The wrought-iron gates of the historic Gastonian Inn swung open as Mario guided the Ferrari up the shaded brick driveway. Sunbeams filtered through the thick canopy of live oaks, casting dancing, dappled light over the stone fountain in the central courtyard.
Standing on the porch steps, clipboard in hand and dressed in an elegant plum tailored suit, was Elena Linwood.
When the low rumble of the high-performance engine quieted, Elena stepped down off the porch, her sharp, perceptive eyes taking in her daughter’s glowing face through the passenger window. But as the car doors opened, the atmosphere shifted instantly.
David Linwood stepped out of the back seat, clearing his throat awkwardly as he pulled his worn leather duffel over his shoulder.
Elena stopped dead in her tracks. The clip
