It clicked. “You know about the parking ticket.”
Eleanor didn’t acknowledge her statement. “I said leave it, Maxine.”
“No.”
“It’s your immature, misplaced arrogance that brought you here,” Brooks said “You have a psychopathic need to scratch at old wounds. To prove you are better than others? To embarrass and mock your friends and family?”
“Brooks,” Eleanor began, but he was on a roll.
“You’re just like my sister,” he continued, “selfish to your core. You don’t care about the family name, who we are, what we stand for in this community!”
“The only thing I despise about my name,” Max said through clenched teeth, “is that I share it with you.”
“Enough,” Eleanor said. “Please.”
“I’m sorry, Grandmother,” she said.
“I can’t let you tear apart our family.”
“Clearly”—Max finished her wine—“I should leave.”
“Go back to New York,” Brooks said.
“Kevin O’Neal killed himself because his life was destroyed after being accused of murder. After thirteen years he still couldn’t exonerate himself. He didn’t kill Lindy. I’m not leaving until I find out who did.”
Eleanor’s hand was shaking. What did she know? Who was she protecting?
William?
Max’s chest tightened. Could she do this if her own cousin, her friend, was guilty? Could she put her faith in William that he hadn’t killed Lindy, the same faith she’d put in Kevin’s innocence?
Why was he at Lindy’s house the night she was killed?
Max put her wineglass on the bar and walked out. She heard the boys laughing down the hall and yearned to be that carefree again, to roll on the floor with puppies. She passed the kitchen, where William and Caitlin were talking quietly, their heads close together. Max glanced at them, wanted to force William to tell her the truth about that night. She wanted to believe anything he told her, but knew that she’d have to prove it. He’d been lying for too long.
She walked out of the house without saying anything.
“Maxine?”
She almost ran into Archer Sterling, her grandmother’s brother. “Uncle Archer!” She gave him a hug, surprised. “I didn’t expect you.”
“You’re not leaving so soon?”
“I—it’s not a good night,” she said lamely. Archer was eighty-one, and though like Eleanor he looked and acted younger, she didn’t want to trouble him with the drama with Brooks. “How’s Aunt Delia?”
“She wanted to come, but since her hip surgery, mobility is difficult. I hope you’ll come to the house and see us before you return to New York.”
“I’d like that. Thank you.” She squeezed his hands. “I heard about the Sterling Pierce Sports Center. It’s wonderful what you and Jasper Pierce put together.”
“I wish I could take credit, but it was Jasper’s idea. He and Jackson graduated together, I’ve known him since he was a boy. He had the vision for the project, he needed matching funds. I was glad to do it.”
“I’d like to talk to Jasper about the project. Do you have his contact information?”
Archer pulled out his BlackBerry and pressed a few buttons. “Hmm, my eyesight is fading. Can you read this?”
She took the phone and copied down Jasper’s private cell phone and address. “Thank you,” she said, and handed the phone back to Archer. “Give Delia my love, please.”
“You certain you can’t stay?”
She smiled but shook her head. She waved good-bye, and walked out to her car.
Max had just turned the ignition when William tapped on her window. She rolled it down.
“Uncle Archer wants me to convince you to stay. What did you say to him?”
“Nothing. He doesn’t need to know what an ass your father is.”
“Maxine.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Jet lag.”
“Max, what’s going on?”
She looked up at him through the open window. “I want the truth. Now.”
He glanced at the house, then back at her. “Don’t do this.”
She didn’t say anything.
“Look, it was a long time ago.”
“Did you kill Lindy?”
He blanched. “No! God, no.”
There was something in his face that made Max believe him, but she didn’t know if she could trust her instincts when she had been so close to him growing up. She truly liked her cousin, warts and all, and maybe their history was clouding her judgment.
She turned off the car. “Why did you lie about being at Lindy’s the night she was killed?”
“I didn’t lie. I was never asked.”
“Excuse me?”
“Until you brought it up today, I didn’t think anyone knew I was there. The police didn’t ask me, no one did.”
“But you talked to them.”
“I didn’t kill her. Why would I tell them about seeing her that night and put myself on the hot seat?”
“Because it’s evidence. Maybe you saw or heard something—”
“I’ll tell you the truth, but it has to remain between us.”
Max didn’t want to agree, but the reporter in her couldn’t help it—she had to know the truth.
“Agreed, unless you lie to me.”
He shifted uncomfortably, then squatted next to her car so he could lower his voice. “Lindy and I were sleeping together.”
Suddenly, everything made sense. Lindy being so secretive. Picking fights. Not wanting to spend time with her. Lindy knew Max would have been furious, at both of them. Not because she would have cared that they were dating, but because they’d both publicly been dating other people. The dishonesty of the situation would have angered Max more than anything, and she’d have had a hard time keeping her mouth shut.
“How long?”
“On and off—about a year.”
A year. During the time Lindy was with Kevin.
“It just kind of happened.”