coffee table, not saying a word and pretending to read. They stayed that way for the next ten minutes, silent, uncommunicative.
Finally, Bella closed her book and stared at Amber. “Why didn’t you go home last night? This was supposed to be a family night.”
Amber thought for a moment. “Well, Bella, to tell you the truth, I knew everyone at my office would be envious if they knew I got to stay at the Plaza and have breakfast with Eloise.” She paused for effect. “I guess I wasn’t thinking about the family thing. You’re right about that. I should have gone home. I’m really sorry.”
Bella tilted her head and gave Amber a suspicious look. “Your friends know about Eloise? But you’re a grown-up. Why do you care about Eloise?”
“My mother read all the Eloise books to me when I was little.” This was total bullshit. Her mother had never read anything to her. If Amber hadn’t spent all her spare time in the library, she’d be illiterate now.
“Why didn’t your mom take you to the Plaza when you were little?”
“We lived far away from New York. Have you ever heard of Nebraska?”
Bella rolled her eyes. “Of course I’ve heard of Nebraska. I know all fifty states.”
This brat was going to take more than camaraderie and kid gloves.
“Well, that’s where I grew up. And we didn’t have enough money to come to New York. So, there you have it. But I do want to thank you for making one of my dreams come true. I’m going to let everyone at the office know that it was all because of you.”
Bella’s face was inscrutable, and before she answered, Jackson and Daphne came into the room.
“Good morning.” Daphne’s voice was cheery. “Where’s Tallulah? It’s time for breakfast. Is she up yet?”
“I’ll go see,” Amber said.
Tallulah was up and almost finished dressing when Amber knocked and went in. “Good morning,” she said to her. “Your mom asked me to check on you. I think they’re ready to go down to breakfast.”
Tallulah turned to look at her. “Okay, I’m ready.” And they walked together to the living room where the others waited.
“Did you girls sleep well?” Jackson’s voice boomed as they headed to the elevator. They all spoke at once, and as the elevator descended, he looked at Bella and said, “We’re going to have breakfast with Eloise in the Palm Court.”
Bella smiled and looked at Amber. “We’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” she said.
Maybe she finally had this little hellion in her pocket, Amber thought. Now it was time to work on Jackson.

FOURTEEN (#ulink_7262a7b4-1a17-5ffd-a79c-fcb6807e0f39)
Amber and Daphne sat beside each other at the Parrish dining room table, which was covered in paper, including the list of attendees and a ballroom diagram of the table arrangements. Since almost all of these people were unknown to Amber, Daphne was dictating the seating for each table while Amber dutifully entered all the information into an Excel file. There was a lull as Daphne studied the names before her, and Amber took the opportunity to gaze around the room and out the long bank of floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out to the sea. The room could comfortably seat sixteen for dinner, but it still had a feeling of intimacy. The walls were a muted gold, a perfect backdrop for the magnificent oils of sailboats and seascapes in gilded frames. She could imagine the formal dinner parties they must have here, with elegant place settings of china, crystal, fine silver, and table linens of the highest quality. She was pretty certain that there was not a paper napkin to be found anywhere in the house.
“Sorry to take so long, Amber. I think I finally have table nine figured out,” Daphne said.
“No problem. I’ve been admiring this beautiful room.”
“It’s lovely, isn’t it? Jackson owned the house before we were married, so I haven’t done very much to change things. Just the sunroom, really.” She looked around and shrugged. “Everything was already perfect.”
“Gosh, how wonderful.”
Daphne gave her an odd look that passed quickly—too quickly for Amber to identify it.
“Well, I think we’re finished with the seating. I’ll send the list to the printer to make up the table cards,” Daphne said, rising from her chair. “I can’t thank you enough. This would have taken forever without your help.”
“Oh, you’re welcome. I’m happy to do it.”
Daphne looked at her watch and then back at Amber. “I don’t have to pick the girls up from tennis for another hour. How about a cup of tea and a bite to eat? Do you have time?”
“That would be great.” She followed Daphne out of the dining room. “Could I use the restroom?”
“Of course.” They walked a bit farther, and Daphne indicated a door on the left. “When you come out, turn right and keep walking to the kitchen. I’ll put the tea on.”
Amber entered the first-floor powder room and was stunned. Every room in the house offered a staggering reminder of Jackson Parrish’s great wealth. With its polished black walls and silver picture-frame wainscoting, it was the epitome of quiet opulence. A waterfall slab of marble was the focus of the room, and on top of it sat a marble vessel sink. Amber looked around in wonder once again. Everything original, custom-made. What would it be like to have a custom-made life, she wondered?
She washed her hands and took one last look in the mirror, a tall, beveled piece of glass set in a frame that looked like rippled silver leaves. As she walked the length of the corridor to the kitchen, she slowed to look at the art on the walls. Some she recognized from her exhaustive reading and Met courses—a Sisley and a stunning Boudin. If these were the real thing, and they probably were, the paintings alone were worth a small fortune. And here they were, hanging in a little-trafficked hallway.
As she entered the kitchen, she saw that tea and a plate of fruit sat waiting on the island.
“Mug or cup?” Daphne asked, standing in front of an open cabinet door.
The shelves of the cabinet looked as if they could have been a display for a luxury kitchen showroom. Amber imagined someone using a ruler to measure an exact distance between each cup and glass. Everything lined up perfectly, and everything matched. It was disconcerting in some strange way, and she found herself mutely staring, mesmerized by the symmetry.
“Amber?” Daphne said.
“Oh. Mug, please.” She sat on one of the cushioned stools.
“Do you take milk?”
“Yes, please,” Amber said.
Daphne swung the refrigerator door open, and Amber stared again. The contents were lined up with military precision, the tallest at the rear and all labels facing front. The absolute precision of Daphne’s home was off-putting. It felt to Amber like more than a desire for a neat home and more like an obsession, a compulsion. She remembered Sally’s account of Daphne’s time in a sanitarium after Tallulah’s birth. Perhaps there had been more going on than just postpartum depression, she thought.
Daphne sat opposite Amber and poured their tea. “So, we have just two weeks before the big night. You’ve been amazing. I’ve felt such a wonderful synergy with you. We both have so much of our hearts invested in this.”
“I’ve loved every minute of it. I can’t wait until the fund-raiser. It’s going to be a huge success.”
Daphne took a sip of tea and placed the mug on the counter between her hands. Looking at Amber, she said, “I’d like to do something to show my appreciation for all your hard work.”
Amber tilted her head and gave Daphne a questioning look.
“I hope you’ll let me buy you a dress for the fund-raiser,” Daphne said.
Amber had hoped this was going to happen, but she had to play it carefully. “Oh no,” she said. “I couldn’t let you do that.”
“Please. I’d really love to. It’s my way of saying thank you.”
“I don’t know. It feels like you’re paying me, and I didn’t work on this to get paid. I wanted to do it.” Amber smiled inwardly at her brilliant show of humility.
“You mustn’t think of it as payment. Think of it as gratitude for your immense help and support,” Daphne said as she pushed back a blond wave, her diamond ring flashing brightly.
“I don’t know. I feel sort of funny having you spend money on me.”
“Well,” Daphne said and paused. “How would you feel about borrowing something of mine, then?”
Amber could have kicked herself for protesting too much, but she guessed borrowing a dress was the next best thing. “Gee, I hadn’t thought of that. I would feel better if you weren’t spending your money.” As if this woman didn’t have millions to burn.
“Great.” Daphne stood up from the stool. “Come upstairs with me, and we’ll look through my closet.”
They climbed the stairs together, and Amber admired the Dutch masters on the wall.
“You have magnificent artwork. I could spend hours looking at it.”
“You’re more than welcome to. Are you interested in art? Jackson is absolutely passionate about it,” Daphne said as they reached the landing.
“Well, I’m no art expert, but I do love museums,” Amber replied.
“Jackson too. He’s a board member of the Bishops Harbor Art Center. Here we are,” Daphne said, leading her into a large room—given its size, it could hardly be called a walk-in closet—filled with racks of clothing lined up in perfect, parallel rows. Every piece of clothing was in a transparent garment bag, and two walls were lined with shelves that held shoes of all styles, arranged by color. Built-in drawers on a third wall held sweaters, one each, with a small see-through panel to identify them. At one end of the room stood a three-way mirror and a pedestal. The lighting was bright but flattering, without the harshness of department-store fitting rooms.
“Wow,” Amber couldn’t help herself from remarking. “This is something.”
Daphne waved her hand dismissively. “We attend a lot of functions. I used to go shopping for each one, and Jackson said I was wasting too much time. He started having things sent to the house for me to look at.” She was leading Amber to a rack near the back when suddenly a young woman came walking into the room.
“Madame,” she said. “Les filles. It is time to pick them up, non?”
“Oh my gosh, you’re right, Sabine,” she exclaimed, looking at her watch again. “I’ve got to go. I promised the girls I would get them today. Why don’t you just look through these dresses till I get back? I won’t be long.” She patted Amber’s arm. “Oh, and, Amber, this is Sabine, our nanny.” She rushed out of the room.
“Nice to meet you, Sabine,” Amber said.
Sabine, reserved, gave a small nod of her head and in thickly accented English responded, “My pleasure, miss.”
“Mrs. Parrish told me you’d been hired to teach French to the girls. Do you enjoying working here?”
Sabine’s eyes softened a moment before she regained her austere composure. “Very much. Now you will please excuse me?”
Amber watched as she walked away. So she was French—big deal. She was still just a nanny. But, Amber thought, Daphne’s friends would all think it was so grand, not the usual Spanish-speaking nanny, but one who would teach her daughters French.
Amber looked around the room in wonder. Daphne’s closet, indeed. This was more like having an exclusive department store at your disposal. She sauntered, slowly examining the rack upon rack of clothes, all meticulously sorted by color and type. The shoes were lined up with the same fastidiousness as the china in the kitchen cabinets. Even the spacing between garments was uniform. When she got to the three-way mirror, she noticed two comfortable club chairs on either side—apparently meant for Jackson or whoever was nodding approval as Daphne modeled her choices. On the rack Daphne had indicated, she began to look through the dresses. Dior, Chanel, Wu, McQueen—the names went on and on. This wasn’t some chain department store sending clothes for Daphne to look at; these were couture houses making their designs available to a moneyed client. It boggled her mind.
And Daphne was so casual about all of it––the luxury, the fine art, the “closet” full of designer suits, dresses, and shoes. Amber unzipped one of the bags and brought out a turquoise Versace evening dress. She carried it to the three-way mirror and stepped onto the pedestal, holding the beautiful dress against her body and staring at her reflection. Even Mrs. Lockwood had never brought anything remotely like this to be dry-cleaned.
Amber hung the dress up and, when she turned away, suddenly noticed a door at the far end of the room. She moved toward it and paused with her hand on the knob only a moment before opening it. Before her was a sumptuous space that was a dazzling mix of luxury and comfort. She walked around slowly, her fingers brushing the yellow silk wallpaper. A white velvet chaise longue sat in a corner of the room, and the light from the Palladian window threw dazzling prisms of color on the walls as it pierced the crystals that hung from the large chandelier. She reclined onto the chaise, looking at the picture on the opposite wall, the only piece of art in the room, and felt herself drawn into the peaceful scene of trees and sky. Her shoulders relaxed, and she surrendered to the stillness and calm of this special place.
She closed her eyes and, imagining this was her room, stayed that way for a while. When she finally rose, she examined the space more closely, the delicate table with photographs of a young Daphne and her sister, Julie. She recognized the slight girl with long, dark hair and beautiful almond-shaped eyes from photographs she’d seen throughout the house. She moved to the front of an antique armoire with an abundance of small drawers. Reaching over, she opened one of them. Some lacy underwear. Another with exotic soaps. More of the same in the other drawers, all meticulously folded and placed. She opened the cabinet and found mounds of plush bath towels. She was about to close the door when she noticed a rosewood box toward the back. Amber took it in her hand, undid the catch, and opened it. Inside, nestled on rich green velvet, sat a small pearl-handled pistol. She gently lifted it from the box and saw etched on the barrel the initials YMB. What was this gun doing here? And who was YMB?
Amber wasn’t sure how long she had been standing there when she heard the sound of voices and doors opening and closing. She quickly replaced the gun, took one more glance around the room to make sure she hadn’t disturbed anything, and left. As she reentered the clothing room, the children came bounding in, Daphne close behind them.
“Hi, we’re back. Sorry we were so long. Bella forgot her painting, so we went back to get it,” Daphne said.
“It’s fine,” Amber said. “The dresses are all so beautiful, I can’t decide.”
Bella frowned and whispered to her mother, “What’s she doing here?”
“Sorry,” Daphne said to Amber and then took Bella’s hand. “We’re finding a dress for Amber to borrow for the fund-raiser. Why don’t you and Tallulah help her? Wouldn’t that be fun?”
“All right,” Tallulah said with a smile, but Bella looked at Amber with undisguised hostility, turned on her heel, and stalked out of the room.
“Don’t let her upset you. She just doesn’t know you well enough yet. It takes Bella a while to warm up.”
Amber nodded. She better get used to me, she thought. I’m going to be around a long, long time.

FIFTEEN (#ulink_6508989e-803e-5cd2-8619-7612f1c6088b)
Amber was pissed. It was December 24, and Rollins was staying open until two o’clock. What kind of idiots looked at houses on Christmas Eve? Why weren’t they at home, wrapping their big-ticket presents and decorating their twelve-foot trees? But they probably didn’t do all those things themselves, she reflected. That’s what people like Amber were for.
Around noon Jenna stood in the doorway of Amber’s office. “Hey, Amber, can I come in?”
“What is it?” Just what I need now, she thought peevishly.
Jenna walked in with a large wrapped package in her hand and placed it on Amber’s desk. “Merry Christmas.”
Amber glanced at the gift and then at Jenna. She hadn’t even thought to buy a present for Jenna, and was discomfited by her gesture.
“Open it!” Jenna said.
Amber picked it up and tore off the paper, then took the lid off the box. Inside was a glorious assortment of Christmas cookies, each one more delicate and delicious-looking than the last. “Did you make these?”
Jenna clapped her hands together. “Yes, me and my mom do it every year. She’s a spectacular baker. Do you like them?”
“I do. Thank you so much, Jenna. It was really nice of you.” Amber paused a moment. “I’m so sorry, but I didn’t get you anything.”
“It’s okay, Amber. I didn’t make them so you’d get me a gift. It’s just something my mom and I love doing. I give them to everyone in the office. I hope you enjoy them. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas to you too.”


Amber slept late on Christmas morning. When she awoke, the sky was blue, the sun was shining, and only an inch of snow had fallen. She took a long, hot shower and, after wrapping her terry-cloth robe around her, made a strong pot of coffee. She took her mug back into the bathroom and began to blow-dry her wet hair into soft waves—plain but classic. She applied a little blush, a dab of very discreet eye shadow, and some mascara. She stepped back from the mirror to examine the finished product. She looked youthful and fresh but without a trace of sexiness.
Daphne had asked her to come over around two o’clock, so after she finished a cup of yogurt, she sat down to read The Odyssey, which she’d borrowed from the library last week. Before she knew it, it was time to dress and gather everything up. Hanging on the closet door was the outfit she’d chosen—gray wool slacks and a white-and-gray turtleneck sweater. Small pearl studs in her ears—not real, of course, but who cared—a simple gold-colored bangle on her left wrist, and only her sapphire ring on her finger. She wanted to look pure and virginal. She took one last look in the full-length mirror, nodded approval at her image, and swept the presents into a large shopping bag.
Fifteen minutes later, she pulled into the open gates and parked her car in the circular driveway. Grabbing the bag of presents, she strode to the door and rang the bell. She saw Daphne coming down the hall, Bella right behind her.
“Welcome! Merry Christmas. I’m so glad you could come,” Daphne said, flinging open the door and embracing her.
“Merry Christmas to you. Thank you so much for letting me share this day with you and your family,” Amber said.
“Oh, it’s our pleasure,” Daphne said as she shut the door.
Bella was dancing around next to Daphne like a jumping bean.
“Hi, Bella. Merry Christmas.” Amber gave her a big fake smile.
“Do you have a present for me?” Bella asked.
“Oh, Bella, you didn’t even say hello. That was very rude,” Daphne scolded.
“Of course I brought you a present. How could I not give one of my favorite girls a present?”
“Goody. Can I have it now?”
“Bella! Amber hasn’t even taken her coat off.” She gave her daughter a little shove. “Let me have your coat, Amber, and let’s all go into the living room.”
Bella looked as if she was going to protest but did as she was told.
Jackson and Tallulah looked up from the dollhouse they were furnishing as Amber, Daphne, and Bella entered the room. “Merry Christmas, Amber. Welcome,” Jackson said with a warmth that indeed made her feel welcome.
“Thank you for inviting me. My whole family is back in Nebraska, and I would have been alone today. You don’t know how much I appreciate it.”
“No one should be alone on Christmas. We’re glad you’re here.”
Amber thanked him again and then turned to Tallulah. “Hi, Tallulah. Merry Christmas. What a cool dollhouse.”
“Would you like to come see it?” she asked.
These kids were like night and day. She didn’t like children, but at least Tallulah had manners, not like the little animal who thought the sun and the moon revolved around her. Amber went and sat down next to Tallulah in front of the dollhouse. She had never seen anything like it, even in photographs. What she and her sisters would have given for a toy like this, with all the fabulous furnishings and dolls to go with it! It was enormous, with three stories, real wood floors, tile bathrooms, electric chandeliers that actually worked, and beautiful paintings on the walls. As she looked closer, she realized it was a replica of the actual house they lived in. It had to have been custom-made. What must that have cost?
“How about a glass of eggnog, Amber?” Daphne asked.
“I’d love one, thank you.” She continued to watch as Tallulah carefully placed sofas, tables, and chairs in the house. Bella was on the other side of the room, busy with her iPad.
As she sat there, Amber took in all of the presents sitting open under the tree. They were piled high upon one another, tissue and ribbon mingled in the mix and spilled far into the room. She thought back to the miserly Christmases of her youth and felt keenly sad. She and her sisters had always gotten presents that were utilitarian, like underwear or socks, never a gift that was a luxury or even just a fun toy to play with. Even their stockings had been filled with useful or edible things, like the huge orange at the bottom to take up room, pencils and erasers for school, and sometimes a little puzzle that would become tiresome after one day.
The display in the Parrishes’ living room left her speechless. She saw what looked like silk lingerie peeking out from one of the boxes and several smaller boxes that must have contained more jewelry for Daphne. Tallulah’s presents were stacked in a neat pile. Bella’s, on the other hand, were haphazardly spread out over a large part of the room, and once she put down the iPad, she went from one to another in quick order.
The one thing missing from this scene, Amber thought to herself, was Daphne’s mother. Why wouldn’t the girls’ grandmother, a widow living only a car ride away, not be invited to spend Christmas with her only daughter and granddaughters? It seemed to her that the value placed on lavish presents was way above that of family.

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