Jack nodded. He felt suddenly itchy, felt his left elbow ache, both tending to happen when something wasn’t right, but he couldn’t figure out what it could be. Slipper Hollow was a sanctuary, Rachael was right about that. It was cut off from the world; it was safe. Here they could enjoy the peace before they hunkered down to examine all the details of this psychotic situation. Psychotic? Jack thought about that for a moment. Odd, but psychotic was what came to mind. His elbow shouldn’t be itching, but it was, big-time. He chose to ignore it. “You’re not married,” he said.

“I was close, once, but I found out he liked to gamble, and that was a deal breaker. My grandfather had that problem. I remember hearing my mom and my grandmother talk about it.

“I told my mom about the guy I’d thought I loved and wanted to marry, told her I’d found out he gambled, and you know what she said? Not a single thing. She only listened.”

“Wise woman.”

“Yeah, the last thing a twenty-seven-year-old woman who thinks she knows everything needs to hear is that she’s an idiot and this is what she should do.”

Jack wanted to know everything about this man, but now wasn’t the time. “How old is your half brother?”

“Ben turned ten last week. He’s a pistol, that kid, a pro quarterback in the making, fast, agile, strong throwing arm. His dad is thinking he’s the next Joe Montana.”

“What have you been doing, Rachael? I mean, did you go to college? What?”

Her chin went up. “I’m an interior designer.”

She waited for him to laugh, to poke fun, to make a snide remark. He said, “I really like how Gillette did the house, particularly the kitchen. The tile job is incredible. Did you help with that?”

She nodded. “I remember drawing him a sketch of what I saw in my head, and he liked it.”

“You’ve got to be the most popular girl in your group.”

Rachael laughed. “It’s been so long since I’ve been around friends—you know, people you trust and like and don’t have to watch what you say when you’re around them? The kind who won’t hold it against you when you drink too much and act like a fool.” She tucked her hair back again. “Since I went to Washington to see Jimmy, I’ve simply let them go by the wayside.”

“Did you work in Richmond?”

“After I graduated from the Everard School of Design, I joined Broderick Home Concepts. I was one of six designers on staff. I learned a lot, made a lot of contacts, and received a lot of glowing reports from clients. I had seed money lined up and was ready to go out on my own when my mom told me about Jimmy. I took a leave of absence, then Jimmy talked me into quitting Broderick, said he’d like nothing better than to set me up in Georgetown.” She swallowed. “He was so excited, maybe more than I was. He . . .” She turned and walked away.

Jack grabbed her hand, pulled her against him, and wrapped his arms around her back. He realized they both smelled like the same soap, sort of sweet and tangy, like lavender, maybe. “It’ll be okay, Rachael.”

She leaned back. He saw she wasn’t crying, she was shaking with rage. “Six weeks, Jack. I only had a father for six weeks! It’s not fair, not fair.” She slammed her fist into his shoulder. “I want to bring them down. Dear Jesus, I even have their last name now, legally I’m a bloody Abbott.”

“Your father adopted you really fast.”

“I was just getting used to introducing myself as Rachael Abbott.”

“Keep his name. Do it to honor him. It doesn’t tie you to the others. We’ll get them, Rachael, we will. I’ll call Savich, see how much longer he wants you kept under wraps. Besides, you and I have a whole lot to discuss. I want every detail, Rachael, beginning with when you met your father for the first time. Come over here, let’s sit under that oak tree. Tell me again about the first time you met your father.”

She sat, wrapped her arms around her knees, and began talking. “Did I tell you what he said when he first saw me? He shouted, ‘Wait a minute—my God, a man can’t be this lucky.’ And he grabbed my hands and pulled me into his office, past his staff, people waiting. Like I told you, he never doubted for an instant I was his daughter. He was amazing. He had the most beautiful smile. It lit up his face, made these little crinkles at the corners of his eyes. He didn’t want to let me out of his sight. We talked for hours. He told me about what had happened all those years ago, how his father took him and his friend to Spain to get him to forget my mother, only he didn’t, not really. I told him what his father did to my mother, and he was tight-lipped. Of course I told him my mom didn’t tell me about it until after his father died because she was afraid.”

Rachael sucked in the fresh sweet summer air, and continued when Jack nodded. “He told me the first time in his life he really stood up for himself was when he made the decision to run for the Senate. He said he’d never felt so free as when he told his father to suck it up, it was his life and this was what he wanted. He said toward the end of the campaign, his father poured money into the coffers, probably put him over the top, got him elected.

“Then he laughed, shook his head. Right after Jimmy took his Senate seat, his father announced that he would now call the shots. Jimmy said he received detailed memos from the old man, telling him exactly what he wanted done. Naturally, he paid no attention. Jimmy told me his father had to manipulate and control everything and everyone until he died, supposedly issuing orders with his last breath. Jimmy said his mother probably died young just to escape him.”

Jack asked, “How did Laurel and Quincy react to their father?”

“They both worshipped and feared him, like he was a god, one who was omniscient, one who could smile upon you or crush you.”

“And how did they react to you?”

“The first time I met Laurel, her husband Stefanos Kostas, and Quincy was at dinner at Jimmy’s house. He’d told them only that he had a big surprise for them.” She looked up to see a rabbit sitting at the edge of the woods, seemingly content to stare at them. “I remember Laurel looking at me like I was a termite that just crawled out of the woodwork. Her niece? She couldn’t believe it. All she could do was gape at me, and then at Jimmy.” Rachael could hear Laurel saying, “Pardon me? What did you say, John?”