Chapter One

      STANDING OUTSIDE the Sentinel, Lily Wakefield slid the crumpled yellowed article from her purse and held it up in front of the old brick edifice. The newspaper office looked more or less the same as it had when her mother, Cameron, clipped the picture just before she left Fairview, New York, carrying a suitcase containing practical clothes, serviceable shoes and one hundred dollars. Now, Lily stood before the building in her Prada sandals, DKNY slacks and tailored jacket, with about the same amount of cash in her wallet. The Louis Vuitton bag at her side held a few more outfits, but only as many as she could carry.

      Someone bumped into her, said, “Excuse me,” and kept going.

      Lily nodded and stayed where she was.

      About five feet away, the man turned back. “Are you all right?”

      “What? Oh, yes.”

      Glancing up at the sky, he frowned. “Looks like we’re in for one of those April showers.” His comment was underscored by a draft of wind that lifted and swirled her dark chin-length hair around her face. He pointed to the office. “There’s a pot of coffee in there and some homemade cookies that Mrs. Billings made. Want to come in?”

      “Um, yes, I guess I do. Thanks.”

      Bending down, he picked up her suitcase before she could take hold of it and walked alongside her toward the front doors.

      It’s a beautiful place. It used to be an old home, and then it was converted into the newspaper offices. In the front reception and waiting area, there’s a fireplace, a comfortable couch and chairs, and a worn desk like the kind you’d see in reruns of the old TV show, Superman. I used to love to go there after school and wait for Daddy to be done with work.

      What Lily’s mother hadn’t told her, and what she only figured out years later, was that Cameron would have done anything to delay going home to her own mother.

      Once they were inside, the man motioned to the couch. “Please, sit down.” When she’d seated herself, he added, “I’m Simon McCarthy.”

      “Lily Wakefield.”

      “Nice to meet you.” Again, he smiled. His hazel eyes did, too. “Would you like some coffee?”

      “I—I can’t have that.”

      “Oh.” When Lily said no more, he asked, “How about tea?”

      “Decaffeinated would be okay. Lovely, really, but don’t fuss.”

      “No problem.” He went into the back room, and while he was gone Lily studied her surroundings. The windows let in the afternoon breeze, along with the chirping of the birds in the leafy maple trees outside.