“I have.”

“And? What did he say?” she asked.

“Dress modestly.”

“Yes, I know. What else did you talk about?”

“Well, I have arranged with him for me to stay in the gatehouse after Ethel passes on.”

“Did you? For how long?”

“No later than September first. If I stay here that long. Then he wants his property back.” I added, “Nasim wants to put… someone of his choosing into the gatehouse.” I asked her, “Did he tell you that?”

“No. We never spoke of that.” She informed me, “He wanted to buy the guest cottage from me. Did he mention that to you?”

“He did.”

We continued our walk across the sun-dappled lawn, and she said to me, “He made me a very generous offer for the cottage and the land.” She added, “He seemed upset when I turned him down.”

I didn’t reply, and neither did I make a pitch for her to accept the offer. Also, I decided not to bring up the subject of Amir Nasim’s security concerns at this time; that needed to be discussed along with my concerns about Anthony Bellarosa, and I wanted to save that for last.

Susan, of course, had changed, as we all had in ten years, but I know this woman, and I was fairly certain she would think that Amir Nasim’s concerns were silly or paranoid, or at worst, real, but of no concern to her. As for Mr. Anthony Bellarosa’s possible vendetta… well, she’d understand that on one level, but dismiss it on another. Susan was raised in an incredibly sheltered and privileged environment, and I was sure that hadn’t changed much in Hilton Head. I used to think of her as having the Marie Antoinette Syndrome – not so much the “let them eat cake” mentality, but rather the mentality of not comprehending why anyone would want to cut off her head, not to mention the good manners to apologize to her executioner when she stepped on his foot near the guillotine.

Well, maybe she had changed over the years, but I wasn’t seeing much of it. I did notice, however, that she seemed less nutty. Or maybe she was saving that as a special treat for later, after we got comfortable with each other.

I asked her, “Why did you come back?”

She replied, “I was homesick.” She asked me, “Were you homesick?”

I thought about that, then replied, “Home isn’t a place.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s… people. Family, friends… memories… that sort of thing.”

“Well? And didn’t you miss that?”

“I did at first. But… time heals, and memories fade.” I added, “Home can also be suffocating. I needed a change.”

“I did, too, but I felt drawn back here.” She added, “I didn’t want to die in Hilton Head.”

“No, that would be redundant.”

She almost laughed, then said, “It’s a nice place. I think you’d like it there.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever find out.”

She stayed silent awhile, then said, “I kept my place there… so, if you ever want to use it, you’re welcome.”

“Well… thank you.”

“It’s near the beach, and near two golf courses. Very relaxing.”

“Sounds… relaxing.” So, we’d gone from barely speaking to her offering me her house at the beach to relax. She was trying, and I was not. Maybe, I thought, as Nasim suggested, she was on a major nostalgia trip, which is why she’d moved back here, and somehow I was included in her happy memories of the past. In any case, my life was in flux, or limbo, or whatever, and hers was settling back into a past that no longer existed and could not be resurrected.

She returned to the subject of her place in Hilton Head and said, “I had it completely refurnished, and moved all my things back here.”

“I noticed.” I then asked her, “So, are you happy being back?”

“I am. You know, sometimes you just feel it in your heart when you’ve made the right move.”

“Good.” I couldn’t resist getting in a zinger and said, “I’m sure your parents miss you, but are happy for you.”

She glanced at me, knowing from long experience that everything I said about her parents was either ironic or a double entendre, or just plain nasty. She informed me, “To be honest, I needed to spend less time with them.”

“I can’t imagine why.”

She ignored that and went on, “After Dan died… I realized that I had no reason to stay there… I mean, Carolyn is here, Edward comes to New York more often than he comes to Hilton Head, and I still have family and friends here.”

And one enemy on the adjoining property. I could see now that Susan could not be persuaded to leave here because of Anthony Bellarosa’s proximity. The best I could hope for was to make her acknowledge the problem and the situation she’d gotten herself into. And if I was working for Anthony Bellarosa, that might keep him from his vendetta. But in the end, it didn’t really matter if I was working for don Bellarosa or not, and it didn’t matter where Susan lived. Anthony Bellarosa smelled blood, and when the time came, he’d follow that blood scent to the ends of the earth.

A few days ago, protecting Susan had been an abstract thought; now, with her walking beside me, it became real.

The obvious thing to do was to notify the local police, and also the FBI. If the law got on Anthony’s case regarding Susan Sutter, and told him to not even think about settling the score, then that should be all that was necessary to protect Susan.

On the other hand, Susan had murdered Anthony’s father, and gotten away with it, and I didn’t think that Anthony Bellarosa was going to let that stand. Well… his father wouldn’t be swayed from his ancient duty to avenge the murder of a family member, but maybe Anthony was not made of the same stuff as his father. Quite possibly, I hoped, Anthony valued his freedom more than he valued the concept of family honor and vendetta. I simply didn’t have the answer to that question, and I didn’t want to guess wrong, or test either assumption. This was a big problem, and it trumped all my smaller problems.

Susan asked me, “What are you thinking about?”

“Oh… about… what were we talking about?”

“My parents. And that usually puts you in a dark mood.”

“Not at all. And how are they?”

“Fine.”

“You must miss them.”

Silence, then, “To tell you the truth, they drive me a little nuts.”

That was a short trip, but I reminded her, “You said they’ve become more mellow.”

“Well, they have, but… they like to look after me.”

“I remember that.” In fact, as I said, William and Charlotte Stanhope were control freaks and manipulators, and he was not only a skinflint, but also an unscrupulous snake. Charlotte, the other half of this dynamically dysfunctional duo, was a smiling backstabber and a two-faced troublemaker. Other than that, they were quite pleasant.

I had this thought that Susan was half trying to repackage Mom and Dad as kindly senior citizens – mellow and all that – who would no longer be a problem between us, if we somehow got back together. Well, the only way that William and Charlotte would cease to annoy me was if they were dead and buried. With that thought in mind, I asked, “How are they feeling? Any health issues?”

She thought about that question, then replied, “Not that I know of.” She added, “In fact, they’re coming in for Ethel’s funeral.”

I was afraid of that; I’d hoped they would take a pass on the funeral of an old servant, but as I said, there is this lingering sense of noblesse oblige among the old families, and William and Charlotte would stay true to that, even if it were inconvenient, not to mention the travel expenses. Maybe they’d hitchhike up. I asked, “Are they staying at The Creek?”

“They’ve dropped their membership.”

“I see. Well, club membership can be expensive.”

“They just don’t come up here much to use the club.”

“Right. And with airfare going sky high, pardon the pun-”

“It’s not the money, John. It’s… they have fewer reasons to come to New York.”