The three of them talked for a while, Emma sitting across from Mort and Jamie, three cups of hot coffee on the table between them. Jamie and she eventually veered off on a girlfriend tangent of conversation while Mort distractedly plucked at his keyboard.

“I can’t believe you and Colin broke up,” Jamie said, sagging back in the booth after Emma had broken the news. Mort looked up from his computer, his daughter’s exclamation snagging his attention. “I thought you two would be together forever.”

“Really?” Emma asked doubtfully as she took a sip of coffee.

“You thought so, too. Once,” Jamie said with a pointed glance.

Emma shrugged, aware of Mort’s shrewd observance. Mort may be a small-town cop nowadays, but he’d served in Chicago Police Department for years and he was a sharp observer of character. “It just wasn’t meant to be. I’m fine about the whole thing.”

“Well, that’s good I guess,” Jamie said. Emma understood her friend’s disquietude. She and Emma used to talk a lot about their love lives while they were in nursing school, and she and Colin had been on a number of dates with Jamie and her husband, Scott. It was always uncomfortable when a familiar couple broke up.

“You really do seem fine with it,” Jamie added after a reflective pause. “When I first saw you out there on the sidewalk, I thought wow . . . what vitamins is she taking? You look fantastic.”

Emma blushed. She’d noticed a special glow to her reflection in the mirror all week as well. It was as if Vanni’s uncommon brand of lovemaking had released some miracle chemical in her body. She felt like a blooming flower. It both embarrassed and pleased her to know that other people could see the results of her transformation.

“Is there someone else?”

Emma blinked at Mort’s unexpected, quietly uttered question.

“No,” Emma said automatically. Vanni didn’t count as some kind of alternative to Colin, who had been a dependable, reliable “boyfriend,” the likes of which Mort and Jamie would approve. She saw Mort’s shaggy eyebrows go up at her emphatic reply. “I mean . . . yes, I did meet someone. But it’s not a serious thing,” Emma assured when she saw Jamie’s expression perk up with interest.

“I didn’t forget about your problem with your landlord, by the way,” Mort said, seeming to intuit her discomfort with the “new guy” topic he’d begun and trying to change it.

“Oh, thank you so much, but everything has gotten better,” Emma enthused, leaning forward with a smile. Mort had promised to guide her through making a formal complaint with the housing commission in regard to her irresponsible and unresponsive landlord. “One day the maintenance man came over and said he was going to take care of every single item on our list,” Emma explained. “Amanda and I were shocked. He did it, too, even though he had to buy quite a few replacement items. I have no idea what came over our owner.”

“He decided to sell, that’s what came over him,” Mort said, nodding at his laptop.

“What?” Emma asked, taken aback.

“Yeah. I was checking out the title to the property while you girls chatted in order to get his name. I thought we could draft a complaint letter for the housing commission while you were here,” Mort said to Emma. He swung around his laptop so that Emma could see the screen. “The title to your apartment complex changed hands several weeks ago. According to the county records, your new landlord is a very wealthy man. From what I know about Michael Montand, he’s got deep enough pockets to get things taken care of at your apartment. I suppose you know who Montand is? Emma?”

Emma heard Mort’s question through what seemed like thick insulation. She stared openmouthed at the property sale document, her gaze glued to the black print. Buyer: Michael G. Montand of 3637 Lakefront Road, Kenilworth, IL. A strange tingling sensation sunk down her tailbone.

“Yes,” she said through a constricted throat, suddenly conscious that Mort was looking at her expectantly. “I have heard of Montand.”

“Michael Montand, the guy who makes those hot, super-expensive sports cars?” Jamie asked.

Mort nodded, taking his computer back when Emma pushed it toward him on the Formica tabletop with numb fingers. She’d seen enough. There was no mistake. The address was familiar. The name certainly was. There was no doubt about it.

Vanni had purchased her home just recently . . . since she’d first met him.

Why had he done it?

“Yep, that’s the guy. Montand cars are some of the best engineered in the world,” Mort was saying. “Montand inherited the company from his father, although he started his own company here in Deerfield. From what I understand, it’s even more lucrative than his luxury car business. He got his father’s brains not only for business, but engineering. Michael Senior could put an engine back together blindfolded and come up with revolutionary mechanical advances in his sleep. I understand his son is even more of a mechanical genius.”

“You say it like you knew Michael Montand Senior,” Emma said, curiosity making her find her voice.

“I did, a little,” Mort said, glancing up at her with sharp blue eyes. “We were both members of the local Lions Club. Montand didn’t come around that much—I imagine he joined to be polite when someone asked him. But I met him a few times. Knew of his reputation and business. Knew about his son, too,” Mort said dryly.

“What do you know about the son?” Emma asked, her pulse beginning to leap at her throat.

“Just rumors, mostly, although I did have a few real-life run-ins with him when he was a teenager,” Mort said in his easygoing manner as he shut down his computer and closed the lid.

“You’ve actually met him?” Emma asked.

Mort nodded. “I’d just become the sheriff here in Cedar Bluff when Montand Junior was finishing high school. He tested the police staff of a few towns along the North Shore when he was young.”

“He was wild, huh?” Jamie asked, taking a sip of her coffee.

“He was troubled, that much is certain,” Mort said reflectively, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. “His dad and his stepmom had their hands full with him. Some of these rich North Shore kids are spoiled rotten, but Montand had more reasons than some for dabbling in juvenile delinquency, I suppose. He never struck me as a bad kid, just mad at the world. He lost his mother really young, from what I understand, and never got along well with his stepmother.”

“He lost a twin brother, too,” Emma said quietly. Jamie looked over at her in surprise. “I’m familiar with him through a patient,” Emma sidestepped.

Mort nodded thoughtfully. “A twin brother, huh? Well, that makes sense. We brought Montand in one night for underage drinking and getting in a fight with some South Side jerk who boxed part-time. Montand was only sixteen or so at the time. The guy he was fighting was a monster and years older than Montand, but Montand had held his own. In fact, he’d gone ballistic on the guy in the parking lot of some Cedar Bluff dive that’s not open anymore.” Mort shook his head in memory. “That kid had a death wish. He was like a lit firecracker, burning at both ends and inside out to boot. Once he cooled down, though, he was nice enough. He even fixed our busted police radio for us before his dad came in to post bail.” Mort shook his head distractedly. “A twin brother, huh?” he repeated. “I’d never heard anyone say that. I did hear he married young to a girl he met in college. Montand Senior was dead set against the relationship, and was furious when his son brought the girl home and presented her as his wife. Senior tried to get the marriage annulled, but Junior was having none of it. At least that was what the gossip was. And then he lost her, too.”

“What?” Emma asked, praying she’d misunderstood the last detail of Mort’s rambling reflection.