closed-mouth about himself. Why did he tell her tonight? Had things changed between them because she found the emails? And what of the email she just saw?
“Oh, Dylan, I wish everything was the way it was before, when I knew nothing. And, Daddy, I wish you were here with me. I need you so much to explain all this.” She grabbed a tissue from the box on her nightstand and wiped away the tears that threatened to fall on her pillow.
She acknowledged the futility of her wishes as the last notes of Barber died away. This is all your fault, Gloria.
Chapter 12
Laurel sat up in bed and put her feet over the side. Of course it wasn’t Gloria’s fault. Just because she would still have her sanity intact if Gloria hadn’t hired her, didn’t mean there was any intent or malice. Snooping into Gloria’s husband’s life had gotten her important information she wouldn’t otherwise have. It was her own choice to pursue the connection with Gerald and Dylan. Whether she wanted the information or not was a whole other question, and now that she had it, what was she going to do with it? However, she couldn’t do anything until tomorrow.
Sunday was usually a relaxing day. When her father was alive, he took time out of his schedule to spend Sundays with her, especially when she was a child. How many times had they gone to the zoo or Sea World or Disneyland? How often did they go to Belmont Park and ride the roller coaster, or to the museums at Balboa Park? When was the last time they simply walked barefoot on the beach, hand in hand? God, she didn’t realize how much she would miss him. Now Sunday was just another day she had to wait through until she could get back to work.
Monday morning, she had a cup of coffee and an English muffin then got ready for work. She opened a drawer in her desk and took out a stack of business cards. She shuffled through them until she found the one she was looking for and stuck it in her purse. As she reached the gate, she stopped to program a temporary code for the gardeners. They were due tomorrow and she didn’t want to forget. Without giving it any thought, she programmed in 5895. She wrote it down so she could give it to Dylan and Mari when the gardeners called for it. She stared at what she’d written. God. It was the date of Sandra’s death. She reprogrammed the gate, tore the paper into pieces, and stuffed them into the ashtray.
She drove to the house where Miles had dropped off the woman. As she got out of the car, she pulled the business card out of her purse. She opened the gate to the front yard, glad it didn’t have a code. The yard was small as yards went in Rancho. Maybe most of the property was at the back of the house.
Eucalyptus trees swayed in the breeze. Shadows from two massive pines made the yard seem dark. There was a neat row of yellow mums planted along the front of the house. A woman was on her knees, her gloved hands cradling what appeared to be the last plant. Carefully, she situated the roots in a hole and covered them with dirt. She noticed Laurel coming toward her and stood, peeling off the gloves.
“Can I help you?”
Laurel gave her a friendly smile. “Your yard is lovely. Are you the lady of the house?”
“Thank you, and yes, I am.” She raised her eyebrows.
Laurel handed her a business card. The woman looked at it briefly. She was obviously used to being approached by sales people. “It’s blank.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I gave you the wrong card.” She gave the woman the right card, taking the other one back.
Politely, the woman scanned the card. “You’re a realtor, Ms. Slocum?”
“Yes. I’m trying to get started in Rancho Santa Fe. My territory has always been coastal—Del Mar, Encinitas, La Jolla—but I love these homes and I know I can sell them.”
The woman handed the card back, which was what Laurel was counting on. She didn’t want a non-existent name and phone number in someone else’s hands. “I’m sorry, but I’m not in
“Oh, Dylan, I wish everything was the way it was before, when I knew nothing. And, Daddy, I wish you were here with me. I need you so much to explain all this.” She grabbed a tissue from the box on her nightstand and wiped away the tears that threatened to fall on her pillow.
She acknowledged the futility of her wishes as the last notes of Barber died away. This is all your fault, Gloria.
Chapter 12
Laurel sat up in bed and put her feet over the side. Of course it wasn’t Gloria’s fault. Just because she would still have her sanity intact if Gloria hadn’t hired her, didn’t mean there was any intent or malice. Snooping into Gloria’s husband’s life had gotten her important information she wouldn’t otherwise have. It was her own choice to pursue the connection with Gerald and Dylan. Whether she wanted the information or not was a whole other question, and now that she had it, what was she going to do with it? However, she couldn’t do anything until tomorrow.
Sunday was usually a relaxing day. When her father was alive, he took time out of his schedule to spend Sundays with her, especially when she was a child. How many times had they gone to the zoo or Sea World or Disneyland? How often did they go to Belmont Park and ride the roller coaster, or to the museums at Balboa Park? When was the last time they simply walked barefoot on the beach, hand in hand? God, she didn’t realize how much she would miss him. Now Sunday was just another day she had to wait through until she could get back to work.
Monday morning, she had a cup of coffee and an English muffin then got ready for work. She opened a drawer in her desk and took out a stack of business cards. She shuffled through them until she found the one she was looking for and stuck it in her purse. As she reached the gate, she stopped to program a temporary code for the gardeners. They were due tomorrow and she didn’t want to forget. Without giving it any thought, she programmed in 5895. She wrote it down so she could give it to Dylan and Mari when the gardeners called for it. She stared at what she’d written. God. It was the date of Sandra’s death. She reprogrammed the gate, tore the paper into pieces, and stuffed them into the ashtray.
She drove to the house where Miles had dropped off the woman. As she got out of the car, she pulled the business card out of her purse. She opened the gate to the front yard, glad it didn’t have a code. The yard was small as yards went in Rancho. Maybe most of the property was at the back of the house.
Eucalyptus trees swayed in the breeze. Shadows from two massive pines made the yard seem dark. There was a neat row of yellow mums planted along the front of the house. A woman was on her knees, her gloved hands cradling what appeared to be the last plant. Carefully, she situated the roots in a hole and covered them with dirt. She noticed Laurel coming toward her and stood, peeling off the gloves.
“Can I help you?”
Laurel gave her a friendly smile. “Your yard is lovely. Are you the lady of the house?”
“Thank you, and yes, I am.” She raised her eyebrows.
Laurel handed her a business card. The woman looked at it briefly. She was obviously used to being approached by sales people. “It’s blank.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I gave you the wrong card.” She gave the woman the right card, taking the other one back.
Politely, the woman scanned the card. “You’re a realtor, Ms. Slocum?”
“Yes. I’m trying to get started in Rancho Santa Fe. My territory has always been coastal—Del Mar, Encinitas, La Jolla—but I love these homes and I know I can sell them.”
The woman handed the card back, which was what Laurel was counting on. She didn’t want a non-existent name and phone number in someone else’s hands. “I’m sorry, but I’m not in
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