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  Millie smirked. “Oh, she shares her stuff. It’s really intense.”

  “She shares her writing, but wouldn’t that reveal personal things about herself?”

  “Oh, gosh, I hope not.” Millie said abruptly.

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Some of it is hard to listen to. I mean, it’s all well written, but some of the things she shares are pretty disconnected and difficult to understand.”

  Confused, Nancy tilted her head. “Huh?”

  “Um, it’s like Picasso, only in prose—very deep, and full of meaning, most of which is too much for me to get.” She shrugged. “But that’s only her poetry, her books are pretty cool.”

  “She writes books?”

  “Well, a book—she’s been working on it for years.”

  She followed Millie into the adjoining room and glanced around. It was a big, cozy room with several overstuffed chairs and loungers. Part of the ceiling was open to the night air giving the room a surreal ambiance.

  Swallowing, she looked around. No one seemed to notice her, except for Wendy, the woman who had picked her up at Circle K. She smiled and came over to them.

  “Hi, Nancy. Hey, I haven’t seen you around. Are you keeping to your cabin?”

  “I, um,” Nancy stuttered.

  Millie cut in. “She’s been with me.”

  Wendy grinned. “Fabulous.” She turned to Nancy. “Millie will take good care of you.” With a fleeting smile, she swept past them, and joined another group of women who appeared deep in conversation.

  Millie made a face. “She does that—flits from person to person. You hardly get a word in edgewise before she moves on, but I like her.” She grabbed the arm of a woman passing by them and pulled her over. “This is Gabby. She’s one of the writers.”

  “Oh,” Nancy said. “What do you write?”

  Gabby grinned. “Women’s issues,” she said. “Y’know, things we need to be talking about, but hardly ever do, because everyone has an issue, and no one wants to admit it.”

  The hair pricked on the back of Nancy’s neck. “Oh.”

  “Like depression,” Gabby said, in a somber voice. “No one talks about it. Y’know?”

  And there’s a reason why, thought Nancy. It was way too personal. She’d be polite, say a few words, and then flee back to the safety of her cabin.

  Gabby seemed to sense her uneasiness. Her eyes softened. “If we don’t address depression, it festers, and before we know it, it hurts us worse than what was depressing us.”

  Nancy froze. Nothing could hurt more than what she went through. She glanced sideways at the door leading outside of the lodge.

  “Seriously.” Gabby touched her arm. “Whatever caused the depression is over.” She pulled away, seeming to sense she had overstepped her boundaries. “Hopefully,” she added cautiously. A sigh escaped her throat. “What remains is only the aftermath, and if it’s left unresolved in our minds, the thing that caused it keeps happening to us, over and over again. It eats away at everything that we could become.”

  Okay, that was too much. Nancy glanced around. “Is there a bathroom?” She’d slip away unnoticed, once she got away from Gabby. Millie pointed it out. “Excuse me,” she said, and rushed toward it.

  Locking the bathroom door behind her, she leaned against it, fighting the sob caught in her throat. Gabby was right. Gabby was so right. She didn’t want to face any of the horror she went through. She couldn’t even think about her real marriage to Malcolm, because her thoughts had no other way to go but to his murderer. She clung to the upcoming execution of the man who had done it—Merrick Snyder—perhaps then, she could have some peace.

  Trembling, she opened the door, and stepped back into the world. She groaned inwardly. Gabby and Millie were standing nearby. It was obvious they had been waiting for her, though their necks craned toward the entrance of the lodge. Nancy followed their eyes to the front door.

  Sofia stood there. Dressed in a bright red dress, with a flower stuck in her wild hair, she looked more like she was going out on the town than to just an evening meal at a cozy lodge. The room went quiet. The women stepped aside and made a path. No one spoke, until Sofia moved past them, and went into the next room.

  It was strange. Now more curious than anxious to leave, Nancy whispered, “What just happened?”

  Millie appeared to be at a loss for words. “I don’t know. She’s never, I mean never come to dinner before.”

  From what must have been the kitchen, a clanking sounded, like an old cow bell.

  “Time to eat,” Gabby said. She, too, had a stunned look on her face, as she guided Nancy and Millie toward the next room.

  Twenty-Two

  Sofia

  Nancy looked around the room. Most of the women seemed to veer away from Sofia, but a few joined her at her table. Wendy was already in an animated conversation with her.

  “Now, Sofia, you know as well as I do that I cannot do that.”

  Sofia spewed a few words off in her native tongue, which Wendy readily returned.

  Millie leaned into Nancy and whispered. “She is the only one brave enough to talk to Sofia like that.”

  “I’m not going to have her move to another cabin, Sofi,” Wendy said. She glanced their way, and then she turned back at Sofia. “Tienes que superar esto,” she said, her voice tight and forceful.

  “Uh-oh,” said Millie. “That can’t be good.”

  “¡No la quiero allí. ¡No quiero a nadie en la cabina azul.” She slapped her hands down on the table.

  Nancy’s Spanish was rusty, but she got it. Sofia was upset that the blue cabin had a guest. Her. Really? She moved quickly to Sofia’s side. “I’m okay with moving. Er, yo,” she said, searching for the words. She pointed to herself. “Yo . . . bueno . . . vete . . .”

  Wendy blinked. Sofia pulled her head back and stared up at Nancy. A tiny smile played at her lips and then she burst out laughing. Wendy rolled her eyes. “You just told her, I good, you leave. It’s a good thing you said it in English first.”

  “Yes, very good,” said Sofia with a grin. “Sit.” She patted the chair beside her.

  Nancy glanced at Millie, who looked a bit stunned. She grabbed Millie’s arm and pulled her into the chair beside her, as she obeyed Sofia’s command and sat down.

  Sofia leaned forward and looked around Nancy. “Hello, Millie.”

  “Uh, hi, Sofia,” Millie mumbled in return. “Hi, Wendy,” she added, when Wendy gave her a wave. “Um, this is my friend, Nancy.”

  Sofia’s piercing eyes searched her face. “You are new here?” It was as if her eyes bore into Nancy’s soul. “Why are you here?” The smile was gone and her eyes hardened.

  At first, Nancy was shocked at her rudeness, and then irate. She belonged at Lac Caché de la Beauté, just as much as Sofia did. Anger swirled within her, and the words spilled out before she could stop them. “My husband was murdered by his twin brother—a twin, he didn’t even know he had. He . . . he . . .” She stood and gripped the undersides of the table, her fingernails digging into its wood. “He took his brother’s identity and then hid me away in a cave under the house.”

  Now it was her turn to slap the table, and then she walked out of the lodge, deeply regretting her foolish move. She’d have to leave Lac Caché de la Beauté now, and she couldn’t leave quick enough.

  She was a good distance down the road, before Millie caught up to her.

  “Stop! Wait for me, Nancy!” She grabbed her arm and spun her around. “That was horrible.”

  “What?” Nancy said, surprised by Millie’s reaction. “That I couldn’t express myself? You wanted to know, didn’t you? Everyone wants to know.”

  Millie gave her a blank stare. “Half the women in that room were brutally abused by their husbands or boyfriends. You’re not alone, that’s all I meant.”

  “I . . . I . . .” Dang. She was right again. “I’m such an idiot.”

  “Yes, you are,” Sofia said, coming up behi
nd them. Apparently more than Millie had followed Nancy in her botched escape. “But, I have my moments, too.”

  “Yep,” Wendy said, who trailed behind Sofia. “We all do.”

  “Moments of idiocy come and go,” Sofia said, “but a true idiot . . . quits.”

  And this coming from a self-proclaimed recluse, of sorts. But, it was as if she’d read Nancy’s mind—and now challenged it. Nancy’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you here?”

  Sofia chuckled. “Ah, touché.”

  Wendy took her by the arm in a protective manner. “Come along, Sofi.”

  “No,” Sofia said, “it is only fair.” She waved Millie and Wendy away. She weaved her arm through Nancy’s and took off at a slow stroll toward the cabins. After the women were out of earshot, she pulled her arm down and turned to Nancy. “My situation cannot compare to yours and would seem almost foolish.”

  Still reeling from her embarrassing outburst, Nancy didn’t say anything. What could she say? Um, let me be the judge of that, was too cruel—justified, but nonetheless, cruel. “Go on,” she said, her arms folded tight across her chest.

  “I am an heiress,” Sofia said in a cautious voice.

  Seriously? An heiress was a problem? So, she came from money.

  “I am a wife and a mother.”

  Money. Husband. Child. Still, no problem. “And?”

  “None of which I can enjoy.”

  That piqued Nancy’s interest.

  Sofia continued. “I may not have been locked in a cave by a human beast, but I am kept away from my child and a normal relationship with my husband by an inner beast.”

  Oh.

  “Idiocy . . . comes and goes,” she said, her voice trailing to nothing. “There are moments my mind is sharp and focused.” She pressed her lips together. “And there are times I wake up and have no idea where I’ve been, or what I’ve done.” She moaned. “Fortunately, that happens infrequently.”

  “That’s why you here?”

  “Oh, no,” she laughed. “I have another place I go for that.” Her eyes brightened. “I come here to write.”

  “Yes, I can see why,” Nancy said, glancing at the darkening sky settling over the gentle ripples in the lake, like a warm blanket over a weary child. “It’s a perfect place to write.” They had arrived at the blue cabin. “Um, I can . . .”

  Sofia sighed. “You can stay. It would honor her memory.” She pointed to the cabin. “Ashleigh was the closest thing to a sister that I ever had. We grew up together in Europe.” A sudden sadness covered her face, as is she saw her friend standing at the door.

  “Would you like to come in?”

  Sofia snapped her head back. “No.”

  Nancy pressed her lips together. “Of course not. Sorry.”

  Sofia got a faraway look. “No, of course not,” she repeated, as she turned to walk away. “But maybe, another time.”

  Nancy heard the stress on the word maybe and doubted she’d see Sofia at the doorstep of the blue cabin again. Maybe was a good, noncommittal word, and one she would have to remember.

  Twenty-Three

  The Man in the Black Suit

  Hidden beside a large dumpster, Sally’s heart thudded in her chest. “Who is he, Breccan?” The space between the dumpster and the brick wall was narrow, but offered them a view of the white van turning a corner down the street. She pressed her head tight against the cold, brick wall.

  Helping her up, he tugged on her arm. “I don’t know, but I’m sure my dad can find out. Come on, I don’t live far from here.” She ran beside him down the street and onto a main road. He hit the crosswalk button several times, constantly glancing about him in all directions.

  She wasn’t sure what made her more scared—her fear of the white van, or Breccan’s heightened anxiety. Finally, the light changed, and they rushed across the street, straight up some steps, and then into a door of a brick building.

  She leaned against the window sill, panting. “Your dad has an office in here?”

  He pulled her away from the window. “No.”

  “Huh?”

  “It was the closest place to go.”

  A burly man dressed in a black suit approached them. “What are you kids doing here?”

  Breccan pointed to the small window. His voice quivered. “Sanctuary?”

  The man’s eyes widened, as he looked from Breccan, to Sally, and then out the window. “Huh.” He grunted. He tapped the window. “That man bothering you?”

  Sally’s eyes widened. The man was outside? She nodded vigorously. “Yes.”

  The man’s countenance darkened. “Who is he?” He leaned into the window.

  She snapped. “How am I supposed to know who he is?” Probably not the best way to say something to someone who was meant to be their protector.

  The man grimaced. He glanced back out the window. “He seems like a normal enough bloke.”

  Some protector. “Gah. Don’t they all?”

  He stared at her, traces of doubt beginning to surface on his face.

  “Well,” she stammered, feeling conflicted. “He asked me for directions.”

  “What?”

  She bit down on her lip. That did sound ridiculous, even to her.

  “He drove by us just a moment ago,” added Breccan.

  “That’s it?” The man coughed. “All of that could be easily enough explained.”

  “I guess so.” Sally’s shoulders slumped forward. “Maybe, I did overreact a—”

  A loud rap on the door startled them. The man put his finger to his lips and ushered them behind an open door into the next room.

  Sally couldn’t make out the words, but the scuffle that ensued startled her. Breccan pulled her behind him, blocking her from whoever it was that argued with the man in the black suit.

  “I saw my daughter come in in here. And you will show me where she is.”

  “Daughter?” The man’s loud voice boomed. He sounded surprised.

  “Daddy?” Sally said, looking past Breccan. The man in the black suit held Sam tight against the door frame. He released his firm grip.

  “Daddy!” Rushing to Sam, she fell into his arms.

  “What’s going on here?” Sam barked, taking a firm stance between the towering man in the black suit, and Sally.

  The man waved him down. “Sorry, mister, but this young lady and her friend dashed into my office and said they were being followed.”

  “It was the closest building,” Breccan said, looking at the floor.

  “What? Who is this, Sally?” He gestured toward Breccan with an unbelievable look, as if he hadn’t heard the “being followed” part, but had fixated on the boy instead.

  “I’m Breccan.”

  “He’s Breccan,” Sally said, at the same time. “Daddy,” she said with and exasperated sigh, “weren’t you even listening?”

  “A white van’s been following us, Mr. Hadlock,” Breccan said, appearing to take courage in Sally’s words.

  Ignoring the boy, Sam looked at the man with questioning eyes. “Did you see this van?”

  Again, he waved Sam off, shaking his head. “No, sir, just believed them—wrongfully, I suppose.” He gave the two a doubtful look.

  “Hold on,” Sally said, pushing her hand up to the man. “You mean, you don’t believe us?”

  The man sighed. “Why would someone follow you, little lady?”

  She fumed. “Yeah, why, Dad?” She glared at Sam and then at the man. Grabbing Breccan’s arm, she pushed past them and out the door. Sam followed her out.

  “Sally.”

  She stopped, but didn’t turn around. Sam came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. He spun her around. “Of course, I believe you,” he said firmly. “But . . .” He gave Breccan a sideways glance.

  She tapped her foot. “But what?”

  Sam pulled back. “You do have quite an active imagination, sweetheart.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “Well, you do, Sally.”

 
Her mouth dropped open. All three of her parents had mentioned her overactive imagination more than once in the past month. Seriously, how could she not have one, with what she’d been through? But to say something like that in front of Breccan was too much.

  “Gah! You never listen to me.”

  Sam reached for her. “Sally,” he said, placing his hand on her arm.

  She pulled away. “Well, you don’t. You’re always at that stupid university, listening to your stupid students.” She scowled.

  Sam made a face. “What? That’s insane.”

  She threw her hands in the air. “You see? That’s what I’m talking about.” She dropped her hands and turned to Breccan. “Come on, let’s go.”

  “Um, no,” Sam said, his face stern. “You’re coming home with me, right now.”

  She gave him an incredulous look and glanced at Breccan who had taken a few steps backwards. “You too?” She balled her hands into fists at her sides. “Gah!”

  Sam took her by the arm and led her toward his car. A few steps in, she glanced behind her and glared at Breccan, who gave her a sheepish grin and a small wave. Pulling away from Sam, she continued to walk beside him, determined to somehow get him to listen. He opened the car door and ushered her in.

  “How come? Why won’t you believe me?”

  He was silent and appeared to be deep in thought. Sally knew better than to interrogate him when he was driving. She had overheard him talking to Elle once about the fear he had of driving, from the jeep accident years ago. He had nearly died. She folded her arms across her chest and waited.

  Instead of taking her home, he took her to the castle. Surrounded by extensive gardens, and with an open invitation, it was a place her family often visited. She loved it there. She got out of the car. Sam came around to her side of the car and put his hand in the small of her back. He led her to the gardens’ edge.

  They walked silently for a few moments, until they came to her favorite spot, an array of wooden benches engulfed in bright flowers and lush, green vines. Large trees canopied the area, and cobblestone paths weaved at their feet, making the whole feel like a fairyland of wonder.