Page 38 of Four Steps to the Perfect Fake Date

“Thrilling,” Mabel agreed.

“Makes me feel like I’m sixty again,” Greta added.

Daphne had no idea what she’d just unleashed. This might have been her worst idea yet. Actually, she could almost guarantee it.

And for the first time in her life, the fact that it was impulsive and silly and likely to end in disaster actually made her want to do it more.

“We need a plan,” Mabel said, digging through her purse for a pen as Greta pushed a napkin toward her. “Does anyone know the layout of the house?”

“No. But we could break in under the cover of darkness and case the joint,” Harry suggested.

Daphne jerked, gaze snapping to the silver-haired ball of fury across from her. This was getting out of hand, and it’d only been a few minutes. Daphne cleared her throat. “Grandma, we don’t even know if that old pot still exists. Eileen would have moved houses at least a few times in the past thirty-odd years, and who’s to say she kept it when her mother passed? Maybe we should confirm the pot’s there in the first place.”

“Brenda used to gloat about that pot every time we got together,” Harry said, lips curling into a snarl. “Eileen would join in. I bet she kept it as a trophy.”

This was sounding less and less like a good idea the longer Daphne sat there. Her big self-affirming plan to Do Something Stupid mightactuallybe really, really stupid. Maybe she was still buzzed from last night. “A trophy? Like a serial killer?”

“It really did make the best, crustiest bread,” Greta added. “I think it’s worth the risk. Besides, Mabel, it’s your mother’s pot. It should be in your family.”

“It’s an heirloom,” Harry agreed, putting her mug of coffee down with a decisive clink.

Most families had valuable jewels and precious wedding dresses as heirlooms. Daphne’s family had a pot. She rubbed her temples.

“We’ll work on the assumption that the pot still exists, and that it’s in the Yarrows’ kitchen,” Grandma Mabel said, and the other ladies nodded.

“Let’s drive over there now,” Greta suggested. “Maybe we can get the lay of the land and come up with a preliminary plan.”

“Wait—”

Daphne’s protest was lost in the shuffle of the three women gathering their things, leaving cash on the table, and then shuffling out of the booth. She had no choice but to follow. The alternative was letting three insane women loose on Eileen Yarrow’s house without supervision.

Despite her hesitations, as she slid into the back seat behind Greta in the driver’s seat, a little bud of excitement was blooming in the pit of her stomach. She felt the same way she had when she’d gathered the documents to go talk to Jerry Barela. As if finally, for the first time in her life, Daphne was making a decision that hadn’t been set out before her based on what she should do. She was doing something because she wanted to, because she was capable. Because she was brave, or stupid, or both.

And that felt good.

Greta drove them out to the southeastern point of the island. Fernley National Park took up most of the eastern shore, and abutting it was one of the wealthier neighborhoods on the island. Ellie’s ex-fiancéhad lived there before he went to jail. Lionel did as well, but not because he was wealthy. He’d refused every offer to sell his place by developers and wealthy buyers, no matter how much the elite grumbled about his rickety marina and tiny overgrown property.

The houses got bigger and farther apart from each other as they drove through the area, with stone fences and wrought iron gates encircling manicured yards. Tall, mature trees lined the roads, with patches of forest still surviving between the streets and developments.

“Archie bought the old brick place on Seaview,” Harry said, pointing right when they came to a four-way stop. Greta nodded and took the turn. “He tore it down and built a monstrous home. I’m sure that vow renewal is a way for him to show off his new mansion.”

They drove down a road that curved along the coastline, with long drives leading to big houses on either side. The hillside was steep here, with the big homes nestled in the trees to overlook the Salish Sea and the mainland coastline in the distance.

Harry pointed to a house on the high side of the street that had an A-frame front with massive windows. The roof was clad in cedar shingles, the front siding a beautiful dark green. It didn’t look monstrous to Daphne. It looked beautiful.

“That’s it,” Harry said. “Park here.”

Greta wrenched the steering wheel, jumping the curb as she parked. Daphne pinched her lips and decided it wasn’t the right time to make comments about her suitability as a getaway driver.

They sat in the car and looked at the big house.

“Now what?” Daphne asked.

“Now we wait,” Harry said.

“Wait for what?”

Grandma Mabel, who was in the back seat with Daphne, glanced over. “We’re casing the place, honey. We wait to see whatever we can see. Who goes in and out. How many staff members they have. What cars they drive. Who’s visiting. That kind of thing.”

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