Scared To Death (Live to Tell #2)(55)

That day, his first back in Nottingshire, Jeremy parked the car and went into the mini-mart. There, he found a freezer full of Good Humor novelties…but no Drumsticks.

“Can I help you find something?” asked the middle-aged woman behind the register, who was eyeing him suspiciously, as if he were going to shoplift a Popsicle or something.

“Just this.” He grabbed a chocolate chip sandwich and plunked it down on the counter.

“Sure that’s all?” she asked, obviously wary of a grown man who’d wander in for ice cream on a blustery autumn day.

“Actually, there is something else you can help me find—but it’s not in the store.”

“What’s that?”

He hesitated. What if something clicked when he mentioned it, and she recognized him?

That’s nuts. You don’t even recognize yourself these days when you look into the mirror.

“Twin Ponds Lane,” he told her, and she looked relieved that he only wanted directions. “I thought it was around here someplace, but…”

“Oh, it used to be. But that’s been gone for a few years now. They tore down all those houses and built a new development back there. McMansions…you know.”

Maybe that was just as well, Jeremy decided as he drove away, eating his ice cream sandwich. He’d already figured out that you can’t go home again.

Funny, the things you remember—and the things you forget.

On his way out of town that day, he passed a sign that read “Harbor Hills Golf.” It jogged something in his brain.

Harbor Hills…

Something had happened here.

Something important.

Something bad.



“You’re thinking about divorcing Garvey, right?”

Seeing Marin’s salon-arched brows disappear beneath her blond bangs, Lauren immediately wishes she hadn’t said it.

Judging by Marin’s expression, her hunch is way off base—and even if it isn’t, she, of all people, has no business doling out advice on the state of Marin’s marriage to a cold-blooded murderer. What was she thinking?

She wasn’t thinking. She was feeling—feeling sorry for Marin, and worried about her.

“At some point, I will—but I can’t deal with it just yet.”

“I don’t blame you. One day at a time—that’s all you need to face.”

Marin nods, picks up the pillow, begins twisting the fringe again.

“Look, you don’t have to tell me what’s bothering you, but it might help. Does it have to do with the girls?”

Bingo. Marin looks up at her and nods. “Caroline.”

“What’s going on?”

“Yesterday, she was out, and she thinks someone put a rat into her handbag.”

“What?”

“I know it sounds kind of…out there. But then I got this text message last night, and it made me think…” She pulls her cell phone from her pocket, presses a few buttons, and hands it to Lauren. “What does this look like to you?”

She examines the screen, frowns.

“It’s an emoticon. A rat.” Marin takes the phone from her, presses a couple more buttons on the keypad, then hands it back. “Read this.”

Lauren does. “Who sent it?”

“I have no idea, but…it’s scaring me.”

“I don’t know…it looks like something my kids do.”

“Mine, too. But it’s really bothering me.”

“Maybe you should go to the police.”

“And tell them…?”

“And tell them you’re getting menacing text messages, and someone put a rat in your daughter’s purse.”

“And they’ll tell me it goes with the territory. This isn’t the first time since last fall that some jerk has tried to get us worked up.”

“I know…we’ve had to deal with gossip and the press, too—and we’ve had some crank calls, that sort of thing.”

Marin sighs. “You’re right. If I call the police, they’ll just chalk it up to one more loser with nothing better to do trying to make our lives miserable.”

“I didn’t say that. And if you don’t call the police, then what other option do you have? Ignoring it?”

“I guess so.” Marin tilts her head thoughtfully. “Do you think she’s dealing with this kind of thing, too?”

“Who?”

“Elsa Cavalon.”

It’s Lauren’s turn to raise her eyebrows. “I don’t know…why? Do you?”

“I wonder. I feel like maybe we should ask her.”

“Are you serious?”

Marin nods.

“But—look, Marin, it’s all I can do to handle my ex-mother-in-law showing up here this weekend. I don’t think I could deal with—”

“No, I know. It’s just me. It’s just—she was raising my son.”

But he wasn’t your son anymore, Marin. He was hers.

Does Lauren dare say it? Does she really even have to? Surely Marin doesn’t think of Jeremy Cavalon as her son.

“It sounds crazy, but sometimes I feel like she’s the only one who can relate to my loss.”