No Returns by Rhonda Pollero

Chapter One
    I was running late, not that’s newsworthy, but I was low on time as I pointed my champagne colored Mercedes toward my modest cottage on Palm Beach. The pink-striped Victoria’s Secret bag sat on the passenger’s seat. A special little outfit for a special occasion.
    I felt a smile come to my lips just thinking about my reunion with Liam. Though we’d only been officially dating for a few weeks, we were still in the honeymoon phase. Especially when he’d been out of town on a case for almost three weeks.
    Liam is a private eye who often does work for the law firm where I’m employed and in my opinion, underpaid. I’m a paralegal at Dane, Lieberman and Caprelli. I used to be strictly estates and trusts but a year ago they added litigation support to my duties. But they didn’t add any digits to my paycheck.
    “Jesus,” I muttered as I glanced at my fingertips on the steering wheel. I had a nasty smudge in the polish on my index finger. It bothered the hell out of me but I didn’t think Liam would notice. He tended to concentrate on other parts of my body. A shiver slid down my spine. I definitely had sex on the brain.
    Well I did until I turned into the horseshoe-shaped drive in front of my house. “What the f-?” The question trailed off as I took in the sight of my mother’s Bentley.
    And it was hers. Unlike my Mercedes, which was owned by Mercedes Leasing Corp. And my house, which had a line of credit on it that I was plowing through at an alarming rate. A fact not lost on my dear friend and financial advisor, Jane. So I had splurged on a few full-price purchases. I was still secretly trolling outlets, thrift stores and eBay. And after three years of mother-induced poverty, I was good at finding bargains and gently used deals.
    My mother never dropped by unannounced. I immediately scanned my memory trying to figure out what mortal sin I’d committed since our last meeting.
    I stopped the car and got out. As I did, my mother cut the engine in the Bentley and gracefully extracted herself from the car. She had on a stunning pale green Chanel suit with nude Louboutin heels and matching bag. She reached inside the car and took out a briefcase. Well, it wasn’t technically a briefcase; it was an YSL satchel she used as a briefcase.
    We exchanged air kisses and the scent of her perfume hung like a cloud between us. I was holding my bag and mentally counting down the time I had to shower and dress before Liam came over. This was not a good time. Then again, my mother is rarely a good time.
    “Do you always work late?” she asked.
    “Errand,” I replied, lifting my bag.
    She looked at it as if I was holding a dead kitten.
    “Shopping again, Finley?”
    Great, my fears were coming true. She was going to lecture me on my shopping habits. This from the woman who has a stylist bring things to her penthouse for consideration.
    “I needed some . . . intimates.”
    She eyed me like I’d just admitted being a serial killer. Then I noticed it. There was something in my mother’s brown eyes. Something different. It wasn’t disdain, which I was used to. Not even irritation. Weird.
    “Are you going to invite me in?” she asked curtly.
    “Of course,” said, digging my keys out of my purse.
    We walked up the crushed shell drive and as I reached to put the key in the lock, she said, “Was it dress down day at work?”
    Shot fired.
    I wasn’t encased in Chanel but I was wearing a cute Lilly Pulitzer shift dress. It was white with little pink bows down the back over the zipper. I had on bright fuchsia pumps and a matching Michael Kors purse. Perfectly appropriate for the office.
    Liam was due in forty-seven minutes.
    “I like to be comfortable when I’m working.”
    My mother followed me in as I disabled the alarm and then set my package on the counter. I turned to see her reaction. After declining all my invitations, this was her first visit to the cottage since she’d sold it to me more than a year