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  “It’s not about money. It’s about right and wrong. At least it is for me. Clearly, that is not the case for you.” Bea smiled pleasantly and crossed the street.

  Emma shook her head. She could not, would not let Bea Winstead spoil her day.

  Inside the museum she found Angus and a young couple standing at the portrait of Dr. Miles. Angus was mid-lecture, and Emma didn’t want to interrupt him, so she slipped quietly into the back of the building.

  “Penny?” she called, stepping over a box of books to reach the office. She knocked once on the closed door, not wanting to startle her. When she didn’t get a response, she opened it. The light was on and the computer was on but Penny was gone. Emma looked around for her backpack but didn’t see it.

  Maybe she should have given her a heads-up after all. She’d probably gone out to lunch on her own.

  Emma would just have to wait for her to return.

  Chapter Twenty

  Penny, come on! We’re starving,” Mindy called from her beach towel. She wore a black bikini with a gold ring suspended between her breasts. She’d brought a bathing suit for Penny to borrow. “Last season’s,” she’d declared, tossing it at Penny when she climbed into the back of Nick’s Jeep. Penny was just relieved it was a one-piece.

  “Um, just a sec,” Penny said now.

  She stood at the edge of the ocean, the warm salt water lapping at her feet. The beach was crowded but the roar of the ocean swallowed up the sound of other people. A breeze blew over her, and she inhaled deeply. She waited to feel happy, but she was overwhelmed by unease. Was it because she’d sneaked off? She told herself it would be fine, that her mother would never know. Stop worrying, she told herself. Boss it back.

  The water looked so perfect, but she couldn’t wade in. Not yet. The tide washed over her toes, and she counted. Two…three…four. The water receded before she reached ten. She waited for the next wave: Five…six. Almost there! But then, a miss; the water trickled just to the tip of her big toe. One…two…

  The ride to Southampton had given Penny an exhilarating taste of pure freedom. Nick Alcaldo drove fast, played the music loud, and tossed a pack of cigarettes to his brother with what seemed to Penny a shocking casualness. Mateo, sitting in front of her, turned to offer her one.

  “I’m good,” she said.

  “Oh my God, you’re a total pill-head but you won’t have a cigarette? Spare me,” Mindy said, lighting up.

  A pill-head? She’d taken them a few times. It wasn’t like she was addicted or anything. And she wasn’t going to do it again. At least, not for a while. Especially not if Mindy was going to throw it in her face like that. But then Mateo told her she was too pretty to smoke, and that eased the sting of Mindy’s bitchiness.

  That was the first and last thing Mateo said to her all day, but the comment stayed with her, as bright and hot as the sun.

  Pretty.

  The water receded, then rolled toward her again. She was at nine. Almost there! She could feel Mindy’s and Robin’s impatience, their negative energy as tangible as the wet sand under her feet. They were going to abandon her and go eat without her—she just knew it. But there was nothing she could do about it. The water missed her toes.

  One…two…three…

  So Mateo thought she was pretty. That was just because on the outside, wearing a borrowed bathing suit, hanging out with her former best friend, she looked like one of them. But she didn’t really fit in. If she forgot that for even one minute, her OCD was always there to remind her.

  Four…five…six…

  It was late in the afternoon, and the heat had settled around the back lawn like a blanket. Emma set down her bucket of water and knelt in front of her deep yellow Celebrity hybrid teas. They were her favorites. Sometimes, a lovely red blush would shade the yellow color. The flower had lush petals and the loveliest fruity aroma.

  None of that was any comfort at the moment.

  For the past few hours, she’d alternated between panic and fury. Jim DiMartino at the police station had assured her this was not the first time a teenager had gone “missing” on a beautiful day in the summer. “If she’s not back by dark, call me on my cell.” Dark? That would be after eight at night. She couldn’t wait that long.

  Emma drove around to all the local beaches. The prime ones in East Hampton and Southampton were so crowded, it was a needle-in-a-haystack scenario. Penny’s hair usually stood out in a crowd, but today, Emma had no luck finding her. She checked the snack bars, then headed down to the water, knowing it was likely the minute she left the snack bar, Penny would walk in. Murphy’s Law.

  Emma clipped a flower, dropped it in the bucket, and burst into tears. Then she heard a car door slam out front. She jumped up and rushed around the side of the house just in time to see a Jeep pulling out of the driveway and taking off down the street. Penny stood there blinking at her in surprise.

  “Where on earth have you been?” Emma yelled. “Do you have any idea how worried I was?”

  Penny walked past her without a word and went into the house. Unbelievable!

  Emma grabbed her arm before she could run up the stairs to her room. “Sit on the couch, young lady.”

  By this time, Angus had appeared, and Emma was thankful for the backup. She was shaking with anger. She shared a quick glance with Angus and they sat opposite Penny in armchairs.

  No one said anything for a minute, and then Penny cracked under the silence. “Don’t freak out, okay? I was at the beach.”

  “You just ran off? Without telling Angus? Without a text or call to me? What were you thinking?”

  “What are you even doing here?”

  “For your information, I left work early. I came to get you from the historical society to take you to the beach!” The more she thought about it, the more furious she became. This motherhood gig was so unbelievably thankless. And she hadn’t expected thanks. But she also hadn’t expected this.

  Penny seemed unmoved by this declaration. “I need some water.” She jumped up and headed into the kitchen.

  Emma looked helplessly at Angus. He waved toward the kitchen: Go.

  Penny was searching through the refrigerator, and Emma was forced to talk to her back.

  “You owe me an apology, Penny. And you’re going to be punished.”

  Penny slammed the refrigerator door and turned around with tears in her eyes. “I hate you, I hate this town, I hate my life!”

  She ran upstairs. Emma pressed her hand to her head and jumped at the loud slamming of Penny’s bedroom door. And then, despite her best efforts, she began to cry.

  “It’s just the age,” Angus said, appearing in the doorway.

  “I wish I could believe that,” Emma said. “I’m so sorry, Angus. This is more than you signed up for when you moved in here.”

  “It’s no trouble,” he said.

  She barely heard him. “I’m not going to send her to work with you tomorrow. This is beyond what you should have to be responsible for.”

  “Emma, stop worrying about me. Go talk to her.”

  Emma, shaking, hugged herself. “I can’t talk to her. I’m too upset. We’re just going to end up shouting at each other.”

  “You should at least go up and have the final word. Make sure she knows this is unacceptable.”

  Emma looked at him. “You’re right. I have to ground her.” Maybe the day off tomorrow was a blessing in disguise. “I have to go to this committee meeting around eleven. Is there any way you can be here until I get back?”

  “Not a problem. It’s slow at the museum midweek. And I’m behind on my crossword puzzles. I haven’t finished one since Memorial Day.”

  Emma smiled at him gratefully. “If Celia were here, she’d straighten everything out.”

  “Yes, she would. She’d have that child turned around in no time.”

  “Oh, Angus. Is this my fault? Am I dropping the ball?”

  “Looking back at myself at fourteen?” He whistled. “This child is li
ke an angel.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  He smiled and pulled a pizza from the freezer. “I guess you’ll have to take my word for it. Now go up there and put the fear of God in that girl.”

  “Angus, the only person full of fear right now is me. And I don’t see that changing anytime soon.”

  Bea walked to the edge of Windsong’s private dock, surrounded by the clicking and humming of nocturnal insects in the nearby grass.

  Whenever she spent time away from Manhattan, she was amazed by all the stars that were visible. Places that were just moderately impressive in the daytime could turn quite majestic at night. She grudgingly felt this about the harbor as she stood at the edge of the bay under the dazzling constellations above.

  But the natural beauty of the town was still not enough to give her one ounce of understanding of what Henry had done. In all the years since he’d left Manhattan, she’d never given up hope that he would tire of country living and return. But her disapproval over his move and his decision to stop painting paled in comparison to the distress she felt over what he’d done with his estate.

  The day of searching through town had yielded nothing useful. She was so disheartened, she retreated back to the house for a nap before she even checked the library. As for Kyle, he seemed to do little more with his afternoon than work on his tan. He showed up at dinnertime with nonsensical chatter about boats.

  “Do you expect to find Henry’s drawings at the marina?” she had asked him.

  Perhaps she should have just let him leave when he’d decided to quit. He was now a lame-duck assistant.

  Her phone rang, and she recognized the incoming number: her lawyer’s office. “You’re burning the midnight oil, Richard. I hope you’re calling with some good news.”

  “Bea, did you plant that story in Page Six?” he said.

  “I did not plant anything. I answered a reporter’s questions honestly.”

  “I wish you’d left the firm’s name out of it. Our phone hasn’t stopped ringing. And Bea, frankly, it appears Wyatt’s will is legitimate. There is no evidence he wasn’t of sound mind. And even if he wasn’t, you don’t have the legal standing to contest the will.”

  “Of course I have a right to contest it!”

  “It’s not a matter of right, it’s a matter of legality. You’re not family, you were never married to Wyatt, and there’s no indication that you were the beneficiary of his estate in any prior will.”

  Bea felt herself begin to shake. “After decades on retainer, this is what you bring me? You’re not even worthy of Page Six!” She hung up the phone, resisting the impulse to toss it into the bay.

  Her attorney was willing to give up because of technicalities? She supposed when you billed by the hour, your thinking became rather small. Luckily for her, she’d never been constrained by ordinary work or ordinary thinking.

  It was tempting to wonder if Henry had suffered from some form of dementia over the past year or so. But Bea hated when an older person did something out of character or upsetting and everyone just chalked it up to that person losing his mind. It was lazy and condescending thinking. No, Bea would not stoop to that assumption. It might give her a basis for pushing forward with legal action, but deep down, she didn’t believe it. And more than wanting the house, she wanted the truth about her oldest friend—the person who had given her the most important thing in her life: her career. In her heart, she knew there was a reason for what Henry had done with his work at the end of his life. And there was maybe even a reason for this business with the house. Now, that didn’t mean it was right. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t fight it tooth and nail in court. But she needed to understand it.

  Somewhere along the way, she had missed something. And she would find out what it was.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Penny woke up to the loud click of her bedroom door opening.

  “You are not to leave this house today,” her mother said from across the room. “Do you hear me?”

  “Yes,” Penny mumbled.

  The sun peeked through her curtains, and it hurt to look at it. Her eyelids felt stuck together from all the crying. She’d sobbed herself to sleep last night, replaying over and over in her mind the hour she’d spent trapped by her OCD at the ocean’s edge. By the time she was able to relax and return to the towels with Mindy and Robin and the boys, no one was talking to her. “You have to stop acting like such a weirdo,” Robin had whispered to her. “Why do you do things like that?”

  “I’m going to a quick meeting and then I’ll be home,” her mother said, adding, “I’m really disappointed in you, Penny.”

  Penny felt tears return to her already swollen eyes. She pulled the covers over her head. Did she feel bad that she’d upset her mom? Yes. But her mother didn’t understand how desperate she felt. She needed to escape.

  What had she done with all of her time last summer? She’d hung out with Mr. Wyatt a lot. When she was drawing, her mind was blank. Sometimes, she had felt nervous showing him a sketch after she finished, but it was worth it for the times when he praised her. Earning his approval was the best feeling in the world. But Henry was gone and every time she picked up a pencil, she thought, What’s the point? Yes, she’d been drawing before she met him. But once they started working together, it became so much bigger. So much better. And now she’d never finish her graphic novel.

  Last summer, Henry had had the idea for each of them to write one. The day she’d brought copies of Coraline and The Graveyard Book to show him, he’d suggested they walk to the library to find more.

  “They have a bunch but I’ve read them all,” Penny had told him.

  “Well, I have not, so humor me,” he’d said.

  Henry and Penny sat at a table near the circulation desk and he pulled out his sketch pad. He stared at it for a moment, then began drawing. Penny looked over his shoulder as the image took shape. It was the bar at the hotel.

  “I’m going to create my own illustrated story, Penny.”

  “You mean graphic novel?”

  “You know I don’t think that term makes sense. And Penny, you should start one of your own. We can work on this endeavor together.”

  “Me? I don’t know how,” she said.

  “No one ever knows how to do anything. Until they do it.”

  She had believed him. Around Mr. Wyatt, anything seemed possible. Now her world was small again.

  When she was sure her mother was long gone from the house, Penny dragged herself out of bed to the kitchen, hoping she still had Cap’n Crunch. She’d bought it herself at Schiavoni’s, sneaked it into the house, and tucked it away in the cabinet with the spices and other cooking staples her mother never used. Penny was trying to make the sugary cereal last because she didn’t know when she’d get to buy it again. She couldn’t wait to be old enough to have a real job so she could get some freedom—freedom in what she ate, freedom to come and go as she wanted. Fourteen sucked. Fourteen was too young to get away with doing nothing but not old enough to do something worthwhile.

  “Good morning,” Angus said, looking up from his crossword puzzle.

  Penny shook the last cupful of cereal into a bowl and drowned it in milk.

  “Penny, you know your mother doesn’t want you eating that junk. I’ll make you some eggs.”

  The doorbell rang. Saved by the bell! “I’ll get it,” Penny said. She carried the bowl with her to the door, shoveling spoonfuls into her mouth along the way. “Who is it?” she asked dutifully, though looking out the peephole gave her the answer.

  She couldn’t believe what she saw.

  She put the cereal on the floor, unlocked the door, and swung it open.

  “Dad?” she said.

  “Hey, kiddo,” her father said.

  How could this be? Her father was there, standing right in front of her. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d spoken to him on the phone. But the weird thing was, no matter how long she went without seeing him,
she always felt an instant connection when she did. Part of it was that she looked so much more like him than like her mother. She had his height, his dark eyes, and his curly brown hair—although his was now threaded with silver at the temples. The one difference was that he had the olive complexion of the Italian side of his family, and it was even darker at the moment with his deep tan.

  She flung herself into his arms.

  He laughed, and she stayed like that for a long minute, the midmorning sun beating down on the back of her neck.

  “What are you doing here?” she said.

  He walked inside, looked around. Then he smiled at her. “You’ve gotten so grown up. Is your mom here?”

  Penny shook her head. “This is so crazy! What are you doing here?” she repeated.

  “I had some business in East Hampton.”

  “An acting job?”

  “Ah, no. I’m producing a play. Well, trying to produce. Working on the fund-raising part just now. Anyway, I was going to head back to LA tonight but then I thought, Why not take a detour and see Penny? It’s been too long, kiddo. What do you say you and I go to the beach and catch up?”

  “Ahem.” Angus stood in the archway between the dining room and the small foyer. His arms were crossed, his face stern. “No one is going anywhere until her mother gets home.”

  Cheryl Meister’s “cottage” was a cedar-shingled Southampton mansion with tennis courts, two swimming pools, and sweeping views of the Atlantic.

  A member of the household staff showed Emma through the cavernous house to the kitchen. It was all white marble with a massive skylight and wide French doors that opened up to one of the pools. Beyond the pool, a low hedgerow and the ocean beach. If it weren’t for her recent experience with the Henry Wyatt house, Emma would have been intimidated.

  Cheryl sat curled on a stool at the island in the center of the room. She was barefoot, and she sipped from a small bottle of Pellegrino and chatted with a group of half a dozen women gathered around her.