Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Mandy
It’s been a whirlwind ever since I left the gallery. Ever since I recognized Jack, or John. Whatever his name is.
My hands still trembled as I gripped the steering wheel, racing to the police station. The late afternoon sun caught the windshield, nearly blinding me at every turn. I had to get there before Seymour confessed about Darren.
Inside that board room, I became an actress worthy of an Oscar.
The temperature shot up about a hundred degrees when Jack walked in, and I felt the spotlight on me, watching my every move.
My throat went dry as I shook his hand, somehow managing to keep my voice steady during our polite conversation.
The possible—no, most likely—killer was standing right in front of me, and I had to pretend everything was normal.
After Seymour left, I waited for Diana and Jack to leave, counting each excruciating minute.
By the time I made it to my car, my heart was pounding so hard I could barely breathe.
I drove like a madwoman, rushed into the station, demanded to see Officer Pete.
The secretary’s startled expression told me I might have been a bit too forceful.
And now, it seems Officer Pete has his own news to share. The fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across his face as he looks at all of us, his expression grave.
“We’ve known about the Ohio murders. We’ve suspected Diana might be in contact with someone connected to them. We didn’t realize it would be John Walters.”
The chair scrapes against the floor as Seymour shoots to his feet. “So you acted like Mandy was the top suspect? Do you know how ridiculous that was? How much stress that brought into her life?”
Heat rises to my cheeks at his defense of me. His voice carries an edge I’ve rarely heard, and despite everything, my heart skips at his protective tone. Why does he have to be so confusing?
Officer Pete’s chair creaks as he leans forward, offering an apologetic expression. “Sorry about that, Mandy. We appreciate your patience. That’s why we didn’t bring you in for any unnecessary questioning.”
I get that. But the waiting game almost made it worse. Every knock at my door, every phone call could have been Pete, ready to take me in for questioning.
“Can you arrest him?” The words tumble out before I can stop them, my voice echoing slightly in the small room.
“Unfortunately, it’s not that easy. We need motive. We need evidence.”
The conversation wraps up, and we all file out of the station. The late afternoon sun warms my face as we step into the parking lot. Harris gives us privacy, climbing into the car and busying himself with his phone.
Seymour stands before me, shoulders straight, emanating that quiet control that both frustrates and attracts me. Even with several feet between us, I feel that familiar pull. The same one I felt that first night on the dock when everything changed.
“I’m confused,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
He steps closer, his fingers finding mine. The contact sends tingles up my arm, and I resist the urge to pull away. “We have a lot to talk about. I have something to take care of right now. Can we meet later tonight?”
“Sure.” The word comes out breathy. I want answers, and I have some explaining to do too.
A few hours later, my phone buzzes with a group text from Grace.
Grace: Dinner at The Birches. Tonight. 6p.m. Scott has a plan.
I’ll be honest. A dinner party is the last thing I want right now. Yes, I want to hear Scott’s plan, but couldn’t he just stop by in the morning? Or send a text?
But I know that’s not happening.
My fingers itch to hold a paintbrush, to lose myself in my studio for the evening.
Instead, I change clothes and head out. During the drive, my mind wanders to my paintings, to what it would be like for someone who admires Silvano’s work to know the truth—that it was my concept.
My paintings have more depth, more soul.
The betrayal still stings, and every time I see praise for Silvano, that knife in my back twists a little deeper.
I park in front of Scott and Grace’s stunning lake house, taking a moment to admire the way the setting sun reflects off the windows.
Inside, the house bustles with activity.
Miles and Barrie stand out on the deck, their laughter carrying through the glass doors.
Scott arranges the taco bar on the table.
He’s turned into quite the host since meeting Grace.
Grace emerges from the kitchen, her honey blonde hair swept up in an elegant bun. She plays the perfect hostess, greeting me with warmth and enthusiasm. But I can tell she has more she wants to say.
I laugh, the sound genuine. “I’m your sister-in-law. I’m going to love you even if you’re rude to me.”
She hesitates, teeth catching her bottom lip. “Really?”
Something in her expression makes me pause. “Go ahead. What’s on your mind?”
She leads me into the kitchen, the smell of seasoned meat and fresh tortillas in the air. Her fingers find mine. “Mandy, I couldn’t ask for a better sister. I never had one, and you’re the best.”
My eyes grow hot with unexpected tears. “Thank you.” I squeeze her hand. “And now for the honest part?”
“You know I want you to be happy and find the right guy—”
“But not Seymour?” The words come out softer than intended. She hasn’t seen him like I have—protective, caring, tender. Even though doubt has crept in these past couple weeks, I still feel the need to defend him. My wall is just as high as his.
She shifts her weight, uncomfortable under my gaze. “Please, just be careful.”
“I will. I promise. No wedding bells ringing.”
Relief softens her features. I don’t hold her opinion against her—I was there during her ordeal while working for Scott.
I understand her concern. It wasn’t long ago that I shared it.
The memory of Seymour first walking into the gallery surfaces—how much I couldn’t stand him, how much I despised him.
It wasn’t really fair.
“Here.” She presses a cool wine glass into my hand. “Join Barrie and Miles on the deck. It’s a gorgeous evening.”
“Thanks.”
On my way out, I stop to hug Scott. His arms tighten around me briefly before he pulls back, studying my face with brotherly concern. “How are you doing?”
I shrug. “Good. At this point, I just want to know if the gallery will stay open or close. It’s this in-between place I don’t like.”
The words surprise me as they come out. Yes, I want it to stay open, but I’ll survive. The secret of my paintings, my new concept, keeps hope alive. My fingers twitch with the desire to work on them again.
“What?” Scott’s eyes narrow. “I can always tell when it’s going well with your art. You have a constant light in your eyes that even this murder business can’t dim.”
I zip my lips, fighting a smile. “Maybe. Maybe not.” Then I redirect, “What about this plan?”
His expression grows serious as he refolds a napkin. “Do you want to take down these bad guys?”
“Of course.”
“Well, then, you’ll like the plan.”
He shoos me outside, where Barrie immediately wraps me in a tight hug.
The evening air carries the scent of the lake, cool against my skin.
Barrie always says I was her first friend, that she never would have stayed in Lakewood if it wasn’t for me.
But her friendship saved me too. The day she rode into town in a wedding dress changed my life for the better.
Miles peers through the glass doors. “Um, I’ll see if Scott needs any help.”
“Good riddance, you big grump,” Barrie calls after him.
He winks. “Okay, Sunshine.”
Once we’re alone, she guides me to the railing. The wood feels smooth beneath my palms as we look out over the lake. “Tell me everything,” she demands.
I laugh. “You already heard I met with Pete?”
She nods, leaning closer. “Catch me up. What did they say about the Ohio murders?”
“They knew about them.” I pause, knowing what she really wants to hear. “But no, they didn’t realize Jack Hansen was John Walters. They didn’t know he was in town.”
“I feel like we’re on the edge of this case breaking wide open.” Her fingers drum against the railing. “There’s just one piece we’re missing.” She sets her jaw. “I’m going to find it.”
“I have no doubt you will.” I close my eyes as a warm breeze brushes past. The small ripples of water against the shore draws my attention to their dock, and suddenly I’m thinking of a different dock, with Seymour, and that magical night.
“He’s here. And Harris,” Barrie says quietly.
“That’s nice.” My voice comes out flat.
She nudges my arm. “You don’t have to pretend with me. What’s going on with Seymour?” Her voice drops. “And I don’t want to hear the version you tell Grace and Scott.”
My shoulders slump. She knows me too well. “I don’t really know what’s going on. We had a weird date a couple weeks ago and it hasn’t been the same since.”
“What made it weird?”
“First, he tried to dazzle me with his wealth. The date came complete with limo and spa treatment.”
“And you’re complaining?” Her eyes sparkle with amusement.
“I know. Every girl’s dream, right? But it was too much. It was like he was trying to buy my affection. Then, we ran into Todd.” I leave out the part about Todd’s subtle threat.
“No wonder it was a weird date.”
“And Seymour invited him to join us.”
“What? That is weird. What did he say when you asked him about it?”
“Um, I never asked.” I wrap my arms around myself. There was so much about that night that left me confused. The champagne and wine didn’t help either.
Barrie stays silent, letting me absorb the view while my thoughts chase themselves in circles.
Finally, she says quietly, “You need to tell him.”
“What do you mean?” But the tightness in my chest tells me I know exactly what she means.
“If there’s any part of you that wants to give this thing with Seymour a chance, you have to tell him.
All of it. Tell him about Todd.” She gives me a side-squeeze, her touch comforting.
“I know it won’t be easy. Not any of it.
What happened is a huge part of your history, of who you are today.
Tell him his wealth makes you uncomfortable.
Tell him you didn’t enjoy the dream date. ”
Nothing about that night resembled a dream. More like a nightmare that wouldn’t end.
“I know you’re right, but I was so sure about Todd. He was the one. I planned on a lifetime with him.”
“You’re right. There’s no guarantee things will work with Seymour if you open up to him. The relationship still might not work. But honestly, Seymour isn’t going to steal your work.”
No, just my heart.
The sliding glass door opens behind us. “Dinner!”
We gather around the taco bar. I make a taco salad while conversation flows around me, grateful for the distraction of food and friends.
The dining room table fits us all comfortably, and I spend the entire meal trying not to look at Seymour. His gaze burns into me, willing me to meet his eyes, but I’m scared of what I might see there.
Harris breaks the tension with stories of his failed dates before he met Ivy. He’s just finishing his third tale when Scott interrupts.
“Why so many failed dates as a bachelor?”
Harris exchanges a loaded look with Seymour. “Well, not to sound ungrateful, but it’s hard to date when you have wealth. Women act weird. It changes the dynamics. I’d say that accounts for ninety percent of the failed dates.”
Grace nods. “It also causes a lot of distrust. You question why people like you or want to be your friend.” She offers a polite laugh. “I don’t mean to sound whiny, because in certain ways, money makes life easier. In other ways, it makes it harder.”
“On that note.” Scott pushes back from the table. “Now that we’re done, how about grabbing an after-dinner drink and heading to the deck.”
We follow his suggestion, and a subtle tension settles over the group. The casual dinner portion of the evening is over—now we’ll discuss murders and plans.
The deck chairs creak and the legs scrape against the deck as we settle in, some choosing to stand. Scott brings everyone up to speed, recapping the Ohio murders and revealing Jack Hansen’s true identity.
“We’re definitely missing the crucial factor that ties these artists together.
” Barrie grips her phone like she’ll tackle the research all night if she has to.
“The reason they became victims. I’m going to keep researching.
Me and Google are best buds. It’s just feeding it the right terms. Some detail I’m missing. ”
“Have they brought him in for questioning?” Miles asks, his fingers wrapped tightly around his beer.
“Sadly no. They want more evidence. They don’t want Jack to know they learned about his real identity. That’s where we come in.” Scott’s gaze finds mine. “That’s where Mandy enters the picture, if she’s willing.”
“What is the plan?” Seymour’s voice carries an edge of tension. “How will it affect our event tomorrow night?”
Scott meets Seymour’s intense stare before turning to me. “Tomorrow night, if you’re willing, you can wear a wire. You can talk to Diana. Jack too, if he’s there.”
“Only if she has a chaperone, a guard,” Seymour states, his knuckles white where they grip his glass.
Heat floods my cheeks. While I appreciate his protective instinct, here in front of everyone it makes me look incapable of handling myself. “The questioning won’t work if Seymour is with me the whole night.”
“Agreed,” Scott says, nodding slowly.
My stomach tightens with nerves as I consider tomorrow night. “What information am I trying to get from them?” This will add another layer of stress to an already tense evening.
“Anything they’ll give up. Maybe Diana knows something about Jack’s past that she’s not aware of, or doesn’t know it’s important to the case.” Scott leans forward in his chair, the wood creaking beneath him. “If subtle questioning doesn’t work, you can always be blunt. Shock her into slipping up.”
“That’s too dangerous.” Seymour stands abruptly, jamming his hands into his pockets. The deck light catches his face, highlighting the tension in his jaw. “What if Diana is in on it?”
I rise to face him, squaring my shoulders despite the tremor in my hands. Meeting Scott’s gaze, I say firmly, “I’ll do it.”
The night air grows heavy with silence as everyone processes my decision. Part of me wants to reach out to Seymour, to explain that I understand his concern, but I have to do this. For the gallery. For the truth. For myself.
But mostly, I need to do this to stop anyone else from dying.