Page 112 of The Night Before (Savannah 1)

“How often do you see her?”

“Not as much as I’d like. She works out of town a lot.”

“What does she do?” he asked.

“She’s a buyer for a big department store.”

“Which one?”

“Does it matter?” she demanded. What were all these questions about her twin? “Kelly doesn’t like me talking about her personal life. She’s a private person.”

“But she does live in the area.”

“Yes. When she’s here. She has a place out on the river.”

“You visit her?”

“Sometimes, though most of the time we leave messages for each other on the phone or e-mail.”

“What about the rest of your siblings, do they have much contact with her?”

“No, I told you they took Mother’s side.” She felt it start deep inside, a tiny quiver that she knew would turn into a rumble, her heart beginning to race unnaturally. “They all . . . they all act as if she’s dead.”

The world seemed to stop.

The words hung in the air between them.

Adam didn’t say anything, just stared at her, and she felt compelled to explain. “It works both ways. Kelly wants nothing to do with the rest of the family either. The feeling’s mutual.”

“Caitlyn.” His voice was low. Ominous.

She swallowed against a throat suddenly as dry as sand.

“I read Kelly’s obituary today.”

She closed her eyes.

“She’s dead.”

“No.” Caitlyn had known it would come to this. She took a swallow of her drink. Shook her head, vehemently denying his every word. “Her body . . . her body was never found. Not officially. But she survived the accident. It was a miracle . . . or maybe not.” She forced the quivering of her insides to subside, the roar in her head to quiet. “I only know what she told me.”

“Which is?” If he was skeptical, he managed to hide it.

“That she was in and out of consciousness, that she floated downstream, that she was fished out of the river by a drug runner who saved her life, but wanted to remain anonymous as there was a warrant out for his arrest. So she built a new life for herself. But the family . . . when I tried to tell them she was alive, they wouldn’t hear of it. As you know, they think I’m suffering some kind of mental disorder . . . no, wait, a ‘condition,’ I think that’s the term my mother used.”

“I see.” He leaned back in his chair and the music started again, a slightly different version of what sounded like the same song.

“You don’t believe me.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to. No one believes me. Or they don’t want to. My family’s pretty greedy and with Kelly dead, there are fewer people to divide the spoils, or split the estate, or pick my grandfather’s bones, whatever you want to call it.”

“Caitlyn—”

“I know this sounds far-fetched, but anytime she’s recognized, she pretends she’s me. She has her own identity now, a new one. She goes by K.C. Griffin. K for Kelly, C for Caitlyn and Griffin, as it was her middle name.”

“As well as your friend’s name, the boy who lived on the neighboring estate,” he prodded.

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