Not much had changed in the small, wealthy town of Atherton since Max’s mother left her to live with her grandparents twenty-one years ago. The same beautiful landscape hid the same dark secrets. Lies streamed from subdued mansions set back from the meandering, tree-lined streets. There were few nouveau riche monstrosities because the town council wouldn’t stand for it, but the few that existed were beacons to longtime residents, signaling the crassness of money in the wrong hands.
The truly wealthy, those with old money and old secrets, didn’t flaunt their riches. They often lived frugally, within strict though ample budgets, spending primarily to grow their wealth. They kept their ostentatious afflictions hidden behind closed doors.
Max quickly drove through Atherton, surprised at conflicting feelings of nostalgia and regret. Even though she’d been nine when she moved here, Atherton was the only place she truly considered home. Yet she’d never live here again.
She’d deal with her past later. The travel delays put Max behind schedule, so she hurried through Atherton to the adjoining city of Menlo Park. Kevin’s sister Jodi worked part time at an independent bookstore. Max had spent many hours in Kepler’s as a teenager, a reprieve from her family. As a young adult, Max never considered that one day she would write a book that graced the shelves of her favorite bookstore. She’d planned on being a travel writer, photographing hidden treasures around the globe, writing stories about interesting cultures and people and events. Interviewing locals and tourists to find out what made each destination so special. Searching, perhaps, for a place she wanted to adopt because her current home never fit the meaning behind the label.
But life has plans, her mother told her three months before she walked out on Max. As if life itself was capable of independent thought.
Life has plans, Maxine. Sometimes they’re not what we want, but we don’t always have control.
Max never believed her mother until her best friend disappeared during their last spring break of college and Max spent a year of her life searching for answers. Though she consciously made the decision to change her career path, she wondered if her vivacious, irresponsible mother was wiser than she’d given her credit for.
Max entered the bookstore and breathed in the wonderful aroma of new books. Though she had an e-reader, she used it primarily when traveling. Her Manhattan apartment was filled with books she’d be hard-pressed to part with.
She passed a display of books written by local authors, amused to find her own four true crime titles displayed in the middle row. But even more bemusing were the stacks of an investment book that filled the top row—written by Andrew S. Talbot, IV.
Andy certainly didn’t need to write a book to supplement his wealth, but he knew more about money and investing than anyone she knew. Considering her grandfather had owned a bank and her uncle had founded one of the top dot-com companies and sold it at the height of the dot-com boom, she knew many smart money people.
She picked up the book and read the inside cover.
“Max?”
She looked up and saw Jodi O’Neal, Kevin’s sister. She only recognized her from a photo on the Internet; the last time she’d seen Jodi, the girl had been six. Now she was nineteen—the same age Max had been when she left Atherton. What Max hadn’t seen in the photo was that Jodi had Kevin’s big brown eyes, the kind of eyes that shout honesty.
“Hello, Jodi. I’m sorry I’m late. My flight was delayed.”
Tears brimmed in Jodi’s eyes. The girl took Max’s hand and squeezed. “Thank you so much. I wasn’t positive you’d come, I know you and Kevin had problems.”
“I haven’t spoken to Kevin in twelve years. I came because you asked.”
Jodi bit her lip. “I waited to take my break until you got here. Do you have time for the café? Coffee?”
“I have as much time as you need.”
They walked next door and took a table outside. Atherton was thirty minutes south of San Francisco, and it was always warmer here than in the city. Max took off her blazer and hung it over the back of her chair. A well-established oak tree in the middle of the courtyard provided filtered light on their table. It looked exactly the same the last time Max had been here, when her cousin Thea married Duncan Talbot the second, Andy’s cousin, two years ago. She’d flown in the day before the wedding, and was on a plane back to New York the morning after.
Jodi chatted aimlessly about working at the bookstore while going to college at the California College of the Arts. She took the train to the city three days a week for classes.
Max hadn’t come home just because Jodi asked. It was the way she’d asked her. As much what she’d said as what she didn’t say.
She’d said she didn’t believe that Kevin committed suicide, but she didn’t tell Max why she didn’t believe the police report.
After the waitress brought them coffee and cake, Max said, “I read everything you sent me. There’s nothing in the newspaper or initial police report that indicated Kevin was murdered.”
Jodi cringed at the word, or maybe it was Max’s blunt statement. She needed a lighter touch. She’d just come off an investigation where being direct was expected and, in fact, necessary to find answers. Jodi was a survivor, one of the walking wounded in a family that was facing the unexpected death of a loved one.