Evening Lake: an idyllic, peaceful, western Massachusetts getaway with a close-knit community of families. Detective Harry Jordan sees his lake home as a respite from solving crimes on the streets of Boston...until crime comes to Evening Lake. Harry Jordan is out for a walk when the night is rocked by an explosion: the Havnel house is engulfed in a conflagration and Bea Havnel is seen fleeing, hair on fire, plunging into the lake. Mysterious, rough-around-the edges, and private, Bea and her mother Lacey are newcomers to Evening Lake and nothing like the well-heeled families of the community. Bea survives the fire, but her mother does not, and Harry is pulled into the investigation. As is young Diz Osborne, who, unbeknownst to any of them, carries a weighty secret about who else he saw rowing on the lake that night. When it's discovered that Lacey Havnel died not from the explosion but from a knife wound, it's clear that a murderer is on the loose. And this murderer is poised to strike again, and again. Told with Elizabeth Adler's inimitable style, illuminating descriptions, and intricate family dynamics, Last to Know is the definition of a page-turner. “Det. Brad Merlin and the spunky physician who catches his eye, Dr. Vivian Dexter, are among the most appealing figures in a thriller.” ― Publisher's Weekly on Please Don't Tell “A wonderful, romantic thriller that connects you with the characters very quickly.” ― RT Book Reviews on Please Don't Tell “If anyone can combine romance with a creepy CSI-style serial-killer plot, it's Adler.” ― Booklist on Please Don't Tell “A sexy, scintillating caper.” ― Booklist on From Barcelona with Love “A summer treat.” ― People magazine on It All Began in Monte Carlo “The perfect beach read for mystery lovers.” ― Booklist on One of Those Malibu Nights “A top-notch romantic thriller.” ― Library Journal on Now or Never “Film noir on silk sheets.” ― Kirkus Reviews on All or Nothing ELIZABETH ADLER is the internationally acclaimed author of twenty-nine novels. She lives in Palm Springs, California. Last to Know By Elizabeth Adler St. Martin's Press Copyright © 2014 Elizabeth Adler All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-1-250-01992-9 CHAPTER 1 EVENING LAKE, Massachusetts, 3 A.M. Harry Jordan's wooden vacation house was certainly the smallest, as well as one of the oldest, on Evening Lake, a resort where nothing bad, like murder, ever happened, but which in recent years had become a little too smart for Harry's style: too cocktail-partyish; too many lonely blond wives with hungry eyes; too many miniature dogs peeking out of Range Rover windows. Mind you Harry's own car, a classic '69 souped-up E-type, British racing green with tan leather seats, was certainly a head-turner, but then Harry owned that car because he loved it with a passion, not for show. And the dog usually to be seen gazing from its windows was a large silver-gray malamute-mix that looked remarkably like a wolf, but with astonishingly pale blue eyes. The dog's name was Squeeze and it went everywhere with Harry. Which, since Harry was a homicide detective on the Boston squad, meant that Squeeze had seen a cross section of hard life on the streets as well as the plusher environment of Harry's own Beacon Hill apartment. Not only did Squeeze know that the best place to eat in town was Ruby's Diner near the precinct, he also knew the locations of the best bars. Squeeze had it pretty good and so, Harry had thought, did he, until last week when the woman he was going to marry left him and went to Paris instead. Which was the reason he was here at Evening Lake. Alone. But for the dog. Squeeze was Harry's alarm clock. At five thirty every morning, even on Harry's infrequent days off, it waited, eyes fixed on the flickering green digital display of the clock, zapping it with a fast paw at the first ring. Usually all that happened was that Harry would roll over onto his back. After another couple of minutes the dog would leap onto the bed and lay its massive head on Harry's chest, staring fixedly at him. Another couple of minutes and Harry would groan under the dog's weight, open his eyes and stare straight into the dog's. It would not move and Harry had no option but to get up. That was their morning routine. The difference now was that it was not yet morning. It was 3 A.M., the darkest hour of the night. And they were on vacation at the lake. So what, Harry wondered, was up with Squeeze anyway. He always left the door leading to the porch open so the dog could push in and out as needed. Something must be wrong. He sat up and looked at the dog, standing by the door, taut as a hot-wired spring, staring intently back at him. Knowing he had no choice he got out of bed and went in search of his pants. At forty Harry looked pretty good, six-two, muscular despite a lack of serious exercise and his erratic diet of junk food eaten on the run. There were a few furrows on his brow now and his dark hair was beginning to r