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mother’s face.
    “He didn’t have anything to do with it, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she insisted.
    I looked at Harley, and I saw something in her eyes. Something had just popped into place in her mind. And she wasn’t happy about it.
    Neither was I. Because all of this pointed to just one person.
    Margaret.

Chapter 7
     
    Harley
    I had dreams about her even when I didn’t know who she was. Dreams that I knew now were a mixture of memory and something else, something angry inside of me.
    As I came out of my coma, I dreamed I was in a dress shop with a dark-haired woman I didn’t know. I remembered thinking this woman had betrayed me—even though I couldn’t say if she’d been a friend or a foe. And then again, later, I had the same dream. But this time we were arguing about Xander, about the marriage I hadn’t learned about until the day Xander and I went to get our marriage license.
    We did fight about it. Not in a bridal shop. My mind had mixed that up for some reason. But the words had been the same.
    “I can’t believe you would betray me that way! Why wouldn’t you tell me something like that? I thought we were friends. You were supposed to be a part of my wedding, for God’s sakes!”
    “It wasn’t my place to tell you. Xander should have done it.”
    “But we worked together all this time—”
    “I thought he’d already told you. I thought you were okay with it.”
    “Well, you thought too much.”
    “It was a lifetime ago, Harley. It’s been over so long that it doesn’t even feel like it was part of this life.”
    “But it was. And neither of you felt the need to tell me.”
    I remember it clearly now. We were in the gym at the community center. Margaret had just found out about Xander and my separation, and she’d tried to apologize. But I attacked her, accused her of things I didn’t really feel, but thought someone in my position might feel. I was hurt she’d never mentioned it to me, but the blame rested with Xander, not her. I was just trying to keep up my end of the whole charade that Xander and I were performing for everyone.
    But it stood out in my mind because, despite Margaret’s words, she didn’t seem all that heartbroken that I’d found out, or that I appeared to blame her for my ignorance.
    That was…odd.
    Margaret was never easy to figure out. She was complex, one of those people who always seemed calm and collected, but you could sense a whirlpool hidden just under the surface. She admired my work, telling me I could have gallery shows in places like New York and Paris if I wanted, but in the same breath suggesting I take a job at a local university in case my work didn’t stay on top as it should. She would tell me how happy she was that Xander and I were together, but then criticize the way I spoke to him or the things I did for him. She was a ball of contradictions. Either she was my best friend, or she hated me for stealing Xander’s attention from her. Or maybe a little of both. I don’t know.
    But I never felt as though I were in danger around her until this very moment.
    I was really hoping my memory of that day was just a figment of my imagination.
    “Xander,” I said softly, “we need to go.”
    He shook his head. “We’re not going anywhere until I know for sure that this isn’t some sort of set up.”
    “What are you talking about?” Bonnie demanded.
    “Don’t,” I said—even as Xander turned to his mother and grabbed her upper arms.
    “We have to talk to Grant.”
    “Xander!”
    He looked over at me, the wheels spinning in his head. “It’s the only way,” he said finally. “We need all the cards on the table. We need to know who we can trust.”
    “But Philip—”
    “Who came to the house this morning, Harley?”
    I glanced out the doors that opened onto the back porch. Clearly, he’d overheard us. I had suspected, but wasn’t quite sure. But he heard.
    “You know someone’s spilling information to the wrong people.