Chapter 5
Chapter Five
M ore than anything at present, Max wanted the freedom to stew over Sloane without distractions.
What he did not want? To bother with The Case of the Missing Tiara that Felix had dropped in his lap. His research into Eugenie’s tiara had proven the historical facts about it that Felix had relayed. It was a priceless artifact. And to protect his mother from getting arrested for stealing it, he had no choice other than to bother with it.
Saturday, the day following his confrontation with Sloane, he slept in, worked out, went to the office, then drove to his mother’s house—arriving in time for dinner.
He made his way up her front walk.
Back when the two of them had been ordered to leave Maple Lane, they’d relocated to the small town of Montville, forty minutes from Groomsport. Mom was very close to her Greek immigrant parents, her sister Melissa, and her brother Greg. They all lived in Groomsport and forty minutes from them was as far as she’d been willing to go.
He and Mom had moved into a rented duplex and she’d worked at a soap manufacturing company. She’d kept that job all the way up until three years ago, at which point Max had amassed enough money to ensure his ability to provide for her for the remainder of her life. He’d encouraged her to retire, which she had. He’d offered to buy her a house anywhere she wanted but she’d chosen to stay in Montville, close to her network of friends.
She’d selected a house she loved. She loved it so much, in fact, that she’d only stayed overnight at The Gables a couple of times. Back when Max had been renovating his property, he’d added the garage apartment, thinking that if his mother came to stay for extended periods of time, she (and he) might prefer for her to have a space of her own. However, she had yet to stay for an extended period of time.
She was expecting him, so he let himself in with his own key. “I’m here.”
“ Yios! ” she called from the direction of the kitchen. The word meant “son” in Greek and had always been her term of endearment for him.
She rushed into the entry area, embracing him in a hug that smelled pleasantly of basil. She grew many of her own herbs but typically smelled of this particular one.
After landing a smacking kiss on his cheek, she stepped back, smiling.
When she was young, her hair had been a mass of thick, jet-black curls. Now, at sixty-two, her hair was still curly, but gray, and worn in a long bob.
“You must be starving!” she said. “Come, let’s have dinner.”
He’d been endlessly hungry during his middle school, teenage, and college years. Ever since, she’d assumed the same was still true even though his metabolism had slowed. He hadn’t corrected her because she enjoyed feeding him and he enjoyed being fed. They had their love of Greek food in common, which made meals the easiest part of their relationship.
He trailed her into the bright kitchen.
“I’m serving moussaka. You can make yourself useful by adding dressing to the salad and tossing it.”
He washed his hands and went to work, which gave him a sense of déjà vu. When he was a kid, the two of them used to return home around the same time of day. She’d prepare dinner. He’d serve as her sous chef.
“It’s amazing to me now,” he said, “that you had the energy to cook dinner almost every night when I was growing up.” She’d always been physically strong. But so was he. And even though he wasn’t a single parent like she’d been, he didn’t have the energy to cook dinner.
“We didn’t have the budget for restaurant food. Besides, a meal cooked at home always tastes the best.” She pulled on oven mitts and lifted a casserole dish onto the stovetop. It released mouth-watering scents of ground beef, cheese, potatoes, and spices.
Once she’d cut the moussaka, they filled their plates, poured drinks, and took seats at her kitchen table. He had a view through to her living room of a comfortable sofa and a rectangular wooden side table.
She said grace.
“Amen.” He dug into the food.
She ate a bite. Then another. Brought her napkin to her lips. “I’m glad you came by.”
“I am, too.”
“Are you here for any particular reason?”
“Do I have to have a reason to visit my mother?”
“Definitely not. But you do have a reason because you rarely come by without one.”
Her statement was blunt but accurate. He saw her once a week or so, usually in Groomsport with a group that included his grandparents, aunt and uncle, cousins, or all of the above. One gathering a week with the Cirillos was about right for him, seeing as how it took him approximately six days to recover.
He set his fork on the edge of his plate. “You’re not going to like today’s reason,” he warned.
She went still, waiting.
“Felix Camden asked me to meet with him.”
Her jaw stiffened. Whatever heights of love or desire she’d once felt for Felix—to that same degree, she now hated him. Felix had a knack for inspiring that effect in women. His two wives—Isobel and Fiona—felt the same way about him.
“What did he want?” she asked.
“To tell me that a piece of jewelry called Empress Eugenie’s tiara went missing around the time that you and I left Maple Lane. He believes that you stole it.”
The next few seconds were so quiet that they made the whir of the cooling oven sound loud.
“He believes,” she repeated slowly, “that I stole it.”
“Yes. Did you?”
“ No .” Her chair screeched back. “Of all the idiotic, egotistical, untrustworthy things that Felix has ever said, saying that I stole his tiara has to be the worst.”
His mother was a what-you-see-is-what-you-get person. Genuine. Affectionate. Opinionated. Mischievous, with an off-color sense of humor and a deep laugh. Her temper didn’t flare that often, but when it did, it flared very hot. She could be bossy. And, if wronged, she held a grudge and didn’t easily forgive.
“What’s his purpose,” she demanded, “in accusing me of this? Is he trying to turn you against me?”
“No. My read is that he’s certain that you have his tiara. He simply wants it back. He’s going to bring private investigators or the media in on this if it’s not returned to him in a few months.”
“Let him.”
Max frowned. The very last thing he would let Felix do? Publicize the story of the missing tiara. If that happened, negative media speculation would fall once again on his mother and him. “Felix can’t go public with this story,” he said calmly but firmly. “I’m Libri’s CEO. It would hurt the company.”
“Why? I thought I was the suspect here.”
“If this goes to the court of public opinion, they’ll suspect me of stealing the tiara, too. I had motive.”
“Of course you didn’t take it!” She threw up her hands. “That man has numerous pieces of art and jewelry. One tiara is nothing to him.”
“Oh, it’s something to him,” he assured her. “Do you remember this particular piece of jewelry?”
“I do.”
“So you might recall that it contains over six hundred diamonds?”
“It could contain six thousand diamonds for all I care. That wouldn’t change the fact that I didn’t take it.”
He considered her words, her features, her body language. He believed her. “Any idea who did take it?”
She gave an angry shrug. “Fiona? Jeremiah? Jude? They were all mad at Felix around the time you and I left Maple Lane.”
“Jude definitely didn’t take it. He’s too ethical for that.”
“The Camdens had staff at Maple Lane all the time. The nanny. The pool guy. The gardener. Workmen—to fix appliances or to deep clean the carpets. Any of them could have taken it.” Her dark eyes blazed. “A big part of me hopes Felix never gets the tiara back. It would serve him right to go without something for once in his life.”
How was it possible, Fiona Camden wondered, that her youngest child was thirty-three years old?
She’d had Jeremiah and Jude young. But still.
Jude’s birthday was prompting her to think back over all his earlier stages. Infancy. Preschool years. Elementary and middle school years. Jude as a teenager, so dutiful and helpful. Moving him into his college dorm room. The celebratory trip they’d taken when he’d completed law school. Jude nobly (and somewhat bizarrely, let’s be honest) leaving the prospect of private practice behind in favor of becoming an FBI agent.
When Fiona played the movie reel of images from all those different seasons, then yes, she could see that it was possible for Jude to be the age he was. Herself as the mother of a thirty-three-year-old man, however? That’s when she hit a mental stumbling block.
She was not a fan of aging. It was better than the alternative but only if the alternative was literally death. Aging was definitely not better than the alternative if the alternative was her younger self.
She did not condone the way her skin wanted to sag. Or the way her body wanted to simultaneously droop and put on pounds . . . droopy pounds. Or the way her eyes wanted to puff, or her joints wanted to ache.
So, no. She was not a fan of aging. But she was a fan of events like this one that celebrated one of her sons. Jeremiah and Jude were both deeply deserving of celebration. And, as their mother, she was always granted a pleasing amount of attention and applause herself at gatherings like these.
She, her sons, her sons’ girlfriends, and Max Cirillo were currently enjoying a ride on Jeremiah’s refurbished 1950s boat, the Camdenball . He was at the helm, steering them along the channel between the mainland and Maine’s nearest islands. Fiona sat gracefully in the open air on the long seat spanning the back of the boat. From beneath the brim of the sun hat that kept the wind from doing too much damage to her blow-out, she could observe the others, feel the briny air against her face, and enjoy the stunning view of ocean, sky, and land.
Had it been up to her, she would’ve marked Jude’s birthday by hosting a large and more formal party at her home. She embraced reasons to employ a caterer and get dressed up. However, Jude did not like to call attention to himself—a facet of his personality so completely unlike both herself and his father that it puzzled her afresh each year when he leaned toward a birthday celebration that included very few people.
This time, he and his girlfriend, Gemma, would be taking Felix’s plane to Prince Edward Island tomorrow, on his actual birthday. They planned to spend the day biking, kayaking, and eating. Of those three, only the eating appealed to Fiona. Jude had suggested to her that he mark this birthday with the PEI trip and nothing more, but Fiona had insisted on a family gathering as well. So here they were.
Felix was in Aspen this weekend doubtless being admired and kissed up to. Her ex-husband’s schedule often prevented him from attending family get-togethers so Fiona had decided early on that they would not bother to reschedule simply because Felix couldn’t make an event. Admittedly, the policy was self-serving. Fiona had long practice at interacting with Felix when necessary. But honestly, the less she had to deal with him, the better.
“This goat cheese and hot pepper jelly is delicious, Fiona,” Gemma said, holding a cracker loaded with the dip aloft. The curvy redhead was an easy conversationalist, both funny and warm.
“I’m so glad you like it,” Fiona replied. The rest of this group were all Millennials, bless their hearts, and so of course Fiona had provided lunch, champagne, cake, candles, and the rest of the necessities for today’s cruise.
Fiona raised her champagne flute, which bubbled with Dom Perignon. “To the guest of honor, Jude. Happy birthday, darling. You’ve brought me so much joy over the years and I’m very thankful for you.”
The rest of them—Remy sitting beside Fiona and everyone else standing—raised their glasses.
Jude had been seriously injured while working a case two months ago. He still moved more slowly and carefully than he had before. But other than that, he radiated health. He was young, strong, vital. Praise God, his body had rebounded with amazing speed.
The group took turns toasting Jude.
Max joined in, though her sons’ half-brother seemed distracted today. At the moment, he was leaning against the side of the boat, the wind flapping the hem of his black T-shirt against the waistband of his jeans.
For the first fourteen years of Max’s life, Fiona had known him as two things. One, the son of their housekeeper (and her very good friend), Nicole. Two, Fiona’s sons’ playmate. Max had spent great chunks of time under Fiona’s roof or rambling across Maple Lane’s woods with Jeremiah and Jude. Max had been a sporty kid—brave, persistent, quick-witted. Back then, Fiona had felt simple, undiluted affection toward him.
Then she’d learned that he was the product of an affair between her then-husband Felix and Nicole, an affair which had lasted for several months during her second pregnancy right under Fiona’s nose. Which had made Fiona’s feelings toward Max less simple. The unpleasant truth of Max’s parentage hovered at the forefront of Fiona’s mind every time he was near.
Nevertheless, he’d continued as a frequent presence in her life because he’d remained close to her sons. Thankfully, she and he had both made an effort to keep their interactions courteous.
“Thank you,” Jude told them all with sincerity. “And now I’d like to toast Jeremiah and Remy. Congratulations on your engagement.”
“I’d love to hear more details about that,” Gemma encouraged.
Jeremiah swiveled on his captain’s chair to face them more fully. “I’ve been carrying around the engagement ring for the last two months, waiting for a moment when it seemed like I had a chance of Remy saying yes to me.”
That was very sweet and all, but it needled Fiona when Jeremiah spoke with this kind of humility about his romance. He seemed to think he was the luckiest man in the world when anyone with even a mediocre IQ would rank him as the most eligible bachelor in the state of Maine.
“I considered an elaborate proposal,” Jeremiah continued. “But I didn’t think Remy would like anything too staged.”
“You were right,” Remy said.
Dimples dug into Jeremiah’s cheeks. “Man, I love it on those rare occasions when you say that I’m right.”
Remy smiled. “Don’t get used to it.”
Fiona, for one, greatly appreciated the staged proposals so prevalent on social media. Mostly because the mothers were often on site to dole out hugs and excitement. That was not what had happened with her son’s recent engagement.
“A week ago we went on one of our favorite hikes on Islehaven,” Remy said. “When we reached Restoration Point, I walked out in front of Jeremiah. Islehaven is one of my favorite places on earth and that particular spot is the best of the best. Jeremiah was being quiet?—”
“That’s rare,” Jude joked.
Remy swung a glance brimming with camaraderie and wry amusement toward Jude. “When I turned around, I saw that Jeremiah was down on one knee, holding a ring box. There wasn’t another soul around. Just the two of us and the sound of waves and birds. I was dressed in leggings with my hair in a top knot.”
“I couldn’t wait any longer to propose to you,” Jeremiah said. “I finally saw a moment to ask. And so I asked.”
“And I said yes. It was a perfect proposal, actually. For me, it couldn’t have been more wonderful.” Remy’s face glowed. Even on days like today when she was wearing makeup, she wore very little. She had a lovely ivory complexion, wavy blond hair, and a body that managed to look slender even in the voluminous sundress she had on. If Fiona were to don that sundress, she’d resemble a bowling ball.
Jeremiah and Remy had called Fiona soon after they’d returned from the hike to Remy’s cottage. Secretly, she’d felt testy over the fact that not only had she not been included in the proposal, but she also hadn’t been told that a proposal was in the works. She’d refrained from verbalizing any of that, though, discretion being the better part of valor.
Upon further reflection, Fiona had decided to view Jeremiah’s heartfelt, impromptu proposal in an approving light. His first proposal to his wife Alexis, a social media influencer, had been enormously showy. Jeremiah had not found contentment with Alexis. Remy was as far from Alexis as a person could get and Fiona had every expectation that her firstborn would find contentment with Remy. So if Remy preferred to be proposed to on the edge of nowhere dressed in leggings, then the least Fiona could do was make peace with it.
“May I have a closer look at your ring?” Gemma asked, making her way to Remy.
Remy proffered her left hand.
Fiona had received her engagement ring from Felix in the eighties, a time when everything had been ostentatious, including her ring. She’d adored it.
Remy was a wood-carving artist and not very enamored with material things. For her, Jeremiah had selected a ring composed of small diamonds the same size all the way around. They were invisibly set so that it looked as if the diamonds formed a magical fairy ring around her delicate finger.
“I love my ring,” Remy announced.
“I can see why,” Gemma said. “It’s stunning .”
“Have you thought yet about when you might like to get married?” Jude asked.
“If it were up to me, I’d marry her at a justice of the peace tomorrow, before she changes her mind?—”
“No justices of the peace allowed!” Fiona crowed, genuinely horrified.
“To answer your question,” Remy said to Jude. “We haven’t thought about when we might like to get married yet. We’ve both just been enjoying being engaged.”
“The sooner, the better,” Fiona encouraged. For one thing, she knew that’s what Jeremiah wanted. For another, the quicker they wed, the quicker the grandbabies. If a woman’s biological clock could tick loudly for grandchildren, then Fiona’s clock was ticking at the volume of a Guns N’ Roses’ concert. “I could pull together a very grand wedding this winter,” Fiona said. “Wouldn’t a winter wedding be lovely?”
“I don’t think Remy wants anything grand,” Jeremiah said.
“That’s true.” Remy glanced at Fiona. “However, I don’t hate the idea of a winter wedding.”
“Really?” Jeremiah asked hopefully.
“It’s something to ponder,” Remy told him.
“Think of it!” Fiona clapped her palms together. “We could swag garlands of pine down the pews. You could go with a woodsy, natural theme. Or a gold and glittery theme. No matter what, lots of candles. It would be magical.”
Remy nodded thoughtfully. She actually seemed receptive to this idea!
“How many people are you thinking of inviting?” Fiona pressed.
“Only close friends and family.”
“Perhaps two hundred?”
“No, no,” Remy hurried to say. “Perhaps forty.”
“Ah. That is very small?—”
“Mom,” Jeremiah cautioned.
“Yet a delightful size for a wedding which will be organized in short order,” Fiona added, once again choosing to view their preferences in an approving light. “If you’d like my assistance, please let me know. I’d be thrilled to help. Party planning is one of my favorite hobbies.” That and gardening, drinking wine, massages, golf, Botox, and cheering for the Patriots.
“Thank you for offering, Fiona,” Remy said.
“You’re welcome, dear.”
“How’s Burke doing?” Jeremiah asked her.
He was referring to her friend Burke Ainsley. “Very well.”
“Did you invite him to join us today?”
“I didn’t.” She refrained from mentioning that doing so would have been odd, seeing as how the only non-family members here were involved in romances with her sons.
“You’re welcome to include him anytime,” Jeremiah said.
“Yeah,” Jude said. “I really like him.”
“Are you and Burke dating?” Max asked.
That was an overly personal question for Max to ask, but then sensitivity wasn’t his strong suit. Fiona adjusted her hat. “No.”
“I think they should give dating a try,” Jude said.
She needed dating advice from her children even less than she needed a hot flash. “We’re friends.” Charming, though, of her sons to imagine that she could give her heart to a man again after the way their father had demolished her trust. She could not.
“How are Grandma, Grandpa, and the rest of the O’Sullivans?” Jude asked.
“They’re doing beautifully.” Fiona saw her parents, siblings, and nieces and nephews often.
Talk turned to Remy and Gemma’s families and Fiona’s attention snagged on a distant sailboat.
The one fly in the ointment of Fiona’s family at present? Her failure to restore communication between herself and her estranged sister, Isobel. She’d invited Isobel—both face-to-face and through letters—to come to Groomsport in early October so they could experience a total solar eclipse together.
Back when they were eight and ten years old, they’d traveled with their family to the path of a total solar eclipse in Suriname, South America. She and Isobel had stood side by side for that eclipse. It had awed them both and they’d made a solemn pinky-promise to watch the total eclipse coming to Maine decades in the future together, too.
So far, Fiona had received nothing but stony silence from her sister in response to her invitations.
Isobel was the second of the seven O’Sullivan children. Fiona had been born third in the birth order just eighteen months later. The two of them had been closer to each other than to any of their other siblings right up until Fiona had an affair with Felix while he was married to Isobel. Fiona had been twenty-three at the time. Heavens above, twenty-three . That much younger version of her had way more spunk than sense. Way more confidence than wisdom. When one was very green, it was dangerous to believe oneself to be mature and invincible, but that described twenty-three-year-old Fiona to a T. Filled with passion, she’d been willing to give up anyone and everyone for Felix. And more than willing for him to do the same. Sure enough, when the affair came to light, it ruptured both Felix’s marriage to Isobel and Fiona’s relationship with her sister.
These days, she looked back on their affair and her subsequent marriage to Felix with chagrin and regret. Especially because her poor decisions had become national news. They’d formed her persona. They’d sentenced her sons to notoriety. In the end, her poor decisions had broken not just Isobel’s heart. But her own.
When it came to her sister and the eclipse, Fiona might have to do what ran contrary to her nature.
Accept defeat.
She’d already done everything she could do to entice Isobel to the Maine eclipse. Perhaps it was time to accustom herself to the idea that the hurt she’d caused was so deep that it could never be forgiven. In which case, she and Isobel would remain estranged for the rest of their lives and their parents, now in their eighties, would never have all of their children in the same room again.
That outcome was harsh.
Yet, in all fairness, no less than she deserved.
Max looked up from where he was kneeling in front of the galley fridge inside the Camdenball to see Jude descending the stairs.
“Bottled water?” Max asked his friend.
“Yes, please.”
Max rose holding two bottled waters, passed one over, and closed the fridge door with his toe. It was just the two of them below deck. Probably best, since space was tight.
“I’m glad I have you alone for a minute,” Jude said.
“Yeah?”
“Months ago, I mentioned to you that Sloane told me she was coming back to Groomsport in early July. I haven’t heard from her since. Do you know if she’s back?”
“She’s back.”
“Staying with Ivy at Ivy’s house?”
“Staying with Ivy in my garage apartment.”
Jude’s eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”
Max explained how he’d arranged that.
“How long have Sloane and Ivy been in your apartment?”
“Almost a week.”
Jude scratched the skin under his ear. “What do you hope to achieve?”
“I want some type of ending between Sloane and me that I can understand.” Max unscrewed his water and threw back a long swallow.
“Because the last ending, you did not understand.”
“Right.” He gestured with the water, a few drops sloshing over the side. “An ending I can understand, I can accept. That will let me close the book and move on.”
“Mm-hmm,” Jude said, very neutral.
“What does that mean?”
Jude shrugged. As usual, his clothes had not a single wrinkle. “How’re things going between you and Sloane so far?”
“Very well.”
“If so, how come you’re gloomy despite the fact that it’s a beautiful day and my birthday party?”
“I’m not gloomy.”
“Are you gloomy because Sloane didn’t agree to step into the iron maiden you had waiting for her?”
“Not gloomy.”
“Has she refused to let you shut her in your dungeon?”
“Things with her are going very well,” Max said again. “She’s already explained a few things about why she left that I didn’t know before.” He wouldn’t admit it to Jude but since his last conversation with Sloane, a dark cloud had been following him around. He was gloomy.
He’d made progress toward his goal of closure. He should be pleased.
Yet it turned out it didn’t please him to know how brokenhearted and grief-stricken Sloane had been over the death of her sister. She should have told him about Harper’s overdose and let him and others take over her responsibilities at work. When Titan came calling, she should have turned them down flat.
Those were her mistakes.
But for the first time in four years, he was starting to think that his mistakes were worse. Blowing up at her and then kicking her out of Libri? Remembering what he’d done gave him a sinking feeling because, objectively, that was worse.
Jude was eyeing him as if doing his best to read Max’s mind. Which was uncomfortable, seeing as how Jude had known him so long that he’d gotten good at reading things in Max’s mind that Max didn’t want him to know.
“I have something to ask you about,” Max said, purposely changing the subject.
“Sure.”
“Do you remember a tiara that was part of Maple Lane’s art collection when we were kids? It once belonged to Empress Eugenie of France.” It made him feel like an idiot to say the words Empress Eugenie and tiara out loud. Those were words that belonged in a fairy tale for little girls.
“I have a vague memory of a tiara.”
“It disappeared around the time that my mom and I left Maple Lane. Did you know that?”
“No.”
“Felix is convinced that my mom stole it. He’s asked me to get the tiara back.”
“Hmm.”
“I didn’t take the tiara,” Max went on. “I’ve discussed it with my mom, and she says she didn’t take it, either.”
“Okay.” Jude gave every indication of accepting that without issue.
“Felix is convinced she has it. I don’t want this taken public so, to my mind, the best way to resolve this is to figure out who does have it.”
“Who do you think that might be?”
“Fiona’s my best guess. Maybe Jeremiah?”
Jude had an impressive poker face. “How can I help?”
“Will you talk to them about the tiara and let me know what they say?”
“Yeah. You know I like a good mystery. Add in a jewel heist, and it’s even more interesting.”
“You solve these types of things for a living.”
“For a living,” Jude agreed.
“Just don’t involve the FBI in this particular mystery. I’d rather not be thrown into federal prison.”