but he nodded. He went to the door and opened it, obviously just as glad to see them out.
A wave of sympathy swept over Trey as he walked beside Amanda out of the office. Amanda was still grieving the loss of the woman who had always been her mother. Now she had the challenge of mourning a birth mother, as well. How did anyone cope with that load of trouble?
DARKNESS SEEMED TO fall earlier here than in the city. Especially when she was alone in the cottage with just Barney for company. Amanda knew that was an illusion, caused by the lack of ambient light in the surroundings, but it was isolating.
She crumpled the paper in front of her and tossed it in the direction of the trash can. And then got up to throw it into the can when it landed on the floor.
Barney, who’d been lying on the rug he’d appropriated as his own, raised his head and looked at her.
“I know, I know. I’d better give it up for a bad job.”
She’d been trying to compose a letter to Elizabeth Winthrop, explaining the situation and asking for an interview, but she couldn’t find the right words. One draft had sounded pleading, another vaguely threatening. Neither was the impression she wanted to make on the woman who might be her great-grandmother.
There had been a photo of Elizabeth accompanying one of the newspaper articles—obviously a staged head shot. Even in that, the lined face had portrayed both grimness and determination. A woman with a face like that wasn’t likely to be guided by emotion.
At least Amanda’s research had given her a clearer picture of the Winthrop family. Melanie had been the daughter of Elizabeth’s only son. He and his wife had been killed in a plane crash when Melanie was only a few months old, leaving Elizabeth to raise their child.
Elizabeth had a daughter as well, Betty Ann, who was much younger than her brother. An afterthought? An accident? Who could say?
Betty Ann was married to Donald Shay. From what Amanda had been able to glean, Shay ran the mill and managed the various properties owned by the family.
Aunt Betty. Uncle Donald. No, she didn’t imagine she’d ever be on those terms with them. Especially when she couldn’t compose a simple letter stating her case. All of this searching and interviewing was frustrating, when a DNA test could give the answer.
And it still wouldn’t tell her whether Juliet had legally adopted her. If Robert’s investigators weren’t able to find anything one way or the other, what then? Did she have any rights at all? She and Robert hadn’t discussed the worst-case scenario, and maybe they should have. Juliet had referred to Amanda as her daughter in her will. She’d think that would count for something with a judge, assuming it went that far.
She could ask Trey, she supposed. Always assuming he wasn’t fed up with her and her problems. She’d lost her temper with him earlier. Or maybe it was fairer to say that they’d both been exasperated with each other, but he’d been the first to extend an olive branch.
Barney raised his head again, but this time he wasn’t looking at her. He stared for a long moment at the front window of the cottage, as if looking for something out there in the dark.
“What is it, boy?” She went to the window and peered out, but could see nothing. The darkness was complete except for the rectangle of yellow light that lay across the porch from the window. “There’s nothing.”
Barney whined a little in apparent disagreement. He got up, padding softly from one window to the next. A little frisson of alarm slid down her spine.
“Come on, Barney. Are you trying to unnerve me?” She forced herself to turn away from the windows and took hold of his collar.
Barney gave a sudden, sharp bark, followed by a volley of barking and a lunge at the window. She swung around, and her heart jumped into her throat. Something—a face—pressed against the window, distorted by the glass.
Then the person withdrew a few inches and raised a hand in a wave. Amanda had a hysterical desire to laugh. It wasn’t a monster or an enemy pressing against the glass. It was Bertram Berkley, her mother’s agent. What was he doing here? She couldn’t imagine anything that would take him away from the city.
She went to the door, clutching Barney’s collar while she reassured him. Unlocking the door, she swung it open.
“Bertram! What are you doing here? You startled me. I didn’t hear your car.”
“Are you mad?” He hustled inside as if eager for shelter against the dark. “Drive my car up the rutted lane? Never. I left it down by the farmhouse. That road is bad enough.” He shuddered elaborately, overacting as always.
“Come now, it’s not that terrible. I’ve been bringing my SUV in and out with no problems.” She closed the door, realizing that he hadn’t answered her question about why he was here.
“Forgive me, dear, but your SUV is not a mint condition BMW.”
“Then you should have rented something more sensible to come here. And what are you doing here, anyway? If you’d called...”
“If I’d called, you’d have told me to stay in Boston.” He seated himself in the most comfortable chair and adjusted the crease in his trousers. “The famous Bertram Berkley charm doesn’t come across as well on the telephone.”
Amused in spite of herself, Amanda smiled as she sat down across from him. After a suspicious sniff at Bertram’s shoes, Barney returned to his hearth rug. Silence fell, almost oppressive. Bertram had brought a different atmosphere with him, but she couldn’t say it was an improvement.
She studied him, trying to figure out what he was feeling, but as always, she had a sense that his face reflected a carefully cultivated facade. “What’s so important that you chased me all the way up here on a workday to talk about? If this is about putting on a show again...”
“It’s Friday, dear,” he said gently. “I’m taking the weekend off. How better to enjoy it than a nice trip into the Pennsylvania mountains?”
“I should think a nice trip into New York City would be more to your taste.” He was right; it was Friday. She’d lost track of the days since she’d been here. Echo Falls seemed to exist in a world of its own.
“True.” He sighed elaborately. “But I’m endlessly self-sacrificing when it comes to my work.”
“I’m afraid you’re wasting your time. I’m really not at a place where I want to talk about my mother’s painting yet. It’s too soon.”
“My dear girl, it’s not too soon at all. The time to do a tribute to Juliet Curtiss is now, while she’s still in the public mind.”
“You mean you want to capitalize on her death.” She should have realized Bertram wouldn’t give up so easily. Her mother had been able to shut him down when he got carried away, but Amanda had yet to develop that gift.
“Not capitalize.” He shook his head, his expressive face drawing down into lines of sorrow, either at Juliet’s death or at Amanda’s failure to recognize his opinion. “A tribute, I said. We must remind the public of what has been so needlessly lost. A gifted artist, cut off in her prime by this horrific plague of gun violence—it’s a comment on our time.”
Amanda rubbed her forehead. “I can see some sense in what you’re saying, and I know you mean well. But I really can’t focus on that now. We’ll plan it together once I get past the shock, all right?”
She thought he looked as if he’d like to tell her she’d had three whole weeks to recover, but maybe she was wrong.
“That will be too late.” He leaned forward, intent. “Don’t you see? The market for Juliet Curtiss’s work is at an all-time high right now. We can’t let this slip away. You’re losing money