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Before he left, Harry reminded Rose that there was plenty of money in it for her if she wanted to shed light on what had happened to her back in high school. “Powerful people are very, very curious about what you did back then,” Harry said. “Isn’t that funny? To me, you look like an adorable baker lady. All you do every day is measure out sugar, butter, and milk, welcome little kids in, and feed them cute snacks. But to these powerful people, you’re something of a star. How does that feel, Rose Calder?”

“It feels like you owe me five dollars for the pie,” Rose said, smiling. “We accept cash or card.”

That evening, Maxine was at her father’s place. Apparently, Mike’s fiancée was going to make chicken à la orange, and Maxine was eager to show her soon-to-be stepmother her homecoming dress. This left Rose to her own devices for the night.

It was a beautiful night: fifty-eight degrees, with a sultry sunset of reds and oranges. Rose walked home with her hands tucked in her coat pocket, trying not to think about Harry. Did he really think that if he hung around Nantucket for longer, she’d confess? How long could something like this go on? She shivered, suddenly afraid Harry would find other ways to get Rose to tell him the truth. What if he decided to target Maxine? What if he went after Mike and Mike’s business? The last thing she wanted was for her past to darken her future.

Eleanor Pike’s Victorian home was three blocks from Rose’s ordinary route from the bakery back to her place. Nervous, Rose hurried to Eleanor’s. She told herself that she’d just ring the doorbell, tell Eleanor what was going on, demand answers, and go. But as she walked up the front steps, she thought she might throw up. She’d avoided Eleanor and the rest of the Legacy Club for nearly twenty-five years. She’d done that because she hadn’t wanted to think about what she’d done, nor what they’d done for her.

Now, she was back on Eleanor’s porch, quivering, as though she were still seventeen years old.

Before Rose could decide whether to ring the bell, the door opened to reveal Eleanor herself. Although she was now in her seventies, Eleanor remained taller than Rose, stern-looking yet incredibly elegant. It was as though all that power and control had kept her youthful.

“Good evening, Rose,” Eleanor said, her voice as deep as Rose remembered. “Won’t you come in?”

Rose hadn’t expected Eleanor to be alone. Usually, Eleanor was with Rosamund Werther and Clarice Charmont, her cronies, the other “elite” members of the Legacy Club. But it seemed that, against all odds, Rose had caught Eleanor during a cozy night in. A mug of tea sat steaming on an end table, and a book lay spine-up and open, keeping Eleanor’s page. Rose saw the book was a 1950s English spy thriller, which might have made her laugh if she wasn’t so nervous. So this was the kind of thing that Eleanor read? Was this how Eleanor got some of her dangerous ideas?

“Please, sit down, Rose,” Eleanor said. “Would you like something? Tea? Something a little bit stronger, perhaps?”

“Nothing, thanks,” Rose said. “I won’t be here long.”

“Please, Rose. It’s been ages since we caught up,” Eleanor said. “Sit. Stay a while. How is your mother?”

Rose’s mother and father moved to Florida two years ago because of her mother’s arthritis and their need for warmer weather. Usually, she and Maxine visited them around Christmas, after Rose finished her Christmas bakery orders and was so exhausted from being on her feet that she needed a week at the beach.

“Everyone’s fine,” Rose said stiffly. “Well, as fine as can be.” She felt her lower lip begin to quiver. She hated giving herself away, emotionally, to someone like Eleanor. But wasn’t Eleanor the person to blame for what was happening? Shouldn’t Eleanor have more control?

So lost in the chaos of her mind, all Rose could muster was, “I thought you were supposed to make it go away forever.”

Eleanor blinked at her. Outside, headlights skidded past the window, illuminating them even more before returning them to the shadows of Eleanor’s little room.

“I beg your pardon?” Eleanor said.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know he’s here,” Rose said. “Digging around. Searching for information. This journalist. Harry Orlett. He keeps asking me what I did in high school. He’s dangling money, real money, money that I could probably use, to be honest with you. But I don’t want to dredge up the past. The past was supposed to stay the past. That was your promise. That was the so-called power of the Legacy Club.”

Sarcasm dripped from her voice. Eleanor sucked her cheeks in. Rose guessed that she wasn’t used to being talked to like this.

“He knows nothing, Rose,” Eleanor said firmly. “He’s barking and barking, but nobody’s going to tell him a thing.”

“But he’s here,” Rose blared. “He’s at my bakery. He’s stalking me. My daughter doesn’t know anything, and I’d prefer to keep it that way. That was the deal.”

It was clear, now, that Eleanor knew about Harry Orlett, that she knew he’d been digging around. Why, then, hadn’t Eleanor reached out to Rose to tell her that everything was handled, that everything would be okay? Was that a weakness Eleanor refused to show?

“Tell me how you’re going to get him off the island,” Rose declared. “Tell me that, here and now, and I’ll leave you alone.”

Eleanor remained steady. It was as though she were trying to prove to Rose how outrageous Rose’s outburst was. Rose’s knees shook.

“We’re working on it,” Eleanor said finally. “I can assure you of that.”

“Is that the best you can do?” Rose demanded.

Rather than wait for Eleanor’s answer, Rose bounded back toward the door and sped into the night, slamming the door behind her. She felt reckless and charged, like a teenager arguing with her mother. In fact, she had half a mind to call her mother now, yank her mother from the beauty of her Floridian lifestyle and beaches, and tell her what was still going wrong in Nantucket. She cursed herself for not leaving the island years ago, for letting herself live in the shadow of the Legacy Club.

She wondered if, despite all their precautions, she was on the edge of ruin.

10

Nantucket Island