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Chapters (82)
  1. Cover
  2. ALSO BY JAMIE BRENNER
  3. PART ONE
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. PART TWO
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. 55
  60. 56
  61. 57
  62. 58
  63. PART THREE
  64. 59
  65. 60
  66. 61
  67. 62
  68. 63
  69. 64
  70. 65
  71. 66
  72. 67
  73. 68
  74. 69
  75. 70
  76. 71
  77. 72
  78. 73
  79. 74
  80. Acknowledgments
  81. About the Author
  82. What’s next onyour reading list?

“No, Connor. I’m serious. I know that house isn’t for sale.”

“Oh?” He looked genuinely surprised.

“Yeah. My aunt’s friend owns it. She said it’s not for sale.”

Connor’s expression clouded. “Well, that pisses me off,” he said. “My broker must be stringing me along. You know what? I bet he’s keeping me on the line and is going to try to switch me over to another property. Thanks for letting me know.” Connor kissed the top of her head and took her by the hand, leading her toward the front door.

“One more thing,” she said. “I’m going to New York next week. So I guess I’ll just touch base when I’m back in town.”

Connor glanced between her and the front door, maybe checking for his client.

“Come over for dinner Friday night? I don’t want to wait until you’re back from New York to see you.”

“Okay,” she said, still feeling like something was off.

An older woman walked in, expensively dressed, extremely thin with silvery blond hair in a knot at the back of her neck. She looked to be in her sixties—it was hard to tell with wealthy women who did tons of skin maintenance. Sometimes they overdid it and actually looked older than their age. She also wore serious jewelry: a large pearl necklace, a gold coin pendant, and a ruby ring that had to be at least five carats.

This made her think, horribly, about who might be wearing the Electric Rose.

“My client,” he said quietly. “Gotta go—but we’re on for Friday night.”

He didn’t kiss her goodbye. He was essentially shoving her out the door, but she tried not to feel rebuffed. He’d explained the house issue. He’d invited her for dinner.

No need to look for trouble.

56

Napi’s Restaurant was a Provincetown institution. It had a clubby, secret hideaway sort of feel nestled on Freeman Street. But with one quick turn off Commercial, you couldn’t miss it, thanks to a sign strung with Christmas lights and featuring a giant red arrow pointing to the front door.

The dinner was Elodie’s idea.

“I want to thank you for the accommodations,” she’d said.

Celeste picked the restaurant. The dining room had a beamed wood ceiling, brick walls, and a long bar framed by panels of stained glass and decorated with more Christmas lights. The walls were filled with hundreds of paintings collected by the restaurant’s owner, eighty-eight-year-old Napi Van Dereck.

“Interesting art,” she said.

“All by locals.”

That was the end of the conversation for several awkward minutes until the menus arrived. Celeste knew it by heart but focused her eyes on it like she was reading a novel.

“What are you having?” Elodie said.