siding and classic black shutters enveloped the two-story home that reigned amid a backdrop of mature oak and maple trees and meticulously maintained shrubbery. Long, sturdy columns stood as sentinels guarding the welcoming entrance.
After shifting into Park, Lacy turned off the ignition. For a while she simply sat there and stared up at one long window on the far right of the second floor. The master bedroom. She swallowed. The image of Charles lying naked in that ivory porcelain tub with a small, round bullet hole in the middle of his chest and another higher on his shoulder loomed large before her eyes. Then her mind fast-forwarded to the glint of moonlight on his silver Mercedes as it slipped into the murky depths of the natural lake that bordered a good portion of the town.
Lacy blinked away the horrible images. Remembered hysteria climbed into her throat just as it had done that cold, dark night ten years ago. Disbelief, fear, desperation all twisted inside her the same way it had then.
What had they done?
She clenched her jaw and reminded herself of what was really important now. They had to protect Melinda, and one another. The bastard had deserved to die. Lacy refused to acknowledge the little voice that always, always nagged at her battered conscience. She would not regret what she could not change. The world was a better place without Charles Ashland. For ten long years he had been a missing person whom no one missed at all, save for his parents, who were blind to his evil ways as parents will be with their own flesh and blood.
But now he was back and poised to destroy the lives of everyone involved. Everything Lacy had worked for, all she had hoped and dreamed of was about to go down the toilet. Self-preservation nudged at her waning determination to no avail. No matter how she justified their actions, the bottom line still hammered away at her self-rationalized defense—murder was wrong regardless of how much the victim deserved to die.
How had she fooled herself into pretending that what they had done was somehow right? Nausea roiled in her stomach. How in God’s name had she allowed this to happen? Everything had spun out of control so quickly. There had been no time to think, only to react. Now the past, their desperate act, had caught up with them. The secret they had watched disappear beneath the glassy black surface of the water that long-ago night, was now fully exhumed in the bright, unforgiving light of day.
Charles Ashland, Junior, was dead.
The intricately detailed wood-paneled entrance to the Ashland home suddenly opened and Lacy got her first glimpse of Melinda’s pale and drawn face. That picture slammed into Lacy with such force that she jerked with the momentum of it.
Melinda needed her.
The thought shored up her crumbling resolve, solidified her emotions. Melinda and the children had to be top priority now. Her movements deliberate and sure, Lacy opened the car door and got out. Without taking her eyes off Melinda, she walked up the sidewalk and steps and straight to her friend. Fear glittered in Melinda’s wide hazel eyes. The red, swollen rings around them told Lacy that she had cried all day. Her lips were set in a thin, grim line, bracketed by furrows of fatigue. Just like always, her long blond hair was pulled back into a clasp at her nape. And, just like always, Lacy wanted more than anything to protect her.
“What are we going to do?” Melinda murmured, then trembled.
Lacy pulled Melinda into her arms and held her tight for one long moment without answering. She closed her eyes and wished things had turned out differently. Lacy called to mind the happy little girls they used to be. She envisioned the jump rope swinging high over their heads, pigtails flying, laughter echoing. They had been friends forever. Nothing could change who they were…or what they had done.
“We’ll do whatever we have to,” Lacy whispered roughly. Tears burned behind her clenched lids as she held her friend closer to her heart. This was way bigger than the four of them—children were involved. Innocent children. How could fate be so very cruel as to resurrect this evil into their lives? She held on to Melinda and tried not to consider the answer to her own question.
Lacy took a deep, calming breath as she drew back. “Where are the kids?”
Melinda brushed at the tears sliding down her cheeks. “Chuckie’s away at school. Summer session just started. I went first thing this morning to talk to him. He doesn’t…” She cleared her throat. “He doesn’t want to come home while this is going on…he…” Renewed tears filled her eyes. “He doesn’t even want to talk about it. Chelsea…she’s with the Ashlands.” She shook her head slowly from side to side. “She adores them, you know. They picked her up early this afternoon in case I had to go to—” she swallowed back a sob “—the chief of police’s office when I got back from visiting Chuckie. They don’t want him to come home, either. I think maybe they’ve spoken to him about that already.” She shrugged and lowered her head in defeat. “They don’t tell me anything.”
Lacy gritted her teeth to hold back the retort she wanted to make. She had forgotten the Ashlands’ insistence that Chuckie be enrolled in the same private military academy his father had attended until his high school years. It hadn’t mattered what Melinda wanted. Fortunately this should be Chuckie’s final year away. Charles had started high school with Lacy and the others his sophomore year. His son, apparently, would do the same. And, of course, the Ashlands thought Chelsea was better off with them, too. Melinda was too common, too weak…too unlike them. But she was the mother of their grandchildren, so they tolerated her. Barely.
“What do you think?” Lacy said instead of the litany of comments she wanted to make about snobbery, arrogance, and self-centeredness.
Melinda shook her head. “I don’t know what I think.” Her gaze connected with Lacy’s. “Maybe they’re right. Lord knows I can’t think straight right now. I’m scared.”
Lacy took Melinda’s hands in hers and squeezed. “Cassidy and Kira will be here soon. We’ll take care of this.” She displayed a confident smile that she in no way felt. “Somehow,” she added with feigned reassurance.
Melinda winced. “I’m sorry.” She stepped back from the doorway. “Come in. I know you’re exhausted from the long drive. I wasn’t thinking.”
And how could she? Lacy defended. Melinda’s whole life was unraveling around her. Charles, the bastard, was reaching out from the grave and tormenting her and her children once more. Lacy stepped into the foyer and waited as Melinda closed the door behind her. Lacy took that moment to scan the house into which she would just as soon not set foot ever again. But she had no choice.
The elegantly curved staircase hugged one wall of the two-story entry hall, then flowed onto the upstairs landing. Its sleek oak banister gleamed beneath the sunlight that dappled in from the second-story windows. Conservative, linen-colored walls and rich, ornate trim work defined the generous space that was both inviting and pretentious—the mark of an Ashland family home. From what Lacy could see, Melinda hadn’t changed much about the place. Lacy knew money wasn’t a problem. Hell, she couldn’t imagine what had kept her in this house, period. Lacy would have moved long before now. She supposed it had something to do with the children. Maybe Melinda didn’t want to take them from the only home they had ever known.
“Would you like tea or…something?” Melinda offered hesitantly, interrupting Lacy’s intense reverie.
She blinked. “Maybe later.” Smiling, she looped her arm around Melinda’s to guide her toward the family room. “Let’s just sit and chat until the others arrive.”
Melinda paused, halting their forward movement. “About the investigation?” Renewed fear and a dozen other emotions that Lacy
