I’m quiet, spoon poised.
“And...Oh how he loved me!”
Of course. The man was Grandpa.
I remember thinking how if I’d inherited the family Alzheimer gene and would eventually find myself in a nursing home with Heathcliff spooning pudding into my mouth, I wanted this moment—where my love with Philip would break through the fog. Where I could be certain that Philip had loved me even when I thought I’d had tea with the Queen every Tuesday.
After a bit, I let the water out, and I dry off, wrapping myself in the fluffy marigold robe. Although it’s only about five thirty in the evening, I slip on my cozy black pajamas. The house is unusually quiet. When I reach the kitchen, I find a simmering creamy watercress soup on the stove. Ms. Fernsby left a note on the island telling me that she and Heathcliff popped down the street to pick up a fresh baguette.
I pour a glass of wine and return to my room, settling in one of the sitting chairs to startBlood Ties. I was so mad that Emilia Wren turned out to be the Cardiff Strangler. I didn’t see that coming. I was sure the killer was the suspect’s sister, Penny Bledsoe. Chadwick Hall slept with Penny the first night they met in Tintern after an evening of too much gin.
A copycat strangler strikes in the first chapter. I’m hooked right away—twenty pages in and I jump when my FaceTime rings.
Henry.
Drat. I forgot we were supposed to talk tonight. I wanted to put more thought into what I would say after our awkward evening the other night. But between August, possible book news, London sights, and Ms. Fernsby’s cooking, I guess I pushed aside my little problem with Henry.
“Henry?” I set my book down and prop up the phone.
“Is this still a good time?”
“Ummm... yes?”
Henry works from his den office this afternoon. Bonnie paces in the background, shaking a chew toy. He smiles kindly, thoughtfully rubbing his beard. “Ummm... yes, this is a good time? Orummm... yes,we’re stalling, tiptoeing around a big darn elephant in the room?”
“Both.”
“Look, Lizzie, I was Philip’s friend, but you’ve been in thepicture too. I can’t forget your kindness throughout the years—even on my wedding day.”
I smile atthatmemory.
“My point is that I don’t want the other night to come between us. There were a lot of emotions. We were both feeling a lot.”
I nod.
I’m waiting for him to say it shouldn’t have happened. Because weshould nothave almost-kissed. But he doesn’t say it. I try to say it. But I can’t.
“Let’s just...” Even through my small phone screen, I see his face reddening. “Let’s just...”
“Pretend it didn’t happen,” I say quickly.
“Sure.”
But he winces. It was the wrong thing to say.
The downstairs front door crashes open, and I hear Heathcliff chattering excitedly.
Henry rustles the paperwork on his desk, puts on his reading glasses. “So I asked Mirabel some simple questions about the trust, and she shut me down, referred me to her lawyer. I called her Summerville lawyer, andsherefused to tell me anything.”
He shakes his head.
“I’m going to subpoena the trust documents, but it’s all bizarre. Never in my fifteen years of practice have I seen such fuss and secrecy about atrust fund.”
“Ted? He’s from old money. Could he have set it up?”
“It would make sense for him to set that up for his grandson—butwhythe secrecy? We have to pursue this. There’s something mighty fishy.”
“Speaking of fishy, I was going through Philip’s phone the other night, and I found this oyster roast pic from the late ’70s.”I text him the photo of Mirabel at the party. “It might be nothing, but Philip had it saved in his phone shortly before he died.”
