Genuine Lies

for flowers from Eve. But she didn’t want to think about that now.
    As the minutes passed, she grew calmer. While her mind drifted, she began to toy with the broach she’d pinned to her jacket that morning. The broach her mother—the only mother she’d ever known—had left her. Justice. Both of her parents had devoted their lives to it. And to her.
    She remembered so much—being driven to school on that first terrifying day, being held and rocked. The stories she’d been told at bedtime. The Christmas she’d been given the shiny two-wheeler with the white plastic basket on the front. And the pain, the confusion when divorce had separated the people she loved and depended on most of all. The way they had united in support of her during her pregnancy. How proud they’d been of Brandon; how they’d helped her finish her education. How painful it had been, and still was, to know she had lost both of them.
    But nothing could dim her memories, or her emotions. Maybe that’s what she’d been most afraid of. Afraid that if she’d known the circumstances of her birth, it would have diminished somehow that connection with the people who had raised her.
    That wasn’t going to happen. Steadier, she rose again. No matter what was said, no matter what transpired between her and Eve, nothing could change that bond.
    She would always be Julia Summers.
    Now it was time to face the rest of her heritage.
    She started back to the guest house. Eve could come to her there, where they could have complete privacy. She stopped at the door to search through her bag for her keys. When was she going to learn not to drop them so carelessly into the black hole of her purse? When her fingers closed overthem, she gave a little sigh of satisfaction. Her mind sketched out a vague plan as she unlocked the door.
    She would treat herself to a glass of white wine, marinate some chicken for dinner, then call Eve. She wouldn’t plan the conversation at all, but let it happen naturally. After it was over, she would call Paul. She could tell him everything, knowing he would help her sort it out.
    Maybe they could take Brandon away for the weekend, just to relax, just to be together. It might be healthy to put a little distance between herself and Eve. After dropping her briefcase and purse on a chair, she started to turn toward the kitchen.
    It was then Julia saw her.
    She could only stare. Not even scream. It wasn’t possible to scream when she’d stopped breathing. It passed hazily through her mind that it must be a play. Surely the curtain would come down any second, then Eve would smile that dazzling smile and take her bows.
    But she wasn’t smiling, or standing. She was sprawled on the floor, her magnificent body turned awkwardly on its side. Her pale face was propped on one outstretched arm, as if she’d settled herself down for a lazy nap. But her eyes were open. Wide and unblinking, their zest and passion drained.
    Seeping darkly into the pretty rug in front of the low hearth was the blood that dripped from the gaping wound at the base of her skull.
    “Eve.” Julia took one stumbling step forward, then dropped to her knees to take Eve’s cold hand in hers. “Eve, no.” Frantic, she tried to lift her, to force the limp body to its feet. Blood soaked her shirt, smeared her jacket.
    Then she screamed.
    On her wild rush to the phone, she tripped. Still reeling with shock, she bent down to pick up the brass poker that lay on the floor. Blood glistened wetly on it. With a sound of revulsion, she tossed it aside. Her fingers trembled so badly she was sobbing by the time she managed to dial 911.
    “I need help.” Saying the words had her stomach heaving into her throat. She fought it back. “Please, I think she’s dead.You have to help.” Breath hitching, she listened to the dispatcher’s soothing voice and instructions. “Just come,” Julia demanded. “Come quickly.” She forced out the address, then jangled the phone back onto the hook. Before she had time to think, she was dialing again. “Paul. I need you.”
    She couldn’t say any more. As his voice buzzed through the receiver, she dropped the phone to crawl back to Eve. To take her hand.
    There were uniformed police at the gate when Paul got there. But he already knew. Unable to contact Julia again on the car phone while he’d raced from Malibu, he’d finally reached a hysterical maid at the main house.
    Eve was dead.
    He’d told himself it was a mistake, some