But Macy obviously remembered. Liz’s friend was wearing a long, creamy maxi dress and sandals. Her dark curls were loose and mussed in a style that was just enough bedhead to be sexy. It made Liz nostalgic for the days when beauty came so effortlessly. Messy ponytails and no need for makeup because their skin was silk itself. The long nights when the kids played Kick the Can around the cul-de-sac while the adults sipped wine spritzers and believed themselves to be kings and queens of their own little kingdom. How simple life had been back then.
Nothing felt simple anymore.
Liz grabbed a wide, handled tray and began stacking paper goods on it so she could easily transport everything outside. Napkins, thick plates, the small tags that she had printed in swirling text to set by each dish. She liked to know what she was eating and assumed everyone else did, too. “It doesn’t matter,” Liz said, picking up the thread of the conversation. “About the flag, I mean. Word of mouth is enough. And maybe an intimate, local party would be nicer than a big bash with strangers anyway. You look lovely, by the way.”
“Thank you!”
“Be right back,” Liz said, balancing the tray on one arm so she had a hand free to open the French doors that led to the patio. Out back, tables had been set at the four corners of the sweeping pergola. The wisteria that twined around the cedar beams had stopped blooming months ago, but the trumpet vine was dappled with flowers the color of ripe tangerines. Or maybe blood oranges; the heart of each cone-shaped flower looked as if it had been dipped in wine.
Liz worked on autopilot as she went around to each table, depositing some of the napkins and plates at every one. She intended to serve the way she always had: buffet-style. But instead of having all the food and drink in one place, she liked to offer different things at each corner of the patio. As people walked and talked and mingled they could try something unique at every location. The lawn was reserved for small circles of Adirondack chairs, two fire pits that she would ask some of the men to light later in the night, and the occasional pick-up game of bocce ball. Sometimes Liz regretted that they had never put in a pool, but the requisite fence would have impeded their view of the lake, which was gorgeous.
When her hands were empty, Liz stood for a minute at the edge of the brick walkway and tried to enjoy the lake spread out before her. It was a gem, a shimmering jewel cut into the earth, and it sparkled so bright she had to put up an arm to shield her eyes. There were boats on the water cutting white arrowheads in their wake, sometimes pulling a skier or wakeboarder but just as often not. Back in the day, Liz had skied herself, and well. She knew she made a pretty silhouette on the water, legs long and tanned in a slalom ski as she jumped the wake and leaned so low her fingertips trailed the water. It was like touching glass; the water was so smooth, so hard beneath her.
“Hello? Mrs. Sanford?”
Liz whipped around as if she had been caught doing something indecent. What time was it? It couldn’t be six, not yet, but there was a man walking toward her from the side of the house. Liz smoothed the skirt of her dress and flashed him a smile that she knew could dazzle, even at a distance. Even though it was forced.
“You’re early!” she said, but she had no idea who he was. Tall, dark, handsome. Late twenties, maybe early thirties. The kind of man who would have made her pulse flutter if she were a few years younger. Okay, several. “A quality I admire.”
They were close enough now for Liz to see that his grin was crooked and utterly disarming. “I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “But I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Liz’s smile flickered. “You’re not here for the party?”
“A party sounds incredible. Here?” He looked around and gave a low whistle. “You’ve got a great place.”
“Thank you.” Liz’s hand went to the nape of her neck, where she wound a stray hair around her index finger. It was a nervous habit and something she hadn’t done in a very long time. Jack Sr. used to take her hand in his own when he caught her doing it. He said that anxious tics were unbecoming. Which was true. But why was she on edge?
“I’m sorry,” the man said, obviously sensing her discomfort. “The lady who answered the door said you’d be back here. Clearly you’re expecting guests—just not me.”
“Everyone is invited,” Liz said. “You’re welcome to stay.”
“Thank you, but I don’t have much time. I’m actually looking for a friend of mine.”
“I’m not sure how I can be of any assistance.”
“It’s a long shot,” the man said, shrugging. “And a bit of a crazy story. You see, my fiancée is missing.”
Missing? What was that supposed to mean? She ran away? Was abducted? Got lost? Liz didn’t know what to say so she settled for “I’m so sorry.”
He stared at the ground for a moment, and when he looked up his eyes were filled with something that Liz couldn’t define. She didn’t know whether to hug him or take a step back from him. Either way, she was surprised when he said: “She’s a friend of your daughter Nora.”
“Nora doesn’t live here anymore,” Liz said carefully. “She hasn’t for years. How did you know where to find me? And what exactly do you think I can do for you?”
He shrugged, sheepish. “You’re listed in the Key Lake phone book. This is Nora’s hometown, her last name is Sanford, there are only two Sanfords: Jack Sr. and Jack Jr.” He ticked off each fact on his fingers, and though it made sense, it unsettled Liz that he had gone to such trouble. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come. I’m just”—he held out his hands, palms up—“desperate.”
“I suggest you get a hold of Nora.” Liz took an almost imperceptibly small step back. “I don’t keep track of her friends for her.”
“Of course not.” He shook his head as if chastising himself and then pressed his palms together and gave her a half-bow of sorts. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Sanford. I hope you have a lovely evening.”
“Thank you.”
He turned and began to walk away, and Liz realized for the first time that he was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. It was easily ninety degrees. She crossed her arms over her chest, disquieted, though she couldn’t put her finger on why. He never told her his name. That was part of it, though it was no use chasing after him now; he was almost gone.
But at the corner of the house he turned back. Called over the distance between them: “If you see Tiffany Barnes around, would you tell her that I’m looking for her?”
In spite of the heat, Liz’s blood turned to ice in her veins.
Not just because Nora and Tiffany hadn’t seen each other in years or because a strange man had just stood on her property and made her feel weak-kneed and queasy. What shook her to the core was that she had bumped into Tiffany only hours ago. For the first time in almost seven years. Coincidence? And when she had seen the girl her daughter had once considered her best friend, there was really only one word that could summarize the look in her eyes: hunted.
Friday
7:03 p.m.
Liz
You have to come tonight.
Quinn
You’re kidding, right? I can’t leave Lucy.
Liz
This is about Lucy. Leave her with Walker.
Quinn
I don’t think that’s such a good idea.
Liz
Half an hour. That’s all I’m asking.
Bennet will be here.
QUINN
LUCY WAS NOT IMPRESSED by Quinn’s announcement that she was going out.