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“Do you really think you can find out who killed Mom?” she asks.
Alex hands me my duffel bag and I haul it over my shoulder. “I’m not letting them put her file in the fucking basement,” I growl.
Daisy presses her lips together in a line. “Good.”
I follow her inside. As soon as I enter the foyer, I’m hit with a thousand memories. The scent of the floor polish, the sheen of the banister on the sweeping front staircase, the paintings on the walls, the mix of antique and modern furnishings in the front parlor…it all brings to mind the days in my childhood, running around with Von, or sitting with Mom in the front room playing checkers, or trying to wrangle Alistair when Dad had guests over…or worse, those last final days, worrying over asking Isla out, wondering how to broach my father about my own plans for the estate. Silly, small worries, they seem now.
“You can use your old room,” Daisy says, unaware of my inner turmoil. “It’s all ready for you.”
“Right,” I say, my voice tight.
“Al!” Daisy calls up the stairs. “Finn! Caden’s here!”
A moment later I hear the thunder of footsteps coming from the second floor. My brother Alistair skids to a halt at the top of the staircase and stares at me, open mouthed.
“Holy shit,” he says. His cheerful face breaks into a wide grin. “Dude! You’re back!”
He runs down the stairs, sandy hair flying, and envelops me in a hug to rival Daisy’s.
“Damn,” Alistair says, releasing me. “You got jacked! What have you been doing down there in South America? Bench pressing cows?”
“Working,” I say.
“Ha,” Alistair says, then frowns. “Wait seriously?Working?Come on, Cade. I assumed you were living the high life. Casinos, women, ultra-luxe cruises, the works. Don’t disappoint me.”
It shouldn’t surprise me that people would have come up with their own theories. Noah is the only one who really knows what I’ve been doing—he’s been my best friend since kindergarten and it turns out, abandoning your best friend is somehow harder to do than disappearing on your family. Noah would not let me vanish.
“It’s good to see you, Al,” I say. “You look the same.”
Alistair laughs. “Did you think I’d lose my fashion sense while you were gone?”
Ever the ostentatious dresser, Alistair is wearing yellow pants and a green checkered button down with a pair of orange Vans.
“So,” he says as we head down the long main hallway toward the back of the house, “you really think you can find Mom’s killer, huh?”
“You sound like Daisy,” I say, exasperated. “Someone has totryat least.”
“Hey,” Daisy says, as Al says, “Don’t get snippy on us. Wedidtry, you know. Dad hired a private investigator. Even tried to use his connections to get the FBI involved. There wasn’t any evidence.You’rethe one who left.”
His words sting but he’s right. “Sorry,” I say.
“I’m just glad you’re back,” Alistair says, so sincerely that I can’t bring myself to remind him I’mnotback. This is temporary.
But the truth is, I missed my brothers and sisters.
“It’s good to know Dad hired a PI,” I say. “That’ll be my first call.” I hesitate. “So, where is Dad?” I hate the way my nerves twitch at the thought of seeing him.
“At the office,” Daisy says.
I relax a little.
“Finn,” Alistair says, as we enter the sunroom. “Look who’s here.”
Alistair and Finn might be twins, but they couldn’t be more opposite if they tried. While Al is flashy, with sandy hair and hazel eyes, Finn is neat down to the last detail, with jet-black hair and ice-blue eyes. He’s sitting in Mom’s old armchair, the one she always used to drink her coffee in in the mornings. A lump forms in my throat.
Finn puts down his copy of theTimesand stands. He seems taller somehow.
“Caden,” he says formally.