Look Closely

“Riveting. Laura Caldwell has weaved a haunting story of suspense and family secrets. If you pick up Look Closely, you won’t want to put it down.”

—Mary Jane Clark, New York Times bestselling author of Nobody Knows and Hide Yourself Away

“A sensational suspense debut for Laura Caldwell! Look Closely is an action-packed thriller of surprising emotional depth. Caldwell mixes the ingredients—an unexplained death, family secrets and foggy memories—into a compelling story you won’t want to end.”

—David Ellis, Edgar Award-winning author of Line of Vision and Jury of One

“Caldwell’s snazzy, gripping third novel gives readers an exciting taste of life in the fast lane, exposing the truth behind the fairy tale.”

—Booklist on The Year of Living Famously

“A Clean Slate is Laura Caldwell’s page-turner about a woman with a chance to reinvent herself, something most of us have imagined from time to time.”

—Chicago Tribune

“This debut novel from Laura Caldwell won us over with its exotic locales, strong portrayal of the bonds between girlfriends, cast of sexy foreign guys, and, most of all, its touching story of a young woman at a crossroads in her life.”

—Barnes & Noble.com on Burning the Map, selected as one of “The Best of 2002”

Watch for a brand-new novel from

LAURA CALDWELL

My heartfelt thanks to the following people: Margaret O’Neill Marbury, Maureen Walters, everyone at MIRA Books (especially Dianne Moggy, Donna Hayes, Laura Morris, Craig Swinwood, Sarah Rundle, Margie Miller and Tara Kelly), Mark Bragg, Pam Carroll, Jim Lupo, Ginger Heyman, Trisha Woodson, Ted McNabola and Joan Posch.

Thanks mostly to Jason Billups, purveyor of dreams.

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Epilogue

Seated at a table near the back, Caroline Ramsey lifted her champagne flute an inch off the table. “Cheers,” she murmured halfheartedly, toasting the bride and groom for what seemed the fiftieth time. Almost immediately, she set the glass back down.

Her husband, Matt, leaned toward her. “Anything wrong?” he said. Through his glasses, his brown eyes looked only mildly concerned.

The groom was a distant relative of Matt’s, and in order to compensate for knowing so few people, he’d gone into his social mode, dancing to every silly wedding song and striking up conversations around the room. He always became vivacious and outgoing in these situations, something Caroline loved about him, since she was more reserved. Yet now she almost wished that he were more of a watcher, like her, someone who hung on the fringes. If that were true, maybe he would wonder now, maybe he would look deeper.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she lied, because she didn’t want him to wonder. She might not be strong enough. She might tell him what she’d planned. And if she told him, he would talk her out of it. This was something she had to do, though, just one more time. Hopefully, she would get the chance one day to explain.

Matt ruffled her hair, a gesture that usually annoyed her. Tonight, it somehow brought relief.

The wedding was being held in an eight-point tent on the lawn of a Charleston mansion, and the beleaguered jazz band struck up another number as the latest toastmaster finally gave up the microphone. Caroline and Matt both turned to watch the newlyweds take the dance floor, a surge of guests following and engulfing them. Caroline remembered her own wedding, just four years ago, at an inn on Mount Hood. It had been much smaller, with cheap ivory votive candles and wilted wildflowers instead of silver candelabras and elaborate white lily arrangements, but she’d been filled with promise just like the bride tonight. She’d stupidly assumed that her troubles were behind her, that her new life with Matt would obliterate the old.

“Should we join them?” Matt cocked his head at the dance floor.

She looked at those warm brown eyes, his soft curly hair, which was always a little too long, and the dimple he got in one cheek when he smiled, and she kissed him. He kissed her back, cupping her face. It reminded her of their wedding, except that it was beaming bright that day, the sun relentlessly striking their faces as they stood on the cliff. Matt’s parents had been there, along with his brother and a few friends, but of course her family had been absent. Or maybe “absent” wasn’t the right word, since she hadn’t exactly invited anyone from her past.

“You want to go back to the hotel?” Matt murmured.

She shook her head, finding it hard to talk. “I have to use the restroom,” she said at last.

“I’ll be here.” He stroked her cheek one more time.

She stood and turned away before she could change her mind, making her way across the flagstone path to the Trembly Mansion where the restrooms were located. According to the history printed on the back of the wedding program, the mansion had been built in 1856 by Arthur Trembly and his second wife, Meredith, who was only seventeen at the time of their marriage. Caroline glanced up at the mansion with its brick front, soaring white columns, wide veranda and leaded-glass windows, and she could almost imagine young Meredith stepping out onto that veranda, resplendent in a tightly bodiced gown of crimson taffeta, greeting the guests of their latest gala.