“It’s nothing.” She waved a hand.
Gulping, she switched on her cell phone, opened the social media app, and stared at the page, as she had solidly for the past three days. The home site of her doppelgänger.
Anna Straus Drury.
A hard shiver, half excitement, half fear, ran through her every time she saw that face that looked exactly like her own. Yes, Anna’s cheeks and jaw were fuller, and her hair was long, plus she had numerous ear piercings, but in every other way they looked identical.
From her social media posts and abundant pictures, her twin led quite the charmed life, filled with adoring family and friends. Anna had been raised by doting parents who’d showered her with love. Check.
She’d married her high school sweetheart, the love of her life. Check.
She had two fantastic children, a boy and a girl. Check.
There was a Barbie dream house, white picket fence included. Check.
And she ran her own thriving business, the Moonglow Bakery. Check.
Amelia pressed a hand to her mouth, jealousy a sharp jab in her chest. My, my, my, life sure had turned out splendidly for a dead girl.
Running a finger over her cell-phone screen, she traced Anna’s cheerful smile. How had they gotten separated? What hinky things had gone down at Moonglow Cove Memorial Hospital thirty-five years ago? What dark secrets lurked in this sunny beach town?
Those questions and more had plagued her nonstop for three days. But at the heart of it was an even bigger question.
Did Anna know anything about her?
Somehow, Amelia doubted it. Oh, sister mine, that nice little world of yours? I’m about to rock it like a magnitude nine earthquake.
Just as Amelia’s own world had suffered a bone-shaking hit when she’d gotten that genetic report from 23andMe and learned that Anna was alive and well in Moonglow Cove.
The ludicrous limo pulled to a stop.
From the road, she couldn’t see the cute farmhouse featured so prominently on Anna’s social media accounts. Stone archways flanked by twin large bay laurels immaculately manicured into spiral topiary blocked her view.
Sudden fear swamped her.
Reluctant to leave the safety of the vehicle, Amelia stalled. She took her time leafing through her oversized handbag, searching for the stack of twenties she’d taken from the ATM at George Bush Intercontinental Airport. The limo rental went on her American Express black card, but she liked to tip cash.
One by one, she removed the individual, color-coded, zippered compartments and set them beside her on the seat.
There was a vivid scarlet Elizabeth Arden cosmetic bag stuffed with expensive makeup that smelled of ylang-ylang and roses. A lavender silk tote held toiletries and extra underwear, just in case the airline lost her luggage. There was a clear plastic case with a virtual pharmacy of medications, Dr. Ellard’s emergency contact information, plus instructions from her specialist on when and where to seek immediate treatment if her condition worsened. And an Eiffel Tower souvenir coin purse containing the birth-to-wedding pearl-and-diamond baby bracelet that her mother had given her the day Amelia had gotten engaged to Robert.
Pausing, Amelia moistened her lips. She opened the coin purse, took out the delicate keepsake bracelet, designed with an extra link to go from birth to wedding, and cinched the fragile chain around her wrist.
The small silver medallion, engraved with her name, fell against the pulse point underneath her thumb and she watched it move with each hard tick of her heart.
She located her wallet and replaced the zipper compartments just as the back door opened, letting in the harsh glare of humid coastal sun.
“Ma’am?”
“Yes?”
With an exaggerated flourish, the driver bowed. “We have arrived at your destination, Ms. Brandt.”
The man, tall and gaunt, skin the texture of tanned leather. His voice hinted of the tropics. Trinidad, perhaps? But years ago. The accent faded like a long-forgotten song.
Forcing a smile that belied her anxiety, she slid across the seat.
He extended his hand to help her out.
She passed him five crisp twenty-dollar bills and slipped her wallet back into her handbag. The driver turned to fetch her luggage from the rear of the vehicle, and she stood blinking at the wrought-iron trellis covered with climbing yellow roses.
Did yellow roses represent jealousy?
Quickly, she googled it because she was the type who took refuge in knowledge and she came across a reference that said while yellow roses once signified jealousy in a romantic relationship, in modern times, yellow roses had come to represent friendship and were a favorite gift for Galentine’s Day.
But that was from a florist’s website, so perhaps the story was just a way to sell more yellow roses.
Amelia hitched her bag up on her shoulder, wishing now that she’d gone straightaway to her accommodations at a local bed-and-breakfast where she’d made reservations, checked in, and dropped off her luggage.
What had she been thinking?
Thinking?
She wasn’t thinking. She’d been running on adrenaline for three days. Yes, and that was unlike her. She was a planner, cautious and controlled. She’d learned a long time ago that giving reins to her emotions never worked out in her favor, and yet, she’d done just that.
Amelia clamped her jaw, fighting for control, trying to find inner strength amid the wreckage of her life.
A canopy of trumpet and Mandevilla vines twined up and over the long arbor, creating a lush, green tunnel dotted with the flame of scarlet-, ginger-, and saffron-colored flowers, offering a beguiling respite from the relentless sun and perfuming the air heavy with a scent that reminded her of Bit-O-Honey taffy and Juicy Fruit gum. Around her, the hummingbirds whizzed and squabbled. Other than the quarrelsome creatures, the grounds were eerily quiet.
Amelia canted her head, listening. As a musician, sounds drew her attention before other sensory input. She was an auditory learner and noticed the soft snick-snick of water sprinklers, the lazy drone of a faraway lawn mower, and the slap of the driver’s footfall against the asphalt.
She shaded her eyes with a hand and glanced back over her shoulder. They were parked at the end of the long cul-de-sac. Stately Victorians, complete with whimsical gingerbread trim, framed both sides of the road. The houses sat on generous two- and three-acre lots, plenty of elbow room to keep the neighbors at bay.
So homey here. Peaceful. Dull, even. A far cry from her penthouse lifestyle in downtown Chicago.
Standing there, she experienced the same fugue she’d experienced following her visit to the specialist’s office two months ago, where he’d confirmed her diagnosis. She’d spent an entire day stumbling around Chicago, not knowing where she was going, or even who she was. She felt disassociated, as if viewing her life from a long distance.
How had she landed in this surreal environment? Why had she come here?
The driver set the luggage at her feet. “You got sumbody to carry this inside for ya?”
Amelia drew herself up. “I can manage.”
He eyed her skeptically. She knew what he saw. Skinny white woman. Arms like pencils. Legs like straws. Hacked hair. Designer slacks, pricey white silk blouse, gauzy cover-up jacket, and modestly high-heeled pumps. Weak. Helpless. Northerner. Out of her element in coastal, slow-talking Texas.
“Ya sure?” His brow furrowed in mild concern.
She gave him a short, tight rubber-band smile along with a terse nod.