Page 89 of Stolen Kiss

“You are going to have the best care in the world,” Heidi vowed.

“Thanks, Heidi,” Archer said. “We’re so excited to start our family.”

“That should buy me a lot time now,” Luke said and laughed, swirling his rum in the glass.

“You want to get married. It’s me that doesn’t want to get married,” Daisy said.

“I’m not talking about marriage, I’m talking about continuing the Turner line. Aunt Cynthia is going to burst at this news,” Luke said.

“Um,” Archer said. “We don’t plan on telling her.”

“How the fuck are you going to get away with that. You know we live on Copper Island, right?” Luke said.

“We’re hoping she keeps to her word and doesn’t come out of her rooms.”

“Good luck with that,” Jason muttered and grinned at his brother.

“If she wants to come to us and ask questions, then fine, we’ll tell her but we don’t plan on going to see her to share the news,” Archer said.

“Fair enough, we won’t either. Not that any of us are planning on seeing her. This estate is big enough we don’t have to bump into her,” Daisy said.

“This is really great news. I’m so glad you shared it today with us. It’s like a double celebration of the expansion of this little family,” Heidi said. “I happy I’m a Turner.”

“Cheers to that,” Luke said raising his glass.

“Cheers,” the rest of them said.

“There’s another piece of good news,” Jason said. “Bailey gave me the documents for the piece of land for the swap shop.”

“Is it a boggy marsh?” Luke asked.

“I went and checked it out, before I told you. It’s pretty sweet. It’s out on the airport land. She’s given you a warehouse as well as the land. It’s pretty considerate that you’ll have somewhere secure and ready-made.”

Everyone was stunned at the consideration and thought.

“There has to be a catch,” Daisy said.

Chapter 32

Cynthia

Forty years ago

Cynthia Turner sat at the small round wrought-iron table sipping a cup of tea in a dainty teacup. Something drew her eyes to the far side of the gardens. She could see movement and wondered who was walking up the pathway from the beach. Only family and staff used that path. But before she fully emerged, Cynthia knew who it was. A gap in the trees displayed Jennifer’s slim calves and her feet in sensible black lace-up leather shoes.

To everyone else, Jennifer was her handmaid, but between them, they were friends. The best kind. If Jennifer was hiking up that path, it only meant one thing.

Uncrossing her legs, Cynthia gently placed her cup back on the saucer, admiring the roses on the side of the cup. Then, curling her fingers underneath and pressing her thumb on the teaspoon, she stood. The floor space on the corner of the veranda was three feet square. It had a small table and a single chair. Black railings kept her safe from falling. It was the only positive of being held captive at Turner Hall. No one else could get out there. The only door was through her rooms. They were locked whenever Cynthia wasn’t in her rooms.

Cynthia took over her wing when her mother died a few years ago. She could see the entire grounds from that small corner of Turner Hall. The chair had its back to the wall, and if she stayed perfectly still, no one could see her in the shadows, even on a summer’s day like it was that day. The small patio area never saw direct sunlight.

It matched her permanent state of distress when she was at Turner Hall. Dark and dank.

Jennifer knew better than to wave, but Cynthia could see the imperceptible nod Jennifer gave. The nod thrilled Cynthia’s body like she’d been hit by a defibrillator.

Cynthia hurried along the corridor from her rooms and rounded the corner to the main staircase.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

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