Her Mother's Shadow. Diane Chamberlain

and so deep in the woods you can barely see it until you’re on top of it. But there’s a path leading to the sound.”

      “It must be perfect for someone working on a book,” she said.

      “You’re right. It is.”

      The hostess stepped onto the deck to call them into the restaurant, and Rick rested his hand on her back as they walked into the welcome air-conditioning. They were lucky to get a table by the window, and he held the back of her chair as she took her seat.

      “Did you write today?” she asked as he sat down across from her.

      “Not as much as I should have,” he said. “It was so beautiful out, I had to play a round of golf.”

      “Ah,” she said. “Do you do that often? Play golf?”

      “As often as I can.” He smiled at the waitress who brought them their water, and Lacey saw the young woman nearly melt under the power of Rick’s long dark eyelashes and white teeth.

      They studied the menu for a few minutes, both of them selecting the shrimp and scallops. The waitress took their order, and once she had walked away, Rick returned his gaze to Lacey.

      “So,” he said, lowering the cloth napkin to his lap. “Do you want to tell me about your breakup?”

      For a moment, she thought he had said “breakdown” and was startled by the question. She would not have described what she went through after learning about her mother’s infidelities as a breakdown, and how could he know about that, anyhow? With relief, she realized what he had actually said.

      “What breakup?” she asked.

      “You know, the breakup that’s made you take a breather from dating.”

      “Oh, it’s not that.” She suddenly wished she were a more dishonest person. She could simply say, “Yes, it was painful, but I’m getting over it.” Even as a kid, though, she’d been a lousy liar. “I’ve just sworn off men for a while,” she said.

      “Because you were hurt?”

      “Only by myself.” She offered a rueful smile. “By my choices. My actions. I have a tendency to move too fast. To not look out for myself. To pick the wrong kind of guy.” That was enough. She didn’t need to go into any more detail with him.

      The waitress poured wine into their glasses and neither of them spoke until she had walked away again.

      “What’s the wrong kind of guy?” he asked.

      “Oh, well.” She squirmed uncomfortably, wanting to change the direction of the conversation. “Not a guy like you.”

      He raised his eyebrows, and she realized she might be giving him hope with that statement.

      “All I mean is that you seem very safe to me,” she said.

      He laughed, his wineglass halfway to his lips. “Why does that feel like an insult?” he asked.

      “It’s not,” she said. “At least I didn’t mean it that way.”

      He took a sip of his wine and set the glass on the table again, then leaned forward. “You don’t need to worry about me, Lacey,” he said. “You’ve made it clear you don’t want a romance. I’ll honor that.”

      “Thank you,” she said, grateful for that clear communication. He really had a lot of charm. She could think of a couple of friends she could fix him up with who would appreciate him far more than she would.

      “So, now,” he said. “Tell me everything there is to know about you.”

      “Everything?”

      “You grew up on the sound, you said. A child of the sand and the sea.”

      She nodded. “Exactly.”

      “Is your family still in the area?”

      “My father and stepmother live nearby, in Sanderling. My brother and his wife and their little girl live with me in the keeper’s house at the Kiss River light station.”

      “You’re kidding. You live in a keeper’s house?”

      She nodded.

      “How did you manage that?”

      “I got very lucky. My brother and I helped with the restoration of the house. It’s going to be turned into a museum next year, though, and we’ll have to leave then, unfortunately.”

      “Amazing.” He sipped his wine again. “You didn’t mention your mother,” he said. “That beautiful woman in the photograph at your studio. You have her dimples. Does she live nearby, too?”

      “No,” Lacey said. “She died when I was thirteen.”

      “Oh, I’m so sorry.” He looked a bit embarrassed and she wished she could say something to put him at ease.

      “It was a long time ago,” she said.

      “It must be so hard to lose a mother, especially as a girl that age. Had she been sick long?”

      “She wasn’t sick. She was murdered.”

      “God, no. What happened?” He raised a hand to prevent her from answering him. “I’m sorry. We don’t have to talk about this. I mean, I’d understand if you don’t want to.”

      “Actually, I’d like to tell you about it since you’re a lawyer. I’d like to pick your brain a little, if you don’t mind.”

      “What about?” He leaned back as the waitress set their plates of shrimp and scallops in front of them, and Lacey waited until the woman had walked away again.

      She picked up a slice of bread from the basket on the table. “Well,” she said, spreading butter on the bread, “my family and I just learned that her murderer may be getting out on parole and we want to prevent that from happening. My dad’s getting in touch with an attorney, but I wondered if you might know what we should do to fight it.” She took a bite from the bread and watched him absorb the information.

      He sighed. “That’s not my area of expertise, I’m afraid,” he said. “Not by a long shot. I’m a tax attorney. I could run it by some of my friends, though, if that would help.”

      “Oh, no, you don’t have to do that.” She suddenly felt guilty for asking.

      “How did it happen exactly?” he asked. “Your mother.”

      Between bites of seafood, she told him about the battered women’s shelter and how her mother had saved the life of Zachary Pointer’s wife. Rick listened with rare attentiveness for a man, barely touching his food as she spoke.

      “It’s heartbreaking,” he said. “She sounded very special. I’m so sorry.” He reached across the table for her hand, and she let him hold it. His touch felt friendly, brotherly. She thought he actually had tears in his eyes, but she wasn’t sure. One thing she was certain of was that she really was safe with this guy. Maybe he could be a friend. But she let her hand rest in his only a moment before gently withdrawing it.

      “What’s your goal?” he asked. “I mean, with the legal system. Do you want to punish him longer or do you want to keep him off the streets because you think he might hurt someone else?”

      “Well, we—my father and brother and I and all the people around here who loved my mother—we just feel that twelve years is not long enough. He’d be out, alive and healthy and free and getting on with his life, while my mother can never come back.”

      “I’m going to look into this for you,” he said with sudden determination. “I can check with people who know that part of the law better than I do.”

      “That’s so nice of you.”

      “I have one important question for you first,” he said.

      She