“Thank you. I hope I haven’t caused any trouble for you and Sara tonight by coming. I just wanted to see folks.” And she realized it was true-she’d wanted to be here.

His blue eyes warmed with understanding. “It’s not you-it never has been.”

“It’s my mother.”

“You don’t have a sister, so perhaps it’s difficult for you to understand, but Sara has deep feelings about your mother. Lilli disappeared less than a year after their mother died-it was a double shock, quite devastating. Tonight’s always difficult for Sara, that’s all. It’s a reminder of what she’s lost.”

“So am I.”

Roger studied her a moment, not a man to pretend or deny, and finally he nodded, without elaborating or minimizing.

Dani suddenly felt chilled. She’d almost rather have her aunt’s flawless, if phony, good cheer. “I suppose it’s the same for Grandfather.”

But Roger studied her, seeing much more, she suspected, than she wanted him to see. She sensed no condemnation, only a desire to understand. “It’s not such a bad thing, you know, to remind them of Lilli. They don’t want to forget her. They-” He stopped, frowning in concern as his eyes fell to her bruised arm. So far no one else had noticed the effects of yesterday afternoon’s festivities at her cottage. “Dani-what on earth happened to you?”

“Oh, I stumbled on a burglar yesterday.”

“At the inn?”

“No, at my cottage. He didn’t get away with much.”

“But you’re okay?”

His concern made her feel uncomfortable, awkward. “Yes, I’m fine. It was a good lesson in locking my doors.”

“What did the police say?”

“Nothing. I didn’t call them.”

Roger paused, assessing her response. “That was good thinking, I suppose. You just don’t need that kind of publicity right now.”

“None of us do,” she said curtly.

“I wasn’t thinking about us.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“But you did, Dani,” he said, not harshly. “It’s time to get rid of that chip on your shoulder. Your grandfather needs you. You’re his only grandchild. Sara needs you, too. We have no children of our own. She-” He broke off, annoyed. “Dani, can’t you see? We all care about you.”

Unable to think of anything to say, she swallowed and bit her lip, and Roger sucked in another breath and hurled himself back among his guests, leaving her to wonder if it wouldn’t be easier on all of them if they didn’t care. She about them, they about her.

Life, she thought, could be so damn complicated.

Zeke melted into a small crowd of onlookers who hadn’t been invited to the hundredth annual Chandler lawn party. They’d gathered on North Broadway to watch the comings and goings of the rich and elegant.

With her red feather, Dani was easy to pick out.

It wasn’t as easy to pick out Sara Chandler Stone, but Zeke did. She would be forty-seven now. Four years older than Joe would have been if he had lived. Eighteen months after her sister’s disappearance, she had married Roger Stone. Joe was a soldier by then. Zeke wondered if his brother had ever stopped loving Sara Chandler, or if he really ever had. Joe had been so young twenty-five years ago.

Zeke watched Sara greet a guest with a hug and a kiss and a smile, and it was easy to forget that she and the hothead with the iron skillet were from the same family. But they were. That was something Zeke needed to remember.

There was no point in sticking around. He wasn’t even sure why he had this long.

But as he turned, he felt the hair rise on the back of his neck, almost as if by instinct.

Quint Skinner came up beside him. “Evening, Zeke.”

“Quint.”

“Heard you were in town. Working?”

Zeke shook his head. “You?”

“Nope. I was passing by and thought I recognized you.” He narrowed his small blue eyes and scrutinized Zeke, his soldier’s training apparent in his steady, steely gaze. “I don’t want any trouble.”

His tone was amiable, but Zeke wasn’t fooled. Despite his Pulitzer Prize, Quint was a man of physical action, threats, intimidation. He’d never seemed entirely comfortable with his role as a celebrated writer. Zeke’s experience in protection and security wouldn’t impress him. Quint would still think he could beat him senseless. And very likely he could.

“See you around,” he said, starting down the wide brick sidewalk.

“Hey, Skinner.”

The soldier-turned-writer looked back, the evening sun catching his broad red face. He wore a khaki suit cut a size too small for his muscular frame, probably just to remind people he wasn’t just a smarmy journalist but a man who’d killed people.

Zeke’s gaze was direct and unintimidated. “Didn’t know you liked roses.”

There was no indication of surprise in the intense, beady eyes. Quint put a hand the size of a butt ham into the palm of his other hand and cracked his knuckles one by one. Just itching to knock out a few of Zeke’s teeth. “I’ll go where I want to go, and I’ll do what I want to do. You just stay out of my way.”

Zeke said nothing more. Quint had no gift for melting into a crowd, and Zeke was able to watch him all the way down North Broadway. If Skinner had robbed Dani, why? Had he made the connection between the gold key and the night Dani’s mother had disappeared? Between the gold key and Joe Cutler?

And the blackmail note, Zeke thought. Where did that little gem fit in?

Lots of questions. He just wished he had a few answers.

Dinner was served on long tables covered in pink linen and decorated-Kate Murtagh style-with simple milk-glass vases of asters and baby’s breath. Sara had Dani sit next to her grandfather at the end of the table, where a portly man was expounding on the yearling sales and the state of Saratoga’s thoroughbred-racing tradition.

Someone commented that the revival of Pembroke Springs and the opening of the Pembroke would be good for the town, and Dani felt her grandfather stiffen next to her. He didn’t look at her, but she knew he disapproved of her having gone into business for herself against his wishes and against his advice, a different sort of embarrassment for him than her mother’s disappearance and her father’s embezzling.

But he didn’t say anything, and the conversation drifted to other, more innocuous topics. Someone asked how long she’d been in Saratoga. Someone else asked where her date was, the unsubtle implication being that she’d been seen arriving with Zeke.

“One of my guests dropped me off,” she explained.

Her grandfather’s clouded, watery eyes fastened on her, his irritation apparent, she was sure, only to her. Getting a ride from a male guest-even having paying guests-would grate on him. Mentioning it at his dinner party would be, in his mind, rude, a deliberate act to embarrass him.

Dani lasted through the main course, then excused herself and ducked into the kitchen.

Thankfully, no one followed her. The racing talk and flower-scented breeze, and just being there, reminded her of the nine-year-old who’d waited and waited and waited for her mother to come home.

Trying to squash the flood of memories, she stopped at the counter, where Kate was sifting confectioner’s sugar onto a plate of her incomparable brownies.

“Rough night, eh? Well, if you’d wanted to avoid the nonsense,” she said without sympathy, “you could have stayed in here with me and watched the show from the kitchen. I’d even have let you help-except you in a black skirt and white top carrying a tray of stuffed mushrooms would probably kill your grandfather. Though I don’t know why you in that dress hasn’t killed him.”

“Maybe he was anticipating something worse.”

Kate looked remarkably calm despite being in the midst of serving two hundred. “I suppose it’s possible.”

But there was something in her eyes. “Kate?”

She set down her sifter. “We have to talk.”