The Third Heiress Read Free Page A

wanted to get married after all, that he wanted to go home for a while, alone.
    Jill knew she must not cry again, but the tears would not stop. Shaking and weak and afraid of blacking out another time, Jill picked up her bags and started walking slowly with the crowd. She must forget about their last conversation. It was the icing on the cake, incapacitating her with bewilderment and confusion. In time, they would have worked things out. Hal would not have walked out on her. Jill knew she had to believe that.
    Jill followed the crowd through a barricade where Customs officials watched them go by, relieved at least that for the moment her tears had ceased. She was about to meet Lauren and the rest of Hal’s family, and never in a million years would she have dreamed that it would be this way, with her bringing Hal’s body home for the funeral. She wanted, desperately, to be in control of her physical functions. She did not want to black out in front of them.
    She paused as she reached a circular area where a crowd was waiting for the arriving passengers, some of them drivers holding up signs with names written boldly upon them. And Jill’s gaze immediately settled on a tawny-haired woman about her own age. Jill recognized the other woman instantly. Even if Jill had not seen photographs of Lauren, she would have recognized her because she looked so much like Hal. Her shoulder-length hair was the same dark blond, spiked with lighter strands of gold, and her
features were also classic. Like Hal, she was tall and slim. Lauren had that very same look of casual elegance and worry-free wealth that had nothing to do with the designer pants suit she wore but everything to do with her actual heritage—it was an aura only those born to old money can have.
    Jill faltered, unable to continue forward. Suddenly she was deathly afraid to meet the other woman.
    Lauren had spotted her, too. She was also motionless, and she was staring. Like Jill, she wore dark glasses. But hers were tortoiseshell and oversized, matching her beige Armani suit and Hermes scarf perfectly. She did not smile at Jill. Her face was stiff and set in an expression of … what? Self-control? Suffering? Distaste? Jill could not tell.
    But she was taken aback and dismayed. Gripping both her canvas duffel bag and her carry-on, as well as her leopard-print vinyl tote, aware now of wearing faded Levi’s and a white T-shirt, Jill walked slowly toward Hal’s sister. “Lauren Sheldon?” She could not meet her gaze even through the dark glasses that they both wore.
    Lauren nodded, a single jerk of her head, turning her face aside.
    Jill swallowed the lump that was choking her. “I’m Jill Gallagher.”
    Lauren had folded her arms across her chest. Her shoulder bag seemed to be dark brown alligator. A gold and diamond Piaget watch glinted from beneath the cuff of her suit jacket. “I have a driver outside. We’ve already picked up the coffin. Because of the Easter holiday, we couldn’t find you a decent room and you’ll be staying at the house.” She turned and began walking rapidly out of the airport.
    For one moment Jill stared after her, trembling, in disbelief. The woman had not said hello, or asked her how her flight was. Hal had said that Lauren was kind and compassionate and more than friendly. This woman was cold and aloof, and not even civil.
    But what did she expect? She had been at the wheel, and now Hal was dead. Lauren must hate her—the entire Sheldon family must hate her. She hated herself.
    Far more ill than before, filled now with an accompanying dread, Jill followed Lauren out of the terminal, her mind going blank again.
    J ill shifted so that she could see the highway behind her. She was in the backseat of a chauffeured Rolls-Royce, as was Lauren. Both women had taken to the farthest and opposite corners of the spacious sedan. The hearse was behind them. Jill watched it make a left turn. She continued to
watch the long black sedan as it