He turned, ashamed of himself.

“But then I had a dream,” he continued. “I had a dream of a woman. And the woman told me that if I loved Jeanette, I couldn’t leave her. I woke up knowing that I would always stay right by Jeanette’s side.”

Carolyn was near tears herself. She shook Michael’s hand, then Douglas did, too. Back in the living room, they bid good-bye to Jeanette. Douglas leaned in and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “That’s from my father,” he said.

Jeanette remained still in her chair.

Michael walked them to the door. “I’m sorry if I seemed overprotective. But I guess that’s what I am.”

Carolyn smiled. “I understand.”

She had opened the door to leave when she turned back to him.

“Mr. O’Toole,” she asked. “You said you had a dream of a woman…”

He nodded.

“Who was the woman in your dream?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve talked about it with my analyst. He thinks it was a manifestation of Jeanette. It was not the face of any woman I know. Just a female manifestation, my analyst said. A representation of my love for Jeanette.”

“Interesting,” Carolyn said, her hand still on the doorknob. But she didn’t leave. Douglas seemed curious as to why she was delaying. “But could you describe what she looked like, Mr. O’Toole?” Carolyn asked. “The woman in your dream? Do you remember?”

“I’ll never forget,” he said. “She had long dark hair and dark eyes, and she was wearing a long white dress.”

Chapter Twelve

Chelsea pulled her BMW to a stop outside her Uncle Howard’s mansion. “We’re here,” she barked at her brother, who was asleep in the seat beside her.

Ryan just groaned.

Chelsea rolled her eyes. For the last two days Ryan had been a complete and utter mess. “Tragic,” she muttered under her breath, getting out of the car and walking around to the passenger’s side. She opened the door. “Come on! Get out!”

Slowly Ryan unbent his legs and rose out of the car.

“If Uncle Howard suspects how much blow you’ve been doing these last couple of days, he’ll disinherit you on the spot,” Chelsea told him. “You’d better straighten up fast, dear brother.”

“I’ll be fine,” he mumbled.

Chelsea had her doubts about that. Ever since she’d found him quivering in their father’s study a couple of days ago, Ryan had been a major train wreck. He went on a bender that night, snorting prodigious amounts of coke and drinking all the vodka they had in the house. So wasted did he become that their trip up to Maine had had to be postponed a day. Chelsea was beyond pissed. Ryan kept babbling about being terrified of “the man with the pitchfork.” He insisted such a creature had actually been in their house and had tried to kill him. He even tried to show Chelsea holes in the wall supposedly made by said pitchfork. But of course there were no holes that Chelsea could see.

“You are tragic,” she told her brother.

Now she hauled her bag out of the backseat, with Ryan barely having the strength to lift his own. His eyes were glassy and his movements awkward. A man had appeared wearing a valet uniform and a broad ingratiating smile. Chelsea tossed him the keys to the Beemer.

“I don’t know why Uncle Howard doesn’t keep any of the same servants,” she said as she headed toward the house. “They’re always different every time we visit.”

She threw open the front doors. “Helloooo!” she trilled, her voice echoing across the marble. Ryan shuffled along behind her.

“Where the hell is everyone?” Chelsea asked.

Then she spotted a woman she didn’t recognize emerging from the study. At first she took her to be another new servant, but the woman had an air of authority. She was an attractive redhead with sharp green eyes. She smiled as she approached Chelsea and Ryan.

“Hello, I’m Carolyn Cartwright,” she said. “Your uncle is in the study.”

They all shook hands. Chelsea realized her brother really was out of it, because he simply grunted a hello. Usually when he met a pretty woman he was falling all over himself to be charming.

“Mr. Young is very glad you’ve come early,” she said as they headed into the study.

“And you are?” Chelsea asked, a little put off by the familiarity this outsider was showing toward Uncle Howard.

“Mr. Young has hired me to help him with a project,” Carolyn explained.

Chelsea nodded. “I guess he can’t do everything himself anymore. He’s certainly getting up there in years.”

“Oh, but he’s really quite remarkable,” Carolyn observed. “I mean, at ninety-eight, still doing all that he does…” She smiled. “He’s not slowing down any time soon.”

This time it was Chelsea’s turn to grunt. How long were they going to have to wait for the old man to kick the bucket and leave them all his billions?

But then she grinned as she caught sight of Uncle Howard sitting in a chair by the window, a book in his lap. Not quite yet did she want him to kick the bucket. She needed a little more time to make sure she was in the will.

“Uncle Howard!” she called, sugary sweet. Rushing ahead, she threw her arms around him as he sat in the chair, planting a big kiss on his mottled old cheek.

“Hello, princess,” the old man said, patting her hair. “How lovely that you came early. I’m very pleased you did.”

She moved aside so that her brother could shake Uncle Howard’s hand. Ryan stepped forward, his eyelids drooping, a wan smile on his face.

“Good to see you too, Ryan,” Howard Young said. “A bit under the weather?”

“Oh, he’s just tired from the long ride up here,” Chelsea said.

“That’s right,” Ryan said, trying to summon some of his usual bravado. “A quick shower and change of clothes and I’ll be fine.”

Uncle Howard just looked at him strangely.

But another voice piped up with an opinion. “If you ask me,” Douglas said, sitting up from the sofa where he had been stretched out, hidden from view, “you look better than I’ve seen you in a long time.” He hopped to his feet. “Welcome, dear cousins!”

Chelsea stiffened. Douglas was barefoot, wearing ratty jeans, and it looked as if he hadn’t washed his hair this morning. He was disgraceful.

“Hello, Douglas,” she said. “Glad you’re here. How nice that we’ll have a chance to spend a little more time with you than usual.”

She knew her voice sounded phony, and she knew that Douglas knew she was being totally insincere. But she hoped Uncle Howard didn’t pick up on it.

Ryan hadn’t even bothered to say hello. He just excused himself so he could go wash up and change his clothes. Chelsea hoped he would come back downstairs more like his old self so that they could put Douglas in his place.

“So what are you doing now, Douglas?” Chelsea asked cheerily. “You’ve always had such an interesting, if brief, series of jobs.”

“True,” he said. “One of the few I haven’t tried is Slacker Child Living Off Wealthy Daddy.”

“Now, now, Douglas,” Uncle Howard said, his voice raspy.

“It’s okay, dear uncle,” Chelsea said. “Douglas and I just enjoy teasing each other, don’t we, Douglas?”

“We adore it,” he said, and Chelsea caught the little look he exchanged with that woman, Carolyn. What was their relationship?

“Well,” Chelsea announced, “I think I’ll go wash up as well, and then we can have a wonderful talk and catch up, dear uncle.”

“I look forward to that, Chelsea,” the old man said. He hesitated, as if trying to think of exactly how he should phrase something. “I’m glad you’re here early, because we need to talk. You and I and your brother.”

Chelsea’s ears perked up at this. “Really? Well, of course, Uncle Howard.”

It had to be about the will. What else would he want to discuss with them?

“But perhaps I should wait until your father is here as well,” Uncle Howard said. “He should be here for that.”

It has to be the will, Chelsea thought. Why else would he want Daddy here, too?