THE MAN IN THE PHOTO

An exhilarating blend of psychological suspense, nail-biting tension and a mind-blowing final twist

McGARVEY BLACK

Joffe Books, London

www.joffebooks.com

First published in Great Britain in 2026

© McGarvey Black 2026

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The spelling used is American English except where fidelity to the author’s rendering of accent or dialect supersedes this. The right of McGarvey Black to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner for the purpose of training artificial intelligence technologies or systems. In accordance with Article 4(3) of the Digital Single Market Directive 2019/790, Joffe Books expressly reserves this work from the text and data mining exception.

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Cover art by Nebojša Zorić

ISBN: 978-1-80573-846-6

CONTENTS

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Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Acknowledgments

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Chapter One

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2002

Shannon Hunter

Just when you think you have everything figured out, life has a way of knocking you down. In my case, it was more of an avalanche — devastating and absolute.

That whole day, I’d been so happy anticipating Alan’s return from another long business trip overseas. I’d missed him more than usual that time. All afternoon I’d been cooking in my tiny New York City Pullman kitchen preparing a romantic dinner to welcome him home.

But the night didn’t go the way I’d planned. What should have been a joyful evening full of excitement and talk about our future ended up a disappointing mess. Then, fate took an incredible turn, and the next few days left me in a free fall that lasted for years — maybe decades. Like I said — it was an avalanche.

Alan had gone to Europe on business — something he did all the time. As a retail salesman for an international diamond company, he was on the road a lot — sometimes for weeks. I was used to it, but still, it was a little lonely when he was away.

When we started seeing each other, his long absences gave me space to pursue my own interests, so I didn’t mind. I had a few good friends and hobbies I enjoyed, and I kept myself busy when he was off to far-flung places. Our schedule worked for us, and we were both very happy — at least I thought we were.

During our second year as a couple, I was really excited about spending the Christmas holidays with him. It would have been our first. The year before, Alan’s mother had passed away a few days before Christmas. He was an only child and had never known his father. When his mom died unexpectedly, he had to go up to her home in Albany to take care of things. There was no one else to do it.

Even though he and I had been seeing each other for a while, I’d never met her. Their relationship was . . . strained. According to him, his mother was a ‘difficult’ person. After missing all the holidays together, he promised he’d make it up to me the next Christmas. And he did. The following year, Alan surprised me with tickets for a Christmas cruise in the Caribbean. I was blown away.

I wasn’t planning to go home to see my parents in St. Louis that year anyway, so the cruise with Alan was perfect. We flew to Fort Lauderdale and boarded a ship bound for the Caribbean. It wasn’t anything fancy, more of a big party boat with nightclubs, restaurants, and a casino. But every inch was decorated with holiday ornaments, making it a very festive experience.

I wasn’t much of a gambler, but Alan loved the lights and the action of a casino. We wound up spending most of our time and shipboard credits around the tables. One night while we were at sea, I was tired. I left Alan at the roulette wheel and went back to our room to read and get ready for bed. I must have fallen asleep because, the next thing I knew, there was a loud banging on the door.

I looked at the clock. It was 1:00 a.m., and Alan wasn’t in the bed next to me.

“Shannon, let me in. I forgot my key.”

Still groggy, I got out of bed, stumbled over to the door, and opened it. Alan was standing there — a bottle of champagne in his hand and a huge smile on his face.

“Are you going to ask me why I’m so happy?” he said.

I was a little annoyed at that moment. I had been sound asleep, but he looked so adorable standing there that I softened.

“Okay,” I said, exasperation in my voice, “tell me: why you are so happy?”

He breezed past me into the room, leaving me to close the door.

“Because,” he said as he spun around and pulled a roll of cash out of his pocket, “I just won $8,000 at the roulette table.”

My mouth hung open. I wasn’t expecting that. He placed the bottle down on the table, picked me up, and twirled me around our tiny cabin.

“And tomorrow, I’m taking you to a jewelry store in the Bahamas when we go ashore and am going to buy you something really special.”

He was so pumped up that going back to sleep wasn’t an option. We shared a glass of champagne, and eventually, after he recounted his casino victory more than once, we climbed into bed and made love — twice.

The next morning when we arrived in the Bahamas, we got off and wandered around the town. At one point, Alan spotted a small jewelry shop and steered me toward the door.

“Let’s go in there and see if there’s something you’d like,” he said. “I want to buy you something.”

I shook my head. “You don’t have to do that. Put the money you won in the bank and save it.”

He looked at me almost with pity in his eyes, as if I was missing out on the pleasures of life. “You have to learn to live it up, Shannon, everything could be taken away tomorrow. It can happen in an instant.”

I laughed at his dark humor and let him drag me into the shop. Inside, a young woman with a lilting Bahamian accent showed us dozens of beautiful things. While I tried on earrings and bracelets, Alan wandered around the shop looking in the display cases. After all, he was in the jewelry business and had an eye for it.

“What do you think of this one?” he said, pointing to a ring under the glass.

My eyes followed his finger to a gold ring with a small green square-cut stone. The woman in the shop said it was fourteen-karat gold with an emerald.

“It’s very pretty,” I said as she took it out of the case and handed it to Alan.

“How much?” he said to the woman.

She told him it was nine hundred dollars, a king’s ransom from my perspective. I looked at him and shook my head. “No, that’s too much.”

“Don’t worry about it. The question is, do you like it?” he said.

“I do, but . . .”

Before I could finish my sentence, Alan got down on one knee in front of me and held the ring up.

“Last night when I was on that winning streak, all I could think about was you. You’re my lucky star, Shan. I can’t imagine life without you. Will you marry me?”

Honestly, that was the last thing I had expected. We had been seeing each other for nearly two years, and marriage really hadn’t come up. I loved him, but the proposal was truly unexpected. While I enjoyed the romantic moment, I did wonder if his sudden offer of marriage had something to do with his big win the night before.

I looked down into his sparkly blue eyes intently gazing into mine.

“Well?” he said. “What do you say? Will you marry me?”

A little stunned and at a loss for words, I looked over at the saleswoman for help.

She smiled. “Well, don’t keep the boy on the floor all day, now,” she said. “He’s a fine looking one, too. Better take him before I do.”

Chapter Two

That day in the Bahamas is still so vivid to me. As I stood in that jewelry store considering Alan’s proposal of marriage, most of me wanted to say yes. I loved him. He was passionate about life, fun, and interested in all sorts of things. He could be serious when needed, but he also could get really silly. We had a lot of fun together, but still, I hesitated. On that cruise, I’d seen another side of him. When he was in the casinos, he was a different person — single-minded and on a mission to win a bundle. It was like the rest of the world, including me, disappeared.

I brushed away the uneasy feeling and told myself to get over it. Alan was an amazing man with a bright future. Maybe he acted that way because it was Christmas and we were on vacation. People always get a little crazy when they go away during the holidays, I told myself. They eat too much, they drink too much, and sometimes they gamble. It’s not a big deal. Alan was just having fun and got a little carried away — that’s all.

I did love him, so I said yes. He got up off the floor, wrapped his arms around me and gave me a kiss.

“Now, that’s what I’m talking about,” said the saleswoman. “Love blooms easy here in the Bahamas.”

She measured my ring finger. Alan left a small deposit, telling her he’d return the following day to pick up and pay the balance on the ring.

That night, he and I celebrated our engagement. For the first time, I started dreaming about our wedding and our future life together. After dinner, Alan wanted to go to the casino again. Like the night before, I hung around the tables for a while. But after a couple of hours, I got bored and told him I was tired. He promised he’d only stay another half hour.

Back in our cabin, I pulled on my nightshirt, brushed my teeth, washed my face, and climbed into bed. I must have fallen asleep because I was awakened by the sound of the cabin door opening. I flipped on the light and looked at the clock. It was midnight.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,” said Alan in a half-whisper as he kicked off his shoes and began unbuttoning his shirt.

Right away I sensed something was wrong.

“What’s going on?”

“Didn’t have a good night,” he said, sitting on the side of the bed while taking off his pants.

“What does that mean?”

He let out a sigh before answering. “I lost everything I won from last night and a little more. It started right after you left the casino. You should have stayed. My luck disappeared when you left.”

I leaned over and rubbed his shoulder. “I’m sorry. Well, easy come, easy go, right? You didn’t have that money when we boarded the ship so you’re no worse off.”

He let out another sigh and hung his head. “You don’t understand. I lost everything, Shannon. I can’t even pay for that emerald ring. I don’t have the money.”

I swallowed and took a moment before I responded.

“It’s okay,” I said. “The ring’s not important. Our relationship is what’s important. We’re still getting married with or without a ring. You can get me another one down the road.”

He tilted his head back and let out a long breath.

“What did I do to deserve you?” He asked. “As soon as I make a big sale at work and get some money pulled together, I’m getting you the most amazing diamond through my company. It will be so much better than that little emerald. It was only meant as a placeholder anyway. Emeralds are too soft. You can’t wear them every day. Besides, last time I checked, I’m a diamond salesman. My wife should be wearing a diamond, right?”

Several months later in Central Park, Alan presented me with a classic diamond solitaire engagement ring. It came in a little black box. It wasn’t a huge stone, but it was the perfect one for me. Being in the business, he was obsessed with the quality. I was sure it cost a lot more than the emerald ring, even with his discount.

“Are you sure you can afford to do this?” I said as I admired the sparkling diamond on my finger.

He nodded, picked me up in his arms, and kissed me. “And one day, I’ll get you an even bigger one. You’ll see. We’re going to have a great run.”

After that day in the park, getting married felt real to me. I started looking through magazines and putting ideas together for our wedding. I wanted something intimate in the city so friends and family could attend. But Alan was lobbying for a destination wedding in the Bahamas, in the same place where we first got engaged.

For months, we went back and forth about the venue, the dress, the flowers, the music, and we still hadn’t decided on a single thing. But as our third anniversary approached, I wanted to get things moving. I finally acquiesced; if Alan had his heart set on doing it in the Bahamas and he’d commit to a date, I was okay with it. That was one of the things I planned to tell him that last night.

With dinner all prepared, I waited in my apartment for Alan to call. In the late afternoon, he finally did, saying his plane had just landed at Kennedy Airport. I was dying to see him and tell him my thoughts about a wedding in the Bahamas and my other news. Because he’d been gone for more than two weeks, he wanted to stop by his apartment in Westchester first to drop some things off. After that, he said, he’d catch a train into the city.

“I’ll be there by seven, promise,” he said. “I love you.”

In the almost three years we’d been seeing each other, I’d never been to Alan’s place. I don’t know why. It just never happened. He showed me pictures of it — it was a tiny studio rental apartment above some old woman’s garage. Part of the reason I never went there was that it was hard to get to. You had to take a subway, a train, and then a bus. Since we both worked in Manhattan and I had a one-bedroom apartment on East 82nd Street, we just stayed at my place.

After we got engaged, Alan said he’d eventually get rid of his studio and move into my apartment full-time. That was supposed to have happened months earlier, but Alan had been traveling so much for work that he said he didn’t have the time to move.

“I’m just going to renew for another six months,” he said one night. “When things at work calm down, I can focus on moving and on our wedding plans.”

That night while I watched over our special reunion dinner — smoked salmon starter and Australian lamb chops with mashed potatoes and sautéed broccoli, and homemade apple pie for dessert — I must have looked at the clock a hundred times. Any minute I anticipated that Alan would come through the front door wearing his customary grin. His blue eyes would be twinkling, and he’d probably be holding flowers. That’s how he was.

I had taken a shower, blown out my long blonde hair, put on my favorite blue sweater and a coat of lip gloss. I didn’t wear much makeup back then, the bloom of youth still on my side. As I lit an orange blossom-scented candle to set the mood, I heard the sound of Alan’s key in the front door.

I turned around and smiled as the tumblers in the lock turned, my pulse quickening. The door flew open, and there he was, larger than life. His arms extended out on either side, and he was holding a large bouquet of white roses. My heart melted as I ran to him and threw my arms around his neck. We kissed — one of those long, intense haven’t-seen-you-for-a-while kisses. I remember thinking he smelled so fresh and clean — a real feat after taking a transatlantic flight.

He picked me up and swung me around, and my heart was beating like a jackrabbit. We kissed again and closed the front door with our feet, our hands all over each other, our lips still joined.

He tossed the roses onto the coffee table, and we collapsed onto my distressed brown leather couch — an amazing find from a local thrift shop. For the next twenty minutes, we got to know each other’s bodies again, which I desperately needed. We were interrupted by the timer going off in the kitchen.

“Don’t go anywhere,” I said as I got up and ran to the oven. “I’ll only be a minute.”

When I walked back into the living room, I reached for the flowers on the table.

“They’re beautiful,” I said, picking them up and sniffing. I smiled at him. “I missed you more than usual this time.”

“Why is that?” he said, pulling me toward him.

I didn’t resist and fell into his lap.

“We’ll talk after we eat,” I said, dragging out the mystery while bursting inside.

Chapter Three

After making love, we finally sat down at the dinner table. Alan flashed his megawatt smile, the one that had hooked me the first time I met him. My first impression was that he was handsome and polished and always impeccably dressed. I suppose he had to be. In his work, he regularly met with high-end luxury clients. Part of his job was to exude affluence and professionalism. He regularly gave presentations to large groups and took VIPs out to dinner at expensive restaurants. On the weekends with me, he was laid back, wearing jeans and t-shirts. But when Alan showered and shaved, put on his suit and tie and his European leather shoes — he looked like a million bucks. Who could say no to him? Not me.

My job was in a totally different universe. I was a social worker. My long, dirty blonde hair was almost always pulled back into a ponytail. I went for the least amount of fuss possible so I could focus on the people who needed my help. In fact, since my job was working with homeless women and children, I kept my clothes and hair plain and simple. It worked for me.

“It’s good to be home,” he said as he leaned back in his chair. “This last trip was rough. Everything that could go wrong did. Half of my appointments canceled. Apparently, the flu is going around in the Middle East. I’m not going to make my number this month, and my boss is breathing down my neck again.”

I reached out and touched his hand. “You’ll make it up. I know you will. It’s not your fault if people have the flu.”

He grunted. “You want to come into my office with me and tell Botha that? It doesn’t matter to him if someone’s sick. All he cares about is our division hitting our number.”

I could see Alan’s mood had shifted once he started talking about work, so I tried to change the subject. I wanted the mood to be happy again, especially for the conversation I wanted to have.

“I know you’ll figure it out,” I said. “You’re one of PD’s top salespeople. Everyone has an off month. I’m sure next month will be better. You always pull a rabbit out of a hat at the last minute.”

He grunted again. “Maybe. I’ve got a lot riding on my meeting this week with Nick Florio. He’s the main decision maker at Diamond International. I’m taking him fishing out at the Scrimshaw Boat Basin on Long Island on Friday. He’s a good guy and has become my biggest retail client. He said he’d sign a new contract with me on Friday and triple his commitment. If he comes through, it will save my ass. Then, I’ll go tell Botha where to shove it.”

I rubbed his arm supportively. “Why wouldn’t things go well? You’re an amazing salesman. I know you’ll nail it. I’m sure of it.”

He drained the remainder of his beer and placed the bottle on the table. I leaned over, fussed with the roses in the vase, trying to figure out how to change the subject. Talking about Alan’s work only made him cranky. I wanted him to be in a good place when I shared my secret.

Alan’s mood had definitely soured. I got up, walked over to the stove, and turned off the heat under the Dutch oven, wondering how to begin the conversation. After complimenting the roses again and thanking him, I plunged forward.

“If you’re all finished talking about work, I have something to tell you that should take your mind off your boss and diamond quotas.”

Alan leaned forward and whispered, “Can’t you tell me about it in the bedroom?”

“We just ate,” I said as I pulled out the kitchen chair and sat down. “Later, I promise. Right now, I want to talk to you.”

Alan sat back and peered at me suspiciously, a sly grin crossing his face. I reached for his hand. “Something happened this week.”

“Please tell me you won the lottery.”

I smiled. “That would be nice, but no.” I took a deep breath. “Alan, I’m pregnant. We’re going to have a baby.”

That first second when he didn’t respond at all, I tried to tell myself it was a normal reaction. He obviously needed a moment to wrap his head around the incredible life-altering news I’d just shared. I waited a few more seconds to allow his brain to process, but the blank look on his face didn’t change. He didn’t look happy or unhappy.

“Alan, did you hear me? We’re pregnant. Isn’t that amazing? You and I are going to be parents. We’re going to have a baby.”

His eyes shifted from side to side, but his lips still didn’t form the smile I’d been imagining all day. He and I had talked about kids a million times. He always said he wanted loads of them one day. So why wasn’t he jumping for joy?

“Are you sure?” he said, his brow furrowing, still no smile in sight.

“Yes,” I said, extremely confused. “I did three pee sticks, and they all came back positive.”

“But we always use condoms.”

“Nothing is a hundred percent,” I said, feeling really deflated and on the brink of tears.

There was a long pause in the conversation while I waited for him to say something. It could have been my imagination, but it looked like he was forcing himself to smile.

I know the rule, ‘he who speaks first loses,’ but I couldn’t help myself.

“I thought you’d be happy,” I said, a pit forming in my stomach.

“I am happy,” he croaked, “but we hadn’t discussed getting pregnant now. We haven’t even planned our wedding yet.”

When he finally said he was happy, I let out a breath and started gushing about the baby, ignoring the fact that it had taken him a while.

“I know we hadn’t planned to have kids yet, babe,” I said. “But it happened. Maybe not in the order we would have wanted, but we’ll make it work. We can get married a little sooner than we thought or we can have the baby first and get married later. I don’t care as long as we’re together. We could even go to city hall and do it — just the two of us. Having a big wedding isn’t that important to me. You know I don’t care about all that stuff.”

Alan stood up and paced several times around my small living room.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for this,” he said, wringing his hands before running them through his thick shiny brown hair. “We agreed to wait before we had kids. We said we wanted to get settled first.”

I looked up at the ceiling, tears pooling in my eyes. Ever since I’d done that pregnancy test, I’d been fantasizing about how great this moment was going to be. None of my imagined scenarios went like this.

In my mind, I’d greet him at the door, we’d kiss and then snuggle on the couch. Once we were nice and cozy, I’d look into his blue eyes and tell him my blockbuster news. He’d get weepy, overwhelmed by the thought of becoming a father. He’d hold me in his arms and tell me what a wonderful life we were going to have. He’d whisper in my ear that he loved me and what an awesome mother I’d be. He’d ramble on about always wanting to be a dad and start throwing out names for our future baby. I’d laugh and tell him it was early days and that he was getting ahead of himself. But one thing was for sure — we both would be thrilled.

But that wasn’t the way it went down, and honestly, I was crushed. I could barely get air in my lungs.

“I don’t understand you,” I said, my voice quivering. “You’ve always said one day you wanted to be a father. You talk about it all the time.”

Halfway across the room, Alan spun around and looked at me accusingly.

“One day,” he said loudly. “I’m not ready for this, Shannon. My job is really challenging right now. Business is slow, people are cutthroat and I’m going to be traveling more than ever. Babies cost a ton of money, too. This just isn’t a good time for me to have a kid.”

A tear escaped and trickled down my cheek. “We can make it work. I’ll do most of the childcare. It won’t fall on you.”

“That’s not the point,” said Alan condescendingly.

“I thought the news about our baby would make you happy,” I said softly.

I must have looked really wretched and miserable because suddenly Alan’s face softened. He came over and put his arms around me.

“I’m sorry, babe,” he said, shaking his head as he hugged me. “You just caught me off guard, that’s all. I had a really terrible week, and this was a bit of a shock. I am happy about the baby. Why wouldn’t I be? I just need a little time to digest the news, that’s all.”

As my pounding heart slowed, I melted into Alan’s arms and let out a soft sigh of relief. Of course, he was just surprised. Who wouldn’t be? Everything was going to be fine.

Chapter Four

Alan Frye

That night in Shannon’s apartment when she told me about the baby, we ended up talking until well after midnight. I hadn’t seen her in weeks and had been hoping we’d spend the entire night in bed. Instead, we kicked around baby names and where the crib should go in her apartment. It wasn’t remotely the love fest I’d anticipated on my way over there.

The next morning, after Shannon had already left for work, I headed to my office in Midtown, arriving at 9:30 a.m. I found a handwritten note on my desk from Botha. My self-important sixty-year-old boss from Cape Town wanted to see me in his office. Being summoned to Johan Botha’s office was never a good thing.

“You wanted to see me?” I asked, knocking on the wall of his open doorway while flashing a smile.

He looked up but didn’t return the smile. I didn’t expect he would. Botha was a dick and took every opportunity to ride my ass. I couldn’t stand the guy.

“Sit down, Alan,” he said with his thick Afrikaans accent as he finished reading a document. “Last time I checked, Pretorious Diamonds’ office hours begin at nine, do they not?”

Botha was always so damn pompous. That guy had it in for me from the day I started.

“Yes, work here begins at nine.” I took a seat ready to spin a tale. “But if you remember, this afternoon I’m taking Nick Florio, from Diamond International, out fishing from the Scrimshaw Boat Basin. I had to stop and pick up a rental car and a few things for the trip. Got a cooler in the car with Nick’s favorite beer on ice.”

I sent another smile Botha’s way, which was met with a blank stare. He was tough.

“Your sales numbers have been way down this year,” said Botha while picking up a spreadsheet. “In fact, they were off last year, too, only this year is significantly worse. How do you plan to fix that, Mr. Frye?”

I squirmed in my seat. Botha was enjoying this. But he also knew Nick Florio liked me a lot and had bailed me out with contracts before. Florio was a good guy — a guy’s guy. If I got him to sign off on the big diamond buy while we were fishing, I’d be a freakin’ hero around the office and get Botha off my back — for a while. I’d also get a nice commission check, which I desperately needed.

I tried my smile again. “I’m taking Nick out on that boat, filling him with beer and flattery, and coming back with his signature on the contract. I pitched a fifteen-million-dollar buy to him when we had lunch last month. He didn’t say no. Today, I’m going to make it happen.”

Botha sat back, put his hands behind his head, and smiled. He was playing with me. What an asshole.

“Good. I’m glad to hear it,” he said, the thick staccato of his South African accent piercing the air. “Because if you don’t make it happen, Frye, I’ll be making some changes around here. Everyone on the team needs to pull their weight. We’re not running a charity. You’re in sales and salespeople have to hit their number, not just get close to it. Come back with that contract signed or you may have to start looking for another job.”

Bowing and scraping as I left his office, I promised Botha that he’d have the fifteen-million-dollar contract on his desk the following morning. I was confident Florio would sign it while we were out fishing. Then everything would be okay — for a while.

Walking down the hall back to my desk, I stopped in the gems department to pick up a small package of diamonds. These were stones Florio had already paid for. I was to hand them off to him after we got on the boat.

Sidling up to the window, I greeted the older woman sitting behind the thick clear bulletproof wall. Only a single open slot just above the counter was available to pass items back and forth. Our gems department had the tightest security in the building. This was where all the merchandise was kept when they came in and before they were shipped out. When I needed merchandise for a presentation, this was where I signed for them.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” said the older woman, tucking a strand of gray hair behind her ear. “You look exhausted, Alan. You need to get more sleep.”

I grinned. “Don’t you remember what it was like to be in your twenties? Sleep is for slackers.”

The woman snorted. “What do you need today, Alan?”

“The stones for Diamond International. They’re already paid for.”

She nodded and headed across the room into a humongous walk-in wall safe. A minute or two later, she emerged holding a small black leather case. She picked up a jewelry tray with a velvet bottom and placed it on the counter in front of me.

“Well, let’s see,” she said as she dumped the diamonds out onto the tray. “Check each one so you can sign off on them. I don’t want any complaints. Once you take them, they’re your responsibility.”

I looked down at the glittering rocks. The biggest one was a 3.0 round brilliant stone, G color, VS1 clarity. Stunning. There’s nothing more breathtaking than an exquisite near flawless diamond. I checked my list as I examined each stone. Altogether they were valued at over one million dollars on the open market. Most people would be nervous carrying around high-priced diamonds, but I was used to it. No big deal.

After I’d approved the lot, the older woman wrapped them in special paper, placed them back inside a different small soft leather case, closed the zipper, and handed it to me.

I placed the pouch safely inside my breast pocket and headed back to my desk. I was meeting Nick at the boat at one, which meant I needed to leave within the hour if I wanted to be there to greet him — which I did. Bad form for the client to arrive before I did. I wanted to make sure nothing went wrong that day. My job depended on it.

Back at my desk, I looked at my watch. It was almost eleven. I’d started gathering my things when one of my colleagues walked past me.

“Heads up, Alan. Heard Botha’s on the warpath,” he said as he continued walking. “Someone said he’s out for your head. Watch your back.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m signing a big deal today with Florio from DI,” I said as my phone rang.

When I answered it, there was a long pause before a reedy male voice came on the line. I knew who it was immediately — Bruno, my bookie — or should I say one of my bookies. I owed him some money and had been avoiding him for days.

“You’re a hard man to find, Alan,” said Bruno, his heavy New York accent coating his words. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were avoiding me. Tell me I’m wrong about that.”

I cleared my throat. “Bruno. How could you think something like that? You know you’re one of my favorite people. What can I do for you on this beautiful day?”

Another long pause. “You can pay me my money — thirty-five Gs plus another five for compound interest. That makes the grand total forty.”

My heart almost stopped when he added the extra $5,000. But Bruno wasn’t a man you argued with. Bruno knew people, and I never wanted to meet them.

“Yeah, no problem, Bruno. I’m going to get it for you. In fact, I’m closing this huge deal today and I’ll drop by tomorrow with your cash.”

“Don’t make me look for you, Alan,” said the bookie, “or make me regret taking your action. You’ve been on a downward sliding streak for a while. Can I give you some advice? You got a bad reputation around town. You don’t know when to quit.”

“I know I’ve been a little late in my payments, but I promise you, that’s all behind me.”

Bruno responded with one word, “Mañana,” before he hung up.

Even though I knew I’d be flush by the next day, I felt the sweat forming on the back of my neck. Between Shannon’s baby bombshell the night before, Botha’s job threats, and Bruno putting the squeeze on me, I really needed a day out fishing.

Chapter Five

Alan

While waiting at the Hertz Rental Car counter for my vehicle, I placed a call to my other bookie, Sinbad. I couldn’t place a bet with Bruno until I paid him off, but there was this race at Belmont that day, which I’d got a sure-thing tip on.

“Hey, it’s Alan. How’s it going?”

“Busy. What do you need, Alan?” Sinbad asked, phones ringing in the background.

“I want to put five hundred dollars on the second race at Belmont. Shoefly to win.”

There was a long pause before he spoke.

“You know Shoefly’s a longshot,” said Sinbad.

“Yeah, I know but I got a good feeling about that horse. In fact, I feel so good, make it seven hundred.”

As soon as I placed my bet, I grabbed my stuff and got on the road to Long Island. The traffic was unusually light that morning, and within a few minutes I was flying through the Queens-Midtown Tunnel, something that never happened. I told myself it was a sign that today was going to be a lucky day. Everything was going to go my way.

Cranking it all the way out on the Southern State Parkway with the radio blasting, I clocked amazing time — another sign. When I pulled into the Scrimshaw Boat Basin parking lot, there was still an hour and a half before the boat was leaving. I pulled my cooler out of the back seat and lugged it over to the pier. A deckhand on the Salty Seagull was there and checked my name off the list for that afternoon’s cruise. I carried the cooler onboard and stowed it out of the way under a bench in the stern of the boat.

It was a beautiful sunny summer day, with no humidity — a perfect day for a fishing excursion and a contract signing. I looked at my watch again. I was the first passenger to arrive and had a fair amount of time to kill. I called Nick and told him I was already on the boat and waiting for him. He estimated he’d be another fifty minutes.

I sat on a bench on the boat and looked over at the shore. There were a couple of small shops and a bar across the street. Since Nick wasn’t arriving for close to an hour, I figured I had time for a little pre-fishing brewski and a couple of shots — a little pre-gaming before the boat took off.

I opened the heavy wooden door and stepped into the bar. The place was classic — a quintessential old fisherman hangout that had probably been there for eighty years or more. A weathered mahogany bar ran along one wall. The matching bar stools were so old that there were deep crevices and tears in the worn burgundy leather seats.

It was a few minutes after twelve, so I ordered a bourbon and a beer to kick off the party. As I knocked back the bourbon, I spotted some guys over in the corner playing darts. Everyone knows darts is my game. I picked up my beer and went over to watch them play. After a few minutes, they asked if I wanted to join them. I figured they wanted to take me for a few bills. But they didn’t know who they were dealing with. I got through college taking money off guys in darts games. Since I still had a fair amount of time before I had to leave, I said “sure.”

While waiting for the next game to begin, my phone rang. It was Shannon.

“Hey, it’s me,” she said softly. “You were asleep when I left this morning. Are you on the boat?”

“Not yet. We’re leaving in about an hour. I got here early so I could be here when Florio arrived. It’s going to be a great day. Nick will sign the big contract, and Botha will get off my back. I’m feeling really good about this one. I guess we’ll need the extra money after your big announcement last night.”

My comment was met with silence. Obviously, she was still upset about my reaction to the baby.

“Having a baby is a big deal, Alan,” she said softly. “I need to know you’re my partner in this.”

Jesus, why did she have to be such a buzzkill? I was just surprised when she told me about the baby, that’s all. Feeling good with a bourbon and half a beer under my belt, I decided to take the high road.

“What did I tell you last night?” I said. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

I guess my tone had its intended effect because she changed the subject.

“I hope so. Anyway, good luck today with your client. I’ll see you tonight. We’ll figure everything out. Have fun. Bring home some fish.”

When I hung up the phone, the other darts players were waiting for me. Still somewhat irked by Shannon being so negative when I was trying to channel positivity, I went back to the bar and ordered another bourbon and beer. Why not? It was going to be a great day.

I’m not sure why, but I play darts better after I’ve had a few. That afternoon, I was on fire. It was like each one of my darts had a homing device in it and headed directly for the bullseye. I couldn’t believe it, and neither could anyone else playing. Every shot I took was perfect. I followed each win with my signature lasso fist bump move. As the game progressed, I was so good and winning round after round that one of the guys bought me another beer.

By the second game, bigger bets had been put down. I had taken some petty cash from the office to pay for the fishing trip. Since I was on a winning streak, I put half of the money down. I knew I couldn’t lose, not that day.

I downed the last of my bourbon and took aim. That little sucker went dead center into the bullseye. When that happened, the whole bar cheered, and the bartender bought me another bourbon.

“On the house, man,” he said. “You’re really on.”

As I knocked it back, I looked down at my phone. I had a voicemail from Nick Florio.

Relaxed and newly flush in darts winnings, I sat on a bar stool and played Nick’s message.

Hey, Alan, I’m here on the boat. Where are you? I’m sitting on the lower level in the front. I’ll stay where I am. Come find me.

Chapter Six

Shannon

Before I left the apartment that morning, I kissed Alan goodbye. He was still sleeping, but I was working at a shelter that day and had to clock in by seven thirty. As I made my way there, my head was filled with thoughts about our wedding and our new baby. In the blink of an eye, everything in my life had changed. Alan and I were no longer just two people who loved each other; we were about to become parents and start a new family — a whole new chapter. Things were getting very real.

I had taken the afternoon off work so I could get a few errands done, including my first visit with my ob-gyn at noon. I had heard good things about Dr. Armbruster and felt really comfortable after I met him. He examined me and proclaimed, “Everything looks perfect.”

I left his office around 1:00 p.m. in such a great mood. Then I headed to the supermarket. After I finished my shopping, I planned to go home, catch up on some paperwork, and have a nice, relaxing dinner by myself. Alan warned me he’d be late that night and might even take his client out to dinner to celebrate the contract.

Strolling along Second Avenue window shopping, I fantasized about my new baby and the life Alan and I would make together as parents. I entered my local supermarket and put a few things in my cart for dinner. As I was standing at the fish counter trying to decide whether I wanted salmon or swordfish, I looked at my watch. It was already two. Alan would be out on the boat with his client by now, and I hoped things were going well.

While I waited for the man in the white apron behind the counter to help me, I noticed a small TV on the wall. Some baseball game was on. I think it was the Mets or maybe it was the Yankees. I couldn’t tell. Some New York team.

The man in the apron turned to me.

“What can I get for you, Miss?” he said with a smile.

I was about to order the salmon when the picture on the TV suddenly changed. A chyron scrolling across the bottom of the screen said BREAKING NEWS. Suddenly, the baseball game vanished. There was no sound on the TV, so I could only read the headline as it scrolled across.

FISHING BOAT EXPLODES OFF LONG ISLAND COAST

“Miss? What can I get for you?” said the clerk. “We’ve got a good sale on salmon and cooked shrimp today.”

I didn’t hear what he said because I was staring at the TV, trying to make sense out of what I was seeing.

“Miss?” said the clerk again. “Still deciding? We’ve also got a special on scallops.”

I looked up at him, my mouth open. “Can you turn the sound up on the TV.”

“You must be a Mets fan?” he said without looking back at the screen. “Me too. As much as I’d like to turn on the sound, the boss doesn’t want us to have it on in the store because it disrupts—”

“Please. Turn the sound on,” I shouted. “There’s been some kind of boat accident on Long Island. My fiancé went out on a boat today.”

I remember his eyes opened really wide just before he turned and raised the volume. At almost the same moment, the picture changed. A blonde female reporter was standing by the water holding a microphone. It was hard to hear her. She was saying something about a fishing boat with fifty-two people that left from the Scrimshaw Boat Basin at one o’clock. She said it had exploded thirty minutes after it left the shore.

My stomach flipped over, and bile came up in my throat. I thought I was going to get sick right there in the market. Surely there was more than one fishing boat that left from the Scrimshaw Boat Basin? There had to be others. I dug through my bag for my phone to call Alan and make sure he was all right. With my eyes locked on the TV, my hands raked through the contents of my bag searching for my phone. In a full panic, I realized it wasn’t there. I’d left my phone at home.

I dropped my shopping basket on the floor and ran out of the market, racing up Second Avenue toward my apartment. Alan will be okay — I kept telling myself. I’ll call him, and he’ll answer, and everything will be all right. As I ran past people on the street, one of my hands instinctively covered my stomach, an attempt to protect my baby while soothing myself. Everyone I passed was enjoying the beautiful weather and having a normal day. They were all oblivious to the hell I was in.

I jumped on the elevator in my apartment building and pressed the button for my floor several times.

“C’mon, c’mon,” I shouted at the elevator. Finally, the doors closed. With my apartment keys in my hand, I got off, opened my apartment door, and ran into the bedroom to get my charging phone.

First I checked to see if there had been any messages from Alan. None. I punched in his number and took a deep breath before I hit send. Please be all right. Please be all right. I held my breath as the phone rang — once, twice, three times. On the fourth ring, my call went to voicemail, and the pit in my stomach got so much bigger. That’s when a wave of nausea overcame me, and I threw up on the bedroom floor.

“Alan,” I said, as I left a message. “Are you okay? I saw on the news that a boat out of the Scrimshaw Boat Basin exploded this afternoon. I don’t know what boat you’re on. Please call me as soon as you get this. I’m freaking out. Please. Call me.”

I paced around my apartment for a few minutes like a caged animal, waiting for Alan to put me out of my misery. When no call from him came, I called him again — and again — and again. As I dialed over and over, I was vaguely aware that with each subsequent message I left, I was more frantic and hysterical.

Unable to reach him, I called a couple of our friends. They were all at work, and most of them were unaware of the explosion or that Alan was even going fishing. They tried to calm me down, insisting it was ‘probably a different boat.’

“Shannon,” said one of my girlfriends, “if Alan was out at sea on a fishing boat, he probably doesn’t have a signal. I’m sure he’s fine. Loads of fishing boats go out from Long Island every single day.”

For a few minutes, that rational notion resonated with me, and I clung to it. My friend was right. Alan wouldn’t have a signal out in the ocean. That’s why he couldn’t call me back. He probably didn’t even know a boat had exploded.

I stayed glued to News12, the local cable news, and watched as the reports came in. This accident was huge. In a short period of time, a massive rescue operation had been mounted by the Coast Guard. How could Alan not know? Wouldn’t the other boats be called in after such a tragedy?

I flipped around on the channels, but the local Long Island cable news had the best updates. With one eye on the TV and the volume turned way up, I searched through Alan’s things for any information indicating which boat he had planned to take.

Why hadn’t I asked him what the name of the boat was? The man I loved, and the father of our future child, walked out of our apartment this morning to go fishing, and I had no idea where he was. How could I not know that? Then I remembered he had mentioned the fishing trip would take about four hours. That meant he’d be back on shore by five at the latest.

By three thirty, in near hysteria after not receiving any calls back from Alan, I called the Suffolk County Police Department.

“My name is Shannon Hunter,” I said, trying to hold it together. “My fiancé, Alan Frye, went on a fishing trip today out of the Scrimshaw Boat Basin. They’re saying on the news that a fishing boat from Scrimshaw blew up this afternoon. I’ve been trying to reach Alan, but I haven’t heard from him and—‍‍”

“Was your fiancé a passenger on the Salty Seagull?” said the female police officer gently.

I started to sob because I was terrified and also embarrassed that I didn’t know what boat he was on.

“I don’t know the name of the boat. I only know he was catching it from the Scrimshaw Boat Basin. There’s got to be more than one fishing boat that goes out of there, right?”

“There are several different tour operators that use the Scrimshaw Boat Basin. If you give me your name and number and the name of your fiancé, when we get more information I can call you back.”

“But I’ve got to know if he’s all right. I’m pregnant and I don’t feel well right now.”

“I’m so sorry. We don’t have the manifest from the boat yet. Do you have a friend or a relative who can stay with you?” said the police officer. “There’s a really good chance your fiancé was on a different boat. All the other boats are coming back early to clear the field for the rescue operation.”

I tried to get more information out of her, but she simply didn’t have it. I turned back to the local news and made more phone calls to friends and my parents in St. Louis. Standing in my living room with tears running down my cheeks, I listened to the reports while simultaneously dialing Alan’s phone number over and over. At four fifteen, when I tried to leave another message, I was told his mailbox was full — probably from all the messages I left.

Trembling, I watched the story unfold minute by minute, switching from one channel to another. At four thirty, the reporters still didn’t know what had caused the explosion. People were just speculating — a bomb, a malfunction, an act of God?

After three hours of searching, the coastguard reported that the blast appeared to be so intense that survivors were unlikely. Also, they noted that the current was particularly strong, contributing to the fact that they hadn’t found a single body intact.

Up until that point, that day was by far the worst day of my life. With baby hormones racing throughout my system, my emotions were all over the place. I felt a combination of confusion, terror, loss, denial, and grief. How could this be happening?

Less than twenty-four hours earlier, after Alan got over his initial shock, he had changed course, and we celebrated the new baby that was coming. We even started planning our wedding more seriously. If Alan was dead, then I’d be dead, too. My partner, my dreams, and my hopes would all be gone, just like that.

Standing in my apartment for hours, glued to the TV, I felt so incredibly alone. As the night progressed, phone calls from the friends I’d called earlier in the day started coming in. Two of my girlfriends came over to be with me. Everyone wanted to know if I’d heard anything from Alan. I could barely answer that question. Forming the words took too much out of me. With each passing minute, the likelihood of Alan not being on that boat grew smaller and smaller.

Around 8:00 p.m., the female officer I’d spoken to at the Suffolk County Police Department called me back.

“Ms. Hunter,” said the officer. “Do you have people with you right now?”

“Yes,” I said softly. “My friend Brooke and a few others.”

“I’m very sorry to tell you but we now have the manifest from the Salty Seagull and Alan Frye’s name was on it. From what we can tell, he did check in.”

My knees buckled, and as I started to fall, Brooke caught me. The officer assured me that they were still conducting a full rescue operation and that anything that could be done would be.

I hung up the phone, doubled over on my couch, and sobbed. I knew. Alan wasn’t coming back, and the baby growing inside me would never know their father.

Chapter Seven

The weeks following the boat explosion were a blur. Right after I got the news about Alan, I called my parents sobbing. My mother and father flew to New York the next day to be with me. They knew Alan and I were engaged and had finally met him on their last visit to New York. They didn’t know about the baby.

“What do you want to do?” said my mother while sitting in my apartment a week later. My father had stayed at the hotel that morning because my mother wanted some alone time with me.

“What do you mean?” I said, my eyes red-rimmed from all the tears.

“Do you want to keep the baby?” she said.

I tried to speak, but no words came out. My mother kept going.

“You’re so young and now you’re alone and—”

“I can’t do this right now, Mom,” I said, starting to cry again. “I just lost my best friend and fiancé. I can’t believe you’d even ask me that. I’m carrying Alan’s child. I’m not going to lose our baby, too. It’s all I have left of him.”

I shut her down, horrified that she would even bring up the subject. I was going to have Alan’s baby — there was never any question about that.

Ten days after the explosion, we heard there was going to be a service held at the Scrimshaw Boat Basin that coming weekend. My parents had jobs back in St. Louis. They couldn’t stay with me in New York forever, so they planned to leave right after the service.

My parents and I drove out to the Scrimshaw docks along with two of my friends. I had no idea what to expect and was surprised when I saw the large crowds assembled. There had to have been at least two thousand people along with news crews and other media groups.

I remember thinking how quiet it was. Several thousand people were standing there, but everyone was speaking in hushed tones, as if they were in church or a library. When the service began, a pastor, a priest and a rabbi all gave short speeches reflecting on the tragedy before us. Then the mayor of Scrimshaw spoke, followed by an official in uniform from the coastguard.

As I looked around, I noticed one common theme — grief. It was written on everyone’s face. Some people were old, some young, some were holding hands with children, others had babies in their arms. I didn’t see any other pregnant women, but you couldn’t tell I was pregnant, so maybe there were some. I didn’t speak to anyone. I couldn’t.

When the pastor closed out the service, the crowd slowly scattered. My friends and I dropped my parents off at Kennedy Airport on our way back to the city. When they hugged me goodbye, I clung to them longer than usual and started to cry when they disappeared inside the terminal. Going to the service in Scrimshaw hadn’t made me feel any better; it just stirred up all my pain and reminded me that I’d never see Alan again.

I had taken leave from work but still needed more time to get my head together. I also wanted to hold my own memorial for Alan, with our friends as opposed to the masses out in Scrimshaw that day.

As I started putting a list together of who to invite to my private memorial, I realized it wasn’t a very long list — three or four of my co-workers at the agency, two women who I worked with at the soup kitchen at the nearby Catholic church, and a couple of neighbors in the building who Alan and I would say hello to. There were also two girlfriends and their significant others who Alan and I had double-dated with. That was it.

That’s when I realized they were all my friends. The men Alan hung out with were mainly husbands and boyfriends of my friends. I knew they’d all come. But I wanted to invite some of Alan’s friends and realized I didn’t really know who they were. Most of the people he went out with were work-related. I decided to reach out to Alan’s company, Pretorious Diamonds. He was always talking about this person or that person at work. Those were his friends. Surely, some of them would want to come to his memorial.

A few days later, when I was feeling a little stronger, I picked up my phone and called Alan’s company. The only person whose name I knew was Alan’s boss, Johan Botha. Alan complained about Botha all the time, but he was the one I knew about, so I had to go with it.

The phone rang several times before a woman picked up.

“Johan Botha’s office,” said the female voice.

I took a deep breath and swallowed hard to keep myself from losing it.

“Hello, my name is Shannon Hunter and, um . . . I’m calling about a memorial for Alan Frye,” I said.

“Oh, that was such a terrible tragedy,” said the woman. “Alan’s death shocked everyone here at the company. So sad.”

“Yes,” I said, fighting back tears. “So, there’s a memorial being held next Saturday at two o’clock in the basement of the Blessed Sacrament church on East 4th Street. I didn’t know who to invite. I thought maybe Mr. Botha could pass around the information to any employee who might want to come.”

I gave her the information on the time and place again.

“I’ll let Mr. Botha know and he can decide the best way to disseminate the invitation.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I appreciate your help. As you can imagine, this is such a difficult time.”

“Of course. May I let Mr. Botha know who called?”

I felt myself about to cry and barely croaked it out. “I’m Shannon, Alan’s fiancée.”

There was a silence on the line, which I didn’t notice at the time. It struck me later that she didn’t give me her condolences. Everyone handles death differently, and I was far too overwhelmed by my own emotions to dwell on that. I had Alan’s memorial to plan.

Thankfully, I had gotten to know the pastor of Blessed Sacrament through my volunteer work. He offered to let me use the space for any service I might want to have. He also offered to say a few words.

The following Saturday, a small crowd of about twenty people assembled in the church basement. Some of my friends made food and one of my neighbors, a keyboard player and singer, offered to play some music. Using an old, slightly out-of-tune upright piano in the basement, she played and sang some of Alan’s favorite songs — mainly Billy Joel.

I walked around the room like a zombie, greeting people and thanking them for coming to honor the man I loved — the man I had planned to spend the rest of my life with. Toward the end of the memorial, after Father Bennigan gave a little talk and a few others got up to speak about Alan, I did a little headcount of who came. That’s when I realized no one from Pretorious Diamonds had shown up.

The invitation to Alan’s company had been kind of last minute. But still, Alan had died tragically with fifty-one other people. The story was front-page news for weeks. The investigation was still going on as to how and why the boat had exploded. Surely, somebody from Pretorious Diamonds would have come to pay their respects. But no one did. Alan was right — the company was full of dicks.

I remembered Alan telling me how Johan Botha had it in for him. He said they never got along. I figured that’s why no one came. Botha probably never shared the information I left. Alan was right about him, too.

Chapter Eight

Five years later

Shannon

It’s amazing how your life can change in an instant. One minute you’re planning a wedding, looking for that perfect dress, the right flower arrangement, and the next, you’re all alone and going to a bereavement group.

I still remember so clearly the night before Alan died when I told him I was pregnant. At first he was surprised and not thrilled in the way I was. But we talked it through, and by the time we were ready for bed, he was genuinely happy. He even started talking about a future family trip to Disney World. I remember laughing because he was getting way ahead of the situation. But I was relieved that he was looking forward to being a dad, just like I was so excited to become a mom.

That last night together, we wrapped our arms and legs around each other and lay in bed dreaming about our future. We discussed wedding plans in more detail than ever before, and Alan got really into it. A few of his ideas weren’t half bad. I remember being so happy.

At one point that night, he said he wanted to get me a bigger engagement ring, and that he could get a great deal through his company. I told him I loved the ring I already had.

“I was a little short on cash when I gave you that ring,” he said as he kissed me on the neck. “Shan, I work in the freakin’ diamond business, I can get a great trade-in on your ring. My wife should have a bigger stone.”

I thought it was crazy and totally unnecessary and told him that we should save our money for the baby. But he was adamant. So, I took off my one-karat diamond ring that I loved and handed it to him. That night, the two of us made so many plans for our future that I was dizzy. But none of those things ever happened. The only thing that ever became a reality was the birth of our daughter, Danielle.

That first year after Alan died, I felt like I was walking through mud. I wanted to curl into a ball and step off the world, but I didn’t have that luxury. I had to hold it together because I was pregnant and there was no one else earning money besides me. I had another life to think about apart from my own. Once I got over the initial shock of losing my partner, I put all my energy into my baby, Alan’s daughter. She was all that I had left of him. My only connection.

My parents were nearly a thousand miles away. After Alan died, my mom tried to convince me to move back to St. Louis. But after living in New York, I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. St. Louis was nice, but it wasn’t the Big Apple. In the short time I’d been there, I’d become a New York City girl, and it was home. Still, that first year was rough. I spent a lot of time on my own with Alan’s baby growing inside of me. Being pregnant made me feel closer to him, and I embraced it.

My friends were there for me as much as they could be, but they had their own lives and problems. I took a little time off from my job after Alan died. I wouldn’t have been much use to needy families when I could barely put one foot in front of the other. My boss was very understanding, but eventually, I had to go back to work. After Danielle was born, I worked from home two days a week. That incredible gift of time gave her and me time to bond. Alan may have been gone, but I had a tiny new partner in Danielle.

As a new single mother, money was incredibly tight. But somehow Danielle and I managed, don’t ask me how. We were a team. Having her made losing him a little less awful, especially since she resembled him. Whenever I was down, I’d look at her little cherubic face with those big blue eyes exactly like his, and a wave of gratitude would wash over me. My daughter was a blend of the two of us, but her eyes — those were all Alan.

The police ultimately determined the boat explosion had been caused by a mechanical malfunction and a poorly placed extra fuel tank. That didn’t make me feel any better — Alan was still gone. On the fifth anniversary of the accident, they were holding another memorial service, and I decided to take Danielle out to Long Island.

A monument had been erected alongside the dock to commemorate the fifty-two souls who were lost on that terrible day. No one had been found alive, and only one or two people had been recovered — but in pieces. In the towns surrounding the Scrimshaw Boat Basin, money had been raised to build the memorial monument. The gray stone structure contained all the names of those who died. It stood alone near the dock where the Salty Seagull went out to sea for the last time.

Though I’d lived in New York for a number of years, I’d never been out to the Scrimshaw Boat Basin other than that one memorial two weeks after it happened. The thought of going there again had been too painful. I didn’t want to be in the place where my daughter’s father had died. But time had eased the pain somewhat, and I decided Danielle needed to have some kind of connection to her father.

On the fifth anniversary of the accident, I stood on the south shore of Long Island holding my four-year-old daughter’s hand. It was warm and sunny, and not surprisingly, we weren’t the only people there. Others, I presumed, were doing the same thing we were.

Remembering. Mourning. Surviving.

As my daughter and I eased our way along the side of the monument, I looked for her father’s name. All fifty-two were neatly etched alphabetically into the shiny graphite-colored stone.

After looking for a few minutes, I spotted Alan James Frye on one end of the structure. A lump formed in my throat, and I thought I was going to lose it. My daughter came out of the womb an old soul. I can never hide anything from her. She reads me like a book. That day was no different.

I had positioned our trip to the boat basin as a fun day out by the beach. But once we got there and stood by the monument, four-year-old Danielle didn’t buy it.

“What’s wrong, Mommy?” said my daughter, looking up at me. “You look funny.”

Ugh. I blew out a breath and took in another one.

“Nothing’s wrong, honey. Remember I told you we were going to visit the special place where Daddy went up to heaven.”

Danielle nodded.

Tears pricked my eyes. “Well, I just saw Daddy’s name,” I said as I pointed to it and ran my finger over the grooves in the stone. “See, it’s right there. Alan James Frye. That’s your daddy.”

I took her tiny hand and gently rubbed her pointer finger over his name.

“He loved you so much,” I said, getting weepier thinking about all the years that were stolen from us.

I looked down at her beautiful, trusting face, her big blue eyes blinking. Had Alan loved her? He had only known about her existence for less than forty-eight hours when he died. He couldn’t have loved her. She was just a concept at that point. But I knew he would have. What I was telling my daughter was technically a lie. But it was one I planned to continue telling. Every little girl needs to know her father loves her.

I had brought paper and charcoal and pastels with me so Danielle and I could do a rubbing of Alan’s name. I thought it might help make a connection for my daughter. When we got back to the city, I had intended to frame it and hang it up in her room.

“Take the paper, honey, and press it against the stone like this,” I said, as I crouched down next to her. “You take the charcoal like this and gently rub across the paper.”

Danielle got down on her knees, placed the paper over Alan’s name, and ever so carefully swept the charcoal over it. She was so precise. While she worked on her project, another little girl about a year older than Danielle sat down on the grass not far from us. She was playing with a doll. As soon as my daughter noticed the other girl, she dropped the charcoal and walked over to her.

I shook my head while chastising myself for thinking a four-year-old would be interested in charcoal grave rubbings. She was too young for this. Another kid with a pretty doll was much more of a draw. I let her go and picked up the charcoal, continuing where Danielle had left off. I really did want to bring something home that we could frame. I knelt down and eased the charcoal over the stone until Alan’s name started to appear. I tried it with different colors while keeping one eye on my daughter. As I worked, suddenly a woman’s voice rang out behind me.

“What are you doing?” she said.

I turned my head. A woman around my age with long dark hair, tan skin, and dark brown eyes was staring at me.

I didn’t like the tone in her voice and felt no need to explain what I was doing, but I answered anyway. “I’m making a rubbing,” I said, “with charcoal so we’ll have a keepsake.”

Suddenly, my daughter was standing next to me. “Can my friend and I go play on the swings over there?” She pointed to a set of swings about thirty yards away. I focused on Danielle, ignoring the strange woman looming over me who had nosed her way into my private moment with Alan.

“Sure, but don’t go anywhere else. I can see you from here,” I said as I went back to my rubbing. I watched my daughter skip away with the other little girl and climb onto the swings.

The woman behind me cleared her throat in an exaggerated way that I found annoying.

“Excuse me,” she said, her voice brittle. “But why are you making a rubbing of that name?”

“It’s kind of personal,” I said. “If you don’t mind I—”

“But I do mind,” she said, her voice getting slightly screechy. “I want to know why you’re making a rubbing of my husband’s name. I think I have a right to know that.”

Still on the ground, I turned my head and squinted at the strange woman. Her hands were on her hips as she glared down at me. I got up off the ground and brushed myself down. The woman was clearly unbalanced.

“Excuse me?” I said, my brain spinning at that point.

“Answer me,” she said, getting in my face. “Why are you copying my husband Alan’s name? It’s a simple question.”

“What?” I said, a sick feeling in my stomach. “Alan Frye was your husband?”

“Are you some kind of scam artist or something?” she said, looking around, presumably for other scammers.

I was about to respond and tell the crazy woman to get lost when the little girl with the doll came over.

“Mommy, can we stay longer so I can play on the swings with my new friend? Please?”

I looked down at the kid. Something familiar registered when I looked into her eyes, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

“You didn’t answer my question,” demanded the dark-haired woman, her arms now crossed in front of her.

“You’re saying you’re Alan Frye’s wife?”

“Yes,” she said as I watched tears flood into her eyes. “Alan was my husband.”

“Were you married to him when he died?”

“Of course I was. How did you know my husband?”

Talk about your life flashing before your eyes. My mind tried to make sense out of all the new earth-shattering information that was coming in. Surely this woman was either crazy or completely mistaken. I was about to blurt out that Alan and I had been in love and engaged to be married when that boat went down — that I was his fiancée. I was on the verge of telling the truth when an alarm bell sounded in my head, and my inner voice told me to say nothing so I could find out the truth.

“Um . . . yes . . . um . . . I did know Alan,” I said, my voice barely audible. “He and I had worked together in the same office for a short period of time. Then I got a new job about two months before he died. I only heard he had been on that boat much later.”

“You’re in the diamond business?”

“Not anymore,” I said as I leaned over and collected my daughter’s charcoal drawing. Part of me wanted to get away from this woman, but another part of me, a bigger part, wanted to interrogate her. “My daughter and I came out here for a beach day. When I got here and saw the monument, I remembered this is where that boat went down. I had some art supplies in my bag, so I decided to make a rubbing.”

The woman peered at me suspiciously. She wasn’t buying what I was selling.

“I’m still not clear on why you’re making a souvenir out of my husband’s name. A minute ago, you said that you hardly knew him.”

Given the stunning information I was trying to process, it wasn’t surprising the words that came out of my mouth sounded ridiculous.

“That’s true, we only knew each other for a short while. But during that time, I was going through a rough patch, and Alan was very kind to me,” I said. “We tend to remember people fondly who are supportive of us when we are at a low point. Alan was a very kind person.”

Somehow she bought it because the look on her face softened. I noticed she was actually very pretty now that she wasn’t scowling at me.

“That’s really nice to hear about him after all these years. Alan did have a really big heart,” she said, tears in her eyes as she stuck out her hand. “I’m Margot Frye.”

“I’m Shannon Hunter and that’s my daughter, Danielle,” I said, accepting her handshake. “Alan and I worked on a project together. He was always a lot of fun and very supportive.”

“I don’t recall him mentioning you,” said Margot, still eyeing me a little suspiciously.

“He wouldn’t have,” I said. “I was just a lowly assistant back then. My boyfriend had dumped me, and Alan always asked me how I was doing. I liked him a lot. When I saw the monument, I looked for his name and decided to do a rubbing.”

Margot pulled out a tissue and dabbed her eyes.

“I still miss him so much,” she said. “It’s been five years, but it hasn’t gotten any easier. People said it would. ‘All you need is time,’ they all said. Well, I can tell you firsthand, that’s a load of crap. Time hasn’t helped me at all. It just extends the distance from when I last saw him.”

I let her talk because she obviously needed to. It also gave me time to get my arms around everything I’d just learned. A huge part of me didn’t want to believe her. But a little nagging voice in my head kept repeating, What if it’s true? As incredible as it was, the more I listened to Margot reminisce about her husband, aka my fiancé, Alan, the more I believed what she said. For fifteen minutes, Margot shared her memories and described perfectly the man I loved — the man who was supposed to become my husband and my daughter’s father. Honestly, my head was about to split in two.

While I was trying to process everything, a loud jingling sound blasted through the air. The little girl ran over and tugged on her mother’s arm.

“Can we get ice cream, Mommy?” said the girl, pointing to an ice cream truck coming up the road. When I looked down into the little girl’s eyes, I connected the dots. That little girl wasn’t just a random kid. She was Alan’s daughter. She had Alan’s eyes. They were the same as my daughter’s. That little girl was Danielle’s half-sister.

I didn’t know how much more of this I could take, but I couldn’t just let them walk out of my life. I needed to know everything about Alan — and his double life. To keep her there, I offered to treat everyone to ice cream. The two girls jumped up and down when I made the offer. I think it caught Margot off guard because she clearly hadn’t decided whether she liked me or not. But the next thing I knew, all four of us are walking over to the ice cream truck like one big happy family, which, in a way, we were. My heart was beating so fast, I actually thought I might have a heart attack.

Chapter Nine

Margot Frye

I didn’t want any ice cream, but after that strange woman made the announcement about treating us, it would have been impossible to say no to my daughter at that point. The four of us crossed the street and stood next to the pink and white polka-dot truck. We ordered our ice cream and sat on a nearby bench under a tree. The girls seemed to get along well. We watched them as they walked over to a pond and threw rocks into the water while they licked their pops.

“Keep your ice cream away from the seagulls,” I shouted. “They’ll take your hand off for free food.”

Shannon and I sat side by side on the bench in awkward silence while slurping our creamsicles. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something about her was off. I felt it in my gut. She barely knew my husband, having only worked with him for a short time. But then she ended up at the memorial on the fifth anniversary doing a charcoal rubbing of his name? The whole thing didn’t add up.

As a middle school English teacher, I work with facts. And because of my job working with young teens, I had become pretty good at sniffing out a line of bullshit. I was about to ask Shannon a few pointed questions when she suddenly asked me how Alan and I met. That was followed by an inquiry about our wedding and where we got married. Before I knew it, I was answering and crying at the same time. Talking about Alan brought him back to life. And while my grief was right there on the surface and still hurt, it felt good to share my memories of him.

The year he died, everyone I knew talked about him constantly and told stories of their time with him. One thing to know about my husband was that he was a lot of fun. Alan was quick with a joke, liked to party, and was usually up for anything. That’s how most people remembered him — Mr. Congeniality. He was all those things, but he wasn’t perfect. He was terrible with money and used to blow his paycheck on stupid things instead of taking care of important bills. It was a constant source of aggravation for me. Thank God I had my job and income because he definitely burned the candle at both ends. But that’s what made him who he was. Despite that stuff, I loved him — warts and all.

Two or three years after his death, people stopped mentioning him. I think they felt like they shouldn’t talk about him because it would make me sad. But I loved talking about my husband. Reminiscing about Alan made it feel like he was still with me in some strange cosmic way. Whenever someone told a story about Alan, I was able to see him again. So that day when Shannon was at the memorial asking about him, despite my concerns about her mental health, I jumped at the chance to share my memories. As I answered her questions and told her about the man I loved and still missed, I felt my soul being soothed.

After rambling on about Alan and our time together, I finally took a breath and looked at my watch. I’d been talking about my dead husband to a total stranger for half an hour. I’m so not like that. I’m usually very introverted and keep my personal stuff to myself. Somehow she had opened my floodgates.

When I looked over at Shannon, I saw genuine interest and compassion in her eyes. She didn’t look crazy, and she was really listening to me. Each one of her questions spurred me on to reveal more. It felt like she understood how amazing Alan was. That made me feel good because not everyone was a fan. He had his detractors.

* * *

That day I had gone to the Scrimshaw Boat Basin with my daughter to pay tribute to my dead husband. The last time I was there was a week or two after the accident at the first memorial. That day, my emotions were raw. My daughter, Jessie, was a baby and I barely remember any of the service.

Then, five years later, I ended up going for ice cream with a total stranger who may or may not have a weird obsession with my dead husband. I freely shared anecdotes about Alan and me and our daughter. I told her how Alan and I met, all about our first date and even stories about our spontaneous wedding and honeymoon in Las Vegas.

“Alan and I had been seeing each other for about a year,” I told her. “He had to go to a jewelry trade show in Vegas and asked me if I wanted to go with him. I was off from school for the summer, so I did.”

“Fun,” said Shannon.

“It was,” I said, smiling as I remembered our time there. “His company paid for the hotel and rental car. All we had to cover was my plane ticket. We got out to Vegas and Alan met with a few people he needed to see and then he was done with the show. We spent the next few days in the casinos.”

“So, Alan liked to gamble?”

“I didn’t realize how much he liked it until we went to Vegas,” I said. “He came alive when he set foot in a casino. But it was all in good fun. At one point Alan was playing blackjack and he won pretty big — four or five thousand. Then he turned to me and said, ‘Babe, what do you think about getting married while we’re here. We could go to one of those Elvis chapels.’ I don’t know what got into me, but I said yes.”

“You got married in an Elvis chapel?” Shannon said, a look of total surprise on her face.

“Anyone who knows me will tell you I’m the least impulsive person you’ll ever meet. I think everything through before I make a move. I don’t know what happened, but I got caught up in the moment. A few weeks later, my parents threw a little wedding party for us at their house in Virginia. Not long after that I was pregnant.”

“What about Alan’s parents? Did they go to the party in Virginia, too?”

I looked up at the sky and shook my head.

“No, his mother died before I met him. I don’t think he ever knew his father.”

“Wow,” said Shannon, “you’ve had a lot of change in a short amount of time.”

I nodded and smiled, remembering the look on Alan’s face when I told him we were having a baby. “I literally got pregnant on our honeymoon. Neither of us were planning on having kids for a long time. In fact, we hadn’t even talked about having a family.”

“That must have been a lot for both of you,” said Shannon.

“It was. I had just finished my master’s in education,” said Margot. I had massive student loans to pay back and a new job at a middle school in Westchester County near our condo. I eventually wanted children, but I was still in my early twenties, and the timing was terrible. I really wanted to get my career going and be settled before I had kids.”

“Life is full of surprises,” said Shannon.

“When I told Alan I was pregnant, he grilled me, ‘Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure?’

“I told him I’d done the test twice and both times it was positive. At first he didn’t say anything, so I kept trying to sell the idea. ‘I know the timing sucks,’ I said, ‘but we’re going to have a baby and it’s going to be great. You always said, when life gives you lemons, you gotta make lemonade. Let’s make some.’”

Shannon nodded, but she looked like she was miles away.

“My husband traveled for work all the time, sometimes internationally,” I said. “He’d be gone for weeks and often the trips extended over the weekends. Because of all his travel, he said he worried all of the responsibility for childcare would fall on me. I also worked full-time and we needed my income and benefits to make ends meet. Having a family requires a delicate balance.”

Shannon’s brow wrinkled, but she smiled as soon as she looked over at her daughter. “Kids definitely change things. That’s for sure.”

I shook my head and sighed. “I found out I was pregnant before I’d even written the thank you notes for our wedding gifts.”

“Wow,” said Shannon, brushing a loose blonde hair off her forehead, “that must have been a lot.”

I nodded. “Do you want to see our wedding picture?”

Chapter Ten

Shannon

When Margot asked me if I wanted to see a picture from her wedding to Alan, I wanted to scream YES, but I held it together. I was still trying to get my arms around that other little nugget I’d just heard. How Alan’s mother had died when she first met him, which was long before I was in the picture. Yet I distinctly remember Alan ditching me one Christmas because his mother died. Was that another lie? Or were Margot and I talking about two different men? I still wasn’t completely sure.

Even after all her romantic stories, and her daughter having Alan’s eyes, I still clung to the hope that Margot and I had our Alan Fryes mixed up. I really wanted it to be a crazy mistake — something we could both laugh about later.

That hope died the moment she produced the wedding portrait from her wallet. Margot handed me the photo while she waxed poetic about her marriage and the many wonders of Alan Frye. As I looked at the picture, blood rushed to my head. There was no mistake. The man in the tuxedo with his arms around Margot’s waist in front of the Elvis chapel, that was Alan — my Alan.

Thankfully, Margot didn’t pick up on my inner freak out and told me a funny story about their wedding night with more details than I needed. While she chattered on, I used the time to do the math in my head. Alan and I had been seeing each other for a total of three and a half years. Margot’s daughter, Jessie, was born a year before my daughter, Danielle.

That meant that Alan and I were seeing each other when he and Margot got married. It also meant that when Alan and I were planning our wedding, his daughter Jessie was already born.

I shook my head, hoping it would snap me out of the nightmare I was in. It didn’t. I had gone to the site of the memorial that day to honor my lost love and my daughter’s father. And now through an incomprehensible and frankly bizarre chance meeting, I’d discovered that the man I had loved was not the person I thought he was. Instead, Alan was a liar, a fake, and a con artist. Honestly, I was so overwhelmed that I didn’t know what to do with all the information. It was too much, and all I wanted to do was get out of there.

But Margot was on a roll and continued sharing anecdotes about her husband. Each time she mentioned his name, I felt myself getting sicker to my stomach. All these years, I’d forgotten his weak points and put him up on a pedestal. I had built him up in my mind as this amazing man, someone no other man could live up to.

Now, I knew the awful truth. Alan Frye was nothing more than a user and a cheater. Margot and I had both been used and abused. Both of us had loved him dearly, and he had betrayed us. As painful as finding out the truth was that day, at least my eyes were finally open. I understood everything. Alan didn’t care about Margot or me. Everything was about him and what he wanted.

Sure, there were inklings, little blinks and moments that occasionally made me stop and think, Hmmm, that was weird. But after he died in such a tragic way, I pushed away all the bad things and questions I had previously wondered about. After his death, I only allowed good memories into my mind. My daughter only heard wonderful things about her father. In reality, the man was a duplicitous user.

“Are you okay?” said Margot, looking at me with concern in her voice.

“What?” I said, snapping out of my angry stupor.

“Your hand,” she said, handing me a napkin. “It’s bleeding.”

I looked down, and sure enough, it was. While I was processing my incredible betrayal, I must have dug my nails into the palm of my hand. I was so absorbed in my own thoughts that I didn’t even feel it. Jeez.

I felt my face flush as I dabbed the blood off my palm.

“I got so involved in your story that I didn’t realize I was pressing so hard,” I said. “It sounds like you and Alan had a storybook marriage.”

Margot smiled and nodded. “We did. I wonder if I’ll ever love like that again. It’s not easy finding a second soulmate.”

I looked into her dark brown eyes. Her wavy black hair cascaded around her shoulders. She was beautiful in a totally natural way. I understood why Alan had been attracted to her and loved her. She was smart and nice but looked nothing like me. I was blonde with pale white skin and freckles across the bridge of my nose. I’ll say this for him — he sure liked variety in his women.

Margot and I ended up conversing for a long time. Actually, I didn’t say much at all. She did most of the talking. I guess she had a lot bottled up inside that needed to get out. I had a lot inside me, too. It was called rage.

I wasn’t sure what to do with all this new information. Part of me thought I should just walk away and leave Margot with her Alan fantasy fully intact. Did I really want to put her through what I just went through? Was knowing the truth better than blissful ignorance?

I had been used and lied to. While Margot continued to share funny stories about her husband, my world felt like it was crumbling.

Faced with a moral dilemma not of my own making, the mature, evolved side of me said to walk away and leave her alone. Let her get on with her life and her memories. I could leave Scrimshaw Boat Basin that day and never look back. Margot would go on with her life, and I’d go on with mine.

I had just about decided to take the high road and give Margot that gift when our girls came running over to us holding hands. Their coloring was dramatically different, but their eyes were identical. I don’t know how Margot didn’t see it. I couldn’t unsee it. Jessie was my daughter’s sister. Was it my right to keep sisters apart?

I decided only one thing that day — to take a breath and do nothing. I needed time to sort through everything that had been hurled at me. One thing I was sure of — once I figured things out, I would tell Margot the truth. She had a right to know.

Chapter Eleven

Shannon

I always thought that one day everything I’d learned about Alan — every shocking, shattering piece would eventually fall into place. But as time went on, I only became more confused, angry, and heartbroken. I hated him for what he did, and yet at the same time, I was hurt that I wasn’t enough for him. He didn’t love me the way I had loved him. Maybe he didn’t love me at all.

Why didn’t I come clean with Margot the day we met? I didn’t know. I should have. But when I learned Alan had a wife and child, I had an overwhelming need to know more — to know everything. I wanted to understand how he conducted a life with her while he was with me. I had to know.

I was afraid if I told Margot the truth, she’d stop talking to me and shut me out. So, I didn’t say anything, and then too much time passed. It’s like when you’re at a party and meet someone, and after talking to them for two hours you realize you can’t remember their name. At that point, it feels weird asking someone their name again after you’ve had such a long and meaningful conversation. After I spent that whole first afternoon bonding with Margot, telling her the truth would have ruined everything. I would tell her at some point — when the time was right.

Since our girls got along so well, we exchanged numbers when we left the beach that day. She had moved into the city after Alan died, and we didn’t live far from each other. We talked about getting our kids together for a play date and grabbing a coffee.

I wanted to reach out to her the next day but thought it best to let her call me. Fortunately, a week later, she did. She was planning to take Jessie up to the Muscoot Farm petting zoo in Westchester County over the weekend. She wanted to know if Danielle and I wanted to join them. Was I really going to keep the charade going? But before I had a chance to weigh the pros and cons of this duplicitous idea, I heard my voice responding to her invitation. As I accepted, my heart beat faster.

“That sounds great,” I said. “The weather’s supposed to be nice on Saturday. Danielle would love to go. For some reason, she’s been obsessed with goats lately.”

That Saturday, Margot rented a car and we drove up to the farm in Katonah. It felt good to get out of the city, and the trip turned out to be a huge success. Our girls got along very well — possibly because they were sisters and more alike than anyone realized. And truthfully, I liked spending time with Margot. She was smart and cool and funny, too. She was someone I would have become friends with independent of Alan. As I got to know Margot, I understood why he was drawn to her.

As our day at the farm continued, I actually forgot that Margot was my fiancé’s wife. Aside from the Alan connection, it turned out we had so many other things in common. We laughed at the same things, and our values were right in line with each other. Margot was like the sister I never had but always wanted.

Our similarities made me realize that Alan did have a type — we didn’t look like each other, but we were alike in so many ways. I noticed we even had the same style of parenting, although Margot was a little more patient than I was. I guess her time as a middle school teacher gave her that calm.

After that day at the farm, Margot and I started getting together with the kids on a regular basis. Our apartments were only a ten-minute walk from each other. The girls played well together, which gave Margot and me plenty of time to get in some girl talk. As single mothers, we shared our frustrations and concerns, which I think made each of us feel a little less lonely.

As more time passed, the friendship with Margot grew stronger and more intimate. After six months, she had become my best friend — except for one thing. Our whole friendship was predicated on a lie. I was hiding the mother of all secrets, and that guilt ate away at me. I didn’t know how long I could let the lie continue. I kept telling myself that when the time was right, I’d tell her the truth.

But fate took over, and that decision was taken out of my hands.

It was a Saturday morning. Margot and I had just dropped the girls off at a dance class on the Lower East Side. We had planned to grab a coffee at a café a few blocks away and catch up while the girls were tumbling.

Standing on a street corner waiting for a light to change, I saw someone on the other side of the street waving to me. It was Diane Kramer. She and I had worked together at a women’s health center a few years before. When I saw her, I thought I was going to faint. Diane and her boyfriend and Alan and I had gone out a few times for dinner. She came to his memorial at the church. She had been very supportive after Alan died.

I couldn’t risk Diane saying something about Alan or mentioning his name in front of Margot. As far as Margot knew, my daughter’s father was an old boyfriend named Paul. There was no way I could let Diane and Margot meet. I pretended I didn’t see my old friend coming toward me, and I steered Margot in another direction.

Suddenly, Margot stopped. “I think someone’s waving at you,” she said, pointing to Diane, her hand up on the other side of the street.

I looked over and pretended to see Diane for the first time and waved at her half-heartedly. My old colleague ran across the road and gave me a big bear hug.

“How’ve you been, stranger?” she said with a big smile. “I’ve been meaning to call you. I haven’t seen you and Danielle in almost a year. What have you been up to?”

The walls were closing in on me, and I looked around for an exit strategy. I was trapped.

“Not too much,” I said, weakly trying to inch away. “Work and Danielle take up most of my time. You know how it is.”

There was a momentary silence as both Margot and Diane looked at me. With no other choice, I introduced my two friends while also mentioning that Margot and I had to get going.

“How do you and Shannon know each other?” said Margot.

Diane smiled. “We used to work together and then my husband and I double-dated with Shannon and Alan a few times. We even rented a beach house together for a week out in Montauk. Remember, Shannon? Alan had us laughing the entire week. He was so funny.”

I must have looked ashen because Diane noticed and suddenly stopped talking.

“Are you all right?” she said as she reached over and squeezed my upper arm. “I’m sorry. That was stupid of me. I shouldn’t have brought up Alan like that. How are you doing?”

I forced myself to smile while trying not to look at Margot.

“Oh, you know me. I’m okay.”

“I still can’t believe he’s gone,” she said as she checked the time on her phone. “Now, I’ve done it. I’m late for my hair appointment. I’ve gotta run. I’ll call you and we’ll make some plans.”

Waving to Diane as she ran off, I swallowed before looking over at Margot. The expression on her face was of bewilderment mixed with pain — or maybe it was rage?

“What was she talking about?” said Margot, her eyes narrowing as they locked onto mine. “You had a boyfriend named Alan? Why didn’t you ever mention that?”

Oh God. All those months when Margot and I were hanging out sharing our most intimate feelings, I kept hoping there would be this miraculously perfect moment to reveal the truth. But it never came. Now it was sitting squarely in front of me, and there was no way out.

“Come on,” I said with resolve. “We need to talk.”

Chapter Twelve

Shannon

We found a bench in a little park and sat down. Margot hadn’t said anything. She stared at me while I tried to find the right words. But there were no right words for something like this. None.

“Tell me what’s going on,” said Margot icily.

“Oh my God. I don’t even know where to start,” I said, getting teary.

“I always tell my students to start at the beginning. That’s usually a good place.”

I tilted my head back and blew out a stream of air. There was so much to unpack. First — her dead husband. She clearly still loved him, but he had cheated on her. Not only had he broken his marriage vows, but he also had a baby with another woman — me.

I knew what I was about to say would be life-altering news for Margot. I remembered how I felt that day at the memorial when I found out Alan had a wife and a child. I was devastated for months. I didn’t want to put her through that, but I had no choice.

After spending so much time with Margot, I’d grown to love her. I wanted to protect her. I didn’t want her to experience the same pain I went through. It was awful. But I was backed into a corner, and there was no way around it. I had to come clean.

This confession had two parts. The first — her husband had been cheating on her. The second — I had been lying to her since the day we met. Our friendship had been established under false pretenses. She meant so much to me now. I didn’t want to lose her friendship. I also didn’t want my daughter, Danielle, to lose her sister. The whole thing was a big fat mess. At that moment, I was so angry at Alan for putting me in this position.

“You’re scaring me,” said Margot, her head cocked to one side. “Tell me what this is all about.”

I took a deep breath and started talking. I took great pains to make sure Margot fully understood that I had been deceived as well and knew nothing about her or Jessie. As the words tumbled out of my mouth, I watched my best friend’s face fall. Her eyebrows moved up and down while I spoke as she tried to digest what I was saying. I could tell she was having difficulty grasping it all. I understood. That’s the same way I felt the day we met.

“You have to believe me. I had no idea Alan was married,” I said. “He lied to both of us.”

Margot clenched her jaw. “Why are you saying these things to me? Why would you make up such a horrible story? What’s wrong with you?”

Tears sprang from my eyes. “I didn’t want you to go through the same pain I went through. I knew I couldn’t keep the secret forever, but I was waiting for the right time to tell you.”

Margot turned and faced me squarely.

“The right time?” she said, outrage in her voice. “Let me get this straight. You’re telling me that my husband, Alan, was having an affair with you and you knew nothing about me. Is that right?”

I nodded.

“And you had been seeing Alan for three years,” said Margot, trying to hold it together. “And the period you two were in a relationship happened before and remained after my wedding.”

I nodded again. “Margot, he lied to me too. I’ve tried to work this out a thousand times. The way I see it, Alan used his business travel as a cover to spend time with both of us. I don’t think he was traveling as much as he led me to believe. I think he’d tell one of us he had to go on a business trip and go stay with the other. He made it work for years. After I met you and learned the truth, a lot of the pieces that always seemed odd finally fell into place.”

Margot crossed her arms tightly.

“What pieces are you talking about?” she said, anger in her voice.

“Like we’d been together for over three years, and I had never met his family or anyone from his past,” I said. “He always had an excuse and said his mother was overbearing and then she suddenly died one Christmas.”

Margot sat back. “I never met anyone either. I thought that was strange, too. Even after Jessie was born — nothing. It seemed like a sore spot for him, so I left it alone.”

“And I never went to his apartment in New Rochelle,” I said. “Every time I suggested we go to his place for a change of pace, he’d tell me it was too small and he didn’t want to. I gave in and we always ended up staying at my place in the city.”

Margot shook her head as she wiped away a tear. “Why are you doing this? I don’t believe you. I think you’re a sick person, you know that? Why are you trying to deliberately hurt me?”

Margot was starting to lean in the direction that I was a psycho. At that point, I knew I had to pull out the big guns, and it was going to hurt — but I had no choice. She started to get up to leave, but I stopped her.

“Wait,” I said.

“I don’t want to talk to you anymore,” said Margot, backing away.

“Let me just ask you one thing and then you can go. Did you spend the last Christmas with Alan, the one before he died?”

Margot looked confused. “Of course I did.”

“Did you?” I said. “It would have been your daughter’s first Christmas. Were you together?”

Margot’s face fell, and she looked confused.

I leaned in. “You didn’t spend that Christmas together because he was with me that whole week. I presume Alan told you he had a business obligation overseas. That’s what he always said to me when he took off for long periods.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” said Margot, her voice getting shriller.

“You didn’t spend that last Christmas together, Margot, because Alan and I went on a cruise in the Caribbean that week.”

“You’re lying,” Margot shouted as she stepped backward.

“I’m so sorry. Believe me, if anyone knows how you feel, I do. I’ve had time to digest all of this, and it wasn’t easy. I never knew about you or Jessie. When I met Alan, he told me he was single and we fell in love. I never dreamed he was leading a double life. When he died, I was already pregnant and planning our wedding.”

Margot clenched her fists. “I don’t want to hear any more of your lies. You need help.”

“You’ve got to believe me. Haven’t you ever noticed how much our daughters look like each other. Margot — Jessie and Danielle are sisters.”

Margot bent over as if she had been kicked in the stomach and my heart ached for her.

“So, you’ve been lying to me this whole time and pretending to be my friend?”

“I wasn’t pretending. I just didn’t know how to—”

“You’re crazy, you know that?” she said, looking up at me. “You need some serious help. Don’t ever call me and stay away from my daughter. I never want to see you again. You’re evil and toxic.”

Margot spun around and walked briskly away, her middle finger held up high in the air. I felt awful. I had just lost my best friend and had no idea how to fix things.

Chapter Thirteen

Margot

After that disturbing conversation with Shannon in the park, I was a total wreck. The things she said to me were so shocking. When she first started talking, I couldn’t understand why she would try to hurt me the way she did. She had become my best friend. My first reaction was that she’d had some kind of breakdown, that she was delusional.

But a few hours later, after I’d calmed down a little, I started thinking about some of the things she said. There was a Christmas that Alan was away. That was true. And it was the last Christmas he was alive.

I went into my closet and dug out my old calendars. I always saved everything for at least seven years. I looked at all the holidays and important dates over the years Alan and I were together. Skimming through various dates, I was reminded that he had missed a lot of important things because of work travel.

In the four years we were together, he missed three of my birthdays and two of his. He wasn’t home for one Christmas and two Thanksgivings. He was gone for a full week that last Christmas, just like Shannon had said. He never introduced me to anyone he worked with, and I never went to his office, even though I asked on more than one occasion. His excuse: the security at his company was extremely tight. Because of the high-value diamonds stored there, Pretorious Diamonds frowned on bringing friends or family into the office. I never pushed it. It made sense.

While I didn’t believe everything Shannon told me, her words did get me thinking about Alan’s weird relationship with his family. What parent on the planet doesn’t want to meet their daughter-in-law? I always thought that was strange.

Another thing that I was reminded of was our social network. Any of the people we got together with were always my friends. I knew he had friends because he was always going out for a beer or to see a game. Now I wondered if maybe that’s not where he was at all. Maybe he was with her.

I thought about what Shannon had said for weeks. I didn’t want to believe it, but something deep inside told me it might be true. I started to remember long-buried, random moments that hadn’t added up — things I chose to ignore at the time. And then there was the big one — our daughters. Jessie and Danielle did resemble each other. I noticed something the first time I saw Danielle but never made the connection. Why would I? The whole thing was incomprehensible. Regardless, even I had to admit — both girls looked a lot like Alan, especially the eyes.

In the weeks after hearing Shannon’s confession, I could barely function — not an easy thing when you have a classroom of middle school kids to deal with. Ever since Alan was killed, I’d played the role of bereaved widow and mother mourning the loss of a magnificent husband whose life had been cut short. I remembered him as a man who never got to realize his full potential. Now I wondered if our whole relationship was a lie? Was everything that Alan ever told me all bullshit?

I put Jessie to bed and went to splash cold water on my face before digging through more of Alan’s old letters and cards. They were full of ‘I love you’ and ‘you’re my soulmate.’ The Alan I knew, and the story Shannon told, didn’t match. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. But the more I dwelled on it, the more I started to see the cracks in our perfect marriage.

Shannon called and emailed me so many times that I finally blocked her on my phone. I didn’t know for sure about Alan, but I did know Shannon lied to me for a really long time. I had trusted her completely. All those months we spent together, sharing intimate secrets, and she was lying the whole time. To me, that was unforgivable.

About a month after we had that fateful conversation in the park, I was in my apartment on a rainy Saturday afternoon. It was about four thirty and the rainy weather had ruined the outdoor activities I had planned for my daughter that day. Instead, Jessie was in her room watching another Disney movie, and I was grading tests for one of my classes. Fun.

A sharp knock on my front door interrupted me.

I put down my red Sharpie, walked over to the door, and looked out through the peephole. Shannon was standing on the other side — drenched.

“Go away,” I said firmly through the closed door.

“Please let me in, Margot,” she said. “We need to talk.”

“You may need to talk, but I don’t.”

“There are a few things I want to clear up. Please, just give me twenty minutes. I brought wine and Chinese food,” she said, holding up a bottle and a big white bag.

I was still so angry. For months, I’d shared my deepest feelings with her while she pretended to be someone she wasn’t. That betrayal really hurt.

Against my better judgment, I unlocked the door, walked into the living room, and sat on the couch. Shannon entered the apartment carrying a bag and dripping all over my floor. She tossed her wet umbrella onto a pile of old magazines and closed the door behind her.

“What could you possibly have to say that’s going to change the way I feel,” I said. “You broke my heart and you betrayed my trust.”

Shannon unscrewed the top from the bottle of chardonnay and grabbed two glasses from my kitchen counter. “I think we need some wine to have this conversation.” She filled both glasses, handed me one, and took a seat.

“The way I see it,” said Shannon, “you’re mad at me for two reasons. First, because I was romantically involved with your husband. But you have to believe me — I didn’t know. He lied to both of us. You know me, Margot. I would never do something like that.”

I raised my open palm to her.

“Stop. I believe that you didn’t know, okay? I’ve looked back at certain dates and some of what you said rings true. There were many missed occasions and times when Alan was MIA. In a weird way, it answers so many questions I had. But the thing that really hurts right now is that you lied to me for such a long time — months. How can I trust you now?”

I cast my eyes downward and nodded. “I know, and that was wrong of me. I just didn’t know how to tell you. I’m so sorry. The way you felt when I told you, that’s the way I felt when I met you at the memorial and you announced that you were Alan’s wife. I was so shocked and taken aback that I didn’t know what to do. Please tell me how I can fix this? I love you and miss our friendship. Danielle really misses Jessie.”

I felt my resolve weaken. I missed Shannon, too. I took a big gulp from my wine glass.

“So, where do we go from here?” I said.

Shannon smiled, relief on her face. “I think the first thing we need to do is eat some of these Chinese dumplings I brought and have another glass of wine. Then we need to compare notes.”

For the next three hours, Shannon and I shared all the nuances of our respective relationships with Alan Frye. We finished most of the Chinese food, fed Jessie, and even cracked open another bottle of wine I had in the fridge. It was intense.

Toward the end, we were both so emotionally spent that we were actually giddy. Our conversation had started out loaded with anger and pain. But by the end, we were laughing and ripping Alan James Frye a new one.

“He called you Babe-alicious?” I said. “Alan called me Babe-alicious, too. What a loser. He was so lazy he couldn’t come up with two different nicknames.”

“He probably kept them the same, so he didn’t make a mistake,” said Shannon. “Do you remember what he got for you that last Christmas?”

It didn’t take me long to remember because it was the last gift Alan had given me and I had been so surprised and delighted.

“I do,” I said. “He gave me a pair of diamond stud earrings. He said he got them at a discount through his company.”

Shannon let out a cry. “I knew it. I got diamond stud earrings, too. Only guess what, after I met you and found out Alan was a complete liar, I had my earrings appraised. They were fake. Can you believe that? The man worked for a diamond company and gave me fake diamonds.”

My jaw dropped, and I ran into my bedroom to get my earrings. I showed them to Shannon.

“That’s the same box mine were in,” said Shannon. “Take them to a jeweler. I guarantee you, they’re not real.”

I clenched my teeth as the fury reignited inside me.

“Can I tell you something?” Shannon said. “The night I told Alan I was pregnant, after he got over the initial shock, he said that if we had a girl, he wanted to name her Jessica.”

“What?” I shouted. “The same name as my daughter?”

“Yeah. He probably figured it would be easier if his kids were both named Jessica, less of a chance of slipping up.”

“Was he going to keep this going forever?” I said. “Everything he said and did was a lie. He coasted through life on his charm and good looks and did whatever the hell he wanted no matter who it hurt.”

“That’s the way it looks to me,” said Shannon.

“He wasn’t even good at his job. A few times right before he died, I overheard him on the phone with his boss. Alan was always making up a lot of excuses. It sounded like he was on thin ice at work. He was doing coke back then and there was never enough money for the bills.”

With our bellies full of dumplings and our hearts partly mended, we wrapped things up.

“I’m glad you came over here today,” I said. “I missed you more than I can say. We shouldn’t be mad at each other. Our anger should be directed at him.”

Shannon nodded. “Exactly. And he’s gone so we need to put this behind us and move on. I think we can help each other do that.”

Before Shannon left, we both agreed how important it was that our girls maintained a relationship.

“They’re sisters,” I said as Shannon put on her raincoat by my front door. “But they’re too young right now to know that truth. Let’s leave it as it is. When they’re older and we think they can handle it, we’ll sit them down and tell them everything. That gives us a few years to figure it out.”

Chapter Fourteen

Twenty years later

Shannon

Throughout the years, my friendship with Margot has been at the center of my life. Neither of us had a partner or a father for our daughters. We did the best we could to fill those empty holes for each other.

If Margot needed someone to watch Jessie when she had parent-teacher meetings or a haircut, I stepped in. If Danielle and I were down for the count with the flu and in need of some TLC and chicken soup, Margot was our nurse. We cared for each other’s daughters as if they were our own. We had each other’s backs.

As it turned out, Margot and I complemented each other in the best ways possible. She was the more cerebral one and often reserved. She chose her words carefully, and you got the sense that she put thought into everything that came out of her mouth.

I, on the other hand, was more of a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants type of girl. My mind moved quickly, and I tended to dive into situations before fully evaluating them. Sometimes it got me into trouble, but I did get a lot done.

Over the years, we spent hours pondering and dissecting why Alan had chosen us. Had he sensed a naivety or gullible quality in us? What was the common thread that made us perfect for his scam?

We looked nothing like each other. I was of Irish and English extraction with blue eyes, and Margot was African American and German with dark hair and eyes. But despite the obvious physical differences, there was some intangible thing that drew Alan to both of us.

“Maybe he thought we would both be easy to manipulate?” said Margot during one of our Alan-bashing sessions. “Maybe he thought we were weak?”

That first year after Alan died, I had been so alone and miserable. The only thing that kept me going was the thought of my new baby coming — Alan’s baby. I kept telling myself that even though he was gone, he’d live on through our child.

Pregnant with no money, grieving the loss of my soulmate, life then was a daily struggle. A black cloud hung over my entire pregnancy. There were days that I wondered if I would always feel that way. I asked myself what kind of mother would I be when I could barely hold my head up?

But despite my depression, each morning I had to get up and go do my job. The homeless families I worked with had even bigger problems than I did. That helped put some perspective on things. Focusing on others got me out of my own head.

When my daughter was finally born, it was bittersweet. Part of me was filled with so much joy — something I hadn’t felt in a while. But her presence also underscored the fact that her father wasn’t there.

But then Margot came into my life in the strangest of ways and things actually got better. Her friendship has kept me afloat, and I hope I’ve done the same for her. I think I have.

When our girls were little, we did a lot of things together like a family, because, for all intents and purposes, that’s what we were. We’d take the girls to the movies, or to the Bronx zoo or a once-a-year ridiculously expensive American Girl doll store excursion in Midtown. We’d make a day of it and go out for lunch and hot chocolate. Margot and I even took vacations together with the kids.

But it wasn’t only the good times when our friendship mattered. Margot was there for me when my mom died, and I held her hand when she had a breast cancer scare.

“You’re going to be all right,” I said, while we sat in the waiting room before her biopsy.

She looked at me and started to laugh. “Are you my emotional support dog now?”

I barked, and we both laughed.

Given our mutual past with Alan and the way we’d been betrayed, dating for both of us was always painful and usually unsuccessful. It was pretty clear we had some serious residual trust issues when it came to men. How could we not? And we were also single moms. It’s not easy to have a romantic relationship when you’re juggling a job and raising a kid on your own.

Once in a while, I’d meet a decent guy, but it never went anywhere. I think Margot and I were in the same place emotionally. Both of us were so scarred by Alan’s litany of lies that we hadn’t pushed past them. Who could blame us?

“Why didn’t we see it?” said Margot one night as we walked out of a movie theater, the girls ahead of us on the sidewalk.

“Maybe we didn’t want to see it,” I said. “And he was really good at lying. It was second nature to him.”

I had started seeing a therapist six months after the boat explosion. At the time, I went to process my grief over Alan’s death and my subsequent feelings of abandonment and loss. Years later, after I learned about Margot and his other child, the focus of my sessions shifted to help me process my anger and rage. Margot’s therapy took the same path.

By the time our girls were in their early teens, I had started seeing a nice man named Joe. He was a cop, and I was the social worker on one of his cases. He was a few years younger than me and recently divorced with a young son. He and I went out for about a year. Margot thought he was nice, but the relationship eventually fizzled out. If I’m being honest, it was because of me. Joe was pretty open, but I just couldn’t commit. Those trust issues kept popping up over and over. It was like a curse. After what Alan did, I couldn’t trust men, and I didn’t trust myself with them. I had no faith that I could spot a lie.

Both Margot and I had gone out with several different men over the years, but nothing significant ever materialized. Throughout it all, we always had each other. Together, we watched Danielle and Jessie graduate from middle school and then high school. We attended dance recitals, spelling bees, and soccer games. We celebrated birthdays and holidays together. We were a family.

When Jessie turned fifteen and Danielle fourteen, Margot and I decided it was time to tell the girls the truth. Until then, all our kids knew was that their respective fathers had both died when they were babies. We never talked about it, and they didn’t bring it up very often. I had told Danielle that her dad was an old boyfriend who had passed away before she was born. Margot told Jessie the truth, that her father had died in a boat accident. She had to; they used the Frye name, and she worried that if she lied, Jessie might find out.

When the kids were young, sharing a minuscule amount of information with them had been sufficient. But as the girls got into their teens, they started asking more questions. They also thought it was a crazy coincidence that both of their fathers were named Alan.

Margot and I used to roll our eyes when the name thing came up. We wondered how long it would be before we had to tell them the truth.

“It’s not like we did anything wrong,” said Margot one night while sharing a pizza. “We were the victims, remember?”

I leaned in and whispered so our teenagers in the next room wouldn’t hear. “I know, but just like we were fed a pack of lies by you know who — we’ve been lying to the girls for a long time.”

“But we only did that because—”

“We wanted to protect them. But I think it’s time we tell them,” I whispered. “Danielle has been asking me a ton of questions lately. They’re old enough.”

A month later, we got together at my place, sat the girls at the table and told them the truth. Not the full unvarnished truth — that would have been way too much information. We didn’t think they needed to know the whole truth about their father. Who would that serve? So, we told them that Alan had been married to Margot and she had a baby. We said they hadn’t been happy and decided to get divorced.

“It’s what we both wanted,” said Margot in her schoolteacher’s voice. “Alan moved out of our apartment and several months later, he met Shannon. Before our divorce was finalized, Shannon was pregnant with Danielle. Not long after, Alan was killed in the boating accident.”

When Margot uttered those last few sentences, she and I held our breath, waiting for the emotional fallout from the girls.

They looked at each other, their mouths wide open, their eyes the size of golf balls.

“So does that mean,” said Jessie, “that Danielle and I are . . . sisters?”

“Yes,” I said. “You two are sisters.”

The next thing you know, the girls are both dancing around my living room, hugging and singing.

For weeks, Margot and I had been preparing for that conversation, expecting a major adolescent meltdown when we finally broke the news. We had even had a phone call with a child psychologist from Margot’s school to get some pointers on how to position everything properly. She said she’d make herself available to us afterward, if we needed her. Instead of having a meltdown, our two kids were celebrating.

As we watched the girls dance and hug each other, I looked at Margot, and we burst out laughing.

“Crisis averted,” she said to me as tears ran down our cheeks.

After that secret was finally out in the open, it was smooth sailing. The girls finished high school and headed off to college. Jessie went to nursing school and Danielle studied journalism. We were so proud of both of them. Despite our incredibly rocky beginning, Margot and I had somehow raised two amazing daughters — together.

Chapter Fifteen

Shannon

Time moves on and so did we. But you know how when you see something, you can’t unsee it? It might have been decades of pent-up anger playing tricks on my mind, but—

I hadn’t thought about Alan in months. As the years passed, he entered my mind less and less. But when I saw that picture — I couldn’t get him out of my head.

It was an ordinary Saturday afternoon. I was in my apartment, on the couch, snuggled up under a cotton blanket, nursing a cup of tea. I was finishing up a few reports that had to be in to my supervisor Monday morning. The window in the living room was slightly open. After a while, the street noise from First Avenue became so loud that I got up to close the window.

As I stood, the WhatsApp on my phone dinged. I smiled because the only person I was connected to on WhatsApp was my daughter. Danielle had gone to Australia eight days earlier with her Australian boyfriend, Ian, for a family wedding. It was a two-week trip, and I really missed her. We usually talked every day. I lunged for my phone sitting on the coffee table.

Danielle had just turned twenty-four. She’d been seeing Ian for two years. He had attended college in the United States, and that’s where they met. I was thrilled my daughter had the opportunity to see the world and go meet Ian’s family. He was a really nice guy — nothing like Alan.

When I thought about how my daughter’s life at twenty-four differed so dramatically from mine at the same age, it made my head spin. When I was twenty-four, I had no money and was about to become a single mother. After what I had been through with Alan, I was so happy Danielle hadn’t made the same mistakes. She’d found a good one.

I picked up my phone.

“Honey? Is that you?” I shouted into the phone as her pretty face popped up on the screen.

“Mom,” said Danielle, rolling her eyes. “Stop yelling. I can hear you.”

“Everything okay?” I said, slightly out of breath while examining every inch of her face for any angst. “How was the wedding? Did you meet Ian’s family. Are they nice?”

“Slow down, Mom,” she said, laughing. “Everything’s fine. Ian’s family has been great. The wedding was in this amazing beach town called Kiama about an hour and a half south of Sydney. And, Mom, the place where they held the wedding was incredible. It was at this beautiful venue called Grayleigh. It’s like a farm with beautiful party spaces. Ian’s cousin Cormac and his wife Lucy had their wedding outside. Then there were cocktails and an amazing dinner under a tent. Everyone made speeches. It was all so perfect.”

When I saw the glow on my daughter’s face, I felt my whole body relax. She was happy. I wasn’t an overprotective mother, but Australia was really far away.

“I met Ian’s whole family,” said Danielle, smiling. “They’re great people, Mom. They made me feel so welcome here. Do you want to see some pictures?”

I smiled. “Absolutely.”

Seconds later, my phone started to ding as Danielle’s pictures slid into my instant messenger. There were thirty photos in total. Danielle explained each one in detail and what was going on at the time.

I marveled at all the beautiful girls in their formal dresses, noting that my daughter fit right in. It looked like Danielle was hanging with a very fancy crowd.

“The bride is so beautiful,” I said as I gazed at a picture of a stunning young woman with long dark hair wearing a creamy white gown that fit her like a glove.

“Oh, she was stunning. And after the wedding,” said Danielle, “we all got into Ubers and went to some pubs. I had no idea where we were going so I just held on to Ian.”

I flipped from one photo to the next. The pictures started out with the wedding and eventually moved from the reception and dancing to a number of different pubs. Over the course of the wedding day, people’s clothing became a bit askew, hair a little messier, and the lighting changed. Several group shots showed people holding up beer bottles and hanging on each other. It was pretty clear they were all having a great time.

I asked my daughter questions about each photo so I could savor the flavor of her Australian experience. I had never been to another country other than a couple of Caribbean vacations. There was never time or the money for globetrotting. Maybe one day.

As I scrolled through pictures, one caught my eye. It wasn’t Danielle and Ian’s friends in the foreground that got my attention. It was someone in the background standing far behind them. I zoomed in on the picture, but it only made it blurrier, so I zoomed out.

“Who’s that older man in the picture at the pub, the one where Ian has you up on his shoulders?” I asked.

Danielle looked at the pictures for a moment and rattled off a few of Ian’s cousin’s names. I felt my pulse start to race.

“No, not them,” I said. “That older man with the gray beard standing far behind you? He’s wearing a blue shirt.”

My daughter looked at the photo and shook her head. “I have no idea. There were loads of other people at the pubs that night who weren’t with the wedding party. We were on a pub crawl. I don’t even remember how many pubs we went to.”

I was about to ask another question when Danielle said she had to go but promised to call me the next day. When she hung up, I felt very unsettled. The older man in the background of the photo had a beard and mustache, but there was something so familiar about him. He looked so much like . . .

Pacing around my small apartment, I thought I was losing my mind. Of course it couldn’t be him. He died in that boat explosion with fifty-one other people. While I had and still do question everything else Alan ever said or did, there had never been any doubt in my mind about his death. After a lengthy and exhaustive investigation, the police had declared him dead along with his client and everyone else on board.

I shook my head and told myself to get a grip. The photo Danielle had sent was fuzzy and unclear. Lots of older men look just like that. Besides, Alan never had a beard and mustache. But if he did, and he aged twenty-five years, he might have looked like that.

Chapter Sixteen

Shannon

Banishing all thoughts of Alan from my mind, I waited for Danielle to return from Sydney. I didn’t even say anything to Margot, which took an enormous amount of restraint on my part. Once my daughter got back to New York, I intended to look through all of her pictures from the wedding just to be sure it was only my imagination.

The Saturday after she got back, Danielle came over to my apartment. We had planned to catch up, look at her pictures, and then do a little shopping. When she walked through my apartment door, she looked so different — worldly is the word that came to mind. My little girl had traveled halfway around the globe and back and had all sorts of new experiences. It showed on her face. She was glowing.

“Tell me everything,” I said as I handed her a mug of tea and we sat on my couch. “Was it all wonderful?”

Danielle went on and on about Ian’s family and Australia and all the things she had never heard of before.

“They call coffee with milk a flat white, Mom,” she said. “And the kids there eat bread with butter and sprinkles called fairy bread. They served it at the wedding for the kids. Oh, and I tasted Vegemite — it’s disgusting, by the way.”

I laughed as she told me stories from her trip, joy emanating from her. I was especially glad to hear Ian’s family wasn’t a disappointment. Given that our family was fractured and practically non-existent, I so wanted a normal, intact family for my daughter when and if she married. It sounded like Ian’s fit the bill.

After I made us a second cup of tea, Danielle pulled out her computer and took me through several hundred photos from her trip. She showed me pictures of the Sydney Opera House, the Royal Botanic Garden, the Circular Quay, along with the picturesque shoreline in Kiama, the wedding itself at Grayleigh, and all the after parties. Everything looked beautiful. Eventually, we got to the pictures at the pubs, including the set of photos she’d sent to me while she was away.

One by one, I examined each picture, hunting for that man with the gray beard in the blue shirt. Finally, that picture popped up. I leaned in closer to the computer to get a better look.

“That’s a great photo,” I said, my eyes fixed on the screen. “Looks like everyone was having a really good time.”

“Those Australians know how to party, Mom. They never go to bed. There’s that man in the blue shirt you asked me about.”

“Oh, right, I did ask,” I said, trying to project mild interest.

“I asked Ian if he knew who he was,” said Danielle.

“And?”

“He had no idea. Said he was just some rando who was at the pub when we were there.”

I looked again at the older man in the blue shirt standing far behind Danielle and her friends. The lighting in the pub was dark and inconsistent. The man in question was standing at an angle in the background. He was clearly not with them. He was also fully bearded and a little stocky. The Alan I knew was young, clean-shaven, fit, and handsome. I told myself my suspicions were baseless and that what I was thinking was technically impossible. Alan Frye was dead. There had never been a debate about that. Neither Margot nor I nor the police ever questioned the fact that no one survived that boat explosion. It had been an open-and-shut case.

So why did that picture bother me so much? I was about to push the whole crazy notion out of my head when my daughter showed me a video of a tequila shot contest taken at the same pub.

“This part of the night got crazy, Mom,” said Danielle.

The lighting in the video was a bit brighter than the photo, making it easier to see the people. In the upper-right corner of the screen was the man with the gray beard. He was in the background and appeared to be playing darts — Alan’s game. As the camera panned the group from the wedding, they all counted to ten and threw back their shots at the same time. That’s when the bearded man in the blue shirt did something I’d seen many times before. He did the lasso move. My breath caught in my throat.

Playing possum in front of my daughter, my mind fired off a million questions. Was it just a crazy coincidence? He was just someone who looked like what Alan might have looked like. But until I knew for sure, I wasn’t going to drag my daughter down into the rabbit hole with me. Margot and I had been relentless about keeping the sordid truth about their father from our daughters. All they knew was that he was a great guy who had been killed in an accident. I wasn’t about to ruin Jessie’s and Danielle’s lives over some stupid video.

But still — the bearded man in the video did the move — Alan’s move.

“Would you send me that video with the group doing tequila shots?” I said, as casually as possible while I picked up our teacups and brought them into the kitchen.

“Why do you want that?” asked my daughter, and rightly so. It was a weird request coming from her mother. Why would I want a video of a bunch of people in an Australian bar that I didn’t know?

Think fast, Shannon.

“Someone I work with looks so much like that man in the blue shirt. I know he’d get a kick out of seeing it.”

My daughter shrugged and forwarded the video to me.

After I saw it had landed in my inbox, I suggested we go out shopping and grab a late lunch. I wanted to take my time and examine the video alone with no distractions. For the next few hours, I put all thoughts of that bearded man out of my mind and tried to enjoy the time with my daughter.

Later, after I put Danielle on a subway home, I went back to my apartment and looked at the original picture she had sent to me of the bearded man in the blue shirt. Then, I opened the tequila shot video with the darts game. I must have watched it fifty times.

Finally, I had seen enough. I turned off my computer and decided to sleep on it before I said anything.

In the morning, I called Margot.

“It’s me,” I said when she answered. “I think he’s still alive.”

Chapter Seventeen

Margot

When Shannon called me that morning and started hypothesizing over how Alan might still be alive, I was convinced she’d finally lost it. She was much more prone to go down the path of conspiracy theory than I was. I reminded her that the boating accident was all-encompassing. The coastguard, the police and anyone else involved in the investigation determined that no one had survived. The strong current stirred up by a bad storm moving in hours after it happened ensured only a few body parts were ever found. It had been a nightmare for all of us.

I didn’t want to get sucked into Shannon’s crazy fantasy. It had taken me far too long to get over Alan and everything that went with it. As the head of the English department at Miss Barlow’s School for Girls, or Missy B’s as the kids all called it, I was known for a cool head and a methodical approach to problems. I didn’t trade in conspiracy theories — I dealt exclusively with facts. In this conversation with my best friend, I needed to be the grown-up in the room.

Thirty minutes later, I was walking along First Avenue toward our favorite coffee shop, Anna D’s, on East 79th Street. With each step, my mind drifted back to the aerial videos of the fishing boat on the day of the accident. They had been taken the day of the explosion by a local news helicopter.

I remember watching the TV that day, tears running down my cheeks while holding my young daughter. The whole time, I knew my husband was dead despite all the rescue efforts. That explosion had destroyed the boat and everything and everyone on it. No one could have survived. By the end of the week, there was no hope left — there were no survivors.

Pushing the heavy metal and glass door at Anna D’s, I stepped inside and looked around for Shannon. Our favorite waitress, Audrey, greeted me with her customary smile.

“Figured you’d be coming along any minute,” said Audrey, her voice husky. “Your partner in crime is already sitting in the back booth. The usual, Margot?”

I nodded. My usual was avocado toast with feta cheese and coffee. Shannon’s was scrambled eggs and bacon. She and I had been eating breakfast at Anna D’s every Sunday morning for the past twenty years. It was situated a few blocks between our apartments, which made it convenient, and the food was pretty good.

Audrey had been working at the coffee shop for over thirty years. She was somewhere north of eighty with bright red shoulder-length hair and matching lipstick. Audrey was an institution in the neighborhood and we, along with all the regular customers, adored her.

“You got it,” said Audrey with a smile as she wrote down my order.

“You really need to write down my order, Audrey?” I said. “You know it never changes.”

“I write it down to make you think I care,” said the waitress, tipping her chin in Shannon’s direction. “You’d better get over there. She’s already on her fourth cup and asking for more. Wired is an understatement.”

I rolled my eyes. I’d seen Shannon when she overdoes the caffeine. It’s not a pretty picture.

“Hey,” I said as I threw my stuff onto the seat and slid into the booth.

“What took you so long?”

“You only called me thirty minutes ago. I was in my pajamas,” I said, noticing the pupils of her eyes were like tiny pencil points.

Shannon’s fingers drummed on the beige Formica table. Audrey was right; my best friend was definitely jacked up on coffee.

“First, no more java for you.” I moved Shannon’s cup away from her.

She rolled her pinpoint eyes.

“Okay,” I said, sitting back and folding my arms. “Where’s the fire? What was so urgent that I had to be here so fast.”

Shannon leaned forward and slapped a photo on the table. I recognized it instantly. It was an old picture of Alan, the way he looked when I married him. I picked it up and looked at it. I had to admit, he was really handsome — too handsome. He used his looks and his charm to get jobs, women, and sales. You might say he used his looks like a surgeon uses a scalpel — deftly and strategically in order to get the results he wanted. His piercing blue eyes would suck you right in. Most of the time, it worked, too.

I let out a disgusted laugh. After all of Alan’s lies and his extraordinary betrayal of both Shannon and me, I felt my heart slightly flutter when I looked at his old picture. I hated myself for that.

“Why are you showing me a twenty-five-year-old picture of Alan?” I said. “I don’t want to talk about him. I don’t want him in my head — ever.”

Shannon looked around the coffee shop ostensibly to make sure no one was listening to us. Then she leaned in toward me in a conspiratorial way. Full disclosure — my best friend enjoys a dramatic delivery. I consider it part of my best friend job description to keep her feet on the ground. Sometimes, it’s not easy, especially when she digs in. I had a feeling this was going to be one of those times.

“The reason I showed you Alan’s old picture,” said Shannon, using her hands to talk, “is because I’m going to show you another picture and I want everything to be fresh in your mind.”

She reached into her bag and pulled out a second photo. The photo was of an older man with salt-and-pepper hair and a full gray beard and mustache. She placed the photo on the table next to the picture of young Alan. I picked it up.

“What am I supposed to be seeing?” I said, my eyes scanning the picture of the older man for some clue.

“Anything look familiar?”

I peered up at her and noticed her tiny pupils again. She raised one eyebrow.

“What?” I said. “You’re saying you think this is Alan?”

“More coffee?” said Audrey, standing next to us holding a coffee pot while delivering my avocado toast.

When Shannon nodded, I jumped in.

“No, she gets no more coffee, thank you,” I said, looking up at our waitress. Shannon snarled. “Look at her, Audrey, she’s twitching.”

Audrey assessed Shannon’s face, nodded, and only filled my cup.

“As your barista,” said Audrey. “I’m officially cutting you off for today.”

Shannon made a tsk-ing sound as Audrey went to wait on another table.

I resumed analyzing the photo of the older man. The picture was slightly grainy, obviously taken from a distance and then blown up. There was a definite similarity, but his facial structure was largely hidden under a beard and mustache. I really couldn’t say one way or the other.

“First of all, that man being Alan is impossible,” I said, shaking my head. “And besides, how can you tell from this picture? His face is covered by all that hair.”

“I know. But try to imagine how Alan might have aged,” said Shannon.

“This man is a little paunchy. Alan was always slim and fit. He took pride in that.”

“What if he didn’t take great care of himself over the years. He always gravitated toward junk food, and he definitely enjoyed a drink. Think about what Alan might look like if he were in his mid-fifties today. He could look just like that, an older version of the Alan we knew.”

Placing the photo back on the table, I took a bite of my toast and looked at my friend. It seemed pretty clear to me what was happening. Shannon had let her imagination run wild and plotted out a full-blown international conspiracy. My job was to bring her back to reality.

“For arguments sake, let’s say Alan did do a runner and disappeared,” I said. “I guess it’s possible, from a purely physical perspective, that this could be him.”

Shannon smiled ear to ear.

I raised my finger in the air. “But, Shan, you know as well as I do, that’s not what happened. He died along with everyone else who was on that boat twenty-five years ago.”

“I agree. Everyone who was on that boat definitely died. But what if for some reason Alan never got on?”

I looked up at the ceiling. It was going to be a long morning. Shannon was totally dug in on this one.

“But he did get on the boat,” I said gently. “He was meeting his client to sign that big deal. It was really important to him. He wouldn’t have missed it. Both of their names were on the ship’s manifest as having checked in — you know that. The police confirmed that fact. I don’t know where you’re going with this whole thing.”

Shannon let out a groan, indicating she thought I was deliberately being dense. From my perspective, the whole theory she was trying to spin didn’t make sense.

“I don’t know where I’m going with it, but I just feel like there’s something there,” said Shannon, suddenly getting very serious and less pie in the sky.

“So, what happened, then?”

“I don’t know. There could be a million things,” said Shannon.

I shook my head. Clearly, she had committed to the conspiracy and wasn’t going to give it up easily.

“Okay, we both remember every minute of that day, right?” I said. “I’ll start. Alan called me as he was arriving at the Scrimshaw Boat Basin. He was excited and happy because he was going to close the deal with his client — which meant a huge bonus for him. He told me he had the contract already filled out and in his pocket. He said that the commission check from this one deal would fix everything. He had a lot at stake.”

Shannon leaned forward again. “I know, but hear me out. We’ve both agreed a thousand times that Alan was a screw-up who traded on his good looks and charm. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. Maybe he got stuck in traffic and didn’t get to the boat in time?”

I rubbed my hands over my face. Shannon wasn’t wrong about Alan playing things fast and loose. It was one of the big things we used to fight about. I was in love with him back then, but I wasn’t blind to his shortcomings. When he was being charming, bright and funny, he could make even the grumpiest person smile. And he could always make me laugh. But Alan was also lazy. He never wanted to put in the work to make something happen. Cutting corners was his go-to whenever possible. I often thought he was irresponsible but overlooked a lot of those things because I loved him — stupidly. At the time, I thought the good outweighed the bad. But I had clearly been wrong about that.

I remembered the last few months before the accident vividly. Something was definitely not right with him. I couldn’t figure out what it was. I’d ask him all the time, but he always blew me off, saying everything was fine. Then after he died, when I checked our bank accounts — there was almost nothing left. A month later, I found out he’d taken out a second mortgage on our condo, leaving Jessie and me with no home equity. I had to sell the damn place at a loss because I couldn’t make the payments.

Shannon cleared her throat, bringing me back to the conversation. “What are you thinking?” she said.

“If Alan wasn’t on the boat,” I said, looking her in the eye, “where was he then, and where did he go? You’re basing your whole theory on a blurry picture taken in a dark bar somewhere in Australia.”

Shannon pursed her lips and looked around the coffee shop for what I presumed was divine inspiration. After a few seconds, her eyes lit up.

“Maybe he left because of me?” she said. “The night before the accident, I told him I was pregnant and started making wedding plans. Obviously, I didn’t know he was already married. What if things were closing in on him and . . .”

“Stop,” I said. “None of what you’re saying is based in reality. You being pregnant would have been a problem for him, that’s true. But he left everything behind — his friends, his family, his career. Alan walked away from his entire life. That’s a lot to give up all because you’ve had an affair.”

Shannon chewed on the inside of her cheek. “There was more. I’ve always thought Alan was involved in sports gambling in a bigger way. Not long before he died, I heard him on the phone a few times talking to someone. He’d step out of the room, but the walls in my apartment were thin. It sounded like he was placing bets. Did you ever see or hear him do that?”

I shook my head.

“Maybe he only did it when he was with me,” said Shannon. “But one time I thought I overheard him asking someone to give him more time. He sounded worried, panicked even. What if everything got to be too much for him?”

Shannon had clearly committed to her theory, but I wasn’t on the same page.

“Let’s back up a minute,” I said, rubbing my eyes. “I’m still not convinced that the fuzzy photo of the man with the gray hair and beard is Alan.”

“I knew you were going to say that,” said Shannon as she reached for her bag and pulled out her computer. “I’ve got something else to show you.”

Chapter Eighteen

Margot

Shannon got up out of her seat and climbed around into my side of the booth, so we were sitting next to each other. She put her computer between us while she located a video titled Australia Wedding and hit play.

At first I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to be seeing. The video started out with a bunch of young people in formal attire dancing in some kind of club or pub. After a few seconds, I spotted Danielle and Ian on the dance floor. There was a darts game going on in the back of the room. A few seconds went by, and a man carrying a tray of shot glasses appeared on the screen. He walked around the room, passing them out.

As everyone reached for a glass, I saw the older man with the gray hair and beard again. He walked away from the darts game and reached for a shot glass. Then, everyone held up their glass and counted down — five, four, three, two, one.

On the count of one, they all knocked back their shots simultaneously and cheered. Everyone — except for the older man with the gray beard. He did something entirely different, and it made my heart skip a beat.

“What the . . . ?” I said in barely a whisper as I rewound the video and hit play again. But there it was. When everyone downed their drink, so did the older man. Except when he finished, he raised his hand in the air and made a motion like he was swinging a lasso. He circled his hand three times, ending with a fist bump.

I sat back, my mouth open. I couldn’t believe what I’d just seen. I’d seen that stupid lasso thing so many times. Alan called it his ‘signature move.’ He always did it when his team scored a goal, or if he heard good news, made a sale, or won a round of darts. I’d never seen anyone else make a move exactly like that. He always circled three times — not two, not four — and then the fist bump.

In the years we were together, I’d seen him make that move more than a hundred times. I used to tease him about it and imitate him. Whenever we were out, and he’d do a shot, it would always end with the lasso and the bump. The video showed more than twenty people doing shots, but only one person made a move like that.

“You see it, don’t you?” said Shannon, a satisfied smile on her face. “It’s him, isn’t it? It’s Alan.”

I let out a soft groan as I combed my fingers through my hair. “I don’t know, Shan. Lots of guys make a dumb move like that and besides . . .”

“Have you ever seen anyone do that move besides Alan?” said Shannon, holding up the photo of the bearded man again. “Look at this picture. He could totally be Alan — a little older, a little thicker. C’mon, Margot, it could be him. And don’t forget, he was also playing darts. Alan couldn’t resist a darts game.”

I didn’t want to go there, but Shannon was right. The man in the video was playing darts. One I’ll give Alan — he was really good at darts. Wherever he went, if there was a dartboard on the wall, he’d somehow manage to get a group of strangers to play. He’d usually suggest that betting on the game would make it more fun for everyone. Then almost always, he’d clean them out. He hardly ever lost a game and usually walked away with a few extra dollars in his pocket — sometimes more than a few.

After watching that video five times, I wondered if Shannon could be right. If she was, that meant Alan was so much more awful than we’d given him credit for all those years.

“If that’s him,” I said, a burning coming up from my stomach into my throat, “he didn’t only cheat on both of us, he also deliberately abandoned us, and his two children. He left me and his daughter in debt.”

Shannon nodded. “All the years we spent mourning him — missing him. You know how many times I cried myself to sleep that first year? I could barely get out of bed each morning. I was pregnant and loaded with hormones when that boat blew up. But he didn’t care about you or me or either of his children. He only cared about himself.”

I tipped my head back and looked up. The coffee shop’s yellowed ceiling fan was spinning slowly.

“If that is him, then he knowingly left me and our daughter with nothing,” I said. “He knew we had no money and that I’d be legally responsible for all the debt he had incurred. I did extra tutoring at the school and took on extra classes. I had to sell our condo to make ends meet.”

Shannon moved back around to her side of the booth as Audrey passed by again with a fresh pot of coffee.

“Refill?” said the waitress.

Shannon looked at me.

“You’d better give her some coffee, Audrey,” I said. “We’re both having a moment.”

Shannon took a sip from her mug. Then she banged it down on the table, spilling it slightly.

“I just thought of something,” she said. “That last night we were together, he took my grandmother’s engagement ring.”

“I remember you telling me that.”

“I had just told him I was pregnant and we started making all these wedding plans, or at least I did,” said Shannon. “Neither of us had much money but Alan suddenly focused on the ring on my finger and announced he was going to get me a better engagement ring. He said I deserved a more substantial setting. I knew he couldn’t afford a whole new ring, so I went into my jewelry drawer and pulled out an antique gold ring my grandmother had left me. I loved the setting and suggested we use that instead. Alan finally agreed and took both of my rings saying he was going to have it redone for me.”

“You think he was planning to pawn the stone and replace it with another fake?”

Shannon put her hand over her eyes. “I don’t know. Probably. I was so caught up in getting married and having a baby — and then he died. My mind never went there until now. How could I have been so stupid? He played me over and over.”

“We trusted him. That was our only mistake.”

Shannon pushed her coffee cup away and sat back.

“What if he sold my grandmother’s ring, used the cash to get out of the country and then went to Australia to start over.”

When Shannon said that, it was as if a light went on and everything clicked into place.

“What if he had more than just your grandmother’s ring?”

“What do you mean?”

“The diamonds,” I said. “Remember? Alan’s company did a huge investigation; the police were involved. The day the boat exploded, Alan had signed out a million dollars’ worth of diamonds to give to his client.”

“You think Alan ran off with the diamonds and left the country?” said Shannon.

I looked at her, unsure of my answer.

“I don’t know . . . but what if he did?” I said, stunned by the words that came out of my mouth.

“Then,” said Shannon with resolve, “we’re going to find him.”

Chapter Nineteen

Shannon

When Margot and I left the coffee shop, we were numb. We had assumed we’d already been through the worst of it, but this new possibility stopped both of us dead in our tracks. That day we had unceremoniously met at the memorial and ultimately learned that the other existed had shattered all of our illusions and memories of Alan. But this new realization was an entirely different beast.

Years before, Margot and I had accepted that Alan was a flawed and selfish man. He allowed his vices and carelessness to take precedence over two women he purported to love. Lots of married people have affairs and lie to their spouses about it. We weren’t unusual, unique, or special in that way. But what was not typical, what was not your run-of-the-mill affair, was that he was living a double life with two families. When we considered that Alan may have deliberately faked his own death and abandoned us to start a new life — that was the ultimate betrayal. He tossed us out like garbage.

But for me, as a mother, the thing that really stung was that he didn’t care about his daughters. That to me was the most disturbing part of the whole pathetic saga. Danielle and Jessie were and are two of the most amazing young women anyone could ever know. They deserved to have a father who cared about them.

Feeling a little PTSD, Margot and I decided to sleep on everything before we made any decisions. I could tell she was on the fence about the whole thing. Part of her didn’t want to open up all that hurt again. I didn’t feel that way. Now I knew — or thought I knew — what he’d done; I couldn’t let it go. Ever.

The next morning Margot and I were going to take a long walk through Central Park and air everything. It was a nice day and getting out and moving always centered me. We met up on the corner of 79th Street and First Avenue and walked west toward the park.

For the first block, neither of us said anything. Our conversation started as we crossed Second Avenue.

“I barely slept last night,” said Margot, her eyes straight ahead. “You?”

“Same.”

“I couldn’t shut my mind off — so many thoughts, so many upsetting feelings.”

“I was plotting,” I said, looking over at her. “You want to hear what I came up with?”

“Probably not.”

We continued walking and talking — our emotions raw. Once we got into the park, we decided to circle the entire place and head up to 110th Street. From there, we’d walk down the west side to 59th. There was a lot to sort out.

“We still don’t know for sure that it’s him,” said Margot. “It’s been twenty-five years.”

“We know it’s him,” I said, looking over at her. “I know.”

“What do you propose we do about it?”

“I was wondering when you were going to ask,” I said, a smile creeping across my face. “I’ve given this a lot of thought, and I think there’s only one way.”

As we continued our journey around the park, I outlined my half-baked idea. One way or the other, I was convinced the only way we could get past this was to know the full truth — once and for all.

“I think we have to go to Australia,” I said. “We need to find out for sure if Alan’s alive. If he is, we owe it to ourselves to confront him and make him pay for what he did to us.”

“Let’s say he is alive. How the hell are we going to find him?” said Margot. “Danielle said he wasn’t a guest at the wedding. He could be anywhere. The man in the video might not even live in Australia. He could have been a tourist.”

“He’s in Australia,” I said, nodding. “I can feel it. That’s where he is. That’s where we need to go.”

“Right. We’ll just get on a plane to Australia, and he’ll be waiting for us in front of the Sydney Opera House,” said Margot.

“Not exactly. Here’s what I’m thinking. We fly to Sydney. From there we hop on a train down to Kiama where the wedding took place. We spend some time canvassing the entire town. I looked online, Kiama’s not that big. We find the pub where the video was shot and see if anyone recognizes him.”

Margot, who was a few steps ahead of me, stopped, turned and faced me. “And if no one recognizes him?”

“Someone will.”

Margot walked ahead of me again. “Do you know how insane this plan sounds, Shannon?”

“Don’t you want to confront that bastard for what he did?”

Margot turned around again and faced me.

“Of course I do,” she said. “But this plan is so ill-conceived, so flimsy, and so much is left up to chance. You’re asking me to upend my entire life and chase after an image of a man doing tequila shots thousands of miles away. All because he kind of looks like what Alan might look like — if he were still alive. This is crazy. We have jobs and responsibilities. Besides, I don’t have the money for a trip to Australia.”

I looked at Margot and smiled. “I’ve got that covered. You know when my mother passed away last year, she left me her house in Massachusetts. It’s worth at least $500,000 and there’s no mortgage on it. I can borrow against it and cover our travel expenses.”

“I can’t let you do that,” said Margot.

“And I can’t do this on my own. It will be worth every penny when we finally nail him.”

“What about our jobs?”

“I’m finishing up a project with my agency and can take a leave of absence for a few months,” I said. “They’ll hold my place until October. That gives us the whole summer and into the fall to find him.”

“And what about me?” said Margot.

“You’re a teacher. You have the summer off. The timing is perfect. C’mon, Margot. I can’t do this without you. We’ve got to do this together.”

We had been so deep in conversation that we ended up circling Central Park twice. With each revolution, we posed new questions while unresolved anger that we didn’t know was still there reared its head.

Finally, by the end of the second loop around the park, our feet sore, we reached a consensus. Alan had screwed both of us and abandoned his daughters. There was only one choice. Even if it was a total long shot, we were going to Australia to hunt down Alan Frye. He was going to pay for what he did.

Chapter Twenty

Margot

“We’ve got to give ourselves enough time to do the search in Australia properly,” said Shannon as the two of us left the park and went to a supermarket to find something for dinner.

By the time we reached the register with our groceries, we had decided. We were both going to Australia. Were we planning a major international trip based on a vibe and bad photo? Yes. I knew it was insane, but something propelled me forward. We were going.

Putting my teaching job on hold and taking off for an indefinite period of time was completely out of character for me. I was a rule follower. Shannon was a risk taker. She took chances all the time and never looked back. She’s fierce, and when she’s on a mission, do not get in her way.

It took me a few days to convince my boss at Miss Barlow’s School for Girls to let me out of my summer work commitment and start back at school in the fall. I’d been working there for over ten years, and she didn’t want to lose me, so I got the approval.

“Why are you going to Australia for so long?” said my boss.

I was prepared for that question. “I’m not getting any younger and I’d like to have a big adventure before I’m too old to enjoy it. My best friend has the time, and we decided to go for it.”

She scratched her chin. “It seems so out of character for you, Margot.”

I smiled. “I know. And isn’t that great?”

Once I had the job thing squared away, I had to tell my daughter that Mother was off to parts unknown.

“You’re doing what?” said Jessie, over for dinner the following day. “Mom, you never do crazy things like that. Shannon does the crazy things, you don’t.”

I took a deep breath. “Well, maybe I should be doing them. When Danielle went to that wedding in Australia with Ian, Shannon, and I were looking at all her pictures and videos, and we realized we’d never been anywhere.”

“That’s not true. You and Shannon took us to the Caribbean a few times.”

“Those were resorts. I’m looking for a real adventure. Shannon and I want to take off for the summer and be totally free with no time limits. We chose Australia because they speak English and we’d be able to get around more easily.”

Jessie put another forkful of rigatoni in her mouth before she responded.

“But you’re leaving your job? How are you going to afford this, Mom?”

Sitting across the table from my disapproving daughter and defending my adventure was a little surreal.

“I’ve got it all figured out. My boss at Missy B’s said she’d hold my position until the fall. Shannon inherited a little money and is going to use that to supplement our travels.”

When my daughter left, I could tell she wasn’t sold, but she tried to be supportive. That same night, Shannon told Danielle about our big fat Australian adventure. She said Danielle rolled her eyes and told her mother to “be careful and carry pepper spray.”

We didn’t know how long or where our adventure would take us. That bothered me more than Shannon. But I was all in. The next night after work, we went shopping for good, strong wheelie bags, something that could fit in the overhead compartment and tolerate a lot of moving around. If we were going to be traversing the Australian continent, we needed to travel light. When we found two matching TravelPro bags on sale that fit the bill, we plunked down our credit cards.

Over the next few days, our plan began to take form. We would start out in Sydney, travel by rail down to Kiama, and start our search there. After that, we honestly didn’t know. I was of the mind to let whatever we found dictate our next move. I had started accepting the idea of waiting for the evidence to point us in the right direction.

“It’s the only way we can do this,” I said to Shannon. “We can’t plan what we don’t know. As things unfold, hopefully everything will become clear.”

A week later, our departure day arrived. We were filled with a mix of excitement and trepidation. Danielle and Jessie met up with us, put us in an Uber, and waved as we pulled away from the curb.

“Kennedy Airport,” said Shannon as she looked over at me and smiled. “International terminal.”

The flight from New York to Sydney was extremely long. We had a layover in LA, but from start to finish, our trip lasted twenty-five hours. When we finally arrived in Sydney, it was morning. We planned to spend a couple of nights in Sydney’s Bondi Beach area to get over the jet lag and prepare ourselves for whatever was to come. This was the vacation part of our trip because once we left Sydney we’d be on a mission — no time for sightseeing.

We spent three lazy days in Bondi Beach wandering around the surf, eating at the outdoor cafés that lined the main road. On our last night we munched on the most delicious arepas I’d ever had at a South American street food place called El Indio. We had as much fun as we could because the next day things would get serious.

In the morning, we checked out of our hotel and took an Uber to Sydney’s Central Station. From there, we boarded a southbound train for the ninety-minute ride to Kiama. Most of the trip, I looked out the window and listened to the train announcements of towns mostly with indigenous Australian names — so different from the names of places in New York.

While I watched the trees and buildings flash by, Shannon had her nose in books and was studying maps. She was marking up all the restaurants and pubs in the greater Kiama area. We had quizzed Danielle on the location of the pubs she had been to in Kiama, but she couldn’t remember the names, and neither could Ian. Apparently, the wedding party had gone to quite a few different places after the wedding.

The train let us off right in the heart of the small town. Kiama was a seaside vacation resort area geared for tourists — although most of them appeared to be Australian tourists. One thing Kiama had was plenty of restaurants and pubs. We had our work cut out for us.

As we traipsed through the streets pulling our bags behind us, we stuck our heads into a few pubs to see if anything looked familiar. On that first day, nothing did. Shannon looked disappointed.

“Did you think we were going to get off that train and walk directly into the right place on day one?” I said.

She shrugged. “Maybe.”

It was noon on the Saturday when we got to our Kiama hotel. Stashing our luggage, we grabbed hats, slathered on some sunscreen and headed out to canvas the downtown. As we walked through the streets, the air smelled clean, and the ocean could be seen in the distance. It was a pretty place, lively yet laid back at the same time. I understood why people vacationed there.

Shannon pulled out her city map and pointed to a pub on the far corner.

“I tried to look at websites of each pub to see if any of the interiors were a match for the place in the video. Most of them don’t have a lot of interior shots; it’s mainly food and beverage pics. Let’s start with that one,” she said, pointing with her chin. “I’ve got it narrowed down to about forty possibilities in Kiama.”

Forty sounded like a lot. Now that we were actually in Australia and had started our journey, the futility of what we were trying to do hit me like a ton of bricks. As seeds of doubt crept into my mind, I tried to push them down, chanting inside — we are going to find Alan. He will pay for what he did.

Stepping inside our first pub armed with pictures of the gray-bearded man and the video of him loaded on our phones, we walked toward the bar. It was early in the afternoon, and the pub was fairly empty. We looked around to see if anything was familiar. I glanced at Shannon. She shrugged. I think we both were thinking the same thing — the pub could be the place where the pictures were taken — or not. We’d soon learn that a lot of Australian pubs look very similar.

“What can I get for you ladies,” said the forty-something bartender as he washed out a few dirty glasses.

We had a lot of ground to cover that day and didn’t want to be slowed down by alcohol, so we both ordered Diet Cokes while standing nonchalantly at the bar.

“Kiama’s a beautiful place,” I said, trying to engage with the bartender.

“First time here?” he said.

We both smiled and nodded.

“My daughter’s been here. She came for a wedding last month,” said Shannon. “Her pictures were so amazing that my friend and I decided to come here and see for ourselves.”

After making small talk for a few minutes, Shannon made her move and pulled out her phone.

“When my daughter and her boyfriend were in Kiama,” said Shannon, holding up the picture of the gray-bearded man, “they spent some time with this man. My daughter insisted I look him up when we got here but I lost his contact info and I can’t reach my daughter. By any chance, do you know him?”

The bartender looked down at the picture and shook his head.

“You know how many blokes come here every day? If he lives here, why don’t you google him to get his address?”

“I only know his first name. I thought maybe if he was a regular you might—”

“Don’t know him,” said the bartender as he lifted up a case of beer and took it to the other end of the bar.

Clearly, that wasn’t the place. We left our drinks on the bar and stepped out into the daylight.

“What were we thinking? This is never going to work,” I said, shaking my head. “We’re never going to find him this way.”

Undaunted — that’s why I love her — Shannon pulled out her pen and crossed that first pub off the list. “Don’t kill the vibe, Margot. There are plenty of other drinking places in Kiama. We’ve only just begun.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Shannon

We spent the remainder of the day drinking Diet Coke and wandering through pubs and restaurants, examining every face. We talked to everyone — waitstaff, bartenders, and even patrons to see if anyone recognized the man we thought might be Alan. But despite querying nearly a hundred people, no one recognized the middle-aged man in the picture.

“Wait a second,” I said to Margot. “We forgot one big thing. Alan would have an American accent, right? Most people here in Kiama are Australian. We need to tell people we talk to that the man we’re trying to find might sound American. That could trigger someone’s memory.”

I have to admit, all the Australians we talked to tried to help us. But we soon realized that looking for an older man who my daughter met at a wedding wasn’t exactly a riveting story. Margot and I put our heads together and came up with another one. Now it was all about me trying to find a long-lost love. We both agreed that it should definitely resonate and play better.

We started testing it out. A few people we talked to were really into it and asked me all sorts of questions. Unfortunately, despite all the enthusiasm for the romantic story, no one recognized the bearded man in the picture.

Continuing our search, we approached a building on a corner that housed a fairly large pub. The façade was two-toned — natural red brick on the first floor and painted white on the two floors above. We peered through the front door. It looked fairly spacious on the inside.

From the second we walked in, there was something familiar about the place. I nodded to Margot as we entered, and we played the video on my phone again.

“This is definitely the same place,” whispered Margot, leaning over my shoulder while the video played. “Look at the stools by the bar. They’re like the ones in the video. And that painting on the wall. It’s the same. Shannon, this is the right place.”

I looked over at the stools and the painting and nodded.

We took a couple of seats at the bar. It was late in the afternoon, and the pub was already filling up. Margot and I ordered our Diet Cokes and started chatting to the people around us. As soon as we were served our drinks, we pulled out our phones and tried to engage with as many employees and customers as possible.

“You’re saying you knew this bloke in 1998,” said a male surfer type with sun-bleached hair who said he lived in Kiama.

I nodded as I related my sad tale of lost love for the tenth time that day, embellishing it a little more with each telling.

“Alan and I went to the university together,” I said. “He was and always will be the love of my life. But we were so young back then. We wanted different things and we broke up. But I never stopped loving him. Then, years later, after I got divorced, I tried to find him, but he had disappeared.”

“Wow,” said the surfer’s girlfriend, clinging to his arm, “that’s actually pretty romantic. All these years later you’re still thinking about the same bloke. You came all the way to Oz looking for him? That’s some serious dedication.”

I nodded again as I painted regret on my face, or at least hoped it looked that way. “Last month, my daughter came to Kiama for a wedding. When she showed me her pictures, there was a man in one of them who looked a lot like my old boyfriend.”

“And you flew halfway across the world to find him?” said the girl, tugging on her boyfriend’s arm. “That’s massive.”

Margot pulled out her phone and showed the couple the picture and the video. When it finished playing, they both looked sad as they shook their heads.

“From what I can see, you’ve got the right venue here, mate,” said the surfer. “That video was definitely shot in this pub. I’m here all the time, but I’ve never seen that guy.”

I looked at his girlfriend.

“I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t know him, either. But you should talk to Sophie. She bartends here most nights.”

I sighed. “We already talked to all the bartenders in this pub. Nobody knows him.”

The girl smiled. “Don’t give up. Sophie’s not in yet — she starts at six. If your old boyfriend was ever here, she’ll remember him. I think she has a photographic memory or something. I’ve seen her take forty drink orders without writing anything down and never get one wrong. If he was here, she’ll remember.”

It was nearly five, and I looked at Margot. At that point, we had nothing to lose.

“I say we wait for Sophie,” she said. “In the meantime, I’ve had enough Diet Cokes to last a lifetime. I’m getting a beer.”

At a little after six, a tall, thin woman in her late twenties walked briskly into the pub, her long brown ponytail swaying as she stepped behind the bar. One of the male bartenders called out to her.

“You were supposed to be here at six, Soph,” he said as he filled a beer glass with lager.

“Sorry, mate,” said Sophie. “Life got in the way. Happens sometimes.”

The bartender rolled his eyes and removed his apron. Margot and I waited for Sophie to get organized for her shift before we interrogated her.

Ten minutes later, I signaled to Sophie and ordered a half pint of beer.

When she brought my glass and placed it on the bar, Margot nudged me.

“You’re Sophie, aren’t you?” I said, raising my voice over the pop music playing somewhere in the room.

“That’s me,” she said, wiping down the bar.

“We were told that you know everyone and everything that goes on around here,” I said.

Sophie’s eyes narrowed. “Who told you that? I keep an eye on things, if that’s what you mean. You can’t be too careful.”

Margot leaned forward. “We’re kind of on a mission. My friend here is trying to find and reconnect with an old boyfriend. We have reason to believe he may have been in this pub a few weeks back. He’s a bit of a flirt; we thought you might have seen him.”

Sophie laughed. “Do you know how many blokes come into this place and hit on me?”

I jumped in. “He would have been here about a month ago, probably late at night. I have a photo of him standing in this pub with a big group from a wedding. They were doing thirty or forty shots at a time.”

Sophie’s forehead crinkled, and then she nodded ever so slightly.

“Yeah, I remember that night because I had to line up all those shots on trays and fill them with tequila. It was a total nightmare. They were a rowdy bunch.”

I felt my eyes grow round and smiled at Margot as I pulled up the photo of the bearded man on my phone. “Does this man look familiar?”

She tilted her head to one side and stared at the picture for a few seconds. “I think I’ve seen that guy, but I couldn’t be sure. Lots of middle-aged men have gray hair and beards these days.”

I started the video and handed the phone to Sophie. She watched it and smiled.

“There he is,” I said, pointing to Alan’s image on the video, “the one with the beard. That’s the man we’re looking for.”

Sophie smiled. “Is he American?”

“Yes,” said Margot and I at the same time.

“Oh, I definitely remember him,” said Sophie, turning to pour a beer for another customer. “He paid for the round of drinks for the whole group. Then he asked me to meet him for a drink after my shift. Of course, I said no — he’s old enough to be my dad.”

Margot kicked me in the shin, and I almost yelped.

“Can you tell me anything else about him,” I said, giving Margot a look while rubbing my leg. “Do you know if he lives around here?”

Sophie scratched her cheek. “Sorry, ladies. As I remember it, your friend was here at the bar when this wedding group came in. Next thing I know, he’s buying shots for the whole lot like he’s known them forever.”

“Sounds like Alan,” I said to Margot. “What about the receipts? You said he bought shots for everyone. Maybe you’d have his name and address from his credit card.”

Sophie pressed her lips together. “I can’t really share information about customers.”

“Please, I’ve just got to find him,” I said. “I’ve come all this way.”

Sophie tipped her head back. “Hang on,” she said as she walked toward the register. Margot and I remained silent while we watched Sophie comb through the pub’s receipt binder. Suddenly, she snapped the binder closed and marched back to us.

“Sorry, ladies,” said Sophie. “I’m afraid your old boyfriend paid cash.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Margot

When Sophie the bartender went hunting for the drinks receipts, Shannon and I thought for sure we were going to get a name and address. But when she said the bill was paid in cash, we were completely deflated.

On the one hand, we both remembered that Alan often paid in cash. That reinforced our belief that we were on the right track and not chasing a ghost. Alan never used credit cards. He said he didn’t trust credit security.

When Alan and I first started dating, I thought it was kind of cute that he carried around big rolls of cash like an old-time gangster. None of the other guys I knew did that. But after we were married and tried to get a mortgage, that’s when I found out his credit rating was terrible. He blamed it on some crazy days in college. Fortunately, mine was very good thanks to me paying back all my college loans. After he died and I lost the condo, I put two and two together. Allen probably used cash because he couldn’t get a credit card.

Seeing the bearded man in that video playing darts and doing that lasso move had pretty much convinced me it was Alan. Then when Sophie told us he had paid in cash — I had no doubts.

I looked at Shannon. Her head was tilted back, and her eyes were closed.

“We were so damn close,” she said in a loud whisper.

“Yes, but at least we know it’s him,” I said. “The American accent, the lasso move and fist bump, the flirting, paying in cash, and the darts. All those things are one hundred percent Alan. I wasn’t sure. But now I am. He’s alive.”

Shannon opened her eyes and moaned through gritted teeth. “Damn.”

A fifty-something man sitting next to us wearing a tan cattleman hat leaned over.

“Can’t be all bad, ladies,” he said. “I couldn’t help hearing you talk to Sophie here. You’re chasing an old boyfriend, are ya?”

Shannon let out a sigh and started spinning her love story tale.

“. . . and we lost touch twenty-five years ago and I’m desperately trying to find him again.”

The man in the cattleman hat peered at me. “Mind if I have a peek at this elusive boyfriend.”

Shannon shrugged and handed him her phone.

“You’re looking for this bloke?” said the cattleman, pointing at the picture on Shannon’s phone.

“Yeah,” I said. “That’s him.”

“Well, I’ve seen him.”

Shannon and I practically lunged at the cowboy.

“You’ve seen him?” we both said at the same time.

“About three or four weeks ago. I was at Chessman’s Pub on the other side of town. It’s a bit of a down and dirty place — mostly locals. I was having a game of darts with a bunch of my mates when this fella comes up and slaps down a tenner, says he wants in on the game.”

“And did you play with him?” I said.

“Sure, why not. He put his money on,” said the cattleman. “I’ll tell you one thing, that guy was really good. We ended up playing darts and drinking for hours. What’s your fella’s name?”

“Alan,” I said, my heart beginning to race. “Alan Frye.”

“Ahh, that’s a shame. I thought I might be able to help solve your mystery. Your fella sure looks a lot like the bloke I played darts with. But the guy I met was called James.”

“James?” I said. “Do you remember his last name?”

The cattleman squinted as he looked off into space. “It began with an M, I think. Meehan? No, that wasn’t it. It was something like that.”

The music in the room suddenly got louder.

“Do you know if this James person is from around here?” I said. “Does he live here in Kiama?”

“From what I remember,” said the cattleman, “James was here on holiday with some business on the side. Good bloke, but a bit of a darts hustler. He took every one of us who played.”

“Do you remember where James was from?” said Shannon, leaning over so far that she was practically in the man’s lap.

The cattleman scratched the side of his nose. “I think he said he was from Darwin. Yeah — pretty sure it was Darwin. Definitely Darwin.”

We thanked the cowboy several times and left the pub. As we stopped to pick up some Thai takeout on our way back to the hotel, Shannon and I reviewed what we had learned.

“Alan’s middle name was James,” I said. “It’s got to be him. We need to go to Darwin.”

The following morning, while we took the train back to Sydney, we planned the next leg of our journey.

When we got off the train at Central Station, we wheeled our bags through the large, cavernous railway terminal and tried to find an Uber. We had booked a room in the Kings Cross section of Sydney. The neighborhood was filled with young people — lots of pubs, restaurants and coffee shops. We were going to hunker down there for two nights while we organized our plans for Darwin.

Nearly 2,500 miles northwest of Sydney, Darwin was located in the Northern Territory on the northern coast and near nothing. It would take a four-and-a-half-hour flight to get there. While I booked an Airbnb in Darwin, Shannon secured our flights.

After we got the logistics squared away, I insisted we go out and have a little fun.

“I don’t know if we’re ever going to find Alan in Darwin,” I said. “But I think we should take the rest of today and tomorrow off and explore Sydney. We deserve it.”

For the rest of the day, we traversed Sydney. We took pictures in front of the iconic Sydney Opera House. We wandered around Circular Quay and took a boat over to Manly Beach. The beach area there was bustling with locals and tourists. We grabbed lunch in a café in an open-air plaza before heading back to the Quay. Our last activity that day was a walk over the Sydney Harbor Bridge.

The next morning, we headed to Taronga Zoo. Shannon was desperate to see the koalas. That night we had dinner in a café right near our Airbnb, and the next morning Shannon and I boarded a flight to Darwin. Apparently, most Australians had never even been there.

Traveling all day, we finally arrived at our Airbnb in Darwin. The quirky little place was in a house run by a woman named Lynnette. In her mid-seventies, she had short snow-white hair, glasses, and a warm, welcoming smile.

“You’ve picked a good time to be here during the dry season. June’s my favorite month. I do breakfast in the dining room from seven to nine,” said Lynnette. “I grind my own beans and make fresh muffins every morning.”

The next day, Shannon and I were up early. After inhaling some of Lynnette’s delicious coffee and homemade carrot muffins, we set out to find James M.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Shannon

Lynnette dropped Margot and me off in the Darwin city center on her way out to do some errands. After walking around the city to get our bearings, we eventually sat on a bench, pulled out our phones, and googled the hell out of James M + Darwin. Nothing popped up. It seemed that the man with the gray beard didn’t have a digital footprint of any kind. That was a red flag in itself as far as I was concerned.

“We’ve hit a wall,” said Margot. “James is a very common name in Australia. And if Alan wanted everyone to think he was dead, he’d naturally keep a low profile here. Without knowing James’s last name, we’re never going to find him in a city with nearly one hundred and fifty thousand people.”

“Other than placing his picture in a full-page ad in a local newspaper,” I said, gnawing on my thumbnail. “I don’t know what to do next.”

Margot rubbed her eyes, ran her fingers through her hair, and then smiled.

“We start looking at the things Alan liked to do most?” she said. “He may have changed his country and his identity, but he is who he is to the core.”

“You’re right,” I said, nodding. “That’s definitely the way to go. I’ll start. Alan liked to gamble and he loved pizza.”

“Yes,” said Margot, typing a list into her phone. “Once he drove over an hour to get a pizza from a particular pizzeria he had heard was the best. And he liked to play golf and go to bars.”

“He was also into collecting old vinyl records,” I said. “I forgot about that. Whenever we were out wandering around, he’d always want to stop in at old record stores.”

“When he was with me,” said Margot, her forehead wrinkling, “he’d occasionally duck into a consignment or pawn shop to check out their jewelry. He knew a fair amount about stones because of his job. I think he was hoping to run across a piece of jewelry that was more valuable than the shop owner realized.”

“Always looking for an angle,” I said, “a way to get over on people.”

Margot nodded. “I’ll bet Alan is the exact same person, with the same interests and passions as when we knew him. That means we’ll start looking in pizza places, golf courses, and vinyl record and jewelry stores. After that we’ll hit the gambling venues. We’re going to find him. Darwin is a city, but it’s not New York.”

Since it was getting close to lunchtime, and we were hungry, we decided to start with the pizza places first. Unlike New York City with a pizza place on every corner, Darwin’s ubiquitous fast food tended to be either fish and chips or Asian takeaway. That was lucky for us because it made the playing field a lot smaller. We searched for the top pizza places in Darwin, compiled a list of the ten best and plotted them out on a map.

Five hours later, after sampling pizza from eight different venues, we were no closer to finding Alan.

“He’s getting pizza from somewhere,” I said. “Remember, he had to have it every Friday night.”

“I always found that annoying,” said Margot, still searching on her phone. “I like pizza, but some Fridays, I just wasn’t feeling it.”

That night, Margot and I agreed to come clean with Lynnette on everything. We needed her help in navigating Darwin, and she came across as a real girl’s girl — game for anything. We figured if we told her the real reason we were there, she might provide us with some good intel and local wisdom.

The next morning, when we told Lynnette our long story, her eyes lit up.

“I’m honored you’d ask me to help,” said our host. “This Alan sounds like a man who needs to be put in his place. I was married to someone like that. Thankfully, he’s six feet under now.”

We showed Lynnette the photo and video while picking her brains and inhaling her freshly ground Sumatra coffee and homemade cranberry walnut muffins.

“And you’re absolutely sure it’s your Alan?” said Lynnette, refilling our coffee cups. “You haven’t seen him in a long time. We’ve got a lot of fifty-year-old blokes around Darwin who look just like that.”

“We’re ninety-five percent sure,” I said. “We might be way off track, but everything points to this James M character being him.”

“Have you figured out what you’re going to do if and when you find him?” said Lynnette.

I looked at Margot. Lynnette’s query was a very fair question and the answer was — we had no freakin’ idea what we’d do. We had been so focused on finding out and proving that Alan was still alive that we hadn’t dealt with that question.

After Alan died and I found out that he had a wife and kid, the emotional rollercoaster I had been riding on jumped the track. Since then, I’d been carrying around my anger my entire adult life. Something happens to a person when they’re betrayed and lied to like that. I don’t think you ever fully recover or trust again. Margot understood completely. She was the only person I trusted. Maybe that’s why neither of us had been successful dating men over the years.

Every time I met a man with potential, I’d overanalyze everything he said, looking for lies or inconsistencies. I knew that was no way to enter into a relationship, but I couldn’t help it. Margot fell into the same trap. The two of us needed closure if we were going to get on with our lives.

“According to AI,” said Margot, her eyes on her phone, “golf doesn’t seem to have quite the same following in Darwin as it does in New York. That’s a good thing — fewer players to vet. There are only about six golf courses in the greater Darwin area. Three of them are public courses. We’ll start with the public courses and move on from there.”

Lynnette, now our partner in crime, dropped us off at the first golf club and agreed to ferry us around wherever we needed to go.

“You two are a lot more interesting than the usual mob I get,” she said as we climbed out of her car. “Just give me a ring when you’re done and I’ll swing by.”

We walked into the lobby. At first glance, the club seemed pretty casual with lots of outdoor seating. We noticed the place wasn’t as stuffy or formal as some of the American clubs.

When the young man behind the front desk looked up, Margot and I pasted smiles on our faces and walked directly to him.

“Morning,” said the young man. “Here for a round?”

“Not today, thanks,” said Margot, pulling Alan’s picture up on her phone and handing it to the kid. “We’re actually looking for this man. Does he look at all familiar to you?”

The young man gave us a conspiratorial smile. “Are you two American private investigators or something?”

Margot and I looked at each other.

“Yes,” Margot said in almost a whisper. “We’re here working on a case. We’ve been hired by this man’s brother in the United States. Apparently, the man in that picture went missing years ago and we believe he’s using a different name. Turns out all roads led to Darwin. We’re here trying to locate him and connect him to his family. His brother is dying.”

“He would probably have an American accent,” I said, “and he’s about six feet tall.”

The young man looked down at the picture again and shook his head. “Never seen him.”

“Do you keep records of who plays here?” I said. “We believe he’s using the name James. Any chance you’d have a James M in your database?”

We watched the smile fade from the young man’s face. I had overstepped. Damn.

“Yeah, we keep records,” he said, “but I can’t hand that over — privacy rules.”

After pleading for five minutes, we finally got him to take a look at his database and simply tell us if a James M had ever played there.

He hadn’t. We were nowhere.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Shannon

For the rest of June, and the better part of July, Margot and I, with Lynnette’s help, systematically went from pizza restaurants to golf clubs to the occasional gambling venue.

“I give up. He must have a pizza oven at his house,” said Margot, disillusioned after we left another Italian restaurant with nothing to show for it.

We had been to almost every food place in Darwin that served pizza as well as all the golf clubs. None of them produced anything tangible. All those weeks of searching, and we were no closer to finding James M than we were when we arrived in the city.

Frustrated, we changed our focus to vinyl record stores and horse racing. Darwin isn’t that big a city and vinyl isn’t that popular. There weren’t that many record places to scope out. From what we could tell, there were only two or three stores that carried vinyl.

In the third week of July, we walked into the first record store. Rock music blared from hidden speakers and the place reeked of weed. We showed the owner Alan’s picture and waited for a response. From the redness and small slits of his eyes, it was obvious he was very high.

Squinting, he looked at the picture on my phone as he tried to focus.

“Yeah, I’ve seen this guy.”

Margot and I were so accustomed to people telling us the opposite that it took us a second to react.

“You have?” said Margot. “Really? You know him.”

The store owner looked at the picture again and zoomed in on it. “Yeah, he’s been in here a few times. Why are you looking for him?”

We gave him the private investigator story about his dying brother in the US wanting him to come home, and the record store owner seemed to buy it.

“We really need to find him,” I said, laying it on thick. “His father is dying and his last wish is to see his son before he goes.”

“I thought you said it was his brother,” said the shop owner.

“I meant his brother,” I said. “It’s been a long day. Is it possible you’d have his name and address on an old receipt?”

“I doubt it,” said the store owner, sliding loose albums back into the rack in alphabetical order. “If it’s the bloke I’m thinking of, he never buys anything. He comes in, wanders around, mixes up my albums and then leaves.”

“How often does he come in here?” I said.

“Every few months or so.”

I wrote my name and number on a piece of paper and asked him if he’d call me if the man came in again.

The store owner flashed us a hazy high smile as he tucked my number into his pants pocket. “You girls aren’t private investigators, are you? Not that I care. I’ll still give you a ring if I see your man.”

After thanking him, we headed off to the other two record stores and heard similar stories. The man in our picture had been at the other music stores a number of times and done the same thing — wandered around and left without buying anything.

“That’s exactly what Alan used to do when I was with him,” said Margot. “Once in a blue moon he’d actually purchase an album, but mainly he liked to look. He hasn’t changed.”

Next we tackled gambling — Alan’s second love. Gambling in Australia was a very different proposition than in the States. According to Lynnette, bookies had been legal in Australia for years. But these days most Australians gamble in what they call a TAB outlet — a betting center often found in clubs, pubs and hotels. People can bet on horse races, live events, sports and even greyhound races. We found out that a lot of the Darwin pubs had sports bar areas with screens and TAB facilities on their premises. Also, online gambling is legal in the Northern Territory. A lot of people place bets online. That wasn’t good for us.

With so many easy ways to gamble, it was no surprise that Alan would have ended up in the Northern Territory. With the sheer number of gambling outlets, Margot and I agreed it would be nearly impossible to go to every place. Also, if Alan was betting on his phone, we’d never find him at a gambling facility.

“So, now what do we do?” I said, as we neared the end of July with little to show for all of our efforts. “We’ve still got nothing.”

“We haven’t been to the Mindil Beach casino yet,” said Margot. “Also, the Darwin Cup is next week and we’re going. One thing about Alan, he liked the sport of gambling almost as much as placing the bet. He may gamble on his phone from time to time, but the person I remember got juiced from being around other gamblers. I’m counting on that.”

The Darwin Cup, one of Australia’s biggest horse races, was taking place five days later. If Alan was in Darwin, Margot and I were convinced he’d be at the event. Alan loved horse racing. He wouldn’t miss something like that. Lynnette helped Margot and me buy our tickets online.

In the meantime, we decided to check out the Mindil Beach casino, located on thirty acres right off the sea. Alan liked Las Vegas and occasionally went to Atlantic City or the casinos in Connecticut. If he was in Darwin, we were pretty sure he’d have gone to Mindil Beach more than once.

“Honestly,” said Margot as we walked up to the front entrance of the casino, “every now and then I used to wonder if Alan had a gambling problem. I had no concrete evidence, but we were always behind on bills. Money I thought we had seemed to vanish. He’d make excuses but it never made sense. Then there were the times when Alan was suddenly flush in cash. He’d say it was some random bonus from work, but I always had this feeling that something wasn’t right.”

Margot’s words stirred something inside me.

“One month,” said Margot, “Alan was getting lots of phone calls on the weekends and nights. He’d answer the call, walk out of the room immediately and go out onto our balcony and close the door. He told me they were work-related calls from overseas, which is why they were coming in at odd hours. But then I overheard a few snippets of his conversation. It sounded like he was apologizing for something and asking someone for more time. I assumed it was a diamond delivery or something like that but now I don’t think so.”

My jaw dropped. “The same thing happened to me,” I said, as we walked through the casino entrance and into the lobby. “Alan and I were having dinner and his phone rang. Usually, he wouldn’t answer a call during dinner, but this time he did. Right away, he got up from the table and went into the bathroom. The only thing I overheard him say was ‘trust me, you’ll have it by tomorrow. I’m good for it.’”

He came back to the dinner table saying it had been a call from an anxious client, but something about the whole conversation struck me as way off. Do you think he was talking to his bookie?”

Margot scratched the back of her head. “Who the hell knows? He had a lot of secrets, and I ignored all the warning signs.”

I put my arm around her shoulder and gave her a squeeze. “Me, too. But we’re not going to shame-blame ourselves anymore. We’re the victims. And, if we’re right about all this, if Alan is still alive, think about what that means. He broke a lot of laws.”

From the minute we entered the building, we noticed that the Darwin casino was much smaller and lower key than Vegas or other casinos in the US. The Mindil Beach property was more like a tropical resort with a casino in it. But still, Alan liked to gamble. If he was looking for a casino, the Mindil Beach one was the only game in town.

It was a little after 2:00 p.m. when we walked into the gaming room. The sounds from the slot machines, or what the Aussies call pokies, created a noisy backdrop to the room. Despite the early hour, there were a fair number of people already busy at the tables and machines.

The first thing I did was look around the perimeter of the room. There were cameras everywhere — as we had expected. Margot and I knew that two American women wandering around the casino asking questions and showing pictures would attract unwanted attention from security. It might even get us kicked out.

We decided the best way to attack this venue was to divide and conquer. We’d each go in alone and strike up conversations with different dealers in a casual, friendly way. Our cover was that we were in Darwin for a hen party, what Americans call a bachelorette party.

Alan had particularly liked roulette and blackjack. The plan was for me to hit the blackjack tables while Margot covered roulette. I sat down at the table with two other players. I picked one with an attractive female dealer, hoping that Alan may have flirted with her. I placed my chips on the table. As the dealer waited for more players to join, I took the opportunity to spin my cover story.

“Great place you’ve got here. I’m in Australia for a hen party,” I announced.

“Having a good time?” said one of the male players at my table.

“Darwin’s great,” I said. “And this hotel is beautiful.”

“Welcome,” said the dealer as someone else sat down. “All right, folks, place your bets.”

I threw out a few chips.

“Good luck everyone, first cards coming out,” said the petite brunette dealer.

My hidden card was a queen, and my upturned card was a two. Even I knew that was a terrible hand.

“Player on third, hit or stand,” said the dealer.

Was she talking to me? That’s when I realized I was the third player around the table. I took another card. It was an eight, which gave me twenty. Nice.

“Stand,” I said.

“Stand? No worries. Dealer stands on nineteen,” she announced.

When the cards were all turned over, I had won. It was only about twenty bucks, but since I hadn’t played blackjack since college, I was pretty pumped about that.

I hung around for a few more hands and eventually lost the money I’d won. After my sixth or seventh hand, there was a changing of the guard, and my dealer was relieved by someone else. Having lost all my money while developing a modicum of a rapport with the female dealer, I got up from the table at the same time she left. We both walked in the same direction.

“When’s the wedding?” she said.

For a second, I had no idea what she was talking about.

“Oh, you mean because of the hen party,” I said, trying to recover the moment. “The wedding is going to be in New York next month.”

“I’ve always wanted to go to New York,” she said. “It’s been a dream of mine. I might get to go later this year. You live in New York City?”

This was a stroke of luck. The dealer was into New York, and I was a New Yorker — kismet. I started rattling off all the wonderful things about Manhattan and insisted she contact me if she was coming. I told her I’d show her around the town. She seemed really excited when I gave her my phone number.

We shook hands and were about to walk in different directions when I pretended to get a new idea.

“You know something,” I said. “I just realized that maybe you could help me with something here in Darwin.”

“Sure, mate, anything,” she said. “What do you need?”

I had prepared my story in advance.

“A year ago, I met this American man at a business convention in San Francisco. We had dinner together and he told me he had just moved to Darwin. He gave me his number in case I ever made it to Australia. When he wrote his number down, he just put James from Oz on the paper. When I found out I was going to this hen party in Darwin, I couldn’t believe it. I tore my place apart looking for that piece of paper, but I couldn’t find it.”

“James,” said the dealer, “that’s rough. Unfortunately, James is a very common name here in Australia.”

That was my opening. “He told me he loved playing cards and was particularly good at blackjack. I figured if he lives in Darwin, maybe he comes to this casino. That’s one of the reasons I stopped by here today. I wonder if you’ve seen him?”

I showed her the picture. She took my phone from me and stared at the image. The vertical lines deepened between her eyebrows. She recognized something.

“I think I know this bloke,” she said. “I’m pretty sure he’s been at my table a few times. The guy I’m thinking of is in his fifties and has these piercing blue eyes.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Shannon

My heart started to race when she mentioned the blue eyes.

“Yes, he has incredible blue eyes. That’s James,” I said to the blackjack dealer. “It was the first thing I noticed about him. You know him?”

She tilted her head sheepishly to one side.

“I don’t actually know him,” said the dealer. “And I didn’t know his name was James until you said it. But I have seen that man at the casino a number of times. You don’t forget those eyes. They’re intense.”

For a second, I thought she was going to get more specific than that. When she said nothing more, I let out a deflated sigh and tried another approach.

“Is it possible,” I said, “you could ask someone here at the casino for his contact info and—”

She raised both of her hands, palms facing me, and took a step backward. “Not a chance. Security here at Mindil Beach is primo. I’d lose my job.”

I must have looked really crestfallen because she offered me another crumb.

“But I’ll tell you what I can do. How long are you here for?”

“A few weeks.”

“All right then. If this James with the blue eyes comes in again over the next few weeks, I’ll give you a call and you can pop over and surprise him. How’s that?”

I thanked her profusely before she walked away. While the scene didn’t have the happy ending I’d hoped for, meaning a last name, at least we had one more piece of information. The man with the gray beard frequented the Mindil Beach casino and played blackjack — Alan’s favorite card game. The dealer also confirmed that the man had piercing blue eyes, which was something hard to determine based on the pictures we had. Her comments cemented that. After talking with the dealer, any doubt I may have had about Alan still being alive vanished. He was absolutely living somewhere in the Darwin area.

While I stood there processing all the new information, Margot walked up behind me.

“I’ve got good news and bad news,” she said, her Virginia drawl creeping into her voice.

“What’s the bad news?”

“The bad news is I got nothing on Alan at that roulette table,” she said.

“And the good news?”

“I won five hundred dollars,” she said, smiling.

I laughed before launching into a detailed overview of my conversation with the blackjack dealer.

“Good work,” said Margot, her eyes wide with excitement. “That’s solid intel — we’re on the right track.”

I nodded. “I agree. He’s here. The question now is what do we do next?”

Margot glanced up at the ceiling before looking into my eyes.

“Tomorrow morning,” she said, “we’ll head over to the Paspaley Pearls boutique. They’re the largest premium South Sea pearl dealer in the world and their headquarters is located right here in Darwin. With Alan’s background in jewelry, I’ll bet he’s sniffed around there a few times looking for an angle.”

The next morning, after another delicious breakfast courtesy of Lynnette, Margot and I headed into town. Our destination — the Paspaley Pearls boutique located on the ground floor of the Charles Darwin Center.

The minute Margot and I walked through the doors of the tan stone building, we knew we were in a very special place.

“Look at all this stuff,” whispered Margot. “The South Sea pearls are spectacular. I’d love anything in here, not that I could afford it.”

I felt the same way as Margot. The luster and color of the pearls took your breath away. I’d never seen anything like it. As we stood there pointing out our favorites, a woman’s voice rang out behind us.

“G’day. Are you looking for anything special today?”

Margot and I turned around. A forty-something woman with short dark hair was smiling at us. She was wearing the most magnificent pearl-drop earrings. I lost my train of thought when I locked in on them. They were beautiful.

Thankfully, Margot and I had practiced exactly what we were going to say. She jumped in when I suddenly went mute.

“I hope you can help us,” said Margot. “My daughter’s getting married and looking for a ring and some pearls for her wedding. We’ve been approached by a diamond dealer with some very good prices. We asked him for references, and he said he’s supplied diamonds for many pearl designs and indicated he’s done work for Paspaley.”

“His prices are better than most,” I said, “and my friend here is considering doing business with him. But we wanted to make sure he’s legit.”

The woman seemed surprised by our questions.

“I wouldn’t know about Paspaley’s relationships with suppliers,” she said. “I only work here in the store.”

“Is there anyone else we might speak to,” I said. “My friend here wants to be sure it’s not some kind of scam. It’s her only daughter’s wedding.”

The dark-haired woman smiled. “I get what you’re saying, but I’m not sure I’m the right person. I’ll see if Mr. Higgins is about. He works with a lot of our suppliers. He might know off the top of his head.”

While the saleswoman made a phone call, Margot and I went back to take another look at the magnificent jewelry on display.

“You were great,” I whispered to Margot as we moved to the next display case. “I think she bought the whole story.”

Minutes later, the saleswoman came back to us.

“Mr. Higgins is coming down,” she said. “I was a little surprised he agreed to talk to you. I told him your story, and he said he’d be here straight away.”

Not long after, a man with a thick head of white hair wearing stylish green eyeglasses appeared. He gave off an air of effortless elegance in his cream-colored linen shirt, stone-colored pants and what looked like very expensive brown loafers.

“G’day, I’m Thomas Higgins. I hear someone’s been dropping our name while trying to sell you diamonds. Thought I’d pop out and make sure you’re not being taken for a ride.”

“That’s so kind of you,” said Margot.

“We don’t deal with many outside diamond blokes, so if this person is saying he’s worked with us, I’m happy to help you sort it out. Can you tell me his name?”

Clearly, we didn’t have his name, so I handed Higgins my phone displaying his picture.

“His name is James,” I said, hoping that would be enough.

He looked down at the photo. “Ah yes, I know him,” said Higgins with a knowing look as he examined the picture. “Looks like he’s having a right good time in this photo. That’s James Mahoney.”

I mouthed “Mahoney” to Margot.

“Are you sure it’s him?” I said.

“No doubt,” said Higgins. “He came in here two years ago, very polished and persuasive, too persuasive, actually. Said he had a parcel of diamonds he thought we’d be interested in. He knew his way around diamonds I’ll admit, but his story didn’t quite line up. And the paperwork he had was next to nil. We declined. If he’s approaching you now, I’d be cautious.”

We thanked Thomas Higgins several times before leaving the store. After all that time, we finally had a name — Mahoney. James Mahoney.

Now all we had to do was find him.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Margot

Shannon and I were practically bursting as we walked out of the Paspaley Pearls boutique. In fact, we were so deep in conversation while crossing a busy street that we were almost hit by a car.

“You wanna end up under the wheels, do ya?” shouted the annoyed driver.

“Sorry,” we both yelled as we ran across the street laughing.

Feeling so much lighter, we stopped at a coffee shop to get our bearings and do some much-needed research. At a corner table with our lattes, we started googling James Mahoney + Darwin Australia.

For a full fifteen minutes, Shannon and I tried all sorts of combinations hoping to find James’s address. Nothing popped.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” said Shannon, clearly frustrated. “It’s like the man’s a freakin’ ghost. After all we’ve been through. We finally got a positive ID and a name, and we still can’t find anything on him.”

“We’ll find him,” I said, remaining calm as I looked down at my phone. “It’s just going to take a little more time. Don’t get yourself so worked up. The Darwin Cup is coming up soon. There’s no way our favorite gambler is going to miss the biggest horse race in the Northern Territory. I have no doubt that James Mahoney will be there.”

Shannon looked at her phone. “It says here that the Darwin Cup brings in between twenty to forty thousand people. Even if he’s there, how are we going to find him in crowds that size?”

I smiled, raising one eyebrow. “I’ve got a little idea.”

Shannon leaned across the table. “Would you like to share it with me?”

“Now that we know Alan’s phony name, we need to take advantage of that,” I said. “When we get to the races, we’ll get someone to page James Mahoney. We’ll make up some fake emergency like his family was in a car accident — something terribly urgent. When he goes to the information desk to retrieve the message, we’ll be waiting nearby out of sight to finally make the positive ID.”

“And what if it’s not him?” said Shannon, starting to spin out a little.

“Then, you and I have been on a crazy Australian adventure and blown through a lot of cash. If it’s not him we watch the races, and after, we head into the nearest pub.”

“And if it is him?”

I paused for a moment. “If it is Alan — we do nothing yet. We stay out of sight.”

“Wait, what?” said Shannon. “We’re not going to confront him?”

“Don’t get your tail in a bunch,” I said, trying to calm her down. “We’ve both put our jobs and our lives on hold to find Alan. If we have a meltdown and unload on him at the racetrack, we’ll get tossed out of the event. Besides, Alan deserves so much more than getting yelled at.”

Shannon took a deep breath and nodded. “You’re right. Yelling at him isn’t enough. What do you propose?”

I looked through the front window of the coffee shop.

“We keep watching him,” I said. “We surveil him. Bless his heart. We’ll find out who he associates with, how he earns a living, who his friends are — everything we can. When we have enough information, our next steps will be clear.”

Needing to fit in with all the other Aussies attending the Darwin Cup, our American clothing wasn’t going to cut it. Lynnette took Shannon and me shopping for our first racing outfits. It didn’t take us long to find a couple of colorful print dresses and shoes that fit the bill. I walked over to the register to pay for our new outfits.

“We’re not done yet,” said Lynnette, clucking as she steered us over to a section filled with hats. “At the Darwin Cup, the hat is everything. You can’t turn up without the right one.”

As Americans, hat shopping was not something we did often, if ever. Our hats had to serve a dual purpose — help us fit in with all the other women and provide a little camouflage. It was crucial that Alan have no idea we were onto him. With Lynnette’s help, we both decided on big-brimmed hats with ribbons. After adding oversized sunglasses, not much of our faces were visible.

On the first Monday of August, Shannon and I were up early. We were showered and dressed in our racing outfits by 7:30 a.m.

“Ready for your first Darwin Cup?” said Lynnette, smiling while pouring Shannon and me another coffee. “You’re going to find that waste of space today. I can feel it in my bones.”

“And you’re sure you want to come with us?” I said to Lynnette, looking very pretty dressed in a blue and white floral dress. A sparkly blue fascinator was perched on her head.

“Miss the Darwin Cup? Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” said Lynnette, grabbing her car keys. “Go every year. Everyone does.”

Shannon got up and paced around Lynnette’s dining room table.

“What’s wrong?” I said.

“If he doesn’t show up today, this whole thing was for nothing.”

“We’re 99.9 percent sure Alan’s alive and uses the name James Mahoney. Don’t lose your nerve now. He’ll be there,” I said.

“But what if he doesn’t—”

“He will. When I knew him, Alan couldn’t resist a horse race. He’ll be there. Lynnette told me the doors open to the public at nine, but the real players arrive later in the morning. Alan considers himself a player. That’s when he’ll stroll in — late morning.”

“I hope you’re right,” said Shannon as we stood in front of Lynnette’s hall mirror adjusting our straw hats.

“Got your sunglasses?” I said.

Shannon nodded as she placed them into her bag. “It’s race time.”

Lynnette drove us over to the racecourse, excited to introduce us to the marvels of the Darwin Cup. It was a sunny day and the crowds, dressed in their racing finery, were already lined up. You could feel the anticipation and excitement in the air.

“You’re sure he’ll be here,” said Shannon, gnawing at her thumbnail as we got in line to enter.

I looked at her. “When Alan and I first started dating he took me to the track a few times. I’d never been, so it was fun and different. Most people were there for a good time, but for him it was more like a religious experience. He got a real big rush from it. Unless Alan has a doppelgänger, he’ll be here today. I’d bet my pearls on it.”

At a little after ten, Shannon, Lynnette and I flashed our ticket barcodes on our phones and walked in through the main entrance. Our general admission tickets meant we’d have to grab seats for ourselves on the lawns, near the betting rings or at one of many scattered tables and chairs.

While we looked around for the best seat, a woman walked by us wearing a peacock hat, full feathers extending several feet up and out from her head. Lynnette was right, for women at the Cup, the hat was everything.

Eventually, we found an empty table. While Shannon and I sat down and straightened our hats, Lynnette went off to secure the press passes we needed to put our plan in motion. Minutes later she returned, a smile on her face and two passes on lanyards dangling in her hand.

“Here you go,” she said as she handed the passes to us. “A couple of the girls in my book group write a column for the community paper. They’ll need these back by noon.”

I smiled at Shannon as we put the lanyards around our necks.

“Lynnette, you stay here and hold down the fort,” I said. “You’ve got Alan’s picture. If you see anyone who looks remotely like him, you call us and follow him.”

“No worries,” said Lynnette as Shannon and I got up to go to the main information desk. “If I see him, I’ll stick on him.”

When we got to the main desk, a young woman with long fake lashes looked up at us and smiled.

“Great day out there,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

“We’ve got a little problem,” I said in a voice indicating urgency and annoyance. “We’re doing PR for the Darwin Cup and we’re looking for someone from our group. He was supposed to check in with the media coordinator over an hour ago. But our team can’t reach him. Would it be possible to page him and send him here to the Information Desk?”

The lash girl leaned forward to better read our press badges.

“We’re not supposed to use the paging system unless it’s an absolute emergency.”

“I’d say this qualifies as an emergency,” said Shannon, stepping in front of me. “The man’s name is James Mahoney and he’s the photographer. If we don’t find him, there will be no pictures, and we’ll all lose our jobs. You’ve got to help us.”

The flustered girl nodded. “Okay, I’ll call it in.”

Placing some kind of walkie-talkie up to her mouth, she gave the instructions. Forty-five seconds later, the racecourse loudspeakers blared. “Attention please, would Mr. James Mahoney report to the main Information Desk. Mr. James Mahoney.”

“Thanks loads,” I said to the lash girl as Shannon and I stepped away and moved to our positions across the lawn. Earlier, we had found a large event sign on the side of the beer tent that gave us good cover. From there we could see everything happening by the information desk and remain fairly well hidden.

I took out my phone, put the camera on the highest zoom setting, and pretended to check my messages. Shannon did the same. After several minutes went by and no one showed up, I started to doubt my entire theory. Then suddenly, a group of people moved, and someone in the crowd emerged.

A man with a neat gray beard wearing a yellow golf shirt and tan shorts checked his watch as he walked straight toward the Information Desk.

“Look. There he is. Oh my God. He looks so much like Alan. I think it could be him,” I whispered, while grabbing Shannon’s arm. “Same walk, same air of arrogance.”

Shannon lowered her phone a fraction so she could see him with her own eyes while she kept recording. The man continued to weave through the crowd.

“I don’t know. He looks a lot older,” said Shannon softly.

“He is older,” I said.

“But I’ll admit, it does look a lot like him.”

By the time he arrived at the Information Desk, the attendant we spoke to had been replaced by someone else. That was good for us. The bearded man said something to the new greeter. She shrugged and shook her head. Alan spun around looking out at the crowds of people, annoyance written on his face. Confident that Alan would never dream the two of us had placed the bogus message, we kept watching and filming.

He examined all the people in his vicinity and scanned the crowd, but thankfully never looked in our direction. For a split second, my eyes met Shannon’s, and we smiled. We were ninety-nine percent sure we’d found him — and if we were right, he definitely wasn’t dead.

“Okay,” I said. “Now we have to follow him and learn as much as we can about his current life.”

Putting on our sunglasses, we slipped into a moving crowd heading in the same direction as James Mahoney — aka Alan Frye.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

James Mahoney

After my name was announced on the loudspeaker, I went over to the info desk to find out what they wanted. I hadn’t heard the announcement myself. My partner, Ranee, who was sitting next to me in the hospitality suite, was the one who heard it.

“James,” Ranee had said, “I think they just announced your name on the PA.”

“What?” I said, finishing my beer. “I didn’t hear anything. Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I distinctly heard it. They said, ‘James Mahoney please report to the Information Desk.’ Did you lose your wallet again? Or your car keys? You’re always losing things. You need to be more careful.”

I sifted through my pockets. Everything was where it was supposed to be — wallet, phone, car keys were all accounted for. I shrugged and reached for another beer on the table.

“Aren’t you going to see what they want?” said Ranee. “They wouldn’t call you for no reason. Maybe it has something to do with your car? Maybe the alarm went off.”

I grumbled as I got up and began to walk in the direction of the Information Desk. Ranee and I met at the Darwin Cup several years earlier, so, in a way, the racetrack and this event are our special anniversary place.

I got lucky with Ranee. Everyone in Darwin knows Ranee Christopher. She was a year older than me, a widow, and fortunately had no kids. That would have been a dealbreaker even with all her money. I’ve never understood the attraction of kids. I find them rather annoying.

Ranee was a good-looking woman for someone in her mid-fifties, although I prefer them a bit younger — actually, a lot younger. Honestly, the thing that drew me to Ranee wasn’t her looks; it was her enormous bank account and collection of fairly valuable real estate holdings. She’s also one of Darwin’s most recognizable people due to her penchant for wearing slightly over-the-top designer clothes and donating sizable sums of money to a variety of charities.

Having grown up in a middle-class family of Greek extraction in Perth, Ranee ended up marrying a guy who owned a fair amount of real estate in the Northern Territory. They lived in Darwin and were often seen in magazine or newspaper photos at one fundraiser or another. Her deceased husband, Michael, had also been very philanthropic. I never understood why someone would want to make money and then give it away. What’s the point of that?

I had read a society story about Ranee in the papers and learned how her husband had passed away a few years earlier. It seemed like she would be ripe for the picking. Given her advanced age, I figured she couldn’t have too many offers. So, I went to the Darwin Cup knowing she’d be there. I made sure I got a seat next to her in one of the hospitality tents.

“First time at the Cup?” I had said, trying to make small talk while pretending I had no idea who she was.

Ranee’s friends at the table burst out laughing.

“First time?” shouted a blonde woman wearing a hat that looked like a giant teacup. “Ranee practically lives at the track.”

“She eats oats for breakfast,” shouted another woman.

As Ranee and the women cackled, I flashed my blue eyes at Ranee’s brown ones and looked her over in a very obvious and flirtatious way. She had shoulder-length black hair and a nice smile. I could tolerate that for a while if the price was right. It’s not so easy for a fifty-something woman to find a man these days. At that moment, Ranee may have had all the money, but I definitely had the advantage. We’ve been together ever since.

“James, pick up some bubbles for me on your way back?” shouted Ranee as I walked toward the Information Desk to find out what they wanted. Without turning around, I raised my hand, waved, and kept going. I doted on her and laid it on thick because I knew it would eventually pay off. I’d been working on a business deal and was very close to getting Ranee to underwrite it. I needed to keep her happy.

When I arrived at the info desk, the young hospitality aide had just come on shift and had no idea why I had been called. I chalked it up to mixing my name up with someone else and wondered if Ranee had heard it wrong.

On my way back to the table, I stopped at the bar to pick up Ranee’s champers. She did enjoy her bubbles, which was fine with me. After a few glasses she’d fall asleep early, and I’d have the night to myself. Did I occasionally suggest we have champagne when she didn’t ask for it? Yeah, but only when I had a date.

As I was leaving the hospitality suite, I spotted a woman out of the corner of my eye — she was walking on the other side of the crowd. The thing I noticed was her gait—the way she swung her hips and planted her feet flatly on the ground with each step. It felt familiar. I couldn’t see her face or her hair because she had on an enormous straw hat. It was her walk that got my attention.

I tried to get a better look, but she went into the ladies’ room and disappeared. Shaking my head, a weird thought ran through my mind. The woman looked like someone I had known from my previous life. But that was impossible, I told myself. Darwin was in the middle of nowhere. No one ever came to Darwin — that was one of the reasons I lived there. Since I’d been in the area, I’d never seen anyone I’d known before.

Waving to Ranee as I approached the table, I placed the bottle of champagne in front of her.

“What was the problem?” she said, pouring a glass and taking a sip. “Was it your car?”

“Waste of my time,” I said as I took the seat next to her. “There was no message for me. I think they got me mixed up with someone else.”

“Hmm,” said Ranee, her eyebrows drawing together as she placed her glass on the table. “Maybe it just sounded like your name.”

“I guess. Did I miss anything?”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

James

Even with all the racing festivities happening around me, I kept thinking about that woman with the straw hat I’d seen. Something was so familiar. Where did I know her from? I’d been with a lot of women over the years and couldn’t put my finger on it. My mind drifted back to that day in 2002 at the Scrimshaw Boat Basin. That’s the day my entire life changed.

I’d thought I had everything under control that day. While I waited in that bar for the Salty Seagull to get going, I took a fair amount of money off some locals in a darts game. After the last game, I checked my phone. There was a voicemail from my client, Nick Florio. He said he was waiting for me on the boat. When I went over to the window of the bar and looked out, my heart jumped into my throat. The Salty Seagull was no longer idling at the dock. Even from where I stood, I could see it was heading out to sea.

I started to hyperventilate, wondering if I had just screwed up everything. The consequences of missing that boat would be devastating for me on so many levels. I grabbed my bag, ran out of the bar, and down onto the docks.

I looked up and down the shore, running my fingers through my hair, trying to come up with a solution that would solve my problem. There was no one around except an old man who needed a shave. He was crouched over while painting a small boat that was hanging up on a wooden cradle. I asked him if he knew anyone with a motorized dinghy who could take me out to catch up with the fishing boat.

He looked up at the sky before he responded.

“Jack Baker has a small boat,” said the old man as he put his brush down and scratched his head.

I smiled with relief. “Great. Where would I find him? This is important. I’ve got to get on that boat.”

“You won’t find Jack around here today.” He dipped his brush in the bucket again. “His appendix burst yesterday. Heard he’s in the hospital.”

I let out an aggravated groan as I looked around for anyone else with half a brain to help me.

“Are there any other boats around here?” I said, sweat breaking out over my entire body. “I’ve got to meet a client.”

When the painter shrugged, I knew I was on my own. Running up and down the waterfront looking for anyone else with a boat, I watched the Salty Seagull disappear from view.

Still feeling the buzz from all the bourbon and beer I’d consumed, I headed back into the bar to wait for my client. What else could I do? I tried to call him, but I don’t think he had a signal out in the ocean.

I sat down on a bar stool, figuring out what I’d say to Nick when he finally returned from the fishing trip in four or five hours. I would tell him some convincing story about being called away for a family emergency and how my BlackBerry battery had died. After giving it a little more thought over another beer, I decided to tell him something that should put me in the clear. I’d tell him that my wife had a miscarriage. I was pretty sure that Nick wouldn’t ask a lot of questions on that topic. In fact, he’d probably try to comfort me. After all, I lost a baby, too. That was the story I settled on.

As I sat at the bar killing time, a few of the guys I had played darts with waved me over. They said they wanted a chance to win some of their money back. Poor souls, they didn’t know who they were dealing with. I smiled and nodded, ordered another beer, and joined the game. Surprisingly, my next round of darts didn’t go well. I chalked it up to being more jittery than I realized. With my wallet lighter and slightly unnerved after losing a second game, I took a break and sat down at the bar again.

There were several large TVs mounted on the wall behind the bar. A couple of baseball games were on. As I sipped my beer slowly, mindlessly watching an outfielder for the Mets catch a fly ball, it occurred to me how I’d had a colossally awful week. My girlfriend had told me she was pregnant and wanted to get the wedding plans going. My wife had been whining about money and been generally bitchy and demanding. My infant daughter had been up crying half the night. My bookie wanted to beat the crap out of me. And that day, through no fault of my own, I didn’t make it onto the boat with my client. I told myself I’d fix things. Everything would be all right. When Nick got off the boat and saw me standing there waiting for him, even though my wife had just had a miscarriage, I’d be golden.

I was about to get up and try one more round of darts with the locals when the baseball game on TV was interrupted by a news story. A big red BREAKING NEWS sign crawled across the bottom of the screen.

Then, a hot-looking female reporter whose name I couldn’t remember appeared on the screen holding a microphone.

“We’ve just received a report in the newsroom that a fishing boat has exploded off the coast of Long Island. The explosion happened at approximately 2:10 p.m. We are still waiting for further information. The coastguard is on the scene, and helicopters are patrolling the area. At this point it’s unknown if there are any survivors. It hasn’t been confirmed yet, but we believe the boat left from the Scrimshaw Boat Basin with a large fishing party aboard.”

Until that moment, I had no idea what an out-of-body experience felt like, but that day — I think I had one. I was supposed to have been on that boat. My client was on that boat.

Oh my God.

When the report came on the TV, everyone in the bar started going crazy. They all knew the crew on the Salty Seagull. All those guys were regulars at that bar. I looked around the place. Several of the men I’d been playing darts with were hugging each other and crying.

“Gallagher will be all right,” shouted one of the men to no one in particular. “He’s a great swimmer. He was All-County in high school. They’ll find him. He’ll be okay.”

The bartender shook his head and wiped a tear from his eyes as he turned to watch the coverage on the TV. Everyone else in the bar crowded around to listen to the news reports. Outside, we could see and hear helicopters flying overhead and heading out into the ocean.

For the next thirty minutes, everyone in the bar watched the scene unfold as more news crews arrived at the scene of the explosion, which was further out east than where we were. The early videos were devastating. It appeared that pieces of the boat were scattered across the water over a wide distance. Despite the immediate and massive response team out there, it didn’t look like they were pulling anyone out of the water.

The blonde newscaster came back on the screen with an update.

“We’ve received a report that the explosion was significant and damage to the Salty Seagull was extensive. As of right now, the rescue team has been unable to find any of the fifty-two passengers or crew who were on board. Rescue efforts are ongoing and . . .”

The news people did what they usually do whenever there’s a catastrophic disaster. They brought in nautical experts and asked what could have made a fishing boat blow up the way it did. Different talking heads speculated on how, why, and what conditions might cause something like this to happen. They were all just speculating. Nobody knew anything.

The longer it went with no survivors, the more I wondered if Nick Florio was still alive. Without his signature on my contract, Botha would definitely fire me. He had been wanting to do it for months. The only thing standing between me and the unemployment line had been my promise of the signed Royal International Jeweler contract. Without that, I was screwed.

I ordered another beer while watching the TV reporters come up with all sorts of hypotheses on the explosion. All the while, I was trying to make sense of why I was still alive. There had been a few additional reports saying that one or two people had been pulled from the water — deceased. According to the report, the people were so badly burned they were unrecognizable. To make matters worse, there were also increasingly strong currents in the water causing segments of the vessel to float in different directions. The scene had quickly become unwieldy for the rescue operation.

Hunched over my beer, my head ached, and my palms were sweaty. When I wiped my hands on my chest to dry them, I felt a lump in my inside breast pocket and sat up straight. Reaching into my pocket, I felt the soft, buttery leather case inside.

The diamonds.

I still had Nick Florio’s diamonds — the ones I was supposed to give him that day.

The reporter was back on the screen saying that a storm was coming in fast, and due to the strong currents and choppy water, the coastguard thought it unlikely that any of the fifty-two people had survived. I got the sense they were pulling pieces out of the water.

Through some crazy miracle, my life had been spared. As I sat there contemplating how incredibly lucky I was, the reality of my not-so-perfect life hit me. I still had to contend with Margot, Shannon, and Johan Botha, not to mention Bruno, my bookie. That brought me back to reality. I wasn’t dead, but I was still in hot water.

Suddenly, my phone rang. It was Margot. I didn’t answer. Minutes later, it rang again. Margot a second time. I still didn’t answer. Another call — this time it was Shannon. I didn’t pick up. Shannon called again, and again, and again — she’s so persistent.

For twenty minutes, I drank my beer and let all of my calls go to voicemail, including a few from my boss. That’s when I got the idea.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Alan

The answer to all of my problems was suddenly so obvious. I’d been handed a gift on a silver platter. My name was on the manifest of the Salty Seagull as checked in, because I did. As far as anyone knew, Alan James Frye was on that boat when it exploded.

Now that the Salty Seagull had been blown into a million pieces with what appeared to be no survivors, I’d be presumed dead like everyone else. Even if they eventually did find a sole survivor, how would that person know if I was or wasn’t on that boat? Unless it was Nick who survived. He’d know.

I looked down at the dozen voicemails listed on my phone. Margot, Shannon, and Botha were all calling because they believed I was a passenger on that boat. As I sat there and analyzed the entire situation, I realized that the horrific accident could actually be the answer to all of my problems.

I wouldn’t have to listen to Margot complain about mortgage money or not having the cash for our daughter’s daycare — which, by the way, was ridiculously overpriced. I wouldn’t have to deal with Shannon and all her stupid wedding plans or hear about the baby that I didn’t want, and that she was so excited about. And Botha wouldn’t have the satisfaction of terminating my employment. And all the money I owed around town — those debts would be wiped out. You can’t squeeze blood from a dead stone. This accident, or whatever it ultimately was determined to be, would allow me to walk away from my entire life and all my responsibilities without a care in the world. This was my second chance.

Sitting back on my bar stool, I felt for the leather sack in my pocket again. The diamonds were worth a small fortune. They were untraceable and would be presumed lost at sea. I was a free agent. I could go anywhere in the world with those stones and start over. With over a million dollars in my pocket, I could reinvent myself with a clean slate.

As I watched the news reports on the TV continue their gory tales, a little voice in my head told me I had to decide immediately. A few news trucks had pulled into the Scrimshaw Boat Basin parking lot and were setting up. If I was going to disappear, I had to move fast. The longer I hung around, the more likely it was that I’d be seen or recognized.

I gave it another thirty seconds and made my decision. While the other people in the bar consoled each other, I quietly picked up my things and left. Walking to my rental car, I paused as I reached for the door handle. I stopped. The car needed to stay exactly where it was. A dead man can’t drive. Botha was a pit bull. He’d mourn me for about three seconds, and he’d do everything and anything he could to find out where his diamonds were. If I left the car in the lot, they’d eventually trace it back to Hertz — one more reason to reinforce that I’d died in the ocean with Nick and everyone else.

I headed toward the highway and began walking. As I moved west, police cars and news vans raced past me on their way to the Scrimshaw Boat Basin. I walked for well over an hour until I finally got to a town where there was a bus service. I jumped on a bus to the nearest Long Island Railroad station and took a train into New York City. From there, I could go anywhere.

Getting off at Penn Station, I headed to a small hotel in Midtown. Because of all my extracurricular girlfriend activities, I had a fake ID with a bogus name on it. I liked to play around, but I was always careful. Whenever I was cheating on Margot or Shannon or the one before Shannon — Clare — I didn’t want to leave a paper trail. I found that a few fake IDs came in very handy.

Before I checked into the Maybury Hotel on West 43rd Street, I picked up an Italian hero, a bag of chips, a six-pack of beer, and a pint of bourbon and brought them with me up to my room. Spreading out on the bed, I turned on the local news and cracked open a beer.

The fishing boat explosion was still the lead story in New York City. At that point it was dark out, but the rescue and recovery team was still out there with floodlights despite the bad weather. According to the TV reporter, not a single person had been found alive.

I thought about Nick again. What if he got off the boat when he couldn’t find me? Or what if he had somehow survived the explosion? If either one of those things were true, my plan to abscond with jewels and disappear wouldn’t work. Before I took off with the stones for parts unknown, I had to be absolutely sure.

I knew Nick lived in Rockville Centre, a small town in Nassau County on the south shore of Long Island. Not wanting to have any communication with people in emergency services or law enforcement, I called the night desk at Newsday. I figured the local Long Island newspaper might have already started compiling a victims’ list.

After ending up with a bunch of different voicemails, I finally got a live person on the phone.

“Newsroom,” said a gruff but weary male voice.

“I’m hoping you can help me,” I said. “I’m trying to find out about a friend who may have been on the boat that exploded today, the one that left from the Scrimshaw Boat Basin.”

“You and everyone else,” said the man. “It’s been a shit show. Coastguard’s still out there but there’s a storm moving this way and in the dark it’s apparently getting too dangerous for the rescue team. We heard they’re going to call them in and wait until the morning after the storm passes.”

“This whole thing is terrible,” I said, laying it on thick with deep concern. “My friend told me he was going on a fishing boat today and I’ve been trying to reach him. He’s not answering his phone. Do you know if they’ve been able to rescue anyone?”

The line was silent.

“I’m sorry,” said the man at Newsday. “I don’t have a list from the coastguard yet, but hopefully your friend went fishing on a different boat. To answer your question, they’ve been out there looking for victims for over eight hours and as far as I know, no one has been recovered alive.”

“Oh,” I said softly, as if the news was a gut punch. “How long do you think someone could survive out there in the water?”

“No idea,” said the man. “I gotta go. I hope you find your friend.”

I hung up the phone and smiled as I let out a sigh.

Things were really looking up. Nick Florio was in his late forties and not in particularly good shape. From my perspective, the chances of him somehow defying the odds and treading water all this time were slim to none. Still, it wasn’t time to pop the champagne cork yet. I had to be absolutely certain he was dead, or they’d come after me for the diamonds.

I decided to wait for the final victims’ list. I figured it would be distributed to all the news outlets once the rescue effort was reclassified as a recovery mission. It might take a few days to get a hold of it, but it would be worth the wait. If both Nick’s and my name were on that list, that would be my literal ‘get out of jail free’ card. If he and I were declared dead, then that bag of diamonds burning a hole in my jacket pocket would have been lost at the bottom of the sea.

Cracking open another beer, I took a humongous bite out of my Italian hero and lay back on the pillows to think things through. Even though I had been given an exit pass from my entire life, the new overarching question was — where was I going to go? I could go anywhere. The possibilities were endless.

As I hung my jacket in the closet, I remembered that I also had Shannon’s grandmother’s emerald ring in my bag. I had intended to sell the stone in the ring to pay off a chunk of what I owed Bruno. I was going to replace Granny’s emerald with a fake diamond. Shannon would never have known the difference anyway.

I was tired. It had been a long and stressful day, and I decided to sleep on it before making any decisions about my future. As my eyes started to close, I thought of my wife and daughter. Margot knew I was going fishing out of the Scrimshaw Boat Basin; we had discussed it.

I wondered what she was doing at that moment. I suspected she’d be clutching our one-year-old, Jessica, after learning about her husband’s watery death. For a second I got a little misty but pushed the thought out of my mind. Margot would be all right. She was strong. She’d manage.

Until Shannon told me she was pregnant and started accelerating the wedding plans, I’d been juggling things pretty well. Obviously, I couldn’t marry Shannon because I was already married to Margot. That would have made me a bigamist. Still, I could have worked around that, put the wedding off indefinitely.

But when my bookie started crawling up my ass, and Botha threatened to fire me, the walls were closing in. Honestly, that boat explosion couldn’t have come at a better time. Yeah, it was sad all those people died. But I had nothing to do with it. Since there wasn’t anything I could do, why not take advantage of the situation? When life gives you lemons, you gotta make some lemonade.

From that day forward, I was free. I was in my early thirties — no wife, no kids, no boss, no time clock, and a million dollars in my pocket. Sometimes, life can be so sweet.

Chapter Thirty

Shannon

“We need to get closer to him,” I said, as Margot and I followed Alan to a hospitality pavilion. Someone was at the entrance checking IDs. “I don’t think we can get in that way, it looks like you need a special bracelet.”

We watched Alan slip inside a private party area. Then, we moved closer to the entrance after finding a spot that blocked us reasonably well. As we surveilled him from afar, Lynnette called. Her friends needed their press badges back. Margot ran the passes to our table while I stood guard — my eyes on Alan the entire time.

There were things partially obstructing my view, and it was hard to see exactly what he was doing. It looked like he was seated with a big crowd of people. It appeared to be mainly women wearing an assortment of brightly colored hats and fascinators. He sat at one end of the table, taking centerstage holding up a bottle while making them all laugh.

That’s Alan, always the life of the party. A woman with shoulder-length black hair was seated next to him. I couldn’t tell if she was a friend or just someone in the group.

I was about to take a picture when I felt a tap on my shoulder. Margot and Lynnette were standing behind me.

“Anything?” said Margot, slightly out of breath.

I shook my head and frowned. “I can’t see much. We’re too far away.”

“I can fix that,” said Lynnette as she dug through her bag and retrieved a pair of binoculars.

“Where did you get those?” I said, smiling as I reached for them.

“Everyone brings their binos to the races so they can see the finish,” said Lynnette.

Gratefully, I held her ‘binos’ up to my eyes, and a new world opened up. I could see everything. I looked around the hospitality suite for Alan’s face and adjusted the focus. Suddenly, I saw a pair of bright blue eyes. The man I was looking at was absolutely Alan Frye.

“It’s definitely him,” I said in a loud whisper. “I can see him clearly, Margot. It’s Alan. It’s really him.”

Margot grabbed the binos from me. A second later, I heard her gasp.

“Oh, my God. You’re right. I’m convinced. It’s definitely him.”

“You mean you two weren’t sure until this very minute?” said Lynnette.

“We’ve been looking for Alan for a long time,” said Margot, still holding the binoculars up to her eyes. “But there was always the slight chance that we were wrong.”

“And now?” said Lynnette.

I looked at Margot and shook my head.

“Now that we’ve seen him up close with our own two eyes, there’s no more doubt. That man over there is Alan Frye and he’s very much alive.”

“I’m glad that’s settled,” said Lynnette, bouncing on her feet. “No point chasing the wrong bloke all over Australia. I’ve got to say that this is far more exciting than my usual routine. So, what’s next?”

Margot handed me the binos as she looked at Lynnette.

“We’re taking him down,” she said. “Hard.”

Before I could chime in, the next race was announced. We watched Alan and his group move out of the hospitality area and take seats in the stands. Once they were seated, the three of us settled into an area where we could easily watch them without being spotted.

I gave Lynnette the binoculars so she could get a good look at Alan, too.

“Well, blimey,” said Lynnette. “Your Alan’s sitting with Ranee Christopher and her lot.”

“Who’s Ranee Christopher?” said Margot and I at the same time.

Lynnette lowered her binoculars. “Ranee Christopher has a bit of clout here in Darwin. Her late husband’s family owns quite a bit of property in the Northern Territory.”

Margot and I waited for Lynnette to continue.

“How can I put this?” said Lynnette. “She’s loaded and very well connected.”

“No surprise there,” said Margot, rolling her eyes. “Alan always did attach himself to anyone who had money.”

“We don’t know if he’s with Ranee Christopher,” I said. “They could be just part of the same group.”

With the binoculars up to her eyes, Lynnette scanned the entire section where Alan and his friends were seated. “I’d say they’re more than just friends,” said Lynnette. “He’s got his hand on her thigh. Unless she’s a bit of a slapper, I’d say they were a couple.”

I grabbed the binos from Lynnette and took another look at Alan and Ranee. Lynnette was right. Alan’s hand was on the woman’s thigh. Old habits never die.

We all googled Ranee Christopher and soon learned a great deal about her.

“It says here,” said Margot, reading from her phone, ‘the Christopher family bought up land and property after the Category 4 Cyclone Tracy decimated Darwin during Christmas 1974. Sixty-five people died and tens of thousands were evacuated. When the storm finally passed, seventy percent of Darwin was destroyed.’”

“That was terrible,” said Lynnette. “I was only a teenager then, but I remember it like yesterday. After Tracy went through here, it looked like a bomb went off. Most of what you see in Darwin today was rebuilt after that.”

I nodded as I googled a few more keywords on Ranee. I found a link to a Darwin society gossip column. There was a picture of Ranee and Alan at some dressy party. Underneath it, he was identified as James Mahoney — Ranee Christopher’s partner.

“Could it mean business partner?” said Margot.

“No.” Lynnette shook her head vigorously and handed Margot the binoculars. “Look at them now. He’s got his hands all over her and she’s laughing. Clearly, she doesn’t mind.”

Margot took another look and nodded.

For the next several hours, the three of us watched Alan’s every move. I can’t describe how angry I felt that afternoon. After all he’d put us through — the shock, the loss, the grief, and the years of financial struggles Margot and I both went through as single parents. And let’s not forget the lies we told our daughters to protect them. All those years Margot and I struggled, and here he was living it up in Australia at a horse race drinking beer.

I felt a warm hand on my arm.

“I know what you’re feeling,” Margot said gently. “I want to kill him, too.”

Tears welled up in my eyes. How could he have done this to me, to Margot, to our daughters? I knew Alan wasn’t perfect, but I loved him and so did Margot. Obviously, he didn’t care about us. He walked away from his life and never looked back. He never thought about what his actions would do to us, how it would destroy us. I felt sick to my stomach and wanted his head on a stick.

Margot wrapped her arms around me and gave me the hug I sorely needed.

“Listen to me,” said Margot, “we’ve got some of the information we’ve been looking for. We’re running this game now, Shannon. We get to decide how it’s played — not him.”

“He’s going to pay for what he did to us.”

“He will,” said Margot, nodding, “and if I have any say in this — the punishment will fit the crime.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Margot

That night, Shannon and I were so wired after making the positive ID on Alan that we barely slept. Weary the next morning, we inhaled Lynnette’s coffee and muffins while chatting on FaceTime with our daughters.

“Seriously, Mom, when are you coming home?” said my daughter, Jessie. “You’ve been gone for so long. This isn’t like you.”

“Maybe this is like me?” I said with a grin. “Don’t worry. We’ll be home soon. Just a few more sights for us to see and then we’re back.”

That morning, Shannon and I reviewed everything we knew. All the time we were tracking Alan, we hadn’t discussed exactly what we’d do if we found him. My mantra had always been — let’s see if it is him first. If it is, the facts will tell us what to do, and the answer will reveal itself.

Now that we knew the man we’d been following around Australia was Alan, we had to decide on the appropriate punishment and how we were going to serve it up. Once we figured that out, one question remained — how would we do that without committing a crime ourselves?

“What if we tell Ranee Christopher the truth about Alan?” said Shannon. “She’d probably kick him out.”

I rolled my eyes. “Alan getting kicked out of his girlfriend’s house is hardly the appropriate retribution I was thinking of. He deserves so much more than that.”

Shannon nodded. “You’re right. Why don’t we just call the FBI and tell them that Alan’s still alive. Then they’ll arrest him.”

“Arrest him for what?” I said. “For not being blown up on that boat? He’ll say he was sick and got off before it left the harbor. And it’s not a crime to walk out on your wife and kid, although it should be. We need to find something new, something current. You know Alan, he’s always up to something. We just have to find out what it is and use it to our advantage.”

When Lynnette came into the kitchen to clear the breakfast dishes, Shannon and I were hunched over at the table, our heads in our hands.

“Don’t you two look like a pair of sad sacks. Why don’t you go down to the beach and clear your heads?” she said, grabbing the half-eaten plate of muffins. “Whenever I’m stuck on something, that’s where I go. Always sorts me out.”

Lynnette lent us her car, and we drove over to the Casuarina Coastal Reserve — the biggest public park in Darwin. It was a gorgeous beach with over eight km of coastline. The irony was, with all its beauty, no one could swim there because of saltwater crocs and stingers. It was the perfect place for us though. There was no one around. The two of us needed a quiet, private place to talk with no distractions.

When we sat down near the water, several people on horseback came riding along the shore. Once they were out of earshot, I began the conversation.

“One thing we know after all our fruitless online searching,” I said, “is that Alan Frye and his pseudonym, James Mahoney, have left no digital trail. There’s nothing online on either of those names. Given that, the only thing we can do now is a deep dive into his associates.”

“Like Ranee Christopher?” said Shannon.

“Exactly. Something tells me that she’s the key to the whole thing.”

After kicking around a few ideas, Shannon and I agreed to divide and conquer. She’d dig into Ranee’s personal life — family, relationships, school and medical history. I’d concentrate on her company — Top End Property Holdings. I’d also look into her finances, business connections and investment portfolio.

The next morning after agreeing to meet up in the late afternoon, I was about to leave to do my research when Lynnette volunteered her services.

“I’d be happy to make some quiet inquiries into Ranee Christopher with some people I know here in Darwin. Might uncover some insights you wouldn’t pick up on. From what I hear, she’s pretty active in the community.”

“That would be great, Lynnette,” I said. “The more we know, the better.” While Lynnette worked her phone and Shannon dug into her computer, I went to a strip mall that listed Top End Property Holdings as a tenant.

The mall called Casuarina Commons was home to a small group of stores — vegetable market, beauty supply, a waxing place, dental office. There was also a real estate concern — Ranee’s company. As I approached her storefront, I saw pictures of properties on the plate-glass window showing various buildings and land for sale. Inside, a young man with brown hair and a mustache sat alone at a desk. From where I stood outside, there didn’t appear to be anyone else there.

I opened the front door, and the young man looked up.

“G’day. How can I help you?” he said.

“My client’s looking for a small building for her women’s apparel business. She’s setting up an office here in Darwin — nothing too fancy, something centrally located that can accommodate about eighteen desks.”

“Have a seat,” said the young man, gesturing for me to sit down. “You’re American, aren’t you? We’ve got a few properties that could work for you. How did you hear about us?”

That was my opening.

“I’ve been asking around town and the name Ranee Christopher kept popping up.”

The man smiled. “Everyone loves Ranee. She’s straight up; would give you the shirt off her back. Smart though, very shrewd. But you’ll get a fair deal from her.”

Since the young man had opened the door on Ranee, I dove right in.

“Is she a Darwin local?”

“As far as I know. She’s very active in Darwin civic organizations and a big contributor to a number of charities around town. She’s always collecting names and getting rich people to donate money for good causes. You’ll see her name pop up in the newspaper from time to time.”

“A woman-run business is exactly the kind of person my client, also a woman, would like to support. Does she run this company with her husband?”

The young man slid a handful of real estate listings across his desk to me.

“Ranee’s a widow. Her husband Michael died a number of years ago. She says he was the love of her life. But she’s got a new partner now — James. He’s an American, too.”

“Good for her,” I said as I looked down at the listings in my hand. “It’s hard finding a new relationship as you get older.”

“James isn’t Michael, but he’s around,” said the young man, finding an additional listing and handing it over. “What do you think of those properties?”

I flipped through the photos and nodded. “One or two of these might work. And this new partner, James, I get the feeling you’re not a fan?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” said the young man. “He’s quick with a joke but he’s not my cup of tea.”

“She must like him.”

“Yeah, but most people take him with a grain of salt. He talks a big game.”

In the early evening, Shannon, Lynnette and I gathered around Lynnette’s kitchen table with a pizza and bottle of red wine.

Shannon went first.

“I found a ton of information on Ranee Christopher,” she said. “She’s been in the public eye since she was in her twenties. Her husband, Michael Kilgannon, died about ten years ago.”

“She didn’t take his name?” I asked.

“From what I could see, she’s always used Christopher.”

I nodded.

“Ranee and Michael Kilgannon appear to have been very happily married — no kids,” said Shannon, reading from her notes. “He was eleven years older and died suddenly of a heart attack. Ranee’s parents are dead; she’s got one brother in Perth and a fourteen-year-old niece, who she spoils whenever possible. She took the niece to see Taylor Swift in Sweden last year. You get the picture.”

“That’s a big-ticket item,” I said.

Shannon nodded. “From what I can tell, Ranee is highly social, likes to have a good time and has a posse of great girlfriends who she’s known for years. They are fiercely protective of her. She’s on the board of several charitable organizations, and from what I read, she seems like an all-around great person.”

“Health?”

Shannon shrugged. “You know health information is almost impossible to uncover. But she looks healthy enough, works out at a gym in central Darwin several times a week.”

I felt myself chewing on the inside of my cheek again. “Based on her personal profile, do you think she has any clue her boyfriend is not who he says he is?”

Shannon leaned forward and placed her palms on the table. “Anything’s possible. But honestly, I don’t. She seems like a good person — a real girl’s girl. She’s a fifty-something widow being romanced by a man in his fifties. I think she likes having a man around and maybe overlooks little things. Alan’s older and grayer than when we knew him, but he still looks pretty good for his age.”

“I’m sure he still knows how to shovel the shit when he wants something,” I said. “A woman in her fifties? Knowing Alan, I would have expected he’d hitch his wagon to someone much younger than that.”

“But Ranee’s got money,” said Shannon. “And when it comes to Alan, money trumps youth. So, what did you find out?”

I opened my notebook and turned to the page with my neat handwriting — once a teacher, always a teacher.

“Big financial picture — Ranee Christopher is very comfortable. I couldn’t tell you exactly how much she has, but as Lynnette said, she owns a fair amount of smaller commercial properties here in town. She also owns a large oceanfront four-bedroom condo in Surfer’s Paradise in Queensland. She goes there for holidays and when the wet season here in Darwin becomes too much.”

“Then Ranee would be the perfect mark for someone like Alan if he wanted or needed money?” said Shannon.

I closed my eyes and nodded. “Remember, after Alan ‘died,’” I said, making little quotation marks in the air, “I found out he was on the verge of getting fired from Pretorious Diamonds. He spent his entire adult life scamming people. My best guess — he’s still doing it with Ranee. It’s who he is. He doesn’t know any other way to be.”

“What do you think happened to the million dollars’ worth of diamonds he supposedly had on him?” said Shannon.

My eyes narrowed. “Assuming he had them, and I believe he did, I’d say he used them to set up his new life. Remember: Alan was in the diamond business. He’d have known exactly how to money launder diamonds and stay under the radar. A million dollars will only last so long and it’s been twenty-five years. Based on his attendance at the casino, he’s obviously still gambling. That could mean the diamond money is long gone, which might be why he’s hitched himself to Ranee.”

Lynnette sat down at the table, pulled out a few pieces of paper from her bag, and cleared her throat. There was a twinkle in her eye, and we gave her the floor.

“I feel a bit like Miss Marple,” she said as she cleared her throat a second time. “I’ve quietly inquired all around Darwin, and honestly, everyone speaks so highly of Ranee. I couldn’t find a single person to say anything negative about her. But James Mahoney on the other hand — people aren’t very keen on him.”

“Can you elaborate?” I said, leaning closer.

“Apparently,” said Lynnette, “James Mahoney has been talking himself up as some big-shot businessman who reckons he knows the pearl trade — South Sea pearls, in particular. I’m told he’s been traveling around the country trying to set up a distribution network that would undercut Paspaley Pearls by a good third while still maintaining the quality.”

Shannon took a sip of her wine while Lynnette pulled out another piece of paper.

“Most people reckon James is counting on Ranee to bankroll the whole thing. The people who care about her are worried. He’s asking her for a big investment. They say he talks a good game but isn’t really up to scratch. And if it all went under, it would put Ranee in a very difficult position.”

Shannon shook her head. “I don’t get it. Alan walked away from his life and responsibilities and assumed a new identity. Why would he stick his toe into the jewelry business again if he wanted to remain anonymous? It seems so risky.”

“Because he’s arrogant,” I said. “He thinks he can get away with anything because he always has. He’s spent his whole life getting over on people. He got away with a million dollars. Why should now be any different?”

Chapter Thirty-Two

Shannon

After a strategy marathon the night before that continued into the next day, Margot and I finally agreed on next steps. In order to take Alan down, we needed more in-depth information on his current lifestyle, business dealings, and general habits.

We planned to follow him for a few days to gain a better understanding of his life. Our primary knowledge was only about young Alan Frye. We knew practically nothing about how middle-aged James Mahoney operated.

“One thing I’m sure of,” I said, as Margot and I sat down at a table in a local Thai restaurant. “A leopard doesn’t change its spots.”

Margot nodded. “The more we find out about who Alan is today, the better the position we’ll be in to upset his world.”

After dinner, we rented an unassuming gray sedan from Hertz. We planned to leave at sunup to stake out the house that Alan shared with Ranee Christopher.

The next morning, we packed a lunch, snacks, and lots of water and drove the short distance to Fannie Bay, an affluent suburb of Darwin. Ranee Christopher’s large modern home was fully flanked by stone walls and an open gate. The house was set back from the road and surrounded by flowering frangipani that released an amazing smell in the air.

According to public records, Ranee and her husband, Michael, had bought the house twenty years earlier. The real estate site we consulted showed that the house had six bedrooms, a high-end kitchen, a wine cellar, and lots of room to roam.

We arrived on Ranee’s street at 7:00 a.m. and parked the car down the block in a spot where we had a clear view of the entrance and her driveway. Then, we waited.

At a little after nine thirty, a red Mercedes coupe pulled out of the driveway. The driver — Alan Frye.

“What should I do?” I said, since I was sitting behind the wheel.

“Follow him,” said Margot.

I smiled. “Then buckle your seatbelt because I have no intention of losing him.”

I hit the gas, and we followed Alan around town for the next two hours while he did seemingly mundane chores and errands. He dropped clothes off at a dry cleaner, stopped at a pharmacy, picked up a coffee, and took a package into the post office. His morning finished up in a local pub.

“We need to see what he’s doing in there,” I said as I put on my sunglasses and a baseball cap and tucked my blonde hair up inside of it. Getting out of the car, I walked casually by the window of the pub and peeked in. I could see Alan inside having lunch.

Back in the car, we waited for him to come out so we could begin tailing him again. His afternoon was more of the same. He finally returned to Ranee’s house around three. We sat outside in the rental car near the house until a little after six. That’s when he and Ranee left the property again in the red Mercedes. We followed them to an Italian restaurant, but the place had no front window. It was too risky for us to go inside, so we called it quits for the day.

“I don’t think we learned anything useful,” I said to Margot as we pulled into Lynnette’s driveway. “How are we going to nail him if he’s only doing errands?”

I saw a knowing smile on Margot’s face as we got out of the car.

“Give it a little more time. This was just day one,” she said. “We know who Alan is. With his enormous ego, he’ll hang himself. If we stick with him, something will turn up.”

At seven the next morning, Margot and I were already staked out on Ranee’s street. I was behind the wheel. For the longest time, everything was quiet, and I started having doubts about our strategy. But then at a little after nine, Ranee and Alan pulled out of the driveway in a blue BMW SUV. Alan was driving. Just before he pulled out onto the street, we saw him lean over and give Ranee a kiss. Watching that little romantic scene made us both groan.

As he drove slowly down the road, I started our car’s engine and followed them, keeping a healthy distance between us. After a few minutes, the SUV pulled over and stopped. I slipped our car into an open space immediately, and Margot and I ducked down. Stealing a glance, we saw Ranee get out of the car, wave to Alan, and then walk into a high-end hair salon.

“What do you want to do now?” I said. “We have to choose. Ranee or Alan?”

“I say we stay with Alan,” said Margot. “If Ranee’s getting her hair done, she could be in there for hours. This will give us a chance to see what Alan does with his free time when he knows his partner will be tied up.”

I stepped on the gas pedal and followed the SUV. The next leg of our journey was slightly longer than the previous one. Alan appeared to be leaving Fannie Bay. I kept up with him while staying at a comfortable distance behind.

“According to my app,” said Margot, holding up her phone to get a signal, “the area we’re in now is called Stuart Park.”

When we got to a stop sign, we both looked around. Stuart Park was decidedly different from the lush, upscale vibe in Fannie Bay.

“Look. He’s pulling over,” said Margot, slouching down in her seat. I quickly eased the car into a parking spot as Alan got out of his vehicle in front of a large, boxy-looking concrete building. There was a sign out in front that said For Rent — Units Available.

“It must be an apartment building,” I said as we watched Alan open the liftgate of his car. After digging around, he pulled out a silver gift box with a big blue bow. Putting it under his arm, he locked the car and headed toward the entrance of the building.

Margot pulled Lynnette’s binoculars from her bag and held them up to her eyes.

“What’s he doing now?” I whispered as Alan approached the front door.

“It looks like he’s ringing a bell,” said Margot. “I can’t read the names but the one he pressed is the top button in the second row. Now he’s punching in some kind of a code.”

We watched Alan enter the building and disappear.

Margot removed the binoculars from her eyes, pursed her lips, and looked at me.

“Why would a man have a code to a building he didn’t live in?” she said, her eyebrows raised. “Most people don’t give out their apartment codes to friends. They buzz them in.”

“Unless,” I said, as my eyes narrowed, “that person was a very, very close personal friend.”

“You mean like a sleepover friend?” said Margot.

I nodded as I opened my car door. “My guess is that the person he’s going to see is a woman. Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

Before Margot could stop me, I was out of the car and sprinting across the street to the entrance of the building. Two minutes later, and out of breath, I climbed back into the car.

“Why did you do that?” Margot demanded. “You might have been spotted.”

“If we’re going to do this, we’ll have to take a few chances. I wanted to see whose name was on the bell that Alan pressed.” I took a gulp from my water bottle. “When he dropped Ranee off at the salon, he knew he’d have several hours to himself. We needed to know who he was spending time with. The name on the buzzer was T. Robinson.”

“That could be anyone,” said Margot, putting the binoculars up to her eyes again. “We don’t know for sure that T. Robinson is a woman.”

“He brought a gift box with a bow,” I said. “Do you really think he’s visiting one of his mates from the pub?”

For the next two hours, while we waited for Alan to leave the building, Margot and I did some research on our phones. Googling the address of the building in Stuart Park, we tried to find out the names of people who lived there. In particular, someone named Robinson.

Eventually, we found a name — Christina Robinson — Tina.

“I knew it,” said Margot. “He’s got a girlfriend. Once a cheater, always a cheater.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

James/Alan

As I left my girlfriend’s apartment building in Stuart Park, I heard a noise and looked up. Tina was waving and blowing kisses to me from her balcony and signaling she still wanted more. I had to admit that she required a lot, and I was a little exhausted.

The truth was I’d been bouncing around Australia for nearly twenty-five years and was getting a little tired. When I arrived in the country, I kept a low profile because of the unusual way I’d left the United States. I made the money from the diamonds I had last a while and was able to enjoy myself without working too hard for quite a long time.

As soon as I got to Australia, I headed north up to Queensland — less likely to run into Americans up there. My first stop was Brisbane, and then after a couple of months, I moved further north to Cairns. That’s where I learned how to dive at the Great Barrier Reef. I took to diving like a fish and eventually became a certified dive instructor myself.

If you love diving, it doesn’t get any better than the Barrier Reef. And it wasn’t only the diving I liked. As a dive instructor, every week there were pretty young women from all over the world looking to me for guidance and romance. Honestly, it was like a smorgasbord every day. The stream of giggling girls was never ending. It didn’t take me long to figure out the ladies were really turned on by the whole Aussie swashbuckler thing. Occasionally, I’d put on a fake Aussie accent to lure in the girls. Worked like a charm.

Once in a while, when I was faking my dialect, girls might ask me about my past and where I grew up in Australia, things like that. I let it be known within the Cairns dive community that I had been orphaned as a kid and placed in foster care. After a while, most people around Cairns knew James Mahoney didn’t like to talk about his childhood.

“Don’t ask James any questions about where he grew up,” whispered one of the other dive instructors to a new group of students. “He was raised in foster care. Doesn’t like to talk about it.”

The other instructors were actually very protective of me and my sad upbringing. One word from them usually put a stop to any further invasive questioning. Problem solved.

Because Cairns was the main jumping-off point for diving at the Barrier Reef, we got a fair number of American tourists. That meant I had to be very careful. A couple of times I thought I saw someone from my previous life and my heart nearly stopped. If I’d been spotted, that would have been it for me. Margot and Shannon would have found out I was still alive. Pretorious Diamonds and my old boss, Botha, would have put two and two together regarding the missing diamonds. I probably would have been arrested. It was extremely important for my survival to remain a dead man.

About three years after I arrived in Cairns, one of Margot’s college friends appeared. I was having lunch in a pub and nearly choked on my toasted cheese sandwich when I saw the woman through the pub window walking down the street. I jumped up and snuck out the back door of the pub. Then I followed her to see where she was going. Here’s the crazy thing — Margot’s friend was actually signed up to take a five-day diving course with my company the following day. I would have been her instructor.

I was totally screwed.

With no other way out, I got one of my mates to take my shift by faking a serious stomach bug, and I called in sick. After that happened, I started checking all the upcoming lists of American dive students in advance of their arrival. Being seen by anyone who knew Alan Frye from New York would destroy my new life and probably get me thrown in jail.

While I was living in Cairns, I secured an Australian passport through some dubious back channels. I’ve learned a thing or two living off the grid. You can get anything if you have the money. Anything. Once I had the Aussie passport, I was able to move around more freely.

Cairns at the time only had about a hundred and fifty thousand residents. As diving became more and more popular globally, there was an increase in visitors from America. Cairns became too risky for me. So, I packed up and moved to Sydney. With roughly five million people, I figured I could hide there in plain sight. At the time, I still had a little money left from the diamonds, but not a lot. That meant I needed to find a real job.

I had been in sales in New York and had been pretty good at it. So, I got a job selling BMWs in Mosman — an affluent suburb of Sydney. I was okay at selling the cars, but my income wasn’t nearly enough to support the kind of lifestyle I required. But selling luxury cars was a great way to meet a certain class of women. Through my job, I met quite a few women of means who I thought could make my dreams come true.

If a woman had a top-tier home, a face that didn’t make me cringe, and didn’t ask too many questions — she was for me. I went for women a little older than I was because they were a little more desperate. I’d come on strong, and then if all went to plan. I’d move in with her. I’d have the luxury lifestyle I wanted and didn’t have to work too hard. For a long time, it worked really well.

That’s how I met Pippa. She was a little short and dumpy but loaded. I sold Pippa our most expensive SUV and asked her out as she was signing the papers. Six weeks later, I moved out of my small rental unit and into her large, spacious home.

Pippa was divorced and owned a house overlooking the water on Kardinia Road in Mosman. The home was amazing. It had a large outdoor stone patio with a full kitchen and a magnificent built-in pool with incredible water views. Having that asset made the marginally attractive Pippa quite pretty.

From the moment I met her, she checked off a lot of my boxes — early forties, lonely, tons of money, no kids — didn’t want any. She asked for nothing from me other than my companionship both in and out of bed. I found her occasionally needy and not the brightest bulb, but overall, given what she had to offer — I was all in.

Eventually Pippa’s money started running out. What I hadn’t known was that her generous spousal support only lasted for five years. She neglected to tell me that. To support our lifestyle, poor Pippa refinanced her house and took out significant equity from it. After three years together, her financial situation was headed south. So, it was time for me to change horses.

I had just turned forty when a woman looking for a new BMW came into the showroom. Georgina was in her early fifties, a widow, and had a lot more money than Pippa. Georgina’s only daughter was married and lived in Argentina, leaving an unencumbered playing field for me.

I told Pippa I wanted to move on and moved out of her house and directly into Georgina’s. She and I lasted a little over a year. From there I had a string of relationships with a variety of older wealthy women. Older women were easier. They didn’t have as much runway left as the younger ones and were so much more grateful for my company.

During my eight years home hopping around Sydney, I eventually quit the daily grind of selling cars to devote myself to my ladies. It all worked out pretty well.

Occasionally, there was some gossip that I was a freeloading gigolo, which I thought was extremely unfair. I wasn’t a freeloader at all. I provided very specific services. I gave older women exactly what they wanted, and they took care of me. Everybody was happy.

By the time I was close to fifty, and the diamond money long gone, I’d noticed the net worth of the women I was attracting had been steadily dropping. There had been rumors about me circling, and I found Sydney had become suddenly very toxic. Over the years, I had heard that people took off to Darwin to escape life, so that’s where I headed for a fresh start.

Once I got there, I realized that Darwin had everything I needed. It was remote and didn’t attract too many tourists. Horse racing was alive and well. The Mindil Beach casino was a decent place, and there appeared to be a fair number of older women looking for love. I decided Darwin was the perfect place to hang my hat.

It was at my first Darwin Cup that I zeroed in on Ranee Christopher. She was widowed, lonely, and had a big, fat real estate portfolio. In short — Ranee was the perfect woman.

I sidled up to her in a hospitality tent and turned on my charm. Not long after our first meeting, I moved my things into Ranee’s home. She was involved with a lot of charities and civic organizations. Her busy schedule was perfect. It left me plenty of time for my own pursuits — like Tina.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Margot

After we found out Alan was two-timing his partner the same way he did with Shannon and me, the two of us got busy. We were ready to move to Phase Two of our plan.

While we were surveilling Ranee, I had noticed that she had nice nails — professionally manicured. We knew she had money, so we googled a list of the top high-end luxury nail salons in the Fannie Bay area. After ruling a few out, we narrowed it down to four salons.

“Hello,” I said when a receptionist from the third salon I called answered. “Your spa was recommended to me by a friend who has absolutely gorgeous nails. Would it be possible to get the same technician who works with Ranee Christopher? Ranee told me her person is the best.”

“Ms. Christopher is a very good client. She usually works with Lourdes.”

“Great,” I said, smiling as I nodded my head to Shannon. “Then I’d love to get an appointment with Lourdes, too. Any chance you can squeeze me and another friend in?”

“When would you like to come in?” said the receptionist.

“You know what? I was just thinking how fun it would be to catch up with Ranee again. Would it be possible to schedule me around the same time? Then I can surprise her.”

“Of course,” said the receptionist. “Ms. Christopher has a regular appointment every other Friday at two. She’s coming in this week. I could seat you right near her and Lourdes could take care of you after she finishes with Ms. Christopher.”

I hung up the phone and grinned at Shannon.

“We’re in,” I said as we did a fist bump.

Two days later, at 2:15 p.m., Shannon and I walked into the posh day spa and gave the woman at the desk our names. We were given white terrycloth robes and slippers and led into a room with a half dozen plush beige leather armchairs. Shannon sat on one side of Ranee, and I took the chair on the other side.

Ranee’s feet were in a bubbling tub of warm soapy water. She smiled at us when we sat down. Then she picked up an old copy of People magazine from the small table next to her and flipped through the pages.

I was trying to figure out the best way to strike up a conversation when I looked at the cover of the magazine she was reading. A well-known Australian actor was featured. The accompanying story was about his split with his wife after nearly thirty years.

“Disappointing, isn’t it,” I said, leaning in slightly toward Ranee and pointing at the magazine cover. “So much for happily ever after.”

Ranee looked up at me with huge dark brown eyes and shook her head. “I know. I was devastated when I heard the news. They were so good together.”

I gave Shannon the look. I hooked the fish; now it was her turn to reel her in.

“They seemed like the perfect couple, didn’t they?” said Shannon. “Hardly any Hollywood marriages last as long as they did. My heart broke for her.”

“I know. His wife must be gutted,” said Ranee. “They never really let on what caused the break-up although in recent reports there’s been talk about an affair with a singer.”

I shook my head. “You can’t trust anyone these days. Sometimes I think all men are cheaters at heart. I’m Margot, by the way. That’s Shannon.”

“Ranee,” she said with a smile. “It rhymes with zany. That’s what all my mates say — zany Ranee. You’re Americans, aren’t you? My partner’s an American.”

“Really?” said Shannon, arching one eyebrow. “Where is he from?”

Ranee pursed her lips. “Good question. I think he grew up somewhere on the east coast. He never talks about it. I think he had a bad childhood. He’s been living in Australia for most of his adult life.”

For the next hour Ranee, Shannon and I talked non-stop while enjoying amazing mani-pedis and a complimentary glass of champagne. It was nearly four fifteen when we were all finished. As the three of us stood in front of the mirror in the locker room fixing our hair, I moved into Phase Three.

“Shannon and I were thinking of going for a post pedicure glass of champagne,” I said to Ranee as she slipped on her shoes. “Can you recommend a place around here that’s lively?”

Ranee told us about her favorite pub, which turned out to be just around the corner.

“That sounds great,” I said. “Would you like to join us?”

“Oh, I’d love to, but I have a few errands to run,” said Ranee.

“Come for one glass,” said Shannon. “We’d love to pick your brain on things we should do and see while we’re visiting Darwin.”

We didn’t have to twist Ranee’s arm too hard before she agreed to come along. Fifteen minutes later, the three of us were seated upstairs in a very posh pub. The minute we walked in, half the staff greeted Ranee by name.

“That’s quite a welcome,” I said, grinning. “Are you some kind of celebrity here in Darwin?”

“Oh no,” said Ranee, laughing. “I’ve been coming to this pub for years. I’ve thrown a few parties here, too.”

We ordered a bottle of bubbly and sat back to learn a little more about Ms. Christopher. As we talked, I sized her up. She seemed like a very nice person. Shannon and I had agreed that before we did or said anything about her partner’s girlfriend, we needed to know if Ranee’s relationship with Alan was good — if she was happy? Shannon and I didn’t want to destroy Ranee’s life the way ours had been, unless we absolutely had to.

“You said you’ve been with your partner, James, for about four years,” said Shannon. “You’re fortunate. You’ve had a second bite of the apple. I find it so hard to meet men now that I’m older.”

I nodded. “It’s my experience that fifty-year-old men want to date thirty-year-old women.”

“I know,” said Ranee as she topped up her glass. “When James came along, it was a bit of a surprise. Charming, good-looking, and a full head of hair. Don’t see that much with blokes over fifty.”

With a little encouragement from us, Ranee told us all about her first marriage.

“I know it may sound a bit silly, but Michael was my soulmate,” she said, getting a little misty. “He died about fifteen years ago. We had created this great life for ourselves. He worked hard and was a savvy investor. I wanted for nothing — except kids. We were never able to get pregnant, but we always had each other — until we didn’t.”

“I’m sorry. That must have been very difficult,” I mumbled as I glanced at Shannon.

We knew exactly what it felt like to lose the person you planned to spend your life with. Even though Alan’s death turned out to be a big fat lie, Shannon and I still went through the emotions and grief all the same.

“But now you’ve got a new man in your life,” said Shannon with a smile. “You’re lucky.”

“I guess so,” said Ranee, biting her bottom lip. “James is great, but he’ll never fill Michael’s shoes. James is attentive, quick with a joke, and a great dinner companion — he’s a very entertaining guy. And he takes care of me and makes sure I have everything I need. But it’s not like it was with Michael. Still, having James in my life is better than being alone.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

Shannon

I kicked Margot under the table after Ranee’s last comment about her relationship being ‘better than being alone.’ It was pretty clear she wasn’t fully sold on James. That’s what we’d wanted to find out. Once we knew she wasn’t madly in love, it took some of the pressure off us. We didn’t want to cause her any significant hurt or pain. It sounded like Ranee learning the truth about James would sting — but not devastate. That’s what we needed to know.

“Being alone can be tough,” said Margot quietly, rubbing her knee. “Relationships are tricky.”

Ranee drained the remaining champagne from her glass and placed it on the table.

“I’ll tell you what’s tricky,” she said. “When you get older, and the men stop coming around, you start making concessions. When you’re in your fifties, you don’t have endless choices with men — especially not here in Darwin. I had this amazing marriage and I hold onto that. But after years of being alone, I realized I wanted a man in my life again. Sometimes, that costs you and you have to make concessions.”

Ranee told us a few flattering stories about James and mentioned how he often treated her like a queen.

“Maybe I’m old-fashioned but it’s nice turning up to a party with a man on your arm instead of always going on your own,” she said. “I’m not stupid. I knew from the start James wasn’t perfect. But I took him as he was.”

I nodded and pressed my lips together. Ranee’s words hit home. Margot and I had done the same thing — we made excuses for Alan’s shortcomings even after he died. Even though the three of us lived on different continents, we all had similar experiences with him. Somehow that deeply flawed man had provided each of us with some intangible thing that we all accepted — even though we knew better. That desire to be with someone, to connect, caused all three of us to turn a blind eye — even when things were clearly not right.

As we sat there listening to Ranee, I remembered a conversation Margot and I had years earlier. We were sharing a pot of fondue in my apartment, and not surprisingly, the subject of Alan came up. At the time, we both still believed he had died on that boat.

“Who doesn’t spend Christmas with his wife because he has to work?” Margot had said. “I should have called him out on so many things. I understood missing my birthday, but Christmas? How could I have been so gullible.”

I poured Margot a glass of wine and let out a sigh. “He was always missing in action for reasons that never added up. I knew his excuses sounded off and there were times I reconsidered our relationship. But it was almost like he had a sixth sense or something. As soon as I began to pull back, he’d do something sweet and thoughtful and I’d get sucked back in even deeper.”

Margot speared a chunk of bread, dipped it into the fondue pot and looked at me. “Do we have so little self-esteem that we accept any kind of behavior from a man?”

I shook my head and skewered another cube of bread.

“Not anymore,” I said, popping the cheesy lump into my mouth. “We trusted him. But he was playing a different game with an entirely different set of rules.”

Margot groaned. “It was always about him, wasn’t it?”

The Sterno can underneath the fondue pot flickered. I relit it with a lighter.

“Alan was an expert at manipulation,” I said. “You and I were no match for him. Be happy about that. I wouldn’t want to live my life lying and cheating all the time and neither would you.”

That emotionally charged conversation we had that night replayed in my mind as we sat across the table from Ranee. It was obvious she was a kind person, and she deserved far better than Alan. Based on all of her comments, my sense was that she had experienced some of the things we had. Lies compounded by lies. It made me wonder how many other women had been taken in by Alan over the past twenty-five years.

“I’m getting us another bottle of bubbles,” said Ranee, holding up the champagne bottle so our waitress could see. “This one’s on me.”

We’d already had a fair amount of champagne that day, but I figured a little more might loosen Ranee’s lips, so I cheered her on.

After the waitress uncorked the bottle, the three of us sat back with freshly filled glasses. As Ranee began listing various activities and sights we should see in Darwin, I gently steered the conversation back to her boyfriend.

“It sounds like your relationship with James is more on the casual side,” I said, as we both leaned forward. “But you seem happy with it being that way.”

Ranee took a sip of her champagne, sneezed, and then placed her glass on the table.

“I wouldn’t say happy is the right word,” she said. “I’m reasonably content. Although lately he’s been a bit irritable and aloof. He’s out all the time and I have no idea where he is.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said.

“It’s only because he’s trying to put together a new business venture and has hit some snags,” said Ranee. “Once he gets that all sorted, it will be smooth sailing again.”

Margot and I looked at each other.

“That’s good,” I said. “For a minute I thought you were concerned that he might be seeing someone else.”

Ranee shook her head. “No, it’s not that. He’s not that stupid. He knows he’s got a good thing with me. I pay for everything. All he has to do is be charming and open my car door.”

“When I was married, my husband had a serious relationship with another woman,” said Margot. “He even had a child with her.”

“You’re joking? I wouldn’t put up with that,” said Ranee. “James is a good-looking bloke. I see the way women look at him. But I told him right up front another woman would be a dealbreaker for me.”

I tilted my head to one side. “If it’s not another woman, then what’s the problem?”

Ranee let out a sigh. “As I said, at my age I don’t have a lot of men beating down my door. But just like in racing, sometimes you back the wrong horse.”

I took a sip of my champagne. “And did you? Back the wrong horse with James?”

Ranee looked off into the crowd and shrugged. “Sometimes, I wonder if he’s taking me for a ride. But then he’ll do or say something so sweet and romantic and I melt.”

I caught Margot’s eye.

“It’s more of a feeling than anything else,” Ranee continued. “He’s always working on what he calls his ‘big deals.’ I’ve invested in a few of them — not a lot, a couple thousand here and there.”

Ranee picked up a small bag of chips on the table, opened it and popped one in her mouth.

“Unfortunately,” she said, “none of the investments ever amounted to much. I think James has put pressure on himself to prove to me he can do it.”

Margot and I nodded and asked her more about the ‘big deal’ her partner was currently working on.

“He’s convinced he can corner the South Sea pearl market,” said Ranee. “From where I sit, the market’s been locked up for years. But he reckons he can pull it off. If it works the way he says, it means he’ll finally have something of his own. He asked me to kick in $500,000 for his newest venture.”

“That’s a lot of money,” I said, my eyes wide as I looked at Margot.

Ranee nodded. “My husband left me very comfortable and James is all I have right now. I want him to feel good about himself. I had the money, so I gave it to him two days ago. He’s off to Broome next week to get it all moving. I always say, what’s the point of money if you don’t spend it?”

Chapter Thirty-Six

Shannon

The day after our long, boozy, and informative session with Ranee Christopher, Margot and I came up with a new plan. Now that we knew for sure Alan was still up to his old tricks, it informed our decision. And even though Ranee had already given him all that money, our sense was that he was on thin ice with her. We intended to find out exactly what his game was.

We decided to turn in our rental car and choose a different one in a different color, just in case Alan had taken notice. We’d come too far to take any stupid chances. As we’d done previously, we staked out Ranee’s house and waited for Alan to emerge. At around ten the next morning, Alan’s red Mercedes nosed out of the driveway.

“He’s alone,” said Margot as she stepped on the gas pedal.

For the next few hours, we followed Alan all over the central business district of Darwin, which was also where most of the jewelry stores and dealers were located. Because of all the meticulous research we’d done, we knew the first dealer he stopped at was one of the larger ones in town. Ten minutes after he went into the place, he was back in his car.

“That doesn’t seem long enough to cut a big deal,” said Margot as she turned a corner. We followed him to a jewelry store, and then to another and another. Each time he stopped, we parked a few doors down, slid down in our seats, and watched. Each time he was inside for only a few minutes.

When he exited the fourth building, Margot whipped out Lynnette’s binoculars from her bag.

“What do you see?” I said.

Margot fiddled with the focus knob. “Alan’s talking on his phone and smiling. I know that smile. He’s up to something.”

I grabbed the binoculars and agreed. My former fiancé was smiling like an idiot as he climbed into his car.

“Looks like he just hooked a fish,” I said, as Margot started the engine.

We stayed on his tail, maintaining a comfortable distance between us. Eventually, he pulled over in front of a pub. I looked at the time. It was noon.

“He’s stopping for lunch,” I said. We waited outside for a long time. Finally, at around three, Alan came out and drove back to Ranee’s house.

“We’ve been at this all day, and we still have no idea what he’s up to,” I said as we headed back to Lynnette’s.

Margot punched me lightly in the shoulder. “Don’t start doubting things now. We’ve come too far. We know Alan’s putting together some kind of jewelry deal. We know he’s going to Broome to establish something. And today, based on how quickly he left all the Darwin dealers, we can assume they all passed on whatever he was selling. But someone may have taken the bait because, at the end, he was smiling when he was on the phone.”

“Maybe he was talking to his bookie or his girlfriend.”

Margot shook her head. “I don’t think so. I remember the look he had today. That’s how Alan’s face went when he was getting over on someone. It was a smile of superiority. I always hated it.”

“But we still don’t know enough about his business to impact it.”

“Yet,” said Margot.

As we pulled up in front of Lynnette’s place, I looked over at my partner in crime.

“So, what are our next steps?”

Margot chewed on the inside of her cheek. “We go back to the source. We invite Ranee out for a girls’ night and gently pump her for more information. If Alan secured a deal today, no doubt he bragged about it the minute he got home.”

Margot’s logic made sense. As soon as we got inside, we texted Ranee and invited her to meet us for dinner and drinks the following night. Since Ranee lived in Darwin, we suggested she pick the place.

The next evening, we arrived early by design at Ranee’s favorite Italian bistro. We wanted to select the table, one with the most privacy. Fifteen minutes after we arrived, Ranee strode into the restaurant wearing a navy-blue designer dress and a pair of navy mules.

“There you are,” shouted Ranee as she approached the table, a big smile on her face. “You saved me from a pretty dull night. My partner told me yesterday that he had a meeting tonight, so I was flying solo. You two are far better company than a pie and Netflix.”

While Margot and I felt justified in what we were doing, we also felt awful about deceiving Ranee. We genuinely liked her.

“There’s no other way to do this,” said Margot when I confessed to feeling guilty about lying to Ranee. “We can’t take any chances. I promise, we’ll tell her the truth when it’s all over.”

That evening our goal was to find out as much as we could about Alan’s ‘big deal.’ The more we knew, the better we could sabotage him. Already familiar with Ranee’s fondness for bubbles, we had two bottles of champagne in ice buckets waiting on the table. I filled up her glass the minute she took her seat.

For the next few hours, the conversation was a mix of girl talk peppered with gentle inquisitions from Margot and me about James. Pretty soon, we had a clearer picture of what Alan was attempting to pull off. According to Ranee, his trip to Broome was to secure a big South Sea pearl deal that would undercut prices and help him corner the market. The plan itself was simple enough and right up Alan’s alley; in other words — bullshit. We needed to follow him there and see what he was up to.

“I think this big pearl deal is the way we’ll take him down,” said Margot as we got in the car to go back to Lynnette’s.

“How do we do that?” I said as I looked up Broome on my phone. When I saw it was a small coastal city nearly thirteen hundred miles southwest of Darwin, I groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Darwin is really far. It would take us two or three days to drive there.”

“Then we’ll fly,” said Margot as she made a right turn.

When we arrived at Lynnette’s, Margot climbed up the front steps ahead of me. Stopping at the front door, she spun around.

“Ranee told us James wasn’t going to Broome until next Tuesday,” she said. “If we get there after he does, we may not be able to find him. We can’t go on the same flight, too risky. We need to get there before him. I just checked the flights and there’s one leaving on Sunday. We’ll go to Broome ahead of him, get the lay of the land and wait. The minute he gets off the plane, we’ll have eyes on him.”

The next morning, Margot and I were in our usual spot parked down the road from Ranee’s house. We used the time to book our plane reservations while we listened to the radio. At eight thirty, we saw Ranee’s blue SUV leave the house, and we knew why.

“I should head home and get to bed,” Ranee had said the night before at the end of dinner. “I’ve got my annual mammogram in the morning and a bunch of errands to run. Then I’m meeting James for lunch to celebrate his new business.”

Ranee left at the time we expected. But by ten, we’d still not seen Alan.

“Maybe he’s not going out until his lunch,” I said.

Margot pressed her lips together and shook her head. “If he’s trying to pull off a big scam, he’s not going to be sitting idly by at home. Scams take a lot of engineering. Alan always took the easy road unless there was a big pot of gold in play. Then, he could be very industrious.”

What Margot said rang true. I had seen that behavior myself. Alan was lazy when it came to doing all the right things, but when he thought he could make a quick buck, he was all over it. Sure enough, a little before eleven, Alan’s red car rolled out of the driveway.

“There he is,” I said as I started the engine. “He’s on the move.”

As Alan turned left and headed down the street, we followed.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

James

I opened my window and cranked up the radio as I drove my Mercedes across Darwin to Stuart Park — a completely different world. I let out a happy sigh knowing the next few hours would be relaxing, exciting, and all about me. Climbing into bed next to Ranee every night had become more challenging. My acting skills are only so good. Or maybe they’re better than I think since Ranee doesn’t seem to notice my lack of enthusiasm.

I eased my car into the rear parking lot of a four-story concrete building. The place had no lobby or concierge, just a keypad and small pool on the far side of the building that no one ever used. It was basic, cheap, and private. You could visit the building a hundred times and still not be able to describe it.

I walked up to the keypad, punched in the code, and listened as the door unlocked itself. Walking up two flights of stairs, I entered the hallway and headed to apartment 3B. When I placed my key in the lock, the door opened, and I heard a woman singing.

“James, is that you, love?” she said in a sing-song voice.

“You better hope it’s me,” I called out with a chuckle as I entered her foyer. “Otherwise, you’ve got a big problem.”

As I placed my keys down on the hall table, Tina came barreling out of the kitchen, took a flying leap, and wrapped her arms and legs around me. Then, she shoved her tongue into my mouth. She was hot.

“I’ve missed you,” she purred as she pressed her body into mine. My knees buckled. There was something about her that was intoxicating and got me every time.

Taking my hand, she pulled me into the living room and forcefully pushed me down on the couch.

“Make love to me, Jamie,” she said as she climbed on top of me. “It’s been so long.”

It was only when she straddled me that I realized she had no panties on. That’s one thing I’ve always liked about Tina — she’s not shy.

I flashed a wicked grin because I had fully intended to make love to her the minute I arrived.

“What do you mean it’s ‘been so long’?” I said, pulling her close. “I was just here.”

She leaned in, unzipped my pants and pulled them down like a pro in one smooth move. “That was two days ago. I can’t go that long without some James.”

Given that I was in my fifties and Tina only in her late twenties, that was exactly what I wanted to hear. I didn’t waste much time proving that point. I could still go the distance whenever required.

Afterward, I lay back on the couch feeling pretty pleased with myself.

“That was amazing,” she said, breathlessly. “You’re incredible.”

I’m not going to lie, all those years servicing older wealthy women had kept me in good shape. Finally, I was with the kind of woman I wanted to be with, not just someone who paid the bills.

Tina got up off the couch and straightened her loose-fitting sundress. Petite and slim, her straight black hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Her lips were always coated in a red lacquer and her eyes heavily lined with black like a cat. She had a wicked little body, dressed for attention — and she bloody well got it.

“Would you like a coffee, love?” She said as she sauntered into the kitchen, hips swaying.

I put my hands behind my head as I watched her leave the room.

“Wouldn’t mind one,” I said. “Black.”

“So, what’s the plan, James?” she called from the kitchen. “How’s the pearl deal going?”

“We’re good. Ranee tipped in the cash. The dealers in Darwin weren’t interested — wouldn’t even hear me out. But I talked to a group in Broome and they’re ready to pull the trigger.”

Tina re-entered the room holding a cup of coffee and handed it to me.

“I knew you could pull it off,” she said as she sat down next to me. “You’re bloody clever. You always know exactly what to say.”

I took a sip of my coffee and nodded. “Honestly, it was almost too easy. Find the greedy ones and they do the rest for you.”

If everything went as planned, I’d soon be financially set, and living it up in Tasmania. The payout was so close I could taste it. Soon, I’d be free once again.

I pulled Tina onto the couch. Her sinewy body was supple and felt good to the touch. After sleeping next to a woman clearly past her expiration date, Tina’s young body felt especially good, and I’d truly miss that. Sadly, I’d be leaving her hot little body behind for greener pastures. Once I had the money I needed to set myself up for the future, I’d tell Tina the pearl contract was all set, and then I’d head off for good — solo.

“Are you sure you can pull off the deal, James?” Tina said as she curled up next to me. “You know I like nice things.”

“Yes, I do, and you deserve them.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Shannon

We followed Alan to that concrete apartment building in Stuart Park again. This time he didn’t park out front but pulled around to the back. I positioned our car in a spot where Margot and I could see the entrance clearly. Within a minute or two, Alan came walking around the building and went up to the front door. He punched in the code and went inside.

“What if he’s in there all day?” I said.

Margot shook her head. “He won’t be. He’s meeting Ranee for a late lunch, remember?”

Before I could respond, Margot held the binoculars up to her eyes. “Oh my God,” she said.

I looked up at the building as a man and small, dark-haired woman walked out onto the balcony on the third floor.

“It’s him,” said Margot, shaking her head as she handed me the binoculars. “He’s still the same.”

“Did you ever doubt it?”

Looking through the binoculars, I watched Alan fondle a woman young enough to be his daughter and felt my stomach churn.

“He cheated on us and now he’s cheating on poor Ranee,” I said. “She doesn’t deserve that.”

Margot’s eyes narrowed. “Neither did we. He obviously hasn’t learned anything or developed any wisdom or introspection over the years. He needs to be taught a little humility.”

The day before, Margot insisted we buy a camera with a telephoto lens, which was a great call. That day we made full use of the new equipment. As our ex and his paramour pranced around the balcony, Margot captured their antics by taking several dozen pictures. We had the smoking gun — incriminating shots of Alan and Ms. Robinson embracing and kissing. And the pictures were time-stamped, too.

“These should come in handy when we have our sit down with Ranee,” said Margot. “My guess is she’s not going to be happy. He’s so stupid. If Alan’s really working on a big pearl deal and she’s bankrolling him, he’s taking a big chance by cheating on her.”

“These pictures will change her mind.”

As we both cringed watching the happy couple stick their tongues down each other’s throats, Alan glanced down at his watch — always the romantic. The lovebirds abruptly left the balcony.

“Sorry, Tina. Guess it’s time for James to have lunch with Ranee,” said Margot.

As Margot had predicted, five minutes later Alan strutted out of the building and walked briskly back to his car.

The two of us smiled at each other. We had him. We had photos of the whole encounter — every single revolting moment.

When Alan pulled out of the parking lot, we were right behind him. Eventually, he stopped in front of a high-end boutique situated next to a medical building. Moments later, Ranee came out and got into his car. We followed them to a restaurant.

“I think that’s all we’ll get from Alan today,” I said. Margot nodded as she turned the car in the direction of Lynnette’s and stepped on the gas. “Are we still going to Broome?”

“Of course we’re going,” said Margot, her eyes on the road. “We’ve got enough on Alan to cause a huge problem in his relationship with Ranee. But I want more. Don’t you? When Ranee sees the photos of Alan with Tina, that will be the end of them. But we didn’t come all the way to Australia just to bust up his relationship. Did we?”

I thought about it. Having Ranee throw Alan out on his ass would be satisfying, but Margot was right. After what he did to us, being tossed out by his girlfriend wasn’t nearly enough.

“You’re right. We didn’t upend our lives in New York for partial retribution. Alan needs to feel a whole lot more pain. If Ranee dumps him, he’ll find a replacement in no time.”

When we got back to Lynnette’s, she was waiting for us with an open bottle of shiraz. While the three of us sipped our wine, we showed Lynnette the pictures we had taken in Stuart Park and filled her in on what had happened.

“You’ve got to be joking,” said Lynnette when we came to the picture of Alan groping his secret girlfriend on the balcony. “He’s old enough to be her father. And, honestly, she looks a bit cheap.”

We made it an early night so we could do some homework and make further arrangements for our trip to Broome. Two days later, Lynnette dropped us at the airport, and we took off for the port city. It was a long flight because we had to connect through Perth, but it was better than driving.

We arrived late that afternoon and checked into a small one-bedroom rental with a kitchen in the Cable Beach area of Broome. We weren’t sure how long we’d be there, so having a kitchen was important. We still had two days before Alan arrived and planned to use that time to familiarize ourselves with the entire area. If we were going to beat him, we always had to be one step ahead.

Once a rough-and-tumble pearling port, Broome still had a frontier feel — low buildings, wide skies, and red sand beaches. Darwin was tiny compared to Sydney. But Broome was tiny compared to Darwin. The minute we got to Broome it was obvious it wasn’t a big place. With a population well under twenty thousand, Broome had some unusual and unexpected attractions like camel riding in Cable Beach.

“That’s so random,” said Margot as we gawked at lines of stomping camels carrying tourists past us.

The one thing we did take note of — Broome was not a crowded place. There wasn’t a lot of foot or road traffic. That meant surveilling Alan without being seen would be much more challenging than it was in Darwin.

The first thing we did was identify the pearl hubs in town. If Alan was going there to cut a deal, he’d be talking to one of those companies. Margot and I created a whole backstory for ourselves. We pretended we were buyers from New York. We’d say we were looking to import South Sea pearls for a jewelry designer in Manhattan.

There were six to ten prominent dealers and pearl farm showrooms in Broome. We plotted each of them out on a map. Even though we fully intended to follow Alan when he got off that plane, we wanted to know where we were at all times. After spending the better part of two days in the rental car and on foot getting to know the ins and outs of Broome, we were ready for Alan’s arrival. The games were about to begin.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Shannon

The next morning, we double-checked all the flights arriving in Broome. There were only a handful of domestic flights due in from Perth. Just like we did, Alan would fly out of Darwin, connect through Perth, and continue on to Broome. That day, it looked like everything was on time and the flights from Perth would start arriving at midday.

Not knowing which flight he’d be on, we got to the airport early and scoped out locations in the terminal. We needed to find a spot where we could watch each flight as it landed and see who got off the plane.

It was a small airport, which meant all the passengers had to walk across the tarmac to get into the terminal. That worked in our favor and gave us time to spot him. We looked around for windows overlooking the runways and identified several viewing points where we could observe the passengers as they got off the plane.

After much debate, Margot and I finally agreed on a spot over in a corner that had a full view of the passengers when they disembarked.

Then, we waited for the first plane from Perth to arrive.

“Once Alan arrives,” I said, as I handed Margot a cup of coffee, “how exactly are we going to make him pay for what he did to us? We don’t have a plan for that.”

Margot took the lid off her coffee cup, blew on it, and took a sip.

“When we first came here, we didn’t even know if the man with the gray beard was Alan. Remember? We had no idea what we were going to find,” she said, “or if we would find him at all. But we did and he’s shown us exactly who he is and always was.”

“I know, but how are we going to—”

“We’re not at the end of the story yet,” said Margot in her teacher voice. “When we get there, we’ll know exactly what to do.”

I took a sip of my coffee. “I’m glad you’re so confident the solution will magically come to us. What if Alan is doing a big South Sea pearl deal here in Broome? What if the whole thing is legit?”

Margot nearly spit out her coffee. “Alan legit? A legitimate opportunity could be dumped into his lap, but if he had to work for it, he’d look for a shortcut and take the low road.”

I had to admit what she said resonated with me.

An announcement in the terminal sounded — a Qantas flight from Perth was about to land. Margot and I got up from our seats and dashed over to the window in the corner out of sight. Huddling, we peered out at the tarmac. My entire body was buzzing as we watched the plane come to a stop. I had to tell myself to breathe while we waited for the stairs to be moved over next to the plane.

When the plane’s door was finally opened, passengers began to file out. First on the stairs was a young couple holding hands. They reminded me of my daughter, Danielle, and her boyfriend, Ian. A sudden pang of longing came over me. I missed my daughter. We’d never been apart for so long.

Next down the stairs was an older couple carrying a ton of packages and shopping bags. They were followed by a stream of backpackers all eager to get off the plane. After nearly eighty people disembarked, we still saw no sign of Alan. All that adrenaline was pumping through my veins, and nothing was happening.

“He’s not on the plane,” I said. “What if he changed his plans? What if he’s not coming to Broome?”

Margot shook her head. “He’s coming to Broome.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I asked Lynnette to do a stake out over at Ranee’s house this morning. She texted me earlier. Ranee and Alan left the house at nine. Lynnette followed them to the airport and Ranee dropped him off. Alan may not be on this flight, but he’ll be on one of them today for sure.”

My jaw dropped. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Margot sighed. “Because you’ve been so anxious the past few days. I asked Lynnette for a little help — to be sure. And now we are.”

Margot’s executive calm helped me relax. She was right. I had been wound up the last few days and tried to tell myself to relax. But when a second plane landed from Perth with still no sign of Alan, my anxiety rose again. When the third plane arrived around four thirty, both of us held our breath.

The door of the plane opened, and slowly people started walking down the staircase. After the ninth or tenth passenger disembarked, Alan emerged from inside the plane. He stepped out onto the platform and looked up at the sky. A moment later, he turned around and reached out his hand to someone behind him. That’s when we saw her — the same woman he’d been groping on that balcony in Darwin — Tina Robinson, aka Trash Bag.

“He’s despicable,” I said in a loud whisper, as I watched Alan and his cheap little paramour descend the stairs.

“Unbelievable,” said Margot under her breath, a look of disgust on her face. “To think Ranee funded this whole business trip to Broome and even drove him to the airport. All so he could go on a little vacation with his girlfriend. Ranee would go nuts if she knew.”

Margot was right. Every now and then I’d waver. But then after moments like this, I was reminded that Alan had no shame — and never did.

As the giddy couple crossed the tarmac, Alan put his arm around the young woman’s shoulder and guided her toward the arrivals gate. Margot snapped a few pictures of them with her camera — zoom lens activated.

The Broome airport was a small single-terminal facility. That meant the minute Alan arrived, we had to get out of there fast or we risked being seen. As soon as they started moving toward the terminal, we exited the front of the building. From there we headed directly to our rental car, which was strategically parked in a place where we could see everyone leaving the airport.

Alan and his girlfriend waited by the curb, their wheelie bags by their side. He kept looking at his phone.

“He’s probably getting an Uber,” said Margot.

A few minutes later, a car with an Uber sign pulled up, and Alan and his plus-one got in. When the car pulled away, we followed them south along the main coastal road.

As we drove behind them, we realized their car was headed to Cable Beach, the same neighborhood we were staying in. When the Uber pulled into the Cable Beach Club Resort and Spa, I kept driving right past the hotel. As I pulled over to the side of the road, Margot was already looking up the hotel on her phone.

“It says the resort is one of ‘relaxed luxury where you can find bungalows and villas with private outdoor spaces, some with plunge pools or courtyard areas for extra privacy,’” she read from her phone. “I guess they’ll need the extra privacy. Leave it to Alan to stay in the most expensive resort in Broome at Ranee’s expense. It’s bad enough he’s having an affair, but he’s got Ranee paying for it.”

We had taken a huge chance in going to Australia. But it seemed to be paying off, and the pieces were starting to come together. The last thing we needed to know was exactly what Alan’s ‘big deal’ was all about.

“My guess,” said Margot, “is he’s involved in something dirty. He’s conning someone. We need to find out who and what and turn the tables against him.”

Since it was nearly 6:00 p.m., we thought it unlikely Alan would have any ‘pearl meetings’ that evening. That gave us the night off. Margot and I picked up some takeout and headed back to our Airbnb to have an early night. As soon as the sun was up, we would be stationed right outside the Cable Beach resort — cameras ready.

Chapter Forty

Shannon

At 7:15 a.m. the next morning, Margot and I were parked outside the Cable Beach resort. Drinking our coffee and munching on cheese and bacon breakfast buns, we waited for Alan to leave the hotel for one of his, ahem, meetings. We waited and waited and waited.

By eleven thirty, I was starting to doubt the efficacy of our plan.

“It’s almost noon,” I said. “Where the hell is he?”

Margot tilted her head back and blew out air. “Have patience. He’ll show up.”

I never understood how Margot could remain so calm all the time when I was freaking out inside, but she did. All I can say is thank God one of us had a cool head. At a little before 1:00 p.m., we saw Alan and Trash Bag holding hands as they walked off the resort grounds. She was dressed in an even skimpier outfit than the one she had on the day before — lots of cut-outs and incredibly skintight. Margot started the car.

They were on foot, so we knew they couldn’t be going too far. Sure enough, they walked into the Bali Hai Café, a popular local hangout right on the beach. Margot and I had lunch there when we first arrived in Broome.

“He doesn’t look like someone dressed for an important business meeting to me,” said Margot, handing me the binoculars. “I don’t think he’s even shaved. What do you think?”

“No, he’s not dressed for a meeting,” I said. “We don’t know if there really is a meeting, do we? Alan’s a liar, so . . .”

“Ranee told us he was going to be in Broome for four days. It’s early days. We have to let this whole thing play out or we’ll miss something.”

I was about to respond with a comment about the likelihood of Alan’s deal being real when Margot put her hand up and pointed.

“Look, Alan’s leaving the restaurant alone. What do you think he’s up to?”

We watched him standing in front of the restaurant in the sunshine, messing around with his phone. He held it up and down and moved it to the side and then looked at his watch. Even though it had been decades, I knew his body language — he was aggravated and agitated.

“He’s upset about something,” I said.

“I think he’s trying to get a signal and can’t find one,” said Margot.

As a man walked past Alan on the street, Alan stopped him. It looked like he was asking directions because the man pointed down the road and waved his hand to the left and then to the right. Alan nodded, thanked him, and started walking in that direction.

“Where do you think he’s going?” said Margot. “He left his girlfriend in the café.”

“I don’t know,” I said, reaching for my big straw hat on the back seat. “But we’re going to find out. Grab your hat.”

Since he’d left Trash Bag in the restaurant, we figured he wasn’t going too far. With our straw hats pulled down low on our heads and oversized dark sunglasses on, we got out of the car and followed Alan on foot.

“What if he sees us?” I said as the two of us hurried down the opposite side of the street.

“He won’t recognize us,” said Margot, her eyes locked on Alan. “First of all, he has no idea we know about each other. He’s not expecting us here in Australia. Also, I don’t mean to burst your bubble, but it has been twenty-five years. While we may tell ourselves we haven’t aged a day, trust me, we have. He’s not looking for us. As long as we keep a safe distance, he won’t ever know we’re here. He’s too caught up in his own life to notice strangers.”

After five minutes, he stopped in front of a tavern, looked up at the sign, and ducked in.

“Now why would Alan leave his girlfriend in a bar restaurant to go to another bar restaurant?” I said. “That makes no sense.”

Margot and I sprinted across the street and peeked through a window of the tavern. The inside was surprisingly lively. Given it was a beautiful day outside, it was peculiar that so many people were holed up indoors. We knew why after we spotted the glowing TAB screens. Racing odds in green and white were scrolling on one of several monitors hanging on the walls.

“What is this place?” I said.

“It’s a place to gamble,” said Margot. “They’re kind of like our old OTBs. Most people here gamble online but there are those who like the social aspect of a TAB. I think Alan was trying to place a bet online, couldn’t get a signal at the café so he came here.”

I nodded as we kept our eyes on the window. “Look, he’s talking to the cashier.”

We saw Alan place a good-sized stack of bills down on the counter and give some kind of instructions to the man working there.

“He’s placing a bet,” said Margot. “He couldn’t even make it through a meal with his girlfriend.”

Moving to another window of the tavern, we were able to find a more advantageous view. Alan ordered a beer and drank it while watching the TV. It looked like some kind of animal race was on. I moved closer to the doorway and peeked in. Alan was over to the side at the back, so he couldn’t see me. I went into the vestibule to get a better look at the TV screen. There was a greyhound dog race on, and Alan was shouting at the TV. When the race was over, I heard Alan yell, “Fuck,” and saw him chug the remainder of his beer. Then he marched over to the cashier and slapped down more cash.

At that point, I headed back outside.

“What’s going on?” said Margot.

I explained what I saw, and she nodded.

“He can’t stay in there much longer,” she said. “Trash Bag is still sitting there waiting for him.”

We crossed the street and walked toward the Bali Hai Café. When we got there, Trash Bag was standing outside on the street looking up and down. We ducked into our car, and within a few minutes, Alan came sauntering along. We couldn’t hear what they said, but based on her exaggerated arm movements, it was obvious the girlfriend was pissed off.

He tried to placate her by rubbing her shoulders, but she was having none of it. Then he pulled out a roll of bills and her whole demeanor changed. She actually hugged him.

“What the hell just happened?” I said.

“I think Alan might have won that second race and just showed her his winnings,” said Margot as we watched the two of them go back into the café.

We waited in the car until three thirty, when Alan and Trash Bag came out. This time, they were walking a lot slower and bumping into each other while veering to the left and then to the right.

“They’ve obviously been drinking,” said Margot. “A lot. Alan’s not meeting with anyone this afternoon to cut a deal. He’s too drunk.”

After they’d staggered back to their hotel, we hung around outside for another hour.

“They’re not going anywhere else today,” I said as I put the car in drive to head back to our Airbnb. “I’m surprised they even found their way back to their hotel.”

Chapter Forty-One

Shannon

The next few days in Broome were more of the same. Alan and the girlfriend would leave the hotel around midday, meander down to different restaurants and stores, stop for drinks, and do a little shopping.

We saw Alan leave her again at an outdoor café table and walk down the street alone back to the gambling tavern. We followed him in the car and parked. I hopped out and stood near the door pretending to play with my phone.

Under the brim of my hat, I saw Alan place a large amount of cash on the counter. He was betting on a race. I couldn’t hear every word, but it sounded like he wanted to place a bigger bet than this TAB establishment would allow.

“That’s it?” said Alan. “That’s your limit? You know anyone around here who’ll take a decent bet?”

“I might,” said the cashier.

They talked for a while, and when it looked like Alan was wrapping things up, I ran back to the car. As I quickly filled Margot in on what I’d witnessed, we saw Alan leave the tavern and walk in the opposite direction of the café where Trash Bag was waiting.

“Where do you think he’s going this time?” said Margot, pulling the car out of the space.

We followed him for a few minutes until he stopped in front of a barbershop. Sitting down on a bench outside, he played with his phone. A few minutes later, a heavyset man with a fully shaved head came out of the barbershop and appeared to introduce himself.

“You think he’s getting a haircut?”

“No,” said Margot, her eyes focused on the two men as she snapped some photos. “He left his girlfriend in a café, went to place bets at the tavern and now he—”

Just then we saw Alan hand the bald man a roll of cash.

“Where’s he getting all this money?” I said.

“Where do you think?”

We looked at each other.

“Ranee,” we said at the same time.

We watched the men converse for a few more minutes. They shook hands and Alan walked briskly back to the café. He and the girlfriend remained inside for another forty-five minutes. When they finally came out, they turned left and appeared to go window shopping. We stayed on them. They went in and out of stores until eventually stopping in front of a pearl store. They went in.

With our sunglasses on and our hair tucked into our hats, we took a chance and parked right in front of the pearl store so we could see what was going on through the store window. It was risky, but now that pearls were being introduced into the narrative, it was imperative we got a handle on what was going down.

Naturally, we couldn’t hear what they were saying, but we saw the girlfriend try on a number of necklaces. She posed and admired herself in the mirrors standing on the glass display cases for the longest time.

“If she looks in the mirror any longer,” I said, “it’s going to crack.”

Slinking down in our car seats so we wouldn’t be seen, Margot took several pictures of the shopping spree as it unfolded. They weren’t super clear, but they told an unmistakable story. Alan was buying his girlfriend jewelry — most likely with Ranee’s money.

After a while, it seemed like Alan and his paramour had agreed on a particular necklace — a gold chain with one large dangling South Sea pearl. Alan paid cash for it.

When the two lovebirds left the store, Trash Bag was wearing the necklace. Alan had that stupid, satisfied look on his face. With his arm wrapped around her middle, he was fondling the outside of her left breast as they walked.

“I guess he thinks the necklace entitles him to everything she’s got,” I said. “I want to find out how much he spent on that necklace.”

It looked like Alan and the girlfriend were headed back to the hotel. I got out of the car and went into the shop to make some inquiries, while Margot followed them.

“Good afternoon,” I said with a smile to the woman behind the counter. “I was just outside asking a couple for directions and noticed the woman was wearing a gorgeous necklace. It was beautiful, a single South Sea pearl on a gold chain. She said her partner had just bought it for her in this shop.”

“Yep, sold one about five minutes ago. Older bloke, younger girl?”

“That’s the one,” I said, nodding. “I might be interested in something similar. Do you have anything else like it?”

She smiled and opened the display case and laid out a few necklaces on a velvet tray.

“You’ve got a good eye,” she said. “Have a look at these three. They’re very close to the one that couple bought.”

I had to admit, despite the trashy girlfriend’s questionable fashion choices, the necklaces were stunning.

“Want to try one on?” said the saleswoman.

“Sure,” I said with a smile.

She stepped from behind the counter, fastened it around my neck, and held up a mirror. The pearl caught the light beautifully. For a moment, I almost forgot why I was in there.

“It’s stunning,” I said. “Can I ask how much this one is?”

“All three are the same price, $2,200.”

“Oh,” I said, unclasping the necklace a bit too quickly. “I didn’t realize they’d be that much.”

“Might need to get your boyfriend to shout you one — same as that girl.”

I went outside and waited across the street for Margot to pick me up. Fifteen minutes later, she pulled up, and I jumped in.

“They went back to the resort,” said Margot as we started moving. “They’ve spent the day eating, drinking and shopping. Alan’s not going to any pearl meetings today. What did you find out about the necklace?”

I rolled my eyes. “That little trinket he bought for her — $2,200.”

“No,” gasped Margot. “That dirtbag. And by the way, Alan didn’t buy it for her. He used Ranee’s money. Ranee bought that pearl necklace for Trash Bag, and I’ve got pictures of the whole transaction.”

Chapter Forty-Two

Shannon

For the next two days, whenever Alan and his girlfriend left the resort, Margot and I were on them. Honestly, given the fact that Broome city isn’t that big a place, it’s hard to believe neither of them spotted us lurking behind them. But they didn’t. It was probably because they were drunk half the time.

Over the course of the four days, we saw a pattern. They never went out before noon, they drank their lunch, and as far as we could tell, Alan never went to any meetings. In fact, he didn’t go anywhere near the pearl dealers or talk to anyone who had anything to do with pearls. The only thing Alan did in Broome was eat, drink, gamble, and buy his girlfriend gifts. At that point, we were pretty sure the whole ‘cornering the pearl market’ story he told Ranee wasn’t real.

We kept our eyes on them up until they went to Broome airport for their flight back to Darwin. After they entered the terminal and checked in, we returned our rental car. Our plan was to take the flight right after theirs.

“We thought Alan was running a shady deal involving pearl merchants,” I said, shaking my head. “But that’s not what it looks like to me.”

“It sure doesn’t,” said Margot. “I think the shady deal might be that he’s taken Ranee’s money for something that doesn’t exist. It’s a scam. He’s cheating on Ranee. He’s spending her money on his girlfriend and using the cash to place bets. He has no pearl deal. It’s all bullshit.”

Back in Darwin that night, Lynnette had made dinner for us and was dying to hear about our adventures. We recapped our week in Broome while we ate. When we finished the whole story, our host shook her head.

“What a sneaky bastard he is,” she said. “Ranee Christopher’s a nice lady. She doesn’t deserve him.”

Despite our exhaustion, Margot and I stayed up late that night formulating our next steps. We weren’t sure how the story was going to end, but we knew the next thing we had to do was talk to Ranee. We couldn’t allow Alan to do to her what he had done to us.

The next morning, we texted Ranee and invited her to meet us for lunch. We met at the same restaurant we had all gone to before. Once again, Margot and I got there early to select the right table. As much as we wanted Ranee to know the truth, we also knew that it was going to be a painful conversation and we needed a modicum of privacy.

When Ranee walked in with a big smile, my heart went into my stomach. I looked at Margot, a sad frown on my face. She mouthed, We have to tell her.

I knew she was right, but it was going to be awful.

Ranee sat down, and before we could stop her, she ordered a bottle of champagne for the table. I didn’t think alcohol was a good idea for this delicate conversation, but it was too late. Maybe a glass of bubbles would soften the blow.

Margot and I had agreed we’d wait until the food came before we started our discussion. We didn’t want to be interrupted by a waitress reading off the specials while we were explaining that Ranee’s partner was a lying, cheating, thieving con man.

Until the food arrived, we kept the table chatter light and breezy. Margot was going to take the lead and get the ball rolling.

“Ranee, there’s something Shannon and I need to confess,” said Margot.

Ranee paused with a forkful of rigatoni in midair and looked at us. “This sounds serious, girls. What’s going on?”

“I guess we should start at the beginning,” said Margot. She took Ranee through her marriage to Alan Frye and placed her wedding photo down on the table when she finished.

Ranee picked up the photo and stared at it. “This bloke looks a lot like—”

“James,” said Margot, nodding. “Yes, he was my husband.”

“I don’t understand,” said Ranee.

Margot assured the confused Australian woman that we’d tell her everything. She gave Ranee all the details of her marriage up through the birth of her daughter, Jessie. Then Margot placed a picture of Jessie on the table. With her mouth open, Ranee picked it up and looked at it.

Margot nudged me. It was my turn. I told Ranee about my courtship and subsequent engagement to Alan — how I had been pregnant, and we were putting wedding plans together.

“I had even picked out the dress I wanted to wear,” I said, as I placed a twenty-six-year-old photo of Alan and me from a happier time on the table.

Ranee didn’t say anything. I suspected she was trying to wrap her mind around the bombshell we had just dropped. Nobody knew better than Margot and me how difficult it was to process everything we were saying. It was a lot.

Ranee finally sat back and blew out a slow breath.

“Hang on,” she said. “You’re saying James is the same bloke — you were both involved with him — and he’s the father of both your girls?”

We nodded.

“Right, so what am I missing? Why are you here then?” said Ranee. “I’d have thought you’d steer well clear of him.”

“We’re getting to that,” said Margot.

That’s when we told Ranee about the explosion and how everyone aboard the Salty Seagull had died.

“Alan was supposedly on that boat with one of his clients,” said Margot. “His name was on the ship’s manifest records and he apparently checked in.”

“At the time of the boat accident, neither Margot nor I knew about the other one,” I said. “We both believed our partner had been killed and we were both utterly devastated.”

“Wait a second,” said Ranee, her brow furrowed. “If everyone died . . . then how did he . . . ?”

That’s when we told Ranee how Margot and I had met at the memorial and all that transpired after that.

Ranee’s listened without interrupting waiting for us to finish.

“I must be thick as a brick,” said Ranee. “So, you’re saying my James is your Alan? How on earth does that work if everyone died on that boat?”

We knew exactly why she was struggling to put all the pieces together. At one point in time, Margot and I had been in the same position. It was a lot to wrap your head around.

“We think Alan was about to lose his job,” I said. “And we’re pretty sure he owed a lot of money to some not nice people. The day of the explosion, we were told Alan was carrying diamonds valued at over a million dollars. He was supposed to give them to his client on the fishing boat.”

Ranee’s eyebrows came together.

“You’re telling me James — the man you call Alan — blew up that fishing boat to fake his own death?” said Ranee. “Have I got that right? James is a lot of things but he’s not a murderer. I don’t believe he’d kill a boatload of people. He might nick a few jewels, but he’s not a killer.”

Margot rubbed her chin. “That’s always been the one sticking point we’ve had. We agree with you. Murder isn’t in Alan’s wheelhouse — thankfully. He’s a liar and a swindler for sure, but he’s not a killer.”

We placed a few more pictures of Jessie and Danielle down on the table.

“They’re your daughters?” said Ranee, picking up the photos.

“Yes,” said Margot. “As you can see, they both look like their father.”

Forty minutes into our talk, Ranee sat back and let out a sigh.

“Bloody hell,” she said, shaking her head. “Give me a minute to wrap my head around all this.”

While she poured herself another glass of champagne, we told her about the photo Danielle had after the wedding she went to in Kiama.

“That’s how this whole thing got started,” I said. “When my daughter sent a bunch of photos to me, I noticed the man in the background of the picture. It had been years, but I knew it was him.”

“Wait a second,” said Ranee, her eyes widening. “Kiama? James went on a little junket to Kiama with a few mates a couple of months ago. That’d be when the photo was taken.”

“Until we saw that photo, we’d believed Alan was dead,” said Margot. “But when we saw that picture — and a video from that wedding — we couldn’t ignore it. That’s why we’re here.”

“We had to come to Australia to find out for ourselves,” I said. “From Kiama, we tracked him down to Darwin. That’s when we saw you with him at the Darwin Cup. Even then, we weren’t a hundred percent sure it was him.”

Ranee’s complexion had gone slightly pink. She leaned forward and put her hands over her face, her elbows on the table.

“What were you planning to do once you found him?” she said through her fingers.

Margot and I looked at each other. “We didn’t have a plan for that,” I said. “We needed to know the truth first.”

“Right,” said Ranee, leaning back in her chair. “That’s a lot to take in. I’m going to need a minute.”

“There’s more,” said Margot softly.

“Bloody hell,” said Ranee, letting out a sharp laugh and reaching for the bottle. “Then I’d better pour myself another glass of champagne.”

Margot and I leaned in closer.

“The truth is, we started tailing James, aka Alan, as soon as we got to Darwin,” said Margot. “I guess we always assumed we’d confront him at some point. But the more we tracked him, the stranger and more complicated things got.”

“And then we met you, Ranee, and you were so fantastic,” I said, laying several photos on the table of her partner and TB groping each other on the apartment balcony. “We followed him around Darwin, and he went into an apartment building in Stuart Park.”

“We’re so sorry, Ranee,” said Margot. “But once we got to know you and we realized what was going on, we were sure you’d want to know the truth.”

Ranee shook her head. “That bastard. I knew in my gut something wasn’t right. And all this time I’ve been trying to support him emotionally and financially by backing him on his crazy business ideas. He played me.”

“I hate to say this, but there’s still a little more,” said Margot in almost a whisper.

“You’re killing me, girls,” said Ranee, waving to the waitress for another bottle of champagne.

Seconds later, the waitress appeared with a fresh bottle and popped the cork.

“All right,” said Ranee after taking a sip. “Go on then. Lay it on me.”

Chapter Forty-Three

Shannon

Speaking softly in the restaurant so no one else would hear, we told Ranee about our trip to Broome — and how James had taken his girlfriend with him. To soften the blow, we emphasized how trashy the girlfriend was. Then we showed Ranee the pictures of him buying her a South Sea pearl necklace.

That sent her into orbit. Ranee banged one hand on the table as she scrolled through the pictures on Margot’s phone. “That bastard! I paid for his entire trip to Broome, and he takes his girlfriend along. The man is stone broke. If he bought her that necklace, he used what I gave him to do it. They go for at least $1,500 Australian. Fucker!”

Margot and I looked at each other.

“We believe he paid more like $2,200,” I said softly.

“Bastard!” said Ranee loudly.

“There’s something else,” said Margot. “We followed him the whole time he was in Broome. As far as we could tell, he never had a meeting with anyone. There was no business whatsoever. Honestly, it looked like he was on a holiday with his girlfriend.”

“A holiday I paid for,” said Ranee, hitting her hand on the table again.

Over the next hour we finished the bottle and shared every scrap of information we had accumulated. Thankfully, Ranee had already become somewhat disenchanted with James — long before we came into the picture. She didn’t seem totally heartbroken. In fact, she was more insulted and furious that she had been so blatantly used. One thing was obvious — Ranee was spitting mad and wasn’t going to let him get away with it.

“The fact that James faked his own death and left you two amazing women and his daughters behind without a second thought is bloody awful,” Ranee had said as we left the restaurant and walked out onto the street. “I would’ve dumped him for that alone. But now that I know he’s been stringing me along, and robbing me blind, there’s got to be more for him.”

No one understood that better than Margot and me. Alan having an affair while Ranee footed the bill made it very personal for her. Ranee told us she wanted to sleep on it before we did or said anything.

“My brain always works things out while I’m sleeping,” she had said as she waved to the taxi idling down the street.

When her taxi pulled up, she made one final comment.

“I think the punishment should fit the crime, and this is a big one. I want him properly done for this. No more slaps on the wrist. We’ve got to nail the bastard for good.”

Later, when Margot and I got back to Lynnette’s, she was waiting for us. We told her about everything that had happened.

“You guys are like bloody private detectives on TV,” said Lynnette with a grin. “You’ve blown up his whole cover. That Ranee Christopher will kick him to the curb, you’ll see.”

Dragging ourselves upstairs to our bedroom, we sat together on the small sofa using WhatsApp to do a video call with our daughters. They were spending the weekend together.

Seeing their beautiful smiling faces pop on the screen was the therapy both of us needed. After chatting for nearly thirty minutes, Danielle asked us when we were coming home.

“Soon,” I said. “I think Margot and I have had enough adventures to last us a lifetime. Another week or ten days should do it.”

In the morning, Margot and I waited to connect with Ranee before we made any plans. Our overall mission had been partly accomplished. We had effectively destroyed Alan’s livelihood and cash flow in Darwin by tipping off Ranee to his affair. But, in our opinion, losing his free ride with Ranee wasn’t nearly enough payback for what he did to us. Once Ranee dumped him, Alan would be on the move looking for the next woman to bankroll his lifestyle. If we were going to get justice, we had to make our move in Darwin, and we had to act quickly.

By late morning, Ranee had called us. She wanted to meet at her favorite pub again.

“I told Alan I was spending the day with a charity committee,” said Ranee as the three of us sat down at a table. “No doubt that gave him a free pass to head over to his girlfriend’s place for the rest of the day. He knows my committee meetings often run into the evenings and end up into dinner.”

When the waitress asked if we wanted to order drinks, Ranee waved her away. “Not today, we’ve got a lot of serious work to do here. We’ll want clear heads. We’ll save the champagne for after it’s all over.”

For several hours, we spitballed ideas with Ranee. Eventually, a plan started to take form, but there were still some gaping holes in it. In order to make any of it happen, we had to get some very specific information about Alan’s next moves. That was our challenge.

Chapter Forty-Four

James

When I got back from Broome, Ranee seemed very happy to see me. She wanted to know in detail how all my business dealings had gone. I just gave her the topline overview about the pearl contract I’d signed and assured her everything was going according to plan.

To celebrate, she and I went out for a nice dinner at our favorite Thai place. As I dug into my red fish curry, I explained the business deal in more detail. I also took the moment to remind her that the returns would take some time to come in — that she needed to be patient. I didn’t want her breathing down my neck in week one.

“And you feel good about these people you’ve partnered with?” she asked. “How many meetings did you have? Did you feel like you got to know them? Are they nice people? Solid?”

I wasn’t accustomed to her grilling me like that. She usually deferred to me on most things. This was new.

“I had meetings with the team every day I was there,” I said. “We were able to come to a mutual agreement and hammered out the finer points. I had dinner with them a few times. So yeah, I got to know them.”

“That’s great,” she said. “Where did you go?”

“What do you mean ‘where did we go’?”

“Where did you go for dinner?”

“Why do you care where we ate?” I said, starting to get annoyed by her third degree. “One was an Italian place and the other . . . a fish place.”

“Nice. I look forward to meeting all of them. Any chance they’ll be coming to Darwin soon?”

“I don’t know,” I said, somewhat wary of her questions. The whole conversation was so unlike her.

All along, my plan had been to wait two months before I gave Ranee the bad news about my pearl partners going belly up. I’d go to her with tears in my eyes, and with a mix of embarrassment and remorse, claim I’d been swindled. I thought that was a poetically nice turn of the tables. Until that time, I’d continue to talk about all the great things that were happening and all the money we were going to make.

When we got home from the restaurant, Ranee told me she had meetings the next day — some work for one of her charities. As soon as she got in the shower, I called Tina to tell her that I was free and available for a get-together. Unfortunately, Tina had a full day of client massages already booked. I was on my own.

The next morning, I slept in for a bit and then headed to the pub around midday, where I’d likely meet up with some of my mates. After a few beers, I played a couple of rounds of darts and lifted a few bucks off some English tourists. The Darwin locals all know how good I am at chucking darts — they won’t play with me for money anymore.

I got home that afternoon before Ranee. I took a nice hot shower and was feeling loose and relaxed when she stomped into our bedroom. Out of nowhere, she started asking me a series of questions about my trip to Broome and grilling me again on how things went. In my mind, I had already given her the full overview the night before. I didn’t understand why she was interrogating me again. I didn’t appreciate her questions.

Since it was crucial that Ranee remained confident that her money was in a safe place, I got very serious about her queries and threw out some numbers — projected profits, timelines, compound interest — the works.

“Like I told you last night, Ranee, the $500,000 we put in today doubles within eighteen months — guaranteed.” I waved my hand to add a little dramatic flourish. “Where else are you going to see a return like that? Do you know how lucky we are to get in on the ground floor of this?”

For a second, I thought I saw her smirk. She’d been acting strange that week, but I ignored it and kept spinning my story. Oddly, the more I shoveled the shit, the more pointed Ranee’s questions became. I’d never seen her like that before. Usually, whenever I was short and needed some pocket money, she’d hand me cash or a credit card and tell me to have a good time. But I guess $500,000 was a lot more than my usual ask, so I humored her.

Not wanting to raise any suspicions, I figured a good distraction would be to give her a night to remember. That night in bed, I pulled out all the stops and made sure she had nothing to complain about. Small price to pay for half a million, I’d say.

When I woke the next morning, Ranee wasn’t in bed. I heard her banging around downstairs in the kitchen. I rubbed my eyes and gave myself a quiet pat on the back for my performance the previous night. That should keep her quiet. Shouldn’t be hearing any more questions about the big pearl deal for a while.

I went downstairs. Ranee was fully dressed and sitting at the dining table with a cup of coffee and scrolling on her phone.

“What got into you last night?” I said to her with a wink. “You gave me quite a workout.”

“Did I?” she said, not looking up.

“It was great. The best ever.”

Ranee took a sip of her coffee and glanced toward the front door. I followed her gaze. At the end of the long hallway, there were a bunch of things piled up and stacked neatly beside the door.

“What’s all that?” I said, squinting.

Ranee stood up. “That, James, is your stuff.”

I frowned. “Why is my stuff in the hall?”

“Because I know you’re sleeping with some tart here in Darwin,” she said. “I also know you took her to Broome with you — a trip I paid for, by the way. And while we’re at it, I want my $2,200 back for the pearl necklace you bought her. You’ve got some bloody nerve.”

I was stunned and blindsided. How did she know about that pearl necklace? Until I worked it all out, I employed the ‘best defense is a good offense’ strategy and went for it.

“What the hell is going on here?” I said, raising my voice and going on the attack. “Have you been following me? Do you have people watching me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Then where did you get all this from? I deserve an explanation.”

I thought my outrage would have put a cork in it. Instead, Ranee walked straight up to me and got right in my face.

“You don’t have a right to know anything,” she said, her voice getting louder. “This is my fucking house, and I want you out of here — now. Take your things or don’t — it doesn’t matter to me. If you leave anything behind, you’ll have forty-eight hours to collect it or it’s going in the rubbish. Are we clear?”

I couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of her mouth, especially after my perfect performance the night before. I’d actually been considering asking her for an additional $200,000 to add to the pearl deal. Clearly, that wasn’t going to happen. I had to calm her down — at least for a little while.

“I don’t know who you’ve been talking to,” I said, “but you’ve got it all wrong. I went to Broome and set up the whole company for us and—”

“I want my money back. All of it. Tomorrow.”

“I can’t do that. I’ve already sunk it into—”

“Oh, give me a break. Tomorrow, James, or I ring the police,” she said, defiance in her eyes.

“Ranee, after nearly four years together, I think I deserve a bit more—”

“You lied to me, you stole from me, you cheated on me,” she said. “Now, get out of my house or I’ll ring the police.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying. Take a minute to cool off,” I said, keeping my voice steady and even.

That’s when Ranee let out a short, sharp laugh.

“You’re unbelievable,” she said. “I know exactly what you’ve done. I was the idiot for letting this relationship drag on when I knew better. I’d rather be on my own than put up with you and your lies.”

“Where’s all this coming from, Ranee? Let’s sit down and talk about this calmly.”

“I don’t want to be calm,” said Ranee, her voice hard. “Admit it, there was never any South Sea pearl deal, was there? What was the big plan, James? Take my money and piss off with your little girlfriend?”

She looked me up and down, a detached coldness in her eyes.

“And for the record,” she said, “you’re old enough to be her father.”

My going on the offensive wasn’t working. If anything, Ranee was getting angrier by the minute. The best thing was to back off and come back later after she cooled down.

“I’m not kidding, James. I want my money,” she said, “or I’ll take it further.”

“I don’t have all of it anymore,” I said. “There were expenses. The trip to Broome. Deposits I had to put down to get the pearl business up and running.”

“Right,” she said. “Expenses for the pearl business. How much have you actually got left, James?”

The bitch was backing me into a corner, and I didn’t like it.

“I don’t know,” I said, scratching my head. “I might be able to get my hands on $300,000, if I had to.”

“And what about the rest?”

“I’ve signed contracts. I put deposits down. You knew that when you gave me the money.”

“I want that $300,000 today,” she said. “You’ve got until close of business tomorrow to come up with the rest. After that, I ring the cops.”

I stared at her, but she held my gaze. She was serious.

“What you did was fraud,” said Ranee. “It’s a crime.”

Stunned by the turn of events, I tried to figure out what had tipped her off. I’d already blown nearly $15,000 on my trip to Broome alone. That money was definitely gone. The rest was supposed to bankroll my new life in Tasmania. $500,000 would have taken me a long way, especially if I invested it properly or jagged a big win on a few races.

“I don’t understand,” I said. “Then what was last night all about?”

Ranee shrugged. “That? I figured I’d have one last shag before I threw you out. And honestly, I shouldn’t have bothered.”

Given my history, I couldn’t afford any interactions with the police. If word got out in America that I was still alive, people would start asking questions about the missing diamonds. That would land me in a whole lot of trouble.

Ranee finding out about Tina and the Broome trip was bad timing. But I knew from experience all of my relationships came with expiration dates. I had felt this one ticking down and had lined up my exit from Darwin. Without income or savings of my own, if Ranee had given me my walking papers, I’d be screwed. So, I beat her to it with the pearl deal. All I needed was enough cash to start over again. Nothing against her. It was survival.

My plan was that after I made the investment in the pearl business, I’d start dropping hints that the market was not as strong as I’d hoped. Over the next few weeks and months, I’d get more and more anxious and worried. Then when the time was right, I’d tell her that the pearl company I’d invested her money in had gone belly up. I’d put on a real show — tears, regret, the whole nine yards — then I’d tell her we’d lost everything.

Of course, she’d be furious. Sooner or later, she’d throw me out — preferably sooner. That’s when I’d disappear to Tasmania with close to $500,000 in my pocket.

But that’s not the way it was playing out. Somehow, she’d been tipped off about my trip to Broome, and I was in a jam.

“No need to alert the police,” I said, standing up tall near her front door. “I’ll go now and get you a bank check if that’s what you really want. I’ll tell you one thing; you’re making a big mistake.”

“I can live with that,” said Ranee, fire in her eyes as I walked out of her house.

* * *

Later that afternoon, I went back to Ranee’s with a check for $300,000.

“You still owe me another $200,000,” she said, slipping the check into her pocket. “I’m not mucking around, James, I want the rest tomorrow.”

“You’ll have it in the morning,” I said. “Then I’m off to the airport. I’ve had more than enough of you — and Darwin.”

“And where do you reckon you’re off to?” said Ranee, rolling her eyes.

“None of your business.”

As I walked down the front hallway past the pile of my belongings, I got an idea on how I might salvage the situation. After all, I still needed money to start over.

“My razor and toothbrush are still upstairs under the sink,” I said. “I’ll need them.”

Ranee let out an aggravated sigh as she sat down at the table and picked up a magazine. “Fine. Grab your stuff and get out of my sight.”

I went upstairs, cleared my things out of the bathroom, chucking everything into a couple of plastic bags. I checked the wardrobe and drawers again — nothing of mine left. Ranee had been thorough.

Crossing the room, I opened a few more drawers and cupboards, slipped several items into my bag and headed downstairs, doing my best to look casual.

“I’ll need to use the Mercedes to move my stuff and get you that check,” I said, walking toward the front door.

“You’re not using my car.”

“You want your money or not?” I said, reaching for the car keys by the door. “I’ll be back in the morning.”

As I pulled out of the driveway, Ranee was standing in the open front doorway.

“If you don’t bring my car back tomorrow,” she shouted, “I’ll add car theft to the list.”

Honestly, I had no idea Ranee could be such a raving bitch. Now that she’d backed me into a corner, I had no choice but to move fast.

Chapter Forty-Five

Margot

Ranee called us minutes after Alan left her house. She was pretty upset on the phone, and frankly, who could blame her? We jumped in our rental car, drove straight to her house, and rang the bell. When she didn’t answer, we rang a second time, and then a third. That’s when we heard a scream from inside the house.

“Ranee!” we shouted as we pounded on the heavy wooden front door. “It’s Shannon and Margot. Are you all right?”

“Ranee,” yelled Shannon, “please, open the door.”

“What if she’s hurt?” I said. “What if Alan did something to her?”

I pulled out my phone and dialed Ranee’s number. After two rings, she answered.

“Oh my God. Are you okay?” I said. “We’re out in front of your house. We heard a scream.”

“You heard a scream all right,” said Ranee, “I’ll be right down.”

When she opened the door, her face was bright red and her eyes blazing.

“He took them,” she said, as we stepped inside. “He took the whole lot.”

“What are you talking about?” I said.

“James,” she said, as we followed her into the kitchen. “Like I told you, I kicked him out after I confronted him about the money and that woman. Told him I wanted every bloody cent back or I’d ring the police. He slinks off and then comes back waving a bank check for two-thirds of it. Says he needs to grab his things from the bathroom upstairs and, like an idiot, I let him.”

She shook her head. “I was so bloody stupid.”

“What are you talking about?” I said.

Ranee groaned. “While I was down here feeling pretty smug about how I’d nailed him, he was upstairs robbing me blind.”

“What?” said Shannon and I at the same time.

“That bastard stole half my jewelry,” she said, furious and close to tears. “He went for all the really expensive pieces that were locked up in my safe. I never go in there. All my day-to-day jewelry is in my dressing room. It was all still there so at first I didn’t think anything. Then a little voice in my head told me to check the safe and when I did, everything was gone. They were things my husband gave to me that can never be replaced. He knew exactly what to take. Bastard.”

Shannon put her hand on Ranee’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I know how you feel. He took my grandmother’s engagement ring.”

“I think I’m more upset about my jewelry than the money or that woman,” said Ranee. “Money’s money but jewelry’s personal. I’m so angry right now, I could literally kill him.”

Shannon and I looked at her, trying to find the right words.

I took a deep breath. “That’s it,” I said, conviction in my voice. “We can’t let him get away with this again. He’s been playing this game for too long and hurt too many people.”

“Well, whatever we’re going to do, we’d better do it fast,” said Ranee. “James is flying out of Darwin tomorrow. He wouldn’t tell me where he was going. He tried to make it seem that our fight was the trigger for his departure. But honestly, I think he had it planned all along.”

There was a knock on the front door.

“Were you expecting anyone?” I said to Ranee. “Do you think James has come back?”

Ranee shook her head. “Not a chance. He’ll want to stay as far away from me as possible.”

To be on the safe side, Shannon and I stepped out onto the rear deck and listened from there.

Moments later, we heard Ranee’s voice.

“So, you’re the famous Lynnette,” she said loudly. “Come in. I’ve heard you’ve been a huge help in tracking my ex-partner.”

Hearing Lynnette’s name, Shannon and I went back into the house.

Lynnette smiled as she walked toward us, followed by Ranee. “I do what I can,” she said. “In fact, I think I found out something today that you’ll all want to hear. That’s why I stopped by.”

Intrigued, the three of us sat down at the kitchen table and waited for Lynnette to begin.

“So, while I was stopped at the lights today, I looked over and saw this young woman going into a chemist. She looked very familiar,” said Lynnette. “Then it clicked. She was the same woman in the photos you showed me, the girl with all the eye makeup who you saw in Broome.”

“You saw Trash Bag?” I said.

“I thought it was her,” said Lynnette, “so I parked, ducked into the shop and kept an eye on her for a bit.”

“And?” said Shannon.

“She had a basket full of travel-sized stuff — deodorant, toothpaste, razors, shampoo. They were mainly products for men.”

“Interesting,” said Ranee, her eyes narrowing.

“When she got to the counter, the cashier started chatting to her,” said Lynnette. “‘Looks like someone’s off on holiday,’ said the cashier. And then the girl with all the makeup said ‘not me — my boyfriend. He’s flying to Tasmania this Friday for a new job. I’ll head down in a few months once he’s settled.’”

My jaw dropped as I stared at Shannon. We both looked at Ranee, and the three of us smiled. We finally had that last piece of the puzzle that had eluded us.

“Alan flying from Darwin to Tasmania is significant,” I said. “If that’s the case, then I think I know exactly what we should do.”

I explained my rationale. It was something I’d noticed on all the flights we’d taken in and around Australia. In my research on Australia and its laws, I stumbled upon something very interesting that we could use to get him. The Australians are really careful and strict about transporting agricultural items into or around the country. I checked, and Tasmania had some of the more stringent rules because of its island status. They couldn’t afford any blights or invasive insects. My gut told me that was the direction we should go in.

The four of us fleshed out a detailed execution plan. We’d get him from two angles. One that he’d brought on himself by stealing Ranee’s jewelry, and the other a little helping hand from us. We hammered at it from different angles, trying to find the holes. We all agreed it wasn’t going to be easy to pull off. But if we did it right — with a little luck on our side and everything falling exactly into place — it would be the ultimate takedown.

James had promised to return the following morning with the rest of Ranee’s money before he headed to the airport. Since he’d taken Ranee’s jewelry, that made the plan much stronger and all-encompassing. We had a lot to do in a short amount of time. One thing in our favor was that Ranee was well connected in Darwin. She had a solid network, and if anyone could pull all the pieces together in less than twenty-four hours, she could.

Sitting around Ranee’s kitchen table, I recapped the entire plan in detail. The three of them listened without interrupting. When I finished, there was a moment of silence.

“Well? What do you think?” I said, biting my bottom lip.

Ranee smiled. “I think it’s bloody brilliant.”

“I agree,” said Shannon, nodding. “But everything has to line up perfectly. No room for mistakes. And there’s always the outside chance he won’t show up here tomorrow with that check. If that happens, we’re nowhere.”

“He’ll turn up,” said Ranee. “He doesn’t want me setting the cops on him. I’ve got friends in high places here, and he knows it.”

“What about the other part of the plan,” I said, looking at Ranee. “Shannon and I aren’t from Australia. We don’t know where to find the right agricultural substances or how to acquire them. Can you help with that?”

Ranee smiled. “Look,” she said. “Might not look it now, but I’ve got a few friends who dabble in the dark arts. I’ll call my mate Kazza. She’ll be able to get her hands on something we can use. I’ll do whatever it takes to get my jewelry back.”

“Okay,” I said, putting a check mark next to a short list I’d created. “Then that’s taken care of. The next question is, once we get the stuff, how do we plant it on James so that he doesn’t suspect anything?”

Ranee smiled. “Leave it to me. He cleaned out most of his things while he was cleaning out my safe, but he left two items behind. He’ll definitely want them both. That’s where we’ll stash the biohazard stuff. He’ll never know.”

“No one screws one of us and walks away,” said Shannon with a grin.

“Tomorrow,” I said. “Alan — or James or whatever the hell he’s calling himself — gets what’s coming to him.”

I looked at Ranee. “I’m afraid you’ll be doing all the heavy lifting. Are you sure?”

Ranee’s mouth twitched. “That bastard stole my jewelry. He’s toast.”

Chapter Forty-Six

Shannon

With practically no time to organize things, we finalized the details of the plan. We only had fifteen hours to pull everything together, so we got to work.

Each of us had a job. I checked schedules and logistics. Margot drove over to the target location to scope out the building, including exits and entrances. Ranee made some phone calls and, in a surprisingly short amount of time, located the item we were looking for.

“You got something already?” I said, looking at the timetable for the next day scratched out on a piece of paper. “You only started calling people ten minutes ago.”

“What can I say?” said Ranee, with a laugh. “I know a lot of people. Not all my friends were fans of James. Thank God for that. One of my mates will be over within the hour. After she leaves and Margot returns, the four of us can put the package together for James. He’s in for the surprise of his life. I can hardly wait.”

Forty minutes later, the doorbell rang, and a woman in her fifties entered. She and Ranee hugged and did a thirty-second catch-up. Then, the four of us sat down at the kitchen table.

“Girls, this is Kazza,” said Ranee. “She and I go back to high school — did Year 12 together. We got into a fair amount of trouble, but we survived.”

“What’s going on, Ranee?” said Kazza, a slightly suspicious look on her face. “I was a bit surprised when I got your call. It was such an unusual request.”

“It’s probably best if you don’t know too much,” said Ranee. “Let’s just say what we’re doing is a bit dodgy, not exactly legal, but for a good cause.”

Kazza dug into her bag, pulled out a white envelope and handed it to Ranee. “Good enough. The seeds you wanted are in here. They’re a mixture of sida weed and snake grass seeds. Both are highly invasive weeds and considered prohibited plant material in Tasmania. I’m sure you know what you’re doing.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” said Ranee, looking inside the envelope, “but we’re doing it anyway.”

“Be careful,” said Kazza, placing her hand on Ranee’s arm. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“You know me. I’ll be fine,” said Ranee as her friend walked down the hallway and out of the front door.

Minutes later, Margot returned from her reconnaissance trip.

“How’d it go?” said Ranee, coming down the stairs holding a small brown leather case.

“It’s all good,” said Margot, sharing a few sketches she’d done of the space, including exits, entrances, line formations, and waiting areas. She also showed us a bunch of photos she took on her phone.

The four of us sat down at the table to map out how the whole thing would go down.

“This could really work,” said Margot. “But only if there are no wild cards. We know, thanks to Lynnette, that his girlfriend won’t be traveling with him. I’ve factored that in. Trash Bag will be left out of it.”

“Right. We don’t have an issue with her,” I said.

“Speak for yourself,” said Ranee. “I have huge issues with her.”

“He’s a liar,” I said. “He might have lied to her, too. Maybe she didn’t know about you?”

“Maybe. But she’s still a Bogan cow.”

“Agreed,” said Margot, “whatever that is. But we’re not after her. It’s him we want. We need to stay focused on that.”

Ranee placed the brown leather case — about the size of a large passport holder only thicker — on the kitchen table.

“Who wants to do the honors?” she said.

“Can I ask a stupid question?” said Lynnette. “Why don’t you just ring the police about the jewelry and let them deal with it? Why mess with the seeds?”

“You don’t know Alan,” said Margot. “He’s slippery and always manages to land on his feet. The man can lie his way out of anything. Hitting him from both sides will guarantee he won’t be able to wriggle out of this.”

“We want maximum impact,” said Ranee. “The seeds will draw plenty of attention at the airport. They’ll make sure he doesn’t get away. They’re our insurance policy. And after what he’s done to all of us, he deserves a little more than a simple arrest for theft. As far as the police are concerned, he’ll have committed several different crimes.”

“All right,” said Margot, “since the three of us are in this together, I think we should each take a dart. Equal risk all around. Lynnette, this is where it gets into illegal territory. If you want to leave at this point—”

“Not on your life,” said Lynnette, her blue eyes sparkling. “This is the most fun I’ve had in decades.”

Ranee nodded and opened the case.

Inside, three green-and-black darts with silver tips were neatly stored in the center of the leather billfold. On one side were two leather tabs — one to hold extra dart points and the other for extra flights. There was also a flap inside the case to store money and credit cards.

“This should do the trick,” said Ranee, looking at the darts.

She handed us all plastic gloves before placing Kazza’s envelope on the table. We each picked up a dart and got busy. Working silently, we unscrewed them and dropped tiny bits of the envelope’s contents inside. Then we put the darts back together.

Once they were all nestled back in their case, Ranee placed a few seeds under the inside leather flap, wiped down the leather for fingerprints, and closed the snaps.

“What time is Alan due to come here tomorrow?” I said.

“I reckon he’ll be here between nine and nine thirty,” said Ranee. “He texted and said he has my bank check, and I texted that I found his blue blazer in the hall cupboard and he could take it with him. He was happy about that. I bought him that jacket, by the way. Bastard.”

Margot pulled out her checklist.

“As soon as he leaves, you text us,” she said, ticking off on her list. “We’ll pick you up in a new rental car so there’s no chance he’ll spot us.”

“What if he gets to the airport before we do?” I said.

“He won’t,” said Ranee. “I know a short cut. We’ll beat him there and get ourselves into position.”

“And you’re sure he’ll put your jewelry in his carry-on?” said Margot.

Ranee snorted. “Even I don’t put my jewelry in checked luggage. You’d have to be mad to do that. He’ll keep it on him. After his half-million-dollar pearl scheme went to hell, my jewelry’s all he’s got left. He won’t risk putting it in the hold.”

Margot nodded. “What about your strategically placed phone calls to people in high places,” she said, moving her pen to the third item on her list.

“Got it covered,” said Ranee. “All sorted. He won’t see it coming.”

* * *

Tossing in bed that night, I had so many thoughts running through my mind that I couldn’t sleep. After all those years and everything Alan put my daughter and me through, not to mention Margot and Jessie, it was hard to believe judgment day had finally arrived.

I heard Margot moving around in her bed.

“Hey,” I whispered. “You awake?”

“Of course,” she said.

“You really think we can pull this thing off?”

Margot turned on the lamp between our beds, sat up, and looked at me. “I hope so. We need closure. So does Ranee.”

“We’ve come a long way together.”

“In a weird way, we have Alan to thank for the best things in our lives. If it wasn’t for him,” said Margot, “we wouldn’t have our beautiful daughters, and I would never have found my best friend. You’re all worth more to me than anything.”

I smiled. “Turn out the light. Tomorrow’s a big day.”

Chapter Forty-Seven

James

The last night in Darwin, Tina had been on an emotional rollercoaster. She carried on for hours. After my phenomenally awful week, I didn’t have the patience for her drama.

“This is all happening too fast,” she said, whining. “Out of nowhere, you suddenly announce you’re moving to the other side of the country. You’ve given me almost no notice.”

“Things came up that were out of my control,” I said, trying to calm her down. “I explained that to you already. Did you want me to pass up a great job? I’ve got some money but it’s not going to last forever.”

“Why don’t you want me to go with you? Don’t you want us to be together?”

I put my arms around her and looked into her dark brown eyes coated with a thick band of heavy black liner. She was so hot.

“This is partly your fault,” I said. “You’ve been badgering me to end it with Ranee. So, I put some feelers out for a few jobs, got a few nibbles, and told Ranee we were through. Are you surprised she kicked me out? Now, I’ve got this great opportunity in Tassie. But I’ve got to go right away or I’ll lose it.”

“But why can’t I go with you?” she said, whining again. Her voice was grating on my nerves.

“Because I need some time to get settled. I’ll be working 24/7 and there’d be no time for you. Once I’ve got everything under control — I promise — I’ll send you a plane ticket.”

It was midnight when we finally went to bed. I was up for a little activity for old times’ sake, but Tina was still in a state. Given her mood, I didn’t push it.

The following morning at 6:00 a.m., the alarm rang on my phone. I rolled over on top of Tina, gave her one last thing to remember me by, and went to take a leak. Standing over the bowl, it occurred to me how things in Darwin hadn’t worked out the way I’d expected. I figured I could have lived off Ranee a little longer. But like I always say, if a plan falls apart, don’t try to repair it — move on. Only losers hang around fixing shit when it’s broken. It’s better to start fresh without any baggage.

I’ll admit, I was surprised by Ranee’s callous attitude toward me. I’d never seen her that angry before. Given that she’s well past her expiration date and I’m just hitting my prime, I would have thought she would have been a little more flexible. When women get into their fifties, they have to know they’re on a downward slide.

The only reason I stayed with her as long as I did was that Ranee provided the lifestyle I was looking for. She lived in a great neighborhood with plenty of space. Her house was decorated by a designer. She had a massive TV in her family room where I could watch all my sports. In addition, she had an infinity pool, luxury cars, and club memberships. It was the perfect setup for me. And she was pretty loose with her credit cards and cash, too. Whenever I needed some money, Ranee opened her wallet. Overall, her portfolio felt like a good fit for me at the time. So, I went all in. A few weeks after I met her, she asked me to move in.

Ranee’s deceased husband had left her extremely comfortable. At that point in my life, she was exactly what I was looking for in a woman — a lonely widow with desires who didn’t want to be alone and had lots of cash. Truthfully, my time with her wasn’t all bad. Ranee could be a lot of fun. She enjoyed a party, and we both loved the races. She also didn’t mind going to the casinos with me. She earned two points for that.

But at the end of the day, I prefer my women a bit on the younger side. Once a woman hits thirty-five, gravity takes over and — by fifty — I literally had to keep my eyes closed.

I stood in Tina’s apartment in front of her bathroom mirror carefully trimming my gray beard. I wanted to look good when I landed. After taking a shower, I got ready for the extremely long travel day to Tasmania. What waited for me on the other end made it all worth it.

“You sure you don’t want me to go with you?” said Tina, sitting up in bed as I put on my pants.

“How many times are we going to go over this? I’m going to find a flat in Hobart and get everything set up. Then, you’ll come.”

Tina looked at me skeptically. “When exactly will that be, James?”

“I don’t know. I’ll need a little time. It might be a few months — four or five tops.”

“Five months?” said Tina, her mouth hanging open. “You’re joking. That’s nearly half a year. Are you trying to end this? Be honest.”

She was really annoying me at that point. I needed to lock it down, or I was going to lose my mind.

“We talked about this last night,” I said. “You have things to do here before you come to Tassie. You’ll need to sell your furniture and your car. You still have another six months on your apartment lease. You also have massage clients you need to deal with. You know you can’t just leave today.”

“Why do you have to go today? Why can’t you leave in two weeks or next month? Maybe by then, I’d have time to get things organized.”

With over a million dollars’ worth of stolen jewelry in my carry-on bag, I couldn’t exactly linger in Darwin. I was confident that Ranee was still unaware that her stuff was missing. Her everyday jewelry was kept in a locked drawer in her dressing room. But her really pricey pieces were locked in a safe built into a cupboard in our bedroom. She never opened the safe unless she was going to a really fancy party. Besides, she would have said something if she’d noticed something was missing.

It was easy enough to pull off. When I went upstairs in her house to get my toiletries, I quickly opened the safe and took all the most expensive pieces. She had no idea I knew the combination. I make it my business to know things like that — just in case. I’d arranged for a mate of mine to do a fake break-in at Ranee’s house the following week, while she was at her regular Friday nail appointment.

The plan was that my mate would jimmy open the back door to set off the alarm. Then he’d leave the door wide open. Ranee would get an alert on her phone and call the police. When she got home, she’d discover her jewelry was gone. At that point, I’d have been gone for a long time. And I’d have a solid alibi in Tasmania, if it ever came to that. She wouldn’t be able to touch me. Besides, she had no idea where I was going anyway.

“I’m not going to wait for you forever,” said Tina, as she got out of bed.

I walked over to her and tried to put my arms around her, but she pulled away.

“You’re always talking about the next place, the next big deal,” she said. “You never talk about staying anywhere. What are you running from, James?”

As she let out a sigh, I looked into her smoky eyes.

“C’mon, Tina. We’ll be together again in no time, you’ll see.”

She walked over to the bathroom door. Before she went in, she looked over her shoulder at me.

“Maybe I could come visit you once a month,” she said as she closed the door behind her.

“Why not,” I said loudly. “As soon as I’m set up in Tasmania, you’ll come for a visit.”

I pulled the last of my things together and got ready to leave. In a few hours I’d be on my flight to Sydney and then connect from there to Tasmania. I still had to stop by Ranee’s place that morning and give her the check for the remainder of the money. Of course, it was short by $15,000, but I knew she’d take it.

By 8:45 a.m., Tina and I had loaded her car with my bags and set off for Ranee’s house. I told her to park on the street and stay out of sight. I didn’t want Ranee to look out the window and see her much younger competition sitting in the driveway. My final encounter with Ranee needed to be a simple hand-off so it didn’t set off any alarm bells. I’d give Ranee the check, and then I’d head to the airport — free as a bird.

I walked through Ranee’s front yard and rapped on her door.

“Good morning,” I said with a smile as I breezed past her into the hallway. “Beautiful morning, isn’t it? Lovely day for a flight.”

“Save it, James,” said Ranee, flatly. “Where’s my check?”

I reached into my pocket, pulled out my wallet, and retrieved her precious check. Holding it in the air, I waved it at her several times.

“I want you to know that it was no easy feat getting this money back from my former business partners,” I said as I handed it to her. “They weren’t very happy I was backing out.”

She looked down at the check. “It’s short.”

“I already told you some of the money was spent on my trip to Broome. There was no way I could get that money back. This was the best I could do on short notice.”

Ranee’s eyes narrowed. “Under any other circumstance, I’d ring the police,” she said. “But you know something — I actually feel sorry for you. You’re pathetic. And since I want you out of my life today, if it costs me $15,000, I’m good with it.”

“That’s very generous of you,” I said, noticing my Armani jacket hanging on the outside of the closet door. “Oh, there’s my lucky jacket. I almost never lose at the tables when I’m wearing it.”

“Right, you’re such a winner,” she said sarcastically as she pulled the blue jacket off the hanger and tossed it to me. “You do remember I bought that for you?”

I nodded as I put it on. It was the perfect travel jacket, elegant without trying too hard — exactly my vibe.

“By the way, I’ve found a few more of your things,” said Ranee as she walked into the kitchen and returned with a small shopping bag. “I found this.” She came over and handed something to me. “The custom darts kit I bought for you for Christmas a few years ago. I obviously have no use for it.”

I looked down at the brown leather case. The initials JM were printed in gold on the outside. I had to admit it had been a very thoughtful gift on Ranee’s part. I was quite touched when she gave it to me. I had won quite a few darts tournaments at the pubs using those. They’d come in handy once I got to Tasmania.

“Thanks,” I said, opening the front door. “Guess this is it, then. I’m off to the airport. I’m afraid Darwin has lost all its appeal for me.”

“Not that I care,” said Ranee, “but where exactly are you going?”

I smiled. “Anywhere but here. Look after yourself, Ranee.”

As I walked down the path, she called out to me.

“Don’t worry about me, James, I’ll be just fine. You’re the one who should watch out for himself. I know it will be hard for you but try not to be such a dick.”

I didn’t turn around — just waved my hand and kept going. End things on a high note was my mantra. Now that the Ranee chapter was closed, I was already looking forward to my next adventure.

I got out to the street, and Tina was waiting for me in her car.

“That was quick,” she said as I got in. “Everything go all right?”

“Fine,” I said as Tina put the car in drive. “Ranee wanted me to stay, said she wanted to work things out between us and give it another go. I shut her down right away. The whole thing was a bit sad really, a woman her age begging like that.”

“You ended it with her, James. Of course it must have been a bit of a blow.”

“Regardless, she returned some of my things including my lucky darts.” I flashed the leather case before slipping it into my carry-on.

“You can’t take darts on a plane,” Tina said, glancing over at me. “They’ll confiscate them at the airport. They took my knitting needles and my metal nail file the last time I flew to Perth. Better put them in your checked bags.”

When we parked at the airport, I stashed the darts in one of my bigger bags. Tina and I grabbed a handcart, loaded it up, and pushed it into the terminal. After I checked in, we wandered around and grabbed a coffee until it was time for me to go through security. I kissed her goodbye, gave one of her perky boobs a final squeeze, and promised I’d call her when I got to Hobart.

As I waited to go through security, I waved to Tina one last time. When she started walking away, I took out my phone and opened my dating app. For the past few months, I’d been chatting with a few different women. One in particular who’d caught my eye was a twenty-eight-year-old veterinary assistant from Hobart.

When I mentioned I was moving to Tasmania and didn’t know anyone, she invited me to stay with her until I found a place. As the security line moved forward, I sent her a quick message to let her know I was at Darwin Airport and on my way. She replied immediately with three heart emojis. Like I’ve always said — when life hands you lemons, you’ve got to make yourself some lemonade.

Chapter Forty-Eight

Shannon

That last morning, I woke up before the alarm went off. My body was so full of adrenaline that my eyes popped open long before it was light outside. This was the big day — the one Margot and I had been dreaming about for the longest time.

It’s funny, after she and I met each other and became best friends, we often mused over the ‘what ifs’ of our lives. What if Alan hadn’t cheated on us? What if he hadn’t been on that doomed boat and died? What if we hadn’t gone to the Scrimshaw Boat Basin memorial on the same day?

Whenever we had these conversations, the last question we always asked ourselves was — what if Alan hadn’t been a two-timing dickhead who ruined our lives? Then we’d laugh really hard. It took the pressure off.

The thing was — despite learning he had lied to both of us, we still spent years grieving the loss of our imperfect partner and our daughters’ father. Sure, he had deceived us. But he also died young and in a horrible way, or so we thought. The way we believed he died, and the timing of his death, somehow softened our anger. He had done an awful thing, but he also never got to live his life. Both Margot and I had mixed feelings. It was complicated.

But when we saw that wedding picture from Australia and discovered there was a possibility that he was still alive — that’s when everything changed for us. Any lingering sympathy for him vanished and was replaced by estrogen-fueled rage.

Nothing makes a person angrier than being duped and played for a fool. Both Margot and I had given ourselves to Alan, and it turned out — he only cared about himself.

I’ve asked myself a thousand times — how could I have ever loved a person who had no soul or empathy? How did I not see him for who he was? I still can’t answer that question. Neither can Margot. He was so much better at the game than we were.

I flipped on the lamp in our bedroom.

“Margot,” I said softly as I sat up. She groaned from across the room. “It’s time.”

We both took showers and got dressed. Then we fixed our hair and put on makeup. This was a huge day for us, a long time coming. We wanted to look good for it. Weird? Maybe. But that’s how we both felt.

By 7:00 a.m., we were dressed and went down to the kitchen. Lynnette was already there fixing breakfast.

“You two ready?” she said as she put a large spoonful of scrambled eggs on my plate.

“I’m not hungry,” I said, pushing the dish away. “I’m so nervous. What if things go wrong?”

Margot slid my plate back in front of me.

“Eat,” she said, taking a mouthful of eggs herself. “We don’t know how long this day is going to run. You might not get another chance to eat until tonight.”

I nodded and took a bite. She was right. How the day would unfold was a total unknown. We had a plan, but plans have a way of unraveling. Worst case — we could end up in jail. With that as a possibility, I had the number of the American consulate tucked into my pocket.

Lynnette volunteered to be the driver and was thrilled to be included. We told her very little to protect her. If things went sideways, we didn’t want her anywhere near the fallout. This was our fight.

When Lynnette left the kitchen to gather her things, I looked at Margot. She appeared calm as she sipped her coffee.

“So, we’re really doing this?” I said.

“Absolutely,” said Margot, setting her cup down. “No reservations on my end. You?”

“None.”

Minutes later we were sitting in a car parked down the street from Ranee’s house.

Not long after, we saw Alan and Trash Bag pull up. Ducking down, we watched Alan go into the house. Five minutes later, he came out, and he and Trash Bag drove off. We pulled right into Ranee’s driveway. She was already standing outside and jumped into the front seat.

“Everyone good?” she said as she slammed the car door.

“How did it go?” said Margot.

“Same smug, overconfident prick,” said Ranee. “Stiffed me for $15,000, too. I’m going to enjoy today more than I thought.”

“Same here,” said Margot.

“All right, Lynnette,” said Ranee, “we’ve got to beat him to the airport. Left at the next intersection.”

Lynnette floored it, and the car shot forward. Ranee directed her through a series of turns and odd little back roads, and we reached the airport in no time.

As we scrambled out of the car, Lynnette called out to us.

“I can stay here if you need me to. I’ve got no plans.”

“No, go home,” Margot shouted as we crossed the road. “We’ll call you later — and thanks.”

We headed inside and went straight to an interior construction project that Margot had scoped out earlier. It had movable walls that we could stand behind. It was perfect. From there we could see check-in, security, the gates — and still remain hidden.

About fifteen minutes later, Margot nudged me.

“There he is,” she whispered, “with the girlfriend.”

“So that’s her,” said Ranee softly. “Bit much with all that eye makeup and short skirt. She looks like a hooker.”

When Alan and his girlfriend stopped at a coffee kiosk, I checked the time. It was 11:00 a.m. The Sydney flight connecting to Tasmania was due to board at 12:15.

“As soon as Alan checks his bags,” said Ranee, “I’ll make the call.”

“You’re positive they’ll come,” I said.

Ranee smiled. “My husband donated heavily to every law enforcement charity in the Northern Territory. Michael always said, ‘keep the wheels greased for when you need them.’ Looks like today’s that day.”

We saw Alan check three large bags and then sling a full gray backpack over his shoulder.

“My jewelry’s in that backpack,” said Ranee. “Bastard.”

As Alan and his girlfriend walked over to the security line, she clung to him.

They chatted for a while, and then we saw Alan give her a kiss. It looked like she wiped a tear away as she turned and walked away. For the next minute or two, he was on his phone texting. Then, he spotted a blonde woman in her early thirties standing several feet behind him.

“Why is he going to the end of the line?” said Ranee as we watched him maneuver his spot in line to stand next to blondie.

Margot made a face and shook her head. “Unbelievable. His little girlfriend hasn’t been gone for more than a few minutes and he’s already looking for her replacement.”

“Aww,” said Ranee with a big grin, “let him have his fun. It won’t be too long now.”

The blonde went through security. Alan was about to follow her.

“Nothing’s happening,” I said, looking around.

“Hold on,” said Ranee, looking to the other side of the terminal. “There.”

Four police officers crossed the terminal, walking straight toward the security line. One had a dog on a leash.

Ranee smiled. “Here we go. Riders up and they’re off.”

Chapter Forty-Nine

Margot

From our hidden perch, we could see everything but unfortunately could hear nothing. The first thing the police did was ask Alan to step out of the security line. His body language appeared cordial and cooperative. He always prided himself on being able to sweet-talk his way past anyone. But not this time.

From the looks of it, the officers weren’t buying his explanations. They pulled him over to the side and asked him to place his carry-on bag on a metal table. We still couldn’t hear what they were saying. Then, one officer pointed to a baggage cart loaded with luggage. We could see the cart through the window sitting out on the tarmac. Alan’s bag was open, and an officer was standing next to it.

Ranee smiled. “That’s right. They found the darts in his checked bag. Good on them.”

Next thing you know, Alan is shaking his head and waving his arms and starting to make quite a scene. Obviously, he knew he was carrying stolen jewelry, but that’s not why they had stopped him, and he was totally confused. He had no idea there were prohibited seeds in his checked bags. And that’s exactly what we were counting on. When they found the seeds, it gave them cause to search his carry-on, where they then would find the jewelry.

One of the police officers unzipped Alan’s backpack and removed a bag of chips and a small blue travel pillow. Alan was shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He looked nervous, and I was enjoying it.

Wearing gloves, the police officer continued going through Alan’s backpack, finally pulling out a large oatmeal colored drawstring bag. He said something to Alan before opening the bag. When the officer peered inside, a look of surprise crossed his face. Carefully, he poured an assortment of gold bracelets, earrings, rings, and necklaces onto the table.

The officer pointed at the jewelry and shook his head. There was no mistaking what he said. “Do these belong to you?”

I couldn’t see Alan’s mouth, but his hands were moving rapidly. He was obviously trying to spin it.

“What exactly did you tell the police?” I whispered to Ranee, my eyes remaining on Alan.

“I made two calls,” she said as we all watched the scene unfold. “The first one was anonymous. I told them I’d been out at a pub the night before and some American bloke was bragging that he was taking prohibited seeds to Tasmania. I told them that the man said he could make a lot of money selling them there. Said he didn’t care about the stupid agriculture laws in Australia. Transporting seeds is a huge no-no here — especially into Tassie. I told the police his name and that he was flying out of Darwin today.”

“Those Australian rules are tough,” I said.

“It was a great idea on your part, Margot,” said Ranee. “Biosecurity is a big thing in this country. They don’t mess around with that stuff. It’s considered a really serious offense.”

“And what was the other phone call you made?” I said.

“It was to my contact at the council offices,” said Ranee. “I told them how James had stolen all the jewelry Michael had given me over the years. That didn’t go down well. My husband was well liked in this town — still is. But they needed a reason to search his bags and the seeds provided that.”

As Ranee spoke, we could see Alan growing more and more animated. They had found the seeds in his checked bags and the stolen jewelry in his carry-on. He was two for two, but in true Alan form, he was still trying to talk his way out of it. Bless his heart.

For a moment it looked like his bullshit was starting to work — until the officer with the dog moved in closer. The handler and the dog circled Alan a few times. Then the dog stopped and lay down next to Alan.

The first police officer said something, and we saw Alan raise his arms. Then the officer patted him down several times. At this point, Alan went from cooperative and helpful to belligerent and threatening. His face got red, and he started yelling so loud that we finally could hear what he was saying.

“Do you know who I am?” he shouted as the officer continued the pat-down. “The Lord Mayor is a friend of mine. I sat next to him at the Darwin Cup. Wait until he hears about the way I’ve been treated here.”

Suddenly the policeman’s hands stopped near the left side of Alan’s chest. The officer stood up straight and appeared to ask Alan to remove his jacket. Alan complied and handed it over to the officer.

Reaching into the pockets and finding nothing, they sent Alan’s jacket through the X-ray machine as several of the security personnel crowded around.

“This whole thing is outrageous,” Alan shouted as the policeman came back with the jacket and started to dig at one of the inside seams. “That’s an Armani jacket. You’re going to pay for that if it gets damaged.”

The officer raised his hand, signaling for Alan to keep it down as he removed a tiny plastic bag containing seeds from inside the lining.

Alan sputtered.

“I have no idea how any of this got into my luggage or my jacket. I’m being framed. I demand to speak to a supervisor immediately.”

We knew the number of seeds we planted in the darts wasn’t enough to get Alan seriously busted. But it was enough to be detected by dogs who sniff luggage. Once that was discovered, they’d want to check Alan’s carry-on as well. That’s why Ranee placed a larger number of seeds in a small plastic bag right inside the lining of Alan’s jacket.

“You’re sure he won’t find them,” I had said to her when she told me her plan.

“I’m a very good seamstress. Besides, it’s a tiny amount but enough to get him detained.”

The number of seeds was small enough so it wouldn’t result in a major charge. Our whole idea was to get his carry-on examined so that the police had reason to stop him and find Ranee’s stolen jewelry.

The more Alan made a scene, the less accommodating the officers became. Finally, one of the officers stood directly in front of Alan, towering over him, and said something.

“I’ll bet he’s telling Alan his rights, now,” said Ranee.

“That’s what it looks like,” I said, grabbing Shannon’s arm and squeezing it. A moment later, the three of us watched them place handcuffs on Alan and start to walk him out.

“Who goes first?” said Ranee as the group of policemen and Alan moved through the terminal.

“Why don’t you take the first bow,” I said to Ranee. “Shannon and I will be the grand finale.”

As Alan and the police moved closer to where we were hiding, Ranee stepped out from behind the partition. She stared at her former partner. He must have sensed her presence because he suddenly looked up and spotted her.

She smiled and waved.

“You bitch,” he shouted as they pulled him down the walkway.

Once they passed by, Shannon and I ran out to the front of the terminal and stood on the sidewalk near a flashing stop light. There was only one way out of the airport, and the police car would have to pass us as they left. The sun was shining, and we put on our sunglasses.

At the other end of the terminal, we saw the officers place Alan in the back seat of a police car. A minute later, it pulled out and headed in our direction.

Shannon reached for my hand, and we interlocked fingers as the car approached. Alan’s downcast face was visible through the window. When the police car got up to the flashing red light, it came to a brief stop. Alan was half looking in our direction. We took off our sunglasses. Our eyes locked onto his, and we waved. Then, we smiled.

It was only a few seconds, but the expression on his face told us everything. At first, there was a glimmer of recognition, but he was still confused. When we waved, he leaned toward the closed window and his jaw dropped. When we smiled, that’s when the synapses in his brain connected and it all came together for him. As the car pulled away, Alan practically jumped through the closed window. His face, smashed up against the glass, was a bright tomato red.

As the car drove off, he turned around in the back seat and gave us a death stare through the rear window, his mouth contorting. We, in turn, gave him the finger. Once he was out of sight, we hugged each other.

Out of breath, Ranee ran up behind us. “Please tell me he saw you two.”

“Oh yes,” said Shannon. “His face was practically crimson, I thought he was going to give himself an aneurysm.”

“You could see the exact moment he connected all the dots. It was priceless,” I said. “My only regret is we didn’t get it on video so we could watch it over and over.”

I texted Lynnette and asked her to pick us up and join us for a celebration dinner at Ranee’s favorite pub.

An hour later, the four of us sat around the pub table with a bottle of bubbles, compliments of Ranee.

“But you still haven’t told me why you were always so confident,” said Shannon, looking directly at me. “You kept saying the answer would reveal itself when the time was right. How did you know it would? How could you know?”

I shrugged and smiled. “I didn’t. But I figured if I told you that, you’d get cold feet.”

“Probably,” said Shannon, laughing.

“Let me ask you something,” said Ranee. “My bit with James was short-lived compared to you two. You’ve both been through a lot more and waited half a lifetime for justice. Was it all worth it? Was quitting your jobs, coming to Australia, and tracking him down the ending you hoped it would be?”

Shannon and I looked at each other.

“Yes,” we said in unison.

“Better,” I said, as we all clinked glasses.

“Much better,” said Shannon.

Chapter Fifty

Three years later

Shannon

We never went back to Australia for Alan’s trial because it was an open-and-shut case. Ranee made a point of being there and gave us a blow-by-blow of everything that happened.

Turns out Alan’s lawyer was able to get the seed charges reduced to five hundred hours of community service, or what they call a CCO — Community Correction Order. But the charges for stealing Ranee’s jewelry were an entirely different matter. Alan couldn’t wriggle out of that.

Because of the high-dollar value of the jewelry and the fact that Alan was intercepted while fleeing from the Northern Territory, he wound up getting four years in jail. He was eligible for parole after two and a half.

We didn’t feel guilty about Alan going to jail. He stole Ranee’s property with no encouragement from us. Ending up in jail, that was all on him. We just helped the police locate the stolen items before he left town. A couple of years in jail wouldn’t change him anyway. He probably had a new scam lined up on the outside timed with his release.

One thing Alan didn’t know was that Margot and I set something else in motion that would plague him for the rest of his life. When we got back to New York, we reached out to a senior director at Pretorious Diamonds — Alan’s old employer. Alan’s boss, Botha, was long dead, but the company’s current managing partner had been a colleague of Alan’s when Alan worked there.

I remember that phone conversation like it was yesterday. Margot put the call on speaker while I listened. It had to be her because she was actually married to Alan. Just like when I thought he had died on the boat, I had no legal standing.

“My name is Margot Frye. You may remember my husband, Alan Frye. He was on that fishing boat out of Scrimshaw Boat Basin that blew up in 2002.”

After a long pause, the man on the other end finally answered.

“Um . . . Yes. Mrs. Frye, of course I remember Alan. It was a terrible tragedy. We were in the same sales training program together. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

Margot cleared her throat. “I’m calling today about a related matter. You may remember that on the day of the explosion, my husband was carrying a million dollars’ worth of your diamonds. I was told he was supposed to give them to a client that he was meeting on the boat.”

“Yes,” said the managing director. “It was a long time ago but that’s my recollection as well.”

“Right after the boat accident, the FBI and people from your company reached out to me,” said Margot. “At the time, they asked a lot of questions about the diamonds. Of course, I had no knowledge of them.”

“Everyone at Pretorious Diamonds was aware of the missing stones,” said the managing director. “We changed our policies about employees transporting merchandise after that terrible accident. So, tell me, what can I help you with today, Mrs. Frye?”

That’s when Margot rocked his world and told him that Alan was still alive and living in Australia.

“Apparently, he’s been living there for more than twenty-five years,” she said.

“What?”

“At the moment, he’s serving time for stealing approximately three-quarters of a million dollars’ worth of jewelry.”

“Excuse me? Is this some kind of joke?”

“I don’t believe Alan ever got on the boat that day,” she said.

“Alan is alive?” said the managing director, several beats behind. “If he didn’t get on that boat, that means he never handed off the stones to his client. Are you saying he took the diamonds and then disappeared?”

“I’ll let you draw your own conclusions,” said Margot. “I just thought you should know he’s alive and goes by the name — James Mahoney. Right now, he’s in the Darwin Correctional Center but he’ll be released in a few months.”

“I don’t know what to say. I’ve always wondered about that whole incident,” said the managing director. “One detail has always bothered me since it happened. The wife of the client Alan was supposed to deliver the diamonds to told us that her husband called just as the boat was leaving the dock. He said he couldn’t find Alan anywhere on board. At the time we assumed it was just because the boat was so crowded.”

“That would be a logical assumption,” said Margot before ending the call.

The next thing you know, Pretorious Diamonds gets back in touch with the FBI, and from there things accelerated. The FBI reached out to the Department of Justice because Alan had committed a whole series of crimes. The DOJ issued an arrest warrant and sent a provisional extradition request to the Australian Federal Police.

A reporter who Ranee knew covered the whole story, and she tipped him off. The reporter was waiting there when Alan was released from the Darwin Correctional Center. According to him, Alan came sauntering out of the facility strutting like a free man. And guess who was waiting there with open arms — Trash Bag. Unfortunately, their long-awaited reunion never happened. Seconds after Alan was released for stealing Ranee’s jewelry, he was re-arrested on charges of theft, identity fraud, and long-term concealment — among other things. In short — he was screwed.

Shortly after that, Alan was extradited to the United States, and they threw the book at him.

Margot and I finally told our girls the full truth. They have no relationship with their father, nor do they care to. We’ve all moved on with our lives. Ranee and Lynnette have become good friends back in Darwin and go to the races together. And Margot and I have both started dating again. Things are so different now. For years we had unfinished business, but now we were finally free.

THE END

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Acknowledgments

For the longest time, I had this idea to write a story about a person who used a tragic situation for his or her own benefit. I’ve always suspected that there are undoubtedly people who take advantage of horrific situations. Some may present themselves as victims in order to get money they don’t deserve — that happened after 9/11. Others may take the opportunity to drop out and start a new life free from the constraints and responsibilities of their previous one.

It’s a moral dilemma. Imagine this — life hasn’t turned out the way you’d hoped and then suddenly, fate drops a second chance in your lap. Would you take it? Would you disappear regardless of who it hurts or devastates? There are some people who might just go for it. Whatever the reason, I found the notion both intriguing and despicable at the same time, which made it a delicious premise to start with. Hopefully, you’ll feel the same.

I’d like to thank my amazing first readers, Peter Black, Diane McGarvey and Marlene Pedersen. Nothing goes to my publisher before they eyeball it first and find the many flaws and inconsistencies — which they usually do.

I’d also like to thank the entire team at Joffe Books. The author writes a manuscript that’s probably not perfect. Then the editors (thank you Kate Lyall Grant, Sharon Rutland and Maggie Sadler) and the publishing team shape and turn the manuscript into something people would actually want to read. There are multiple meticulous edits, development of title, fantastic cover art, painstaking editorial blurbs, along with social media, marketing and promotional campaigns. On top of all that is the tremendous care and love that’s given to each book by the Joffe team as it moves seamlessly out to market.

I’m very grateful.

This is a fun story with high stakes that takes readers on an intercontinental adventure. I fell in love with the two main characters — Shannon and Margot. Their tenacity, parenting and most importantly their friendship is central to this story. We all need a ride or die friend.

I hope you love going on the adventure with them as much as I did.

MB

Discover More Books by McGarvey Black

THE DIVORCE LAWYER

UK www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0GT57XCQJ

US www.amazon.com/dp/B0GT57XCQJ

Divorce can be murder . . . and divorce lawyers can get murdered.

I’m Kim DeLuca — assistant to Ollie Spalding, Connecticut’s most successful divorce lawyer. I’m the one who keeps his empire running while he charms his way through every courtroom in the state.

Ollie isn’t just my boss. I was a foster kid, so he’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to family. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him

He’s also the most feared divorce lawyer in the state. He took on people with money, power, and tempers that scared even the police.

Now he’s dead. And the police want to know who his enemies are.

There are more than I can count.

But I’ll find out which one killed him.

Also by McGarvey Black

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