Jenna’s phone buzzed and her mouth softened into an affectionate smile. “Roland. Texting to make sure we got here safely.”

  “He’s such a great husband,” Jessica told Dianne. “See, Jen, I told you there would be Internet.”

  Dianne moved the tray off the table and stood it against the wall. “Well, there is and there isn’t.”

  Jenna looked alarmed. “What does that mean?”

  “Back here in some of the newer areas of the house, you can usually get Wi-Fi, but it can be a little, um, temperamental. You see, Mr. Evanov never used the Internet himself. He was, you could say, reclusive. He didn’t want anything to do with it. I think it might have been something to do with his old life in Russia. He finally broke down and had it installed because the current estate manager, Darryl Andrews, wouldn’t come to work here otherwise. Darryl, and more or less everyone ever interviewed. So, he caved in and had it installed. The Wi-Fi is fairly basic, though.”

  “What exactly is ‘basic’?”

  “The bandwidth can be quite low. So, if you were on a Zoom meeting, for example, you’d want to be on this side of the house and not have anything else running in the background. Otherwise, people tend to freeze on screen. You could get your email, no problem. Usually.”

  While Dianne and Jenna were discussing the WI-FI, Jessica’s brain had skidded to a halt at estate manager.

  “Will we meet Mr. Andrews today?” she asked.

  “With no one currently living here, he doesn’t need to be on the property full-time anymore,” Dianne said. “Since Mr. Evanov passed away last October, Darryl has been coming up once a week or so to supervise the cleaners and check on things. He’s got a condo in Carmel where he stays. I’ll arrange for you to meet him while you’re here.”

  “I thought an estate attorney handled the paperwork,” Jenna said. “It sounds like you’re a lot more than that.”

  “That’s because I am the executor of the estate. I became Mr. Evanov’s estate lawyer several years ago and we got to be friends. He started entrusting me with certain tasks that he needed help with and didn’t want handled by anyone else.”

  Jenna eyed her over the rim of her mug. “Am I right in guessing that an estate manager isn’t the same as a housekeeper?”

  “For a house this size, it’s a lot more complicated than a housekeeper job.” There was something faintly patronizing in Dianne’s smile. Maybe she thought they were philistines who didn’t know a mansion from a McDonald’s. Jessica couldn’t blame her if she did. It wasn’t that far from the truth.

  “The manager’s job is to keep everything on the estate running smoothly. Darryl handles the staff. He coordinates the schedules of the cleaners and landscapers and arranges for any necessary repairs. He worked with the chef, too, planning menus. Basically, he has his hands on everything. Occasionally, he would take Vadim to the doctor or other appointments, when Vadim’s secretary, Wanda, wasn’t available.” She glanced away, her eyes drifting to the window and the pond outside. “There were dinner parties to supervise, too. Not to mention the occasional piano recital and—”

  Jessica missed the rest of what she said. Her vision lost focus as a tunnel opened in front of her. Für Elise played gaily in her head, a vastly different tone than the melancholy accent she usually heard. Sparklers and shimmering sprinkles of light were showering her like a Fourth of July fireworks spectacular. With a jolt, she became aware that Dianne was looking at her with concern. How long had she been spaced out?

  “Recital?” Jessica said, fighting for composure. The strange look Jenna gave her let her know that the question had been hanging unanswered long enough to be weird. But if Dianne thought so, she was too polite to let it show.

  “My apologies,” she said. “I keep forgetting you didn’t know him. Vadim Evanov was highly respected in musical circles. After he ended his teaching career years ago, he kept up an interest in what was going on in the classical music scene.”

  “If that’s true, why couldn’t we find anything about him on the Internet?” Jenna asked.

  “It was a long time ago that he was on the concert stage. Not everyone is on Google—it’s only been around since the late 1990s. Plus, he went out of his way to resist anything that smacked of social media when that came along. I can assure you, whether it comes up in a search or not, he was famous in his day, and piano teachers brought their young prodigies from all over the world for him to hear and critique, right up until he died.”

  The windows were closed but an icy breeze rippled across Jessica’s shoulders. Was their benefactor letting her know he was with them in spirit while they sat at his breakfast table having a conversation about him?

  “Für Elise.”

  Dianne cocked her brow in a question. “Excuse me?”

  She had spoken aloud without realizing it. “The piece by Beethoven— Für Elise? It’s a recital piece, isn’t it?”

  Jenna’s expression was one of dubious curiosity, letting Jessica read her thoughts: What the hell do you know about what’s played at recitals?

  Dianne nodded. “I’m a rock fan myself, but yes, I think that’s a piece most people would recognize, even if they couldn’t name it. Do either of you play the piano?”

  “I used to,” said Jenna. “Since the twins came along, I don’t have time to practice. I’d love for them to start learning when they’re old enough.”

  “Emily would never sit long enough; Sophie would, though. They’re like the two of us,” Jessica chuckled, explaining to Dianne. “Sophie is prim and proper like her mother. Emily is a savage rebel like her aunt.”

  “They must be a lot of fun. And a handful, I bet.”

  “That’s the truth,” said Jenna, like the proud mom she was. “I should get serious and start looking for a good piano teacher. The piano will need tuning, too. If Sophie starts, Emily will want lessons, too. They’re like us—ten minutes apart in age, but Em is so competitive with—”

  And she’s off, Jessica thought with an inward grin. Tuning out Jenna’s happy chatter, she got busy processing the new information about their benefactor. Was it the spirit of Vadim Evanov that had shown her the vision of a piano concert? Kept repeating it in her dreams? In light of what they had learned, it would be reasonable, especially if his students had performed at Carnegie Hall.

  “How about you, Jessica?” Dianne interrupted her mental meandering. “Do you play, too? I can picture you two girls playing duets together.”

  “Definitely not me. I gave it up after a few lessons. I was more interested in art than music.”

  After that, the conversation turned to the intricate miniatures Jessica fashioned, often from repurposed materials, and the sculptures and paintings she had exhibited in galleries. As soon as she could, she brought the talk around to the topic that most interested her.

  “You mentioned that Mr. Evanov was a piano teacher?”

  “Yes, though not in the standard definition of the word. He started his career as a concert pianist and played all over the world—the Royal Albert Hall in London, Carnegie Hall, that kind of thing. And as I said, when he wasn’t performing on stage any longer, he trained others—world-class pianists. He was invited to officiate in international juried piano competitions.”

  Piano competitions

  Carnegie Hall

  Für Elise

  Jessica’s heart pitter-pattered. As well-acquainted with him as Dianne had been, she must have the information they were seeking. New questions were forming too fast for her to articulate. “Why do you think he quit performing?”

  “Nobody I’ve spoken to seems to have a clue,” Dianne said, dashing her hopes. “He retired from the public eye when he was relatively young and stopped taking on new proteges. That was a long time before we met. The rumor goes that he stayed holed up in the old house, alone for a long, long time. It does make you wonder what happened. He was a very private person, so—”

  “So, he didn’t confide in you as a friend?”

  “No. When I say we were friends, we shared similar interests, went to the theater together; things like that. But he was very closemouthed about anything personal. I think maybe his Russian upbringing—”

  “It would have to be something serious to quit a good career and go into hiding like that,” Jenna interrupted.

  “She didn’t say he was in hiding,” Jessica snapped, irritated and not clear on why she felt the need to defend a man she had never met, and yet something prompted her to do just that.

  Dianne raised an eyebrow. “Whatever the reason he quit, he came out of retirement not long after he built this extension. Maybe it gave him a ‘new lease on life,’ as the saying goes. He invited some of the top names in the field to come and visit. If you’ve ever heard of Claudio Arrau, Murray Perahia, Lang Lang—they all admired him. He was thought of as a great virtuoso.”

  Jessica, who was only vaguely familiar with the pianists Dianne listed off, sat in perplexed silence, her mind jumping. What had made Evanov leave the concert stage? And what had later brought him out of his shell? Even Jenna had nothing to say on that score.

  Dianne gave the sisters time to digest what she had told them. When she spoke again, she sat up straight, every inch the lawyer and executor of the estate, ready to get down to business. “Now, getting to the question of why Vadim decided to make the two of you his heirs, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but the bottom line is, I have no idea. That was something else he never confided in me and when he didn’t want to talk about something, his lips had an iron padlock; nothing would move them.”

  Disappointment rolled over Jessica like a wave. “You can’t be serious. If you don’t know why he did this, who else would?”

  Suddenly, Dianne’s lips began to quiver and the gleam of tears filled her eyes. Jessica saw it then—the grief she had been hiding. Vadim Evanov was someone she had cared deeply about.

  “One thing I can tell you—” the attorney said, pulling herself together. “—although I shouldn’t. Until five or six years ago, Vadim’s intention was to leave everything to Amy Herron, the realtor I mentioned whose family once lived here.”

  The sisters’ bewildered gazes were living reflections of each other. Jenna spoke first. “What do you think changed his mind?”

  “I couldn’t say. And to my knowledge, Amy never knew she was named in his will, so there’s no need to worry about her resenting you for inheriting. She’s not that kind of person anyway.”

  Jessica’s curiosity about the man who had owned Herron Pond was increasing with everything she heard about him. “Didn’t he marry, have a family?”

  “He did have a wife. You’ll see photos of her in the old part of the house. I believe she died fairly young and he never re-married.” Sadness shadowed Dianne’s eyes. “I hate to think of him living here as a young widower, all alone.”

  “Do you think that’s why he quit performing?”

  “Save that for later,” Jenna said, and her tone was sharp with annoyance. “You’re telling us that you’re in the dark just like we are. How can that be?”

  Dianne wrapped her hands around her coffee mug as if drawing warmth, or whatever she needed, from it. “I’m sorry, girls. When he called me to come over and re-draft his will, I did ask his reasoning. As his attorney, that was my job. It seemed a little strange, to say the least. But he got testy about it and told me in very plain terms to butt out. Vadim could get a little cantankerous.” Her lips puckered into a cynical moue. “Okay, a lot cantankerous. Enough that I wasn’t about to press him and get my head chewed off again.”

  “We thought you were going to solve the mystery for us,” Jessica said with a defeated sigh.

  “I wish I could. All I can do is show you what you’ve inherited. And of course, I’ll get you a copy of the will so you can read it for yourselves. You can be assured that there is plenty of money to take care of the upkeep until you sell it.”

  Jessica bit off the question that wanted to spring out of her mouth: why are you so hot for us to sell?

  Jenna drained her mug and set it on the coaster. “How old was Mr. Evanov?”

  “He was elderly—in his 70s—but he didn’t have dementia, if that’s what you’re thinking. His intellect was as sharp as a tack, if you’ll excuse the cliché.”

  “That’s relatively young,” Jessica said. “What did he die of?” She leaned forward, suddenly impatient for the answer.

  Dianne’s lips flattened as if she wanted to keep the words from spilling out. “An accident,” she said at last. “An unfortunate accident.”

  four

  An accident. Jessica flashed on an image of an old man tumbling down that long flight of stairs in the old part of the house and dying, alone. Hopefully, nothing more than my ridiculous imagination. “What kind of accident?” she asked, afraid to hear the answer.

  Dianne rose from the table and walked to one of the curved windows, where she stood in silence for what felt like a long time, gazing out at the pond. Finally, she cleared her throat. “He was on his way down to Paso Robles for the Paderewski Youth Piano Competition. Darryl Andrews was supposed to take him because his secretary wasn’t available that night. But for some reason, Vadim decided to drive himself.” She returned to the table and sat down, her hands clasped tight in front of her.

  “He had no business driving,” she said, sounding angry. “He didn’t have good night vision, and he’d had heart surgery a few years ago. The coroner’s office said he’d had a heart attack, but they couldn’t tell whether that was what caused him to veer off the road or it happened because of the accident. The Highway Patrol thinks he may have been distracted by something. Could be an animal ran out in front of the car. We’ll never know.” She paused as if gathering strength. When she spoke, her gaze had gone distant, and Jessica suspected that she was seeing neither of them.

  “His car went over the cliff and onto the rocks, into the ocean. Coast Highway in that area isn’t called one of the most dangerous roads in California for nothing.” Her eyes welled up and she spoke haltingly. “It’s so narrow, only one lane in each direction for quite a long way. Even in good weather—they didn’t find him until two days later.” A tear spilled onto her cheek, followed by another. With a murmured, “Excuse me,” she stood up and hurried from the breakfast room, leaving the twins with the sound of muffled sobs.

  They looked at each other.

  “Don’t say it,” Jessica warned, well aware of what was in her sister’s thoughts: Her acquaintance with the spirit world had followed an accident not dissimilar from what Dianne had described. An accident caused by Greg Mack, the man she had married; the father of her toddler son, Justin, who had been killed instantly. For a long time, the shadow of Justin’s death had threatened to pull Jessica all the way into the black hole where her heart used to beat; a hole so black, no light could get in or out.

  Understanding that talk of a car crash, particularly one that involved plunging off a cliff, might trigger those devastating emotions, Jenna reached over and squeezed her sister’s hand. Jessica squeezed back; no words needed. The sisters were often at odds, but there were times when having a twin who knew what you were thinking was the best of all comforts.

  Something more than her own memories was nagging at her, though. Some instinct, maybe a psychic message, that told her Vadim Evanov’s accident was about to impact her and Jenna in ways she could not predict.

  Dianne returned, dabbing a tissue to her flushed face. “I apologize for letting my emotions get the better of me,” she said, sitting back at the table. “It’s just, it was such a ghastly tragedy; so completely unexpected and traumatic.”

  “Please don’t apologize,” Jessica said. “We’re very sorry for the loss of your friend.”

  The attorney wrung the tissue in her hands, clearly trying to get the better of her emotions. “He was in his late 70s, but he wasn’t nearly ready to die.”

  “That’s just awful.” Jenna reached out and patted her hand. “We don’t have to talk about it anymore. Let’s change the subject.”

  “Yes, thank you, let’s.”

  “You mentioned that it was several years ago when Mr. Evanov decided to leave his estate to us and changed his will—”

  “There’s nothing unusual in the terms of a will not being disclosed until after the testator has passed on,” Dianne said, anticipating Jessica’s question. “In this case, Vadim insisted it be kept completely confidential. It was completely up to him to tell you when he was ready.” She spread her hands, her expression one of regret. “You have to understand that as his attorney, I was bound by law, under obligation not to divulge the information until after his death. I suspect he intended to contact you at some point. We’ll never know.”

  “He died last October?” Jenna asked.

  “Yes, and it took a while for you to be notified because when the will was redrawn all those years ago, you were both living in different areas and had different last names and addresses. I had to hire a private investigator to track you down.”

  She fixed a speculative gaze on Jessica. “The investigator came up with some interesting media stories about you finding that little boy last year. That was amazing what you did.”

  Jessica, who had no desire to revisit an experience she would be happy to forget, brushed off the comment and changed the subject. “I don’t get it, Dianne. If Mr. Evanov wanted us to have—” she waved a hand, “all of this, why wouldn’t he have arranged to meet us? Why not introduce himself?”

  “There has to be a reason for it,” Jenna agreed.

  “Sure, he would have had his reasons for waiting. I never knew him to do anything without one. As I said, he may have had every intention of introducing himself.”

  “Isn’t there anyone we could talk to who knew him?” Jessica asked.

  “He didn’t socialize locally. Like I said, he invited celebrities here from the music world, but I can’t imagine he would have discussed his will with any of them. If he had any close friends, he didn’t tell me. As far as I know, I was as close as it got.”

 

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