went over the bridge in the wrong lane. Once theyâd made it the two hundred feet to the other side, he bypassed what appeared to be the main drop-off point. Susan could see partygoers up ahead, people in tuxedos and evening gowns, walking up the trails through the manicured grounds to Jack Reynoldsâs neo-Tudor estate. They were all wearing masksâsome elaborately festooned with feathers and gems, some basic black. Cooper hadnât been kidding. This wasnât just a ball; it was a masked ball. As social anxiety instigators went, masked balls were pretty near the top of Susanâs list, right after playing team sports and giving speeches to old people (the old people always fell asleep and Susan never knew if it was the speech or just their normal nap cycle). But people in masks were always assholes. It was a scientific law. Give someone anonymity and all social niceties break down. The Internet had proven that. By ten oâclock the couples would be fighting and the single people would be hooking up with people they wouldnât be able to recognize in the morning. This was how masked balls went. This was what made them dangerous. Susan sank glumly in her seat as Cooper continued winding along a private lane that led around the side of the main house.
Susan had been to the island before. Once. Archie had gone to Jack for help on an investigation, and Susan had tagged along. Thatâs how she had met Leo. Leo had introduced himself as Jackâs attorney. Heâd conveniently left out the part about being Jackâs son.
She hadnât even known there were any islands in Lake Oswego before Archie had driven her over the bridge that first time. Lake Oswego was a large private lake run by the Lake Oswego Corporation and ringed by tony lakeside residences. The city of Lake Oswego, where the lake was, was a wealthy suburb of Portland, a place where Trail Blazer players lived, and people waited twenty minutes in line for a croissant. Most of the Portlanders Susan knew didnât even know that Lake Oswego had a lake.
Susan hadnât gotten to see much of the five-and-a-half-acre island that first trip. They hadnât been invited inside the 1929 nine-thousand-square-foot Tudor mansion at the center of the island. Instead she and Archie had talked to Jack and Leo near the castlelike stone boathouse on the private dock next to Jackâs sailboat. Susan had Googled the island several times since then, and through old real estate records and Google Earth she had put together a pretty complete mental picture of what she had missed the first timeânamely, the helipad, formal rose garden, guesthouse, waterfalls, lakeside pool, sauna, and the nearly one mile of walking trails.
She and Leo had been dating for nine months and he had yet to invite her to the family compound. She got it. His father was a drug lord and Leo was secretly working for the DEA. There were a lot of secrets to keep straight. He was probably afraid that sheâd blurt out something she shouldnât over canapés with dear old Dad.
Cooper parked the car next to a smaller Tudor structure, built out of the same old-growth timber and basalt as the main house. This was the guesthouse. Susan had seen pictures of it online in an old issue of Oregon Home magazine. Apparently Jack Reynolds entertained a lot of guestsâhis guesthouse looked twice as big as her motherâs place.
Cooper got out of the car and came around and opened the backseat passenger-side door for her.
âThis way,â he said, lifting his chin toward the guesthouse. She followed him without question. It wasnât that she didnât have questions; just that she had so many that she didnât know where to begin. Activity swarmed around them. The guesthouse was situated behind the main house, and was clearly being used as a staging area for the party. A catererâs truck parked next to a floristâs truck parked next to an event
Susan had been to the island before. Once. Archie had gone to Jack for help on an investigation, and Susan had tagged along. Thatâs how she had met Leo. Leo had introduced himself as Jackâs attorney. Heâd conveniently left out the part about being Jackâs son.
She hadnât even known there were any islands in Lake Oswego before Archie had driven her over the bridge that first time. Lake Oswego was a large private lake run by the Lake Oswego Corporation and ringed by tony lakeside residences. The city of Lake Oswego, where the lake was, was a wealthy suburb of Portland, a place where Trail Blazer players lived, and people waited twenty minutes in line for a croissant. Most of the Portlanders Susan knew didnât even know that Lake Oswego had a lake.
Susan hadnât gotten to see much of the five-and-a-half-acre island that first trip. They hadnât been invited inside the 1929 nine-thousand-square-foot Tudor mansion at the center of the island. Instead she and Archie had talked to Jack and Leo near the castlelike stone boathouse on the private dock next to Jackâs sailboat. Susan had Googled the island several times since then, and through old real estate records and Google Earth she had put together a pretty complete mental picture of what she had missed the first timeânamely, the helipad, formal rose garden, guesthouse, waterfalls, lakeside pool, sauna, and the nearly one mile of walking trails.
She and Leo had been dating for nine months and he had yet to invite her to the family compound. She got it. His father was a drug lord and Leo was secretly working for the DEA. There were a lot of secrets to keep straight. He was probably afraid that sheâd blurt out something she shouldnât over canapés with dear old Dad.
Cooper parked the car next to a smaller Tudor structure, built out of the same old-growth timber and basalt as the main house. This was the guesthouse. Susan had seen pictures of it online in an old issue of Oregon Home magazine. Apparently Jack Reynolds entertained a lot of guestsâhis guesthouse looked twice as big as her motherâs place.
Cooper got out of the car and came around and opened the backseat passenger-side door for her.
âThis way,â he said, lifting his chin toward the guesthouse. She followed him without question. It wasnât that she didnât have questions; just that she had so many that she didnât know where to begin. Activity swarmed around them. The guesthouse was situated behind the main house, and was clearly being used as a staging area for the party. A catererâs truck parked next to a floristâs truck parked next to an event
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