The Girl From Summer Hill (Summer Hill 1)

“Your snake of an ex-brother-in-law is sneaking around and seeing your girlfriend, she’s not giving you any details, and tomorrow you’re leaving. Didn’t you say that you might have to go with the director to the wilds of Romania to scout locations? They have cell service there?”

“Doubt it,” Tate said, frowning deeply.

Onstage, Kit called cut and said they’d take a thirty-minute break.

“Exactly where did you see him?” Tate asked.

Jack didn’t look around. “Behind me. To your left. After my last scene, I went over there and the bushes had been trampled down.”

“Do me a favor, will you?” Tate asked. “Take the girls somewhere. Get them ice cream, whatever. Tell them I had to…” He waved his hand. “Make up something.”

“Want me to run back to the house and get a sword?” Jack was trying to lighten the moment.

“For this, I want to use my bare knuckles.” With one last glance at Casey, who was laughing with her sister, Tate sauntered down the path toward the Big House. He wanted to look as though he had all the time in the world. Like he wasn’t upset or worried about anything.

As soon as he was out of sight of the stage, he doubled back. Thanks to days of exploring, he knew how to get through the tangle of old shrubs. Silently, Tate made his way to the place Jack said he thought he’d seen Haines. In the center of some tall shrubs was a circle of flattened weeds, and, through the bushes, there was a clear view of the makeshift stage.

What was Haines after this time? Tate wondered, remembering how much money he’d poured into the man. There’d been years of supporting him while he was married to Nina. Cars, clothes, booze. Just paying off his AmEx bill each month had been a killer. Nina, always the softhearted one, would sometimes quote her husband to Tate, saying that Devlin just needed a good acting job but that he couldn’t get one because he lived under the shadow of Tate’s great success.

At first, Tate had made the mistake of thinking his brother-in-law was like him. When Tate had been out of work and frantically searching for acting jobs, he’d waited tables, tended bar, driven a truck. “Really?” Nina said at the suggestion. “You expect Devlin to do that? Can’t you see the tabloids? There’d be a big photo of Tate Landers’s impoverished brother-in-law washing dishes.”

In the end, Tate had “invested” in a TV show, with the stipulation that Devlin Haines play the lead. After her husband got the role, Nina had been jubilant. She and Emmie at last had a chance at being part of a normal, happy family.

And for a while, Tate had also been content. He was shooting on location, and every night he thought of his family’s perfect little life and how Haines was now supporting them. It made him feel good that he’d been able to give it to them. When he talked to Nina and Emmie via Skype, there’d been nothing but smiles and gratitude.

Then one of the show’s producers had called him with the complaints. Haines was drinking on the set, groping every female. He was belittling the other actors onscreen and off. He was the star. He was the reason they had a job. Worst of all, with every episode, his performances got more wooden.

“Nobody can stand him,” the producer told Tate. “Last time I was on set he told me to go get him some coffee. We would all put up with him if his attitude didn’t carry over onto the screen. Did you see the TV Guide quip about the man’s ego eating up the script? Devlin Haines has become a joke! Tate, as much as I respect you, you can’t—”

“How about if I do a couple of episodes?”

“Yeah?” the producer said. “Can I announce that to the press?”

“Sure,” Tate said. “Just give me twenty-four hours to break it to my manager. I’m sure you’ll hear her screams.”

But even that hadn’t been enough. At the beginning of the second season, Haines’s behavior and acting were so bad the writers killed him off in an attempt to save the show. But it was too late. By that time the whole series had become a punch line to late-night comics.

Tate wished he could have paid Haines to get out of their lives, but the man was Emmie’s father, so Tate felt he had to back off. As part of the divorce, Tate agreed to support the freeloader for a few more years, the case to be reviewed later. But now what? As far as Tate could tell, the man had made no attempt to get a job.

He could almost hear Haines telling Emmie, “I can’t get a job because your uncle Tate won’t let me, so I’m living out of my car.”

As Tate stood in the tall bushes, he closed his eyes for a moment. When he’d heard that Haines was in Summer Hill, he’d been shocked, but at the same time he knew he should have expected him. He was sure the man was there to get to Tate’s bank account through Nina, and probably through Emmie. But they weren’t here yet, and his rehearsals weren’t until next week, so why was Haines skulking around in the bushes now?

Tate ran his hand over his face. There was no use trying to figure out the way Haines thought. All Tate knew for sure was that the man had been sneaking around Casey, no doubt gaining sympathy from her. He had a knack for making women feel sorry for him.

Whether Haines was up to something fairly innocent, like trying to win Casey away from Tate, or if he was taking photos to use for blackmail, Tate didn’t know. What if there were pictures of him and Casey naked in the well house? Tate knew he’d pay to keep them out of the press. He wouldn’t want Casey embarrassed that way.

As he looked through the shrubs, he saw that the stage was quiet. Olivia was to one side, sitting on a chair they’d bought at the estate sale and reading the script. Kit was at the bottom of the stairs, talking to the caretaker. No one else was about.

Tate saw a movement behind the stage. It was just a flash and it could be the peacock, angry to have so many people on the property, but it could be something else.

Feeling a bit ridiculous at sneaking around on his own land, Tate circled the gazebo while staying hidden. Twice he saw broken branches, as though he wasn’t the first one who’d walked through there.

At the back corner of the gazebo was a trellis covered with dense honeysuckle vines. It was so thick that it blocked that corner of the stage from sunlight, and from view. A person onstage couldn’t see through it.

Standing in the shadows was Devlin Haines. Silently, Tate walked up behind him. “Stay away from her,” he said.

Devlin turned and there was a second of surprise, but then his face calmed and he gave his small smile, as though he was in control. “I have no idea who you mean. Jack’s hot little blonde number?” His phone was in his hand and he held it up for Tate to see. It was a photo of Gizzy with her arms around a fireman, kissing him on the mouth. “This was taken two days ago. I thought maybe Jack would like to frame it so I sent you a copy.”