“’Course you don’t,” the woman said. “I’m Doreen Denton, his dirty little secret.”

Now a few customers looked over. Natalie had no idea what to do. “Ma’am—”

“Hey, Doreen.” A young woman with a cell phone came into the shop. She looked vaguely familiar.

At first Natalie couldn’t place her. Then she realized it was Emily, one of Trevor’s assistants.

“Glad I found you,” Emily said to the woman. “We need to get going, okay?”

“I ain’t going nowhere with you, missy.” Doreen gave a disdainful sniff. “I got a few things to say about that boy o’ mine.”

Emily pressed her lips together. Natalie murmured, “I think she’s talking about Trevor.”

“I know. It’s complicated …”

“You mean …”

Emily nodded, then turned again to Doreen. “Can we go now?”

“That’s right, sweep me under the rug.”

The tension strained the very air in the room. A moment later, Trevor strode into the bookstore, phone in hand.

“Oh, look, everybody, Mr. Big Shot has arrived.” Doreen waved her hand at him.

A couple of the customers edged closer.

Trevor’s face was stiff and pale. “There’s a car waiting outside,” he said. “Come on, I’ll help you out.”

Doreen sneered at him, but somehow, he and Emily managed to escort her to the street. Doreen kept up a strange rant, laced with profanity, as she got into a shiny town car.

Natalie looked at Bertie and Cleo. “Oh boy.” She grabbed her bag. “I’ll fill you in later.”

“Mandatory,” Cleo said, shooing her toward the door.

Outside, Natalie joined Trevor on the sidewalk. He was watching the black car drive away, his shoulders rigid, his face impassive.

“Hey.” She touched his arm, and his muscles felt like stone. “What’s going on?”

“She told you,” Trevor said. It wasn’t a question.

“I imagine there’s another side to the story.” A flip side.

He took a deep breath. “Let’s walk.”

They fell in step together through the bone-chilling fog. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said.

“I’m not sure what I saw.”

He turned up the collar of his charcoal-gray overcoat. “You saw my childhood,” he said. In the next block, he ducked into the foyer of a boutique hotel with a quiet lobby bar. He ordered two old-fashioneds and told the bartender to make his a double.

“We need to talk,” said Natalie.

Trevor gripped the edge of the table and looked across at her. She had never seen him unguarded before. She did now. He looked utterly bleak and defeated. “My mom’s a lot of things. But weirdly enough, she’s not a liar.” He took a deep swig of his drink.

“I’m listening,” Natalie said. “It’s okay, Trevor. Her name’s Doreen Denton?”