Victoria’s father had told me that he knew why tonight’s party was being thrown. Did that mean that he knew Victoria was looking for the baby, or that he knew Ana was going to be here?

More importantly, how did he intend to respond?

Beside me, it took my grandmother a moment to recover her poise but not more than that. “At least she doesn’t have that man with her.”

There was little question in my mind that that man was meant to be translated to that bastard. All things considered, it was a good thing that, this time, J.D. had decided to stay away.

Across the open floor plan, Victoria began weaving her way through the crowd to greet Ana. A petite woman with dark hair and a figure only partially camouflaged by her A-line dress joined them at the bottom of the stairs. I recognized her from the Arcadia fund-raiser.

That’s Victoria’s mother. And that’s Ana, talking to Victoria and Victoria’s mother.

I didn’t realize I was walking toward them until I felt Lillian’s fingers digging into my arms.

“Don’t you dare, Sawyer Ann,” she said, her for-show smile back in place. “I put in an appearance tonight because your aunt asked me to. Public appearances matter. The situation needed smoothing over. You going over there?”

“Not smooth?” I suggested. “Or discreet?”

I restrained myself from pointing out that Lillian attending a Gutierrez party hardly seemed like enough of a statement to quell gossip about the affair.

“I was told that certain parties would not be in attendance,” my grandmother continued. She refused to give a single outward sign that she’d taken any note of Ana or the way that Victoria and her mother were leading her through the crowd.

If Victoria can get her father to talk to Ana, Ana might talk to us. I watched Victoria’s mother place a kiss on her husband’s cheek and pull him from someone who might have been a business contact, an acquaintance, or a friend.

“Far be it from me to suggest that you’re staring,” Lillian told me. “But . . .”

But Victor Gutierrez just saw Ana. She said something to him. He’s staring at her now. He’s taking a step forward. He’s smiling.

This was going surprisingly well—right up until the moment when Victoria’s eighty-something-year-old father placed a loving hand on Ana’s cheek and keeled over.

Dead.

LABOR DAY, 3:45

“Sawyer? Sadie-Grace? Are you guys out there? Can anyone hear me?”

“Oh my God… Campbell, over here!”

“Sawyer?”

“Watch out for the hole.”

“What… why are you in a hole? And where’s Sadie-Grace?”

“I told her to run. She ran.”

“From what?”

“Not from what, Campbell. From whom.”

THREE DAYS EARLIER

CHAPTER 48

“Still no word from the almighty Victoria?” Campbell readjusted her position on our dock, stretching out in the sun. “Or the White Gloves?”