“No.” I turn over the engine with a rumble, cutting off their question as it roars to life. “I’m no one.”
“Wait! You’re—”
The car is barely in gear when I pull off the dusty shoulder onto the narrow roadway, leaving them behind with baffled looks on their still-innocent faces. My own words haunt me the whole ride across the island, back to the cliff-perched villa where I’ve spent the past six months hiding out from my life in the vain hope that if I stay away long enough, I might disappear entirely.
I’m no one.
Not anymore.
Chapter Three
felicity
Jerry Perry sitsat a massive mahogany desk in an office that smells strongly of pipe tobacco and leather. Still dressed from the funeral, he’s the picture of old southern charm with his fading blond mustache, dark gray checkered blazer, and bright red bowtie. He stands when his secretary leads me into his office, his round, jovial features spreading into a broad grin.
“Felicity!” His hand clasps mine in a warm, reassuring grip. “I’m so sorry, honey. Your Gran…” He shakes his head. “They don’t make ‘em quite like Bethany, anymore. She was a class act. The world is a lesser place without her in it.”
“Thank you, Jerry.” My eyes are pricking. This man has been around my family for as long as I can remember. Gran trusted him above all others to manage her financial affairs — even after she got sick.
“Sit, sit.” He gestures at the plush armchair across from him as he settles back behind his desk. “I appreciate you stopping by. I know you said on the phone you’re only in town for a few hours.”
“My flight leaves at eight.”
“I’ll cut right to the chase, then.” His pale blue eyes gleam in the low light. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I asked you here.”
“If it’s about the funeral costs—” My cheeks blaze with sudden heat. “I don’t have a lot in savings, but I’ll help in any way I can. Maybe pay in installments, or—”
He shakes his head. “No, no, nothing like that! That’s all handled. Your grandmother and I set aside assets to cover those expenses years ago.”
“Oh,” I breathe, relief coursing through me. These days, I barely earn enough to scrape together grocery money. The nest egg I had when I left LA — the initial advance I received from Route 66 — is all but gone, used to purchase my cottage in cash when I first arrived on the Cape. The part-time job I landed sorting books at the local library three times a week helps me get by, but it’s not exactly going to land me on Forbes’ 30 Under 30 list anytime soon.
But something else might, a nagging voice chimes in from the back of my mind.All those Wildwood royalties are just sitting there waiting for you in an account at Route 66… if you’d only call them… let them know where to send a check…
I shake my head to clear the thought. That money comes with undeniable strings attached. And, based on the inflammatory legal envelope currently burning a hole through my purse, I’m guessing the label isn’t just going to hand over the money and let me walk away scot-free.
Jerry clears his throat and shuffles a few papers on his desk. “Anyway… as you’re no doubt aware, your grandmother lost the majority of her mansion’s physical assets during the fire ten years ago.”
I nod.
“Thankfully, her bank accounts never suffered such a blow.” He chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief. “Bethany hardly spent a penny of her royalty money, except to cover her medical care. That’s why, as I’m sure you know, there’s been some infighting within your family ranks these past few years over who’ll get to control her estate in the event of her death.”
A grimace contorts my face.Infighting.That’s certainly a polite way to describe the all-out blood war that’s been waged since Gran’s diagnosis — my parents on the front lines, my aunt and her husband in the opposite trenches. And me, shielding my head from the worst of the mortar fire, smack dab in the center of a battle I never wanted any part in.
Jerry sighs. “Unfortunately, scenarios like this are not all that unusual when there’s a celebrity relative involved. People become…”
Greedy, money-hungry vultures.
“…overly invested,” he says tactfully.
I stare at him. “Mr. Perry, I’m sorry, I just don’t see what this has to do with me. Aunt Kim was granted controlling interest over Gran’s estate several years ago… If there’s a problem, I think it would be best to speak with her about—”
“Felicity, dear girl. There’s no problem.” He laughs. “You’re correct that the courts awarded your aunt authority over your grandmother’s medical decisions and care. But the remainder of her estate — hersignificantassets — were set aside in trust.”
My brows lift.
“Despite the illness that stole her memory, your grandmother was not entirely unaware of the, shall we say,frostyclimate between her two daughters. Which is why she asked me to keep the contents of her will sealed until she passed on.” His thick southern twang mellows to a murmur. “If I may, I’d like to share those contents with you now.”
My pulse kicks into gear at the thought of hearing words Gran wrote — even if it’s just legal jargon. Not trusting myself to speak, I give a small nod.