Omens (Cainsville 1)

Our house was actually modest for the neighborhood. The driver was impressed, though, which meant I had to give him a generous tip in addition to the standard gratuity on James's bill or he'd whine about the "cheap Mills & Jones brat."

As the driver did his paperwork, I walked to the front door. The rich scent of lilacs float

ed past, and I took a moment to enjoy it, the smell prompting memories of evening garden parties and late-night swims.

I glanced up at the sky. A perfect May evening, warm and clear. Still time for a swim if I could resolve Mum's problem fast enough. I might even get her into the pool if I promised to wear my suit.

I was still digging out my keys when our family lawyer flung open the door and practically dragged me inside, not an easy feat for a man who looks like Ichabod Crane, so pale and gaunt he breaks into a sweat climbing stairs.

"Howard?" I said as I escaped his grip. I sighed. "Let me guess. The board of directors wants Mum's feedback on something, and she's in a tizzy. How many times have we told them not to bother her?"

"It's not that. This is ... a personal matter, Olivia."

My mother appeared in the study doorway.

"Olivia," she said in her soft British accent. "I hope my message didn't bring you home early."

"No," I lied. "James needed to leave, and I wouldn't stay without him."

Normally she'd have gently praised me for making the socially correct choice, which wasn't always my default. But she only nodded absently. She looked exhausted. I walked over to give her a hug, but she headed for the front door, double-checking the lock.

"What's wrong?" I said.

"Come into the sitting room."

As I was following her down the hall, the doorbell rang. I glanced down the hall to see a tall, capped figure silhouetted by the porch light.

"The driver's back," I murmured. "What did I leave in the car this time?"

My mother sighed. "You really need to be more careful."

"I know, I know."

As I reached for the handle, Howard hurried over.

"Olivia, allow me--"

"Got it."

I swung open the door to see, not the driver, but a middle-aged man in a fedora. Behind him was a woman with a camera.

"Eden," the man said. "I'd like to ask you a few questions."

Chapter Four

I lifted my hands to shield my face as the camera flashed.

"There's no Eden here," I said. "You've got the wrong house."

"No, I don't." He lifted a recorder. "Tell me, Miss Larsen, how does it feel to be the long-lost daughter of America's most notorious--"

Howard slammed the door and shot the bolt.

"What just...?" I began. "Did they say what I thought they said?"

Howard tugged the sidelight curtains shut. Before I could ask my mother if we had a neighbor named Eden, she said, "I need to talk to you, Olivia."

"Okay," I said as I let her lead me into the sitting room. "We'll ignore the crazy folks at the door. What's up?"