Stonebrook Cottage by Carla Neggers Page A

godmother's doorstep— or until Kara called her brother and told him what was going on.
    Lillian yawned, her book looking heavy on her skinny thighs.
    "Don't you two want to call your mother and tell her you arrived safely?" Kara asked.
    Henry seemed to know she was trying to trip him up. "She told us not to call. You're supposed to take us to Stonebrook Cottage and wait for her there. Doesn't she say that in the letter?"
    He'd know if he wrote it, wouldn't he? Kara tried to keep her skepticism from showing. Her godchildren had gone through a lot of trouble to get her to believe them—it was important to them. She needed to be very careful about how she unraveled their story.
    Lillian lifted her thin shoulders. "We're just doing what Mom told us to do."
    Kara returned to her armchair, sinking into its soft cushions. She was still hot, the cooler air making little difference, and she was tired and torn about how to proceed.
    One thing she knew for certain. The kids' story had a million holes.
    "Aunt Kara, you're a lawyer, right?"
    She narrowed her eyes on her godson, wondering what was coming next. "Yes, why?"
    "I was just making sure. If you're a lawyer, that means everything we tell you is confidential. You can't tell anyone. Right?"
    Kara stared at him. "Henry, I'm a lawyer, but I'm not your lawyer."
    "But that's why Mom sent us to you! She said we can trust you because you're our lawyer. Aunt Kara, you can't tell anyone! We trusted you!" He balled his hands into fists, his mouth set, his face screwed up with determination. "We wouldn't have said anything if we didn't think you were our lawyer."
    "You mean you told me this whole story believing I was representing you? Henry, Lillian—I'm your godmother. I can't be your attorney! Well, I can be, but I'd need explicit permission from your mother, or a court would have to appoint a guardian ad litem for you and then you could hire me." Kara groaned, her head screaming now. "I'm not your lawyer, so get that out of your heads."
    Henry was near panic. "But that's the only reason we told you—"
    "Hold on—relax." Kara got back to her feet, wondering who was in control of this situation, her or the kids. "If you told me this whole tale believing I was acting as your attorney and it was privileged information, then that's what it is. Privileged information. I can't tell anyone."
    "We're not fugitives." Lillian was blinking back tears, clearly exhausted. "We didn't break any laws."
    Kara studied the two tired, frightened children. Something was wrong. Their story didn't add up, but they hadn't run off just because they were bored. Maybe Big Mike's death was too much for them—maybe they'd overreacted to innocent events and created some wild scenario involving secrets and grave danger and were so wrapped up in it that, at this point, they couldn't distinguish fiction from reality.
    Regardless of their motives, however real their fear, they were here now, and they were her obligation. Her sole obligation. Nothing else mattered. Connecticut politics, bluebird theories, concerned authorities in two states, not even their mother. If Allyson wrote the letter, she had to be out of her mind. If she didn't write the letter, she would expect Kara to do her best to sort out the situation and get Henry and Lillian safely home as soon as possible.
    "We could call your mom on her cell phone—"
    "No!" Henry yelled in panic, and Lillian almost cried. "We can't call her. She told us not to call. We're supposed to have you take us to Stonebrook Cottage and wait. Aunt Kara, please, you have to believe us!"
    "All right, all right. Look, you two need baths and a good night's sleep. I only have one bedroom, but you can share my bed. I'll sleep out here on the couch." Kara hugged them, one arm around each one, as they got up from the couch. "Let's get some rest and come at this fresh in the morning."
    Henry looked up at her, his thin face etched with concern. "Then what?"
    "I don't know, but I'm on