Copper Beach

more coffee.”

    He went to the counter and picked up the pot. He used his free hand to toss a slice of cooled French toast in Newton’s general direction. Newton made an agile leap and snatched the toast out of midair.

    Abby’s phone chimed. She picked it up and glanced at the unfamiliar number.

    “I can’t imagine who this could be,” she said.

    She stabbed the connect key.

    “Yes?” she said.

    “Abigail? Is that you?”

    Orinda Strickland spoke in the same clipped, cold, supercilious manner that had frightened the thirteen-year-old Abby. Orinda was no less daunting now that she was in her eighties, but there was a faint rasp that betrayed her age and something else. It took Abby a few seconds to find the right word. Panic. It was Orinda who was terrified today, and trying desperately to conceal it.

    Abby took a deep breath and silently repeated her mantra. Show no weakness.

    “Mrs. Strickland. What a surprise. I didn’t know you had this number.”

    “I got it from Dawson.”

    “I see. Did someone die?”

    “That is not amusing.”

    “It wasn’t meant to be. I just can’t imagine any other reason why you would want to get in touch with me.”

    “Nonsense,” Orinda snapped. “You’re family. Why wouldn’t I want to keep in touch?”

    “I knew it.” Abigail slumped against the back of her chair and contemplated the woods outside the window. Newton came to sit beside her. She put a hand on his head. “This is about Dawson and that investor he’s trying to land.”

    “Dawson told me that he talked to you about finding some old book that he needs to close the deal. He said you refused to help him.”

    “It’s not that simple, Mrs. Strickland.”

    “Dawson said you won’t get the book for him because you still have issues about the past.”

    “Well, sure, who doesn’t? But I repeat, it’s not that simple.”

    “Abigail, you were a very troubled girl. We did what we felt was best for you and the family. You’re an adult now. I would have hoped that by this time you would have realized that we had no choice but to send you to that special school. You needed treatment.”

    “Uh–huh.”

    “Do you have any idea of how much it cost to send you to the Summer Hill Academy?”

    “Summerlight.”

    “What?” Orinda asked.

    “The name of the school was the Summerlight Academy.”

    “Well, you can’t expect me to remember the name of the school after all these years.”

    “Gee, that’s funny,” Abby said. “I’ve never been able to forget it. And no, in answer to your question, I don’t know how much it cost you to dump me there.”

    “We spent thousands on tuition, room and board and counseling. You should be grateful for all that we did for you.”

    “Oh, I am,” Abby said politely. “Very grateful.”

    She was aware of Sam watching her. He lounged against the counter, sipping coffee and listening to every word. Newton rested his head on her leg, offering silent comfort.

    “The least you can do for the family is find that book for Dawson,” Orinda said. “He tells me it is absolutely critical to closing the deal with the investor.”

    “Yes, he mentioned that. But you’re going to have to trust me when I tell you that the book is dangerous.”

    “Nonsense. It’s just a book, not even a very old one at that. We’re not talking a medieval manuscript here. Evidently, the investor is obsessed with finding this particular book, however, and has made it clear that it is the price of doing business.”

    “A lot of people are searching for that same book, and at least one person has already been murdered because of it,” Abby said.

    “I don’t believe that for a second. No one commits murder because of a forty-year-old book. You’re making up stories, just like you did when you were a girl. This is about the money, isn’t it?”

    “No.”

    “Of course it is,” Orinda said. “You have always resented Dawson’s inheritance and the trust funds I established for the twins, even though I have explained that you have no right to that money because you have no biological connection to the Strickland line.”

    “I remember that talk. I told you then, and I’m telling you now, I’m not interested in the Strickland money.”

    “It’s always about the money,” Orinda shot back. Anger and conviction rang in her voice. “I would think that after all we’ve done for you, you would be willing to do this one small favor in return. If