PROLOGUE

“ZOE, IF YOUR MOTHER and I got divorced, which one of us would you stay with?”

Eleven-year-old Zoe stared out the windshield of the car, her stomach in a knot. “I don’t want to choose,” she said softly.

“What if you had to?”

“Are you and Mom getting a divorce?”

“Of course not. Your mother would never leave me. She adores me. Just like you and your sisters.” Zoe could feel him looking at her. “Right?”

“Yes, Daddy.” Zoe knew what she was expected to say.

“So would you stay with me?” He tugged lightly at her ponytail and she twitched away from him, her long swath of dark hair brushing her cheek.

“You said you’re not getting divorced.”

“Just pretend,” he said impatiently.

“I’d stay with my sisters,” Zoe said, sneaking a glance at her father. He wouldn’t like that answer. “Triplets stay together.”

“That wasn’t what I asked,” he said, his voice rising.

The smell of his pipe tobacco was making Zoe feel sick to her stomach. Please get home soon.

“I’ll ask your sisters. They’d stay with me.”

“Then Mom would be lonely.”

“That would be her punishment for leaving me.”

“You said she’d never leave you,” Zoe mumbled.

“You’re defiant today.” Anger filled her father’s voice. “I don’t like defiant girls. Your sisters aren’t defiant.”

Zoe knew how Bree and Fiona would answer their father’s question. Bree would tell him she’d stay with him. Fiona would choose their mother. Fee never cared when he started yelling. She just got that look in her eyes like she was far away.

Zoe’s stomach churned until she was afraid she’d puke all over the car. Then he’d really be mad.

“You’d stay with me, wouldn’t you, Zo?” He used his convincing voice, the one he used when he wanted her to agree with him. “Don’t you love me?”

“I love you, Daddy,” she said dutifully.

“Then why wouldn’t you stay with me?”

The car slowed as they approached their driveway. It had barely stopped before Zoe jumped out and dashed into the backyard. A tangle of tall honeysuckle bushes crowded against the fence, and she crawled beneath them.

She sat there until she was sure he hadn’t followed her. Then she slumped against the fence, inhaling the sweet scent of the honeysuckle blossoms, and let the tears roll down her face.

***

Eighteen years later

STALE AIR ENVELOPED Zoe as she opened the door to the house and stepped inside. Her sister Bree followed more slowly, her son trailing behind. Twelve-year-old Charlie, full of preteen attitude, scowled as he scuffled across the threshold. Bree took two steps, then stopped as she gazed around the foyer.

“It hasn’t changed at all.” Bree touched the marble-topped table below the gilt-framed mirror, smoothing her finger over the white surface.

“Home, sweet home,” Zoe said. She switched on the hall light to banish the shadows. “Are you sure you’ll be okay here? You’re welcome to stay at my house.”

“We’ll be fine here, Zoe,” Bree said as she stepped into the living room. The picture of their father, wearing the gown he donned for Collier College graduations, still dominated the wall over the fireplace. Snapshots of their mother with the three girls, his triplets, stood on an end table tucked into a corner.

“Better you than me,” Zoe muttered.

“Is there even a television in this friggin’ museum?” Charlie asked, kicking at the front door.

“Charlie McInnes!” Bree rounded on her son. “Do you want to eat a bar of soap?”

Charlie rolled his eyes behind his glasses. “Sorry, Mom. Is there a television in this house?”

“There is,” Zoe said. Poor Charlie. She wouldn’t be looking forward to spending the next few months in this sad, haunted place, either. It hadn’t felt welcoming since her mother died seventeen years ago. “I’ll bring over the video game console from my house, all right?”

“Okay,” Charlie said. He looked a little more cheerful.

“It’s going to take a long time to go through everything,” Bree said doubtfully. She glanced at Zoe. “Unless you’ve already started?”

Zoe shook her head. “No, Bree, I haven’t. We agreed we’d do it together. I thought we could each do our own bedroom and we’d do the rest of the house together. I can figure out what to do with the furniture. Maybe you can sort out the books and the stuff in Dad’s office? Fiona’s into gardening—we’ll have her make the yard look good before we put the place up for sale.”

“Still telling us what to do, Zo?”

“You’re welcome to come up with a different plan,” Zoe answered carefully. She didn’t want to get into a fight on Bree’s first day in town.

“No, yours makes sense,” Bree answered.

“When Fiona gets here tomorrow, we’ll decide what to tackle first.”

Bree sank onto the staircase in the hall. “I can’t believe you got her to agree to come back to Spruce Lake.”

“Why wouldn’t she? She has an equal say in what we do with the house. An equal responsibility, too.” It hadn’t been easy to persuade Fiona to come home. Their sister, her identical twin and the third triplet, had very reluctantly returned for their father’s funeral six months earlier. She’d flown in and out the same day.

Bree flashed a smile. “I wish I’d been a fly on the wall during that conversation.”

Bree’s smile looked stiff, as if she wasn’t used to smiling much, and Zoe’s heart ached for her. But instead of hugging her, she gave Bree a lazy grin. “My powers of persuasion are legendary.”

Bree snorted. “Yeah, you got me to come back here and live in this house full of nightmares. I’m still not sure how you did that.”

They both knew why Bree had come back—she had no other options. But Zoe said lightly, “Trade secret.” She pushed away from the wall. “Let me help you carry your stuff upstairs.” She glanced at her nephew, who stood with his hands in the pockets of his baggy jeans as he studied the living room. “Charlie, why don’t you stay in my old room? The southern exposure will be warmer for your reptiles. Is that okay?”

Charlie brightened. “That’s great, Aunt Zo. Thanks.”

***

ZOE AND BREE were sorting haphazardly through the clothes in their father’s closet the next morning when they heard a car door slam in the driveway. By the time they opened the front door, Fiona was standing at the bottom of the steps, staring at the house. When she saw them, she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and said, “I’m here.”

“Hey, Fee,” Zoe said, running down to hug her, Bree following. Fiona smelled like a mysterious foreign flower, and her face, although identical to Zoe’s, looked exotic and striking. Way too glamorous for a small Wisconsin college town.

Fiona hugged her back, then embraced Bree, who said, “I love the hair, punk.”

Fiona touched her short, spiky black hair that was tipped with magenta. “Yeah?”

Bree winked. “Spruce Lake-ans are going to love it, too.”

“Don’t pay any attention to her,” Zoe said, linking an arm through Fiona’s. “I’ve seen plenty of kids in town with even wilder hair.”

Fiona finally smiled. “That makes me feel a whole lot better, Zo.”

“Come on in,” Zoe said, coaxing her toward the house. She could feel Fiona tense as they got closer to the door. “Hey, Charlie,” she called. “Your aunt Fiona is here.”

Charlie clattered down the stairs. “Hi, Aunt Fee.” His eyes widened. “Sweet hair.”

“Hi, Charlie.” Fiona relaxed a little as she hugged him.

Bree pulled her gangly son aside. “Go get your aunt’s things from the car.”

Charlie brushed past them as they stepped into the foyer of the house, and Fiona’s eyes traveled over the faded couch and dusty end tables. “Nothing’s changed,” she said in a flat voice.

“Not yet.” Zoe drew Fiona toward the kitchen. “Come have some lemonade and we can catch up.”

The front door banged as they headed down the dark, narrow hall. “Is this all you have, Aunt Fee?”

Zoe turned around to see Charlie holding one small carry-on. Fiona didn’t bother to look. “Yeah, that’s it.”

Bree exchanged glances with Zoe. “Not staying long, Fee?”

“I have stuff to do back in the city,” Fiona answered, not meeting her eyes.

Zoe had no trouble reading Bree’s expression. Years had passed since they’d left home, but nothing much had changed with the McInnes triplets.

None of them wanted to be in this house.

All of them were trying to figure out how to leave.

CHAPTER ONE

THE DOOR OF Joe’s Coffee House crashed open, startling Zoe as she took a sip from the paper cup. Her hand jerked and coffee spilled on her messenger bag.

“Darn it,” she muttered, grabbing a handful of napkins from the stack on the counter.

“Zoe. I’ve been looking for you.”

The voice was low and threatening, and Zoe spotted Wallace Tate in the doorway, his face a mottled red.

“Wallace.” She shifted, bracing herself against the counter behind her. “What can I do for you?”

“You know just fine what you can do for me.” He walked toward her, his hands clenched into fists. “You tell Sally you were wrong. You hear me?”

The three customers waiting for their coffee froze, and the people sitting at the tables glanced up from their laptops and their newspapers. The only sound was the hiss of the espresso machine. Zoe ignored everyone except Wallace. “Why would I do that? I wasn’t wrong, and we both know it.”

Wallace leaned closer, his thin lips compressed and his faded blue eyes filled with rage. He smelled musty and old. “So help me God, you’re going to be sorry you crossed me.”

“What are you going to do to me, Wallace? Send me to jail?” Zoe smiled. “Been there, done that.”

She heard a quick intake of breath from another customer.

“You never were smart enough to back off, were you?” He raised his fist. “You’re interfering in my personal life. I don’t allow anyone to do that.”

She glanced at his fist. “You want to hit me? Go ahead.” Her gaze bored into his. “You’ll have lots of witnesses. Or don’t you hit women in front of other people?”

Wallace shoved his finger in her face. “I’m going to say this one more time, Zoe. You tell Sally you were mistaken. Or you’ll regret it.”

Zoe grabbed his finger. “Don’t point at me.” She’d been trying to keep her composure, telling herself that Wallace Tate was a pathetic old man. But now her anger sparked. “Get out of here, Wallace.” She shoved his hand away from her face.

The older man stumbled backward, his face scarlet with fury. He took a step toward her, then stopped. He seemed puzzled as he swayed, then staggered to the side. As he started to crumple to the floor, Zoe dropped her coffee and grabbed him. She managed to shield his head from the table, but she couldn’t stop him from hitting the floor.

“Wallace?” She unbuttoned his wool coat and put her hand on his chest, felt his heart beating way too fast. He tried to speak, but no sound came out of his mouth. His eyes were moving, but he didn’t seem to see her. The coffee she’d dropped stained his coat and slacks, and the smell of it was sharp and bitter.

Looking up at the shocked faces surrounding her, she said, “Someone call 9-1-1.”

***

THE LIGHT from the ambulance pulsed steadily outside the window of the coffee shop, a red heartbeat of anxiety. She closed her eyes to shut out the flashing. But it wouldn’t go away. It bounced off the walls and into her brain, a steady, continual reminder of the last time she’d called for an ambulance.

She had to be dreaming. This couldn’t be happening again.

Another Tate removed on a gurney.

Another police car stationed behind the ambulance.

What had happened to Wallace? She headed outside, intending to ask the paramedics. Why had he collapsed so suddenly? Was it a heart attack?

A blast of fresh spring air met her as she opened the door, and she stopped abruptly. Wallace Tate was on the gurney, parked at the back of the ambulance. Two paramedics labored over him. When they moved, she realized they’d been strapping him in.

She felt unexpected pity for the man who lay helpless in front of her. Wallace Tate, her nemesis for the past six years, reduced to a pathetic old man. Wallace would hate that. Her compassion would be unbearable to him. With one last look at the ambulance, she turned back into the shop.

“You watching the show, Zoe? Getting a kick out of it?”

Ray Dobbs, the chief of police, crowded behind her in the doorway. His blue eyes were cold and his gray buzz cut looked like a stiff brush. His whole body bristled with indignation.

“I was feeling sorry for Wallace,” she said, holding his gaze. “Don’t you think that’s ironic?”

“I’m not finding much to laugh about.”

“That’s your problem, Chief. You don’t have a sense of humor.”

Dobbs flushed. “Watch your mouth, Zoe. You’re already in enough trouble.”

Zoe tried to hold on to her temper. “What do you mean? I have no idea what happened to Wallace.”

“He just fell over.” Dobbs’s eyes glittered. “For no reason.”

“Exactly.” Despite her fear, Zoe steeled her face into an expression of polite interest. It was a talent she’d perfected during her marriage. “We were talking and he collapsed.”

“Talking?” Dobbs edged closer, his expression hard with suspicion. “Is that what you call it?” He nodded to the other customers, milling around in small groups and murmuring to one another. “Maybe we should ask them if you were just ‘talking.’”

“Wallace was angry. That shouldn’t come as a shock to you. He’s been angry with me for six years. He got a little loud.”

“What were you ‘talking’ about?” Dobbs sneered.

Zoe dug her nails into her palms. “It was personal. It’s no one else’s business.”

“You don’t think so?” Dobbs moved so close she felt his breath on her face. “You better lose the attitude, or I’ll toss your ass in a cell while we sort out what really happened.”

“Don’t think you can intimidate me, Chief. It’s not going to work. Better men than you have tried, starting with Wallace Tate.” Instead of moving away, she held her ground. She kept her gaze steady and concentrated on breathing evenly. “You can’t arrest me because a man fell sick in front of me.”

“Wallace was angry and you had a fight.” Dobbs’s mouth thinned.

“I didn’t say that.”

“He got in your face. Did you shove him? Is that why he fell down?”

“Of course not! I didn’t touch him.” But she had, she remembered with a burst of fear. She’d pushed his hand away.

Dobbs scanned the café. “Lots of witnesses here. Let’s see what they have to say.” He pointed to a chair. “Sit down. And stay there.”

“I’m not going to sit down. You can’t keep me here.”

The chief of police turned red. “You’re a pain in the ass. You know that, Zoe?”

“I get that a lot,” Zoe said. “Mostly when men are trying to bully me to get at a woman in the shelter.” She took a deep breath. She knew better than to let Dobbs push her buttons.

“Chief, the paramedic has a question for you.” Jamie Evans, the patrol officer who’d responded to the 9-1-1 call, stepped into the shop. “He’s outside.”

Dobbs hitched up his navy blue uniform pants, then turned and walked out the door. As soon as he was gone, Zoe dropped into one of the old-fashioned wooden chairs. This wasn’t like six years ago, she told herself. No one was dead and she hadn’t done anything. There was nothing to worry about.

Except that Wallace Tate was involved. That changed everything.

She pulled her cell phone out of her jacket, watching Dobbs return and begin questioning the other customers. When her attorney answered, she said, “Helen, I have a problem. Wallace Tate collapsed while he was talking to me, and Dobbs is making noises about arresting me.”

“What?” Her attorney’s voice rose. “You got into a fight with Tate?”

“No!” Zoe reached down and picked up the coffee cup she’d dropped earlier. No one had mopped up the coffee. “He came into Joe’s yelling at me, shook his finger in my face, then fell down. That’s it.”

“Don’t say a word and don’t lose your temper,” Helen said sharply.

“Too late.” Zoe watched the paramedics loading Wallace into the ambulance.

“Zoe, haven’t you learned—” Helen bit off the words. “Sorry. Don’t say anything else. If all you were doing was talking, Dobbs can’t arrest you.”

“That wouldn’t stop him. Wallace is on his way to the hospital and Dobbs is scared. Who knows what he’ll do?” Zoe swallowed. “I need you here, Helen.”

“I’m thirty minutes away in Green Bay taking a deposition.” Zoe heard her attorney shuffling papers. “It’ll take me a couple of hours to finish up, but I’ll get there as fast as I can.”

“Hurry, Helen.” As she spoke, Dobbs swung away from a table and headed toward her, his face triumphant. “I’m getting a bad feeling here.”

“I’ll call the office and see if anyone else is available. Hang on, Zoe. I won’t let them lock you up.”

“Okay,” Zoe said, shuddering as she imagined the walls of a jail cell pressing in on her.

“Stay calm, Zoe.”

“I’ll try.”

“Do better than try. Don’t give Dobbs any more ammunition.” Helen’s voice was grim as she hung up.

Zoe closed the phone, took a deep breath and sat up straight as Dobbs reached her.

His eyes gleamed maliciously. “You said you didn’t touch Wallace,” he said. “You want to rethink that statement?”

“I didn’t push him.”

“That’s not the story I’m hearing.” He jerked his head toward two women who’d gone to high school with Zoe. They wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Mary Ellen and Tina said you pushed him.”

“They’re wrong,” Zoe said. She tried to control her growing panic.