News of Quentin being taken away by detectives spread like wildfire through Northborough’s upper crust.
Lauren was in the middle of afternoon tea with the other ladies when Mrs. Quinlan suddenly let out a gasp.
“Lauren, isn’t this your eldest son?” she exclaimed, turning her phone toward her.
Lauren snatched the phone, her heart pounding. On the screen was a photo of Quentin being escorted away by two detectives. He had draped his coat over his hands, but anyone with half a brain could guess what was hidden underneath–handcuffs.
“This… this can’t be!” Lauren stared at Mrs. Quinlan in disbelief. “Where did you get this?”
“From the ladies‘ group chat, of course!” Mrs. Quinlan replied, retracting her phone with almost gleeful certainty. “The photo’s the real deal. Lauren, you’d better hurry home and check on things. Quentin’s holding the whole Lockwood family together right now–if he’s really in trouble, your family is going to be in a world of pain!”
Lauren’s face paled. She grabbed her purse and rushed out without another word.
The other women watched her go, their eyes sharp with disdain.
Mrs. Prescott sniffed. “Saul only has Quentin, and now Saul’s an invalid. If Quentin ends up behind bars, that’ll be the end of the Lockwood family.”
Helga gave Mrs. Prescott a sidelong glance, her tone loaded with meaning. “Not so fast. If the Lockwoods fall, that might not be such a good thing for you, either.”
“Helga’s right,” Mrs. Quinlan chimed in. “That Mrs. Lockwood is a piece of work. Word is, before she married into the Lockwoods, she was tangled up with the last heir of the Kensingtons. He died, and she waltzed right into the Lockwoods‘ arms.”
Mrs. Prescott wrinkled her nose. “Some women are just born schemers, always using men to climb up. Seems like every man she’s ever gotten close to has met a bad end.”
Helga sipped her tea, smirking. “Men only behave themselves when they’re six feet under, ladies. So, a word to the wise–keep your wits about you.”
That afternoon, Mrs. Prescott returned home to find her youngest son, Jason, jangling his car keys as he prepared to head out.
Of her three sons, this one was the hardest to keep in line.
“Dinner’s almost ready–where are you going?” she demanded, stepping in his way.
“Out on a date,” Jason replied, whistling as he grinned, all carefree swagger. “Don’t wait up for me.”
“Hold on!” Mrs. Prescott tugged his sleeve. “Did you hear about Lockwood’s eldest?”
“Yeah, just heard,” Jason said, eyeing her curiously. “How do you know already?”
“Everyone’s talking about it!” Mrs. Prescott sighed, frowning. “Aren’t you close with Clarke’s youngest? Have you asked him what’s going on?”
“Ethan’s been abroad these last few days,” Jason replied, giving her a look. “Mom, what’s gotten into you? Why do you suddenly care about Quentin Lockwood? We don’t even do business with the Lockwoods.”
“I’m just asking. The Lockwoods are hanging by a thread with Quentin holding things together. If something happens to him, that’s it for them.”
Jason rolled his eyes. “Good riddance! They’ve always treated Rosita like dirt–if the Lockwoods go under, it’s nothing but karma.”
19:36
Chapter 237
“Honestly, Jason! You’re almost thirty–when are you going to grow up?”
“I’ll be late for my date if I keep standing here. My girlfriend’s going to kill me!”
With a cheeky wink, Jason dashed out the door, keys in hand.
Mrs. Prescott watched her youngest son’s retreating figure and shook her head with a sigh.
As she turned to head inside, she caught sight of her husband, Gavin Prescott, coming down the stairs. He was immaculately dressed, his hair slicked back and a faint trace of cologne in the air.
Gavin saw her and smiled gently. “You’re back? I’ve got a business dinner tonight, so I won’t be home for supper.”
She barely blinked–business dinners were routine. “Just don’t drink too much. Try to come home early.”
“I know,” Gavin said, patting her shoulder with his usual tenderness as he passed. “It might run late, though. Don’t wait up.”
Mrs. Prescott smiled sweetly. “I know, go on.”
Gavin gave her a warm smile and headed out.
Watching him leave, Mrs. Prescott murmured to herself with a chuckle, “Cologne, tonight? What’s gotten into him…”
After all these years, she knew her husband took pride in his appearance, so she didn’t think much of it.
Lunar Heights Estate.
Rosita had just gotten wind of Quentin’s arrest.
She hadn’t expected that a single Stella could set both the Clarkes and the Wentworths in motion.
She’d planned for everything–except this: Cedric Clarke had fallen for Stella.
The moment Rosita heard that Cedric was willing to move heaven and earth to find Stella, she knew she’d misplayed her hand.
But it was too late for regrets now.
For three days, she’d been watching from the shadows. The search had turned up nothing–relentless rain had even triggered a landslide on the mountain. With no cameras in the area and the police coming up empty after days of searching, Rosita figured Stella was as good as gone.
So when news came that Quentin had been taken away, Rosita immediately suspected Stewart’s involvement.
She still didn’t have a full grasp of just how deep Stewart’s connections ran. But with Stewart making his move, it was clear: this would all come to a head soon.
She had to put an end to this before things spiraled completely out of control.
Lauren burst through the door, nearly colliding with Rosita, who was just about to leave.
“Rosita,” Lauren halted, giving her a quick once–over. “Where are you off to?”
“I’m going to see Quentin,” Rosita replied, her face tight with worry. “Are you coming?”
“I-” Lauren’s phone buzzed in her purse, cutting her off. She glanced at the caller ID and her eyes lit up.
“I’ll skip it. I just came home to change. Helga and the girls are having a get–together tonight.” She patted Rosita’s shoulder. “Check in on your brother for me, will you? I know he’s innocent!”
Chapter 238
Chapter 238
