Red Lily

least.”
    “Mary Connor worked there,” Mitch continued, “and though she listed no children for the census, a check of vital records shows she had a daughter—Amelia Ellen.”
    “Estranged, I suppose,” Stella said.
    “Enough that the daughter considered her mother dead, and the mother didn’t acknowledge the daughter. There’s another interesting bit. There’s no record of Amelia having a child, just as there’s no record of her death.”
    “Money can grease wheels or muddy them up,” Hayley added.
    “What’s next?” Logan wondered.
    “I’m going to go back over old newspapers, again, keep looking for any mention of her death—unidentified female, that sort of thing. And we’ll keep trying to find information through the descendants of servants. I’ll see if the people who own The Willows now will let me have a look at any documents or papers from that time.”

    “I’ll smooth the way,” Roz offered. “Old family names grease wheels, too.”
    S HE WAS OUT on a date for the first time in . . . it was really too sad to think about how long. And she looked pretty good, if she did say so herself. The little red top showed off her arms and shoulders, which were nicely toned between hauling Lily, yoga, and digging in the dirt.
    There was a great-looking guy sitting across from her in a noisy, energetic Beale Street restaurant. And she couldn’t keep her mind on the moment.
    “We’ll talk about it,” Harper said, then picked up the glass of wine she’d ignored and handed it to her. “You’ll feel better getting it out than working so hard not to say anything.”
    “I can’t stop thinking about it. Her. I mean she had his baby, Harper, and he just took it. It’s not so hard to see why she’d have this hard-on about men.”
    “Devil’s advocate? She sold herself.”
    “But, Harper—”
    “Hold on. She came from a working-class family. Instead of opting to work, she opted to be kept. Her choice, and I got no problem with it. But she traded sex for a house and servants.”
    “Which gives him the right to take her child?”
    “Not saying that, by a long shot. I’m saying it’s unlikely she was a rosy-cheeked innocent. She lived in that house, as his mistress, for what, more than a year before she got pregnant.”
    She wasn’t ready to have it all taken down to its lowest level. “Maybe she loved him.”
    “Maybe she loved the life.” He jerked a shoulder.
    “I didn’t know you were so cynical.”

    He only smiled. “I didn’t know you were so romantic. More than likely, the truth of it hits somewhere in the middle of cynicism and romance, so we’ll split the difference.”
    “Seems fair. I don’t always like being fair though.”
    “Either way it falls, we know this is one screwed-up individual, Hayley. It’s pretty likely she was screwed up before this happened. That doesn’t mean she deserved it, but I’m betting on a hard edge. It takes one, doesn’t it, to list your own mother as dead when she’s living a few miles away?”
    “Yeah. It doesn’t paint a nice picture. I guess part of me wants to see her as a victim, like the heroine, when it’s just not that cut and dried.”
    Deliberately she sipped her wine. “Okay, that’s enough. That’s all she gets for tonight.”
    “Fine with me.”
    “I just have to do one thing.”
    Harper reached in his pocket. “Here, use my phone.”
    Laughing, she took it. “I know she’s fine with Roz and Mitch. I just want to check.”
    S HE ATE CATFISH and hush puppies and drank two glasses of wine. It was amazing how liberating it was to sit as long as she liked, to talk about whatever came to mind.
    “I forgot what this was like.” Simply because she could, Hayley lounged back in her chair. “Eating a whole meal without interruptions. I’m glad you finally asked me out.”
    “Finally?”
    “You’ve had plenty of time,” she pointed out. “Then I wouldn’t have had to make the first move.”
    “I liked your first move.” He reached over, took her hand.
    “It was one of my better ones. Harper.” Relaxed, she eased forward, her eyes on his. “Were you really thinking about me that way all this time?”

    “I put a lot of effort into not thinking about you that way. It worked some of the time.”
    “Why did you? Put a lot of effort into it, I mean.”
    “It seemed . . . rude,” was the best he could think of, “to imagine seducing a houseguest, especially a pregnant one. I helped you out of the