Page 11 of Return to Whitmore
“Of course we do,” Charlotte interjected. “Who else would own it?”
Jefferson’s eyes glinted. He took a long drink. “Let me ask you this. Do you suspect foul play?”
“It was a Fourth of July accident,” Lorelei said, although her voice wavered as though she didn’t believe it.
“Is that so?” Jefferson asked. “Don’t tell me you three believe that. You’re genius girls. Your mother is the smartest woman I’ve ever met.”
“It was an accident, like Lorelei said,” Charlotte snapped.
“We don’t engage in gossip like that,” Allegra said.
Jefferson smiled in a way that meant he thought he knew far more than they did. “Don’t you think somebody was trying to cover something up?” he suggested, leaning forward. “And what about the supposed Whitmore treasure, buried under the White Oak Lodge? Don’t you think someone took it and tried to cover their trail?”
“There’s no Whitmore treasure.” Allegra rolled her eyes.
“That’s not what I heard,” Jefferson said.
“It sounds like you think you know a lot more than you do,” Lorelei said.
Jefferson raised his hand and laughed. “The Whitmore girls have got me cornered. What do you think, Charlotte? You think there’s treasure under there?”
Treasure? Under their home? It was true that Charlotte and her brothers and sisters had never really been allowed downstairs, but over time, she hadn’t thought anything of it. There were tunnels and secret passageways down there, of that she was sure, but she knew they were leftover from the whaling days, when the White Oak Lodge was a protective station for whalers taking refuge from storms. It certainly hadn’t been a luxurious time for the property. It meant, she thought, that the tunnels and passageways were nothing to write home about, save for their historical importance.
Allegra, Lorelei, and Charlotte were quiet. Charlotte didn’t want to say anything more to Jefferson Albright, and she was of half a mind to tell their mother tomorrow that he was after the Whitmore treasure and not Francesca’s heart, after all.
“I can see I’ve overstepped,” Jefferson said, getting up. “I apologize for that.” But he still wore that horrible smile, one that reminded Charlotte of something or someone. She couldn’t place it.
“I’ll let you enjoy the rest of your night,” Jefferson said, stepping away. Again, his eyes found Charlotte’s, and he smiled. “Before I go, I want to tell you, Charlotte. You really do look like her.”
The bait dangled between them.
“Like my mother?” Charlotte asked. “Everyone says that. But we all look like her. Allegra, Lorelei, and me.”
Allegra and Lorelei nodded, as though that settled it.
“What? Oh, of course. You all look like Francesca,” Jefferson said, pretending to be confused. “But there’s someone else in your face, Charlotte. Someone I miss a great deal.”
Charlotte’s heart throbbed. She knew he was toying with her.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. But the sweat on her upper lip and on the back of her neck meant it was dawning on her.
Jefferson smiled that wonderful smile and said, “My mother. I miss her so dearly.” He pressed a kiss to the tips of his fingers and blew it Charlotte’s way. “Good evening, my dears. See you soon.”
Jefferson disappeared through the crowd, leaving Charlotte, Allegra, and Lorelei in stunned silence. Charlotte got to her feet and gaped at her sisters.
“You knew,” she said. She shook out her hands. “You knew, and you didn’t tell me.”
“We only guessed the other day,” Allegra said. “We didn’t know for sure.”
But Charlotte’s eyes were filled with tears. She fled the club, whipping out into the sidewalk in front of the entrance and flailing her arm for a cab. All her life, she’d thought Benjamin Whitmore was her father. All her life, she’d thought she was a Whitmore, one of the Whitmore girls, one of the heirs to the White Oak Lodge.
It was then she realized where she’d seen Jefferson Albright’s smile before: it looked remarkably like her own, the one she flashed in the mirror when she checked her teeth for lipstick stains. She thought she was going to throw up.
Chapter Six
Summer 2025
On the drive back from Chez Paul to the house on Madequecham Beach, Charlotte could hardly focus. Twice, she made wrong turns, then had to correct them without Addison noticing so as not to irritate the stunned and fatigued woman even more. The last thing she wanted was Addison accusing her of not knowing what she was doing (despite the fact that, honestly, Charlotte couldn’t remember the last time she’d had all her ducks in a row, so to speak). In a semi-intelligent move, they’d decided to leave Addison’s rental car back at the restaurant, because Addison was too distraught to drive.
