“Christine? What are you doing?”

Nate stood in the doorway, his gaze narrowed on her, his expression a mix of disbelief and concern.

She opened her mouth to speak but the words clogged her throat. The tears came next, falling hard and fast. “This is all so wrong!” She swept her arms in a wide arc, pointed to the clothes jumbled in a heap on the floor, the open nightstand with the contents inside, and the chenille spread. It was that damnable chenille spread that pierced her heart, brought back the night she’d slept there years ago. “We’re going to find this person, Nate, and when we do, she’s going to tell us why she thought she could just move in.” She clenched her fists, stared at her husband. “Why she thought she had the right.”

He crossed the room in four strides, settled his big hands on her shoulders. “Take a deep breath.” His voice gentled, his dark eyes softened. “We’ll figure this out.”

“I didn’t think it would bother me this much to come here, but it’s worse than I remember. And to think someone has the gall to spread her vanilla scent in this place as though she had a right to be here is unforgivable.”

Nate leaned forward, whispered in her ear, “The invader’s in the living room. I found her walking along a path behind the cabin.”

Christine stepped back, eyed him. “She’s here?”

He nodded. “And I think you’ll find her identity interesting.”

“What do you mean?”

Her husband met her gaze, said in a firm voice, “It means you know her.”

There wasn’t time to give more thought to Nate’s words as he clasped her hand and led her to the living room. The woman sat perched on the edge of the couch, hands folded in her lap, gaze fixed on the blue ashtray resting on the coffee table.

It was Elissa Cerdi, her mother’s caregiver!

She didn’t look much different from the last time Christine saw her standing in the Blacksworth dining room: fresh-faced, vulnerable, innocent. But looks could be deceiving and maybe Elissa Cerdi wasn’t so innocent; maybe it had all been an act.

The woman lifted a small hand, tucked a dark lock of hair behind her ear, and glanced up. Her hazel eyes filled with what looked like fear and humiliation, but when she spoke, there was no mistaking the remorse in her tone or her words. “Hi, Christine.” She stood, cleared her throat. “I’m so very sorry. I told Mr. Desantro I knew I shouldn’t stay here, but I needed a place to think, a place where I could be alone until I worked out a few things.”

There was definitely fear in her words. “How did you find out about this place?” Of course, her mother had been the one to tell her, but how had it come about? Or rather, what sordid tales had Gloria told to make herself the victim?

A faint pink crept up Elissa’s neck, landed on her cheeks, splattered to a brilliant fuchsia. “Mrs. Blacksworth told me,” she murmured. “She said Mr. Blacksworth used to come here to get away from everything, to rest and relax.” Her gaze darted to her hands, settled on the edge of the couch. “At least that’s what Mrs. Blacksworth believed.”