Marriage. Why get married when you lied and screwed around and manipulated? Max had no desire to get married. There was a blind trust involved that made her nervous. Not to mention she liked her freedom, independence, and opinions. Who was she supposed to marry, anyway? Marco? Certainly, the sex was amazing and she loved their heated arguments, but they drove each other crazy and he hated her career. Was she supposed to give up her career for him? For any man?
Or should she consider Andy, her first love, her first lover, whom she could no longer trust? They both knew it was over thirteen years ago, after Lindy was murdered, even if they pretended when they saw each other that the feelings were still there. Or maybe one of her occasional lovers who never seemed to rise to her expectations? Maybe her expectations were high, but why settle when settling would make her miserable? She wasn’t unhappy being single.
Max pulled down the long, circular driveway to the front entrance of the Ameses’ house. She stopped and got out. The house hadn’t changed over the years. It was a two-story contemporary style that looked smaller on the outside than it was inside. Trees blended in with the home to make it almost appear to be a tree house. It was one of the nicest and largest parcels of land in a town that had primarily one-and two-acre lots. As kids, Max and Lindy had enjoyed exploring the grounds, most of which were landscaped with hidden nooks, pathways, and retreats. Lindy’s three-story playhouse that had its own heat, air and electricity with a minikitchen and reading nook. Once it had been filled with little girl things, but as a teenager it had been Lindy’s refuge.
Max was probably one of the few people who understood Lindy’s need to escape her family, even within the bounds of a nine-thousand-square-foot house.
The Ames family had once owned 10 percent of Atherton. They’d sold some land and gifted other plots, including a hundred acres that made up the grounds for Atherton Prep, which adjoined the Ames property on the east.
Max rang the bell and waited for someone to answer.
Kimberly Ames had aged well, Max noted, when Lindy’s mother opened the door. Immediately, Mrs. Ames recognized Max.
“What are you doing here, Maxine?”
Her voice was as cold as her expression. Max wasn’t surprised.
“I’d like to speak with Gerald, please.”
Thirteen years ago, Max would never have called Mr. Ames “Gerald.” She’d always addressed her elders properly unless she deliberately wanted to get under their skin; it was the way her grandmother had raised her—both tactics, of knowing how to be polite and how to manipulate. Eleanor Revere was the queen of manipulation.
“I’m certain he will not see you.”
“Please tell him I’m here.”
Mrs. Ames hesitated, realizing that she’d already slipped and let on that he was in the house.
“I’ll wait,” Max said.
Mrs. Ames recovered and held her head up, her haughty chin out. It had a sharp enough point to cause serious damage. “No, you will not. Neither of us want you here. You take pleasure in people’s pain and suffering. You nearly ruined my marriage, you turned your back on your best friend, and you defended my daughter’s killer. Leave. Now.”
Max battled her natural inclination to verbally lash out at the woman who twisted the truth. She probably believed every word she said.
But Max wasn’t here to rehash ancient history, she needed to know whether Gerald Ames had called her hotel.
“I received a message at my hotel from someone claiming to be speaking for Gerald. I think he should know about that.”
A cloud crossed her face. Had she asked someone to leave the message? Disguised her voice to sound masculine? Maybe Gerald knew nothing about it.
“Just tell him I’m here,” Max said, “if he doesn’t want to talk to me, I’ll simply make a note that he has no comment. Maybe you do?”
“You have audacity to show up here after everything, Maxine.”
Max couldn’t let Lindy’s mother get to her. She stood still, kept her mouth closed.
Mrs. Ames closed the door without further comment and Max stood, waiting. Was Kimberly talking to Gerald? Trying to decide what to tell her? Whether to talk to her? Trying to figure out what she wanted?
Several minutes passed and Max grew annoyed. She rang the bell again, but no one came to the door. She became even more irritated when an Atherton police department car turned down the drive and parked behind Max’s rental.
Kimberly Ames had called the cops.
Two uniformed officers, one male and one female, exited the patrol car. The male officer started up the stairs. “Ma’am, if you could please come off the porch.”
“I’m waiting for Gerald Ames. Kimberly said she would tell him I was here.” She hadn’t. It was implied.
This comment seemed to surprise the officer, but he still asked her to step off the porch.
Max obliged. This wasn’t the time to pick a battle with the police.
The female officer, D. Sherman per her nameplate, said, “We had a complaint of trespassing and harassment.”
“Officer Sherman, I can assure you that I was neither trespassing nor harassing anyone.”
“You’re on the Ames property even though you were asked to leave,” Sherman said.
The male officer, G. Grant, said, “Identification, please.”
Max pulled her wallet from her purse and flipped it open to show her New York State driver’s license as well as her press credentials. She didn’t say anything.
“Please remove the license from the wallet.”
Max complied, suddenly realizing that the two cops were named Sherman and Grant. She let out a short laugh, but didn’t comment.
Grant took her license and walked back to his vehicle. He got on the radio.
Max stared at Sherman. She didn’t find the need to make small talk or explain herself. They asked, Max told them she wasn’t trespassing, and that should be the end.
Except this was Atherton, and rules were oddly enforced.
Sherman seemed uncomfortable with the silence, and said, “You’re a long way from New York.”
No shit.
“Three thousand miles, take or leave.”
The cop realized that Max was ridiculing her and she reddened. “Why are you here?”
“In California, or here?” She pointed to the ground.