“That sounds wise. Listen, I was planning to drop off this arrangement in the carriage house. Are there any already there, do you know?”
“How nice of you. I don’t think we have any—oh, wait, there’s a jar of fresh herbs in our bathroom.”
“Okay, I’ll find a spot for these then. Is anyone still inside?”
“Blake is up at the big house with his dad, and Nick and his lady must have gone to breakfast. I heard their door shut a little while ago.”
Good, I think,I can get into her room, and then I notice Wendy’s mouth morph into a faint grimace.
“What?” I ask.
“It’s just a shame that in the middle of this, we have to deal with that... that interloper.”
Oh wow, however bad the timing, this is an opportunity I didn’t see coming. “Did something happen with Hannah—besides her hijacking your announcement?”
“Between us girls? I’m not so sure that I like her. For one thing, I think she made up her experience with dressage. I asked her a question about it yesterday at the pool, and she clearly had no idea what I was talking about. Totally clueless.”
“Why would she have done that? To ingratiate herself with you?”
“That’s my guess. I bet that Nick told her about my interest and she researched it before she came out here.”
“How strange,” I say, keeping my tone casual. “I wonder what that says about her.”
“Me, too. Hopefully Nick will catch his breath and take some time to figure her out before they set a date. Sorry, I should stop. I don’t want to sound like a total bitch.”
I hardly fault her for it. In fact, I’m relieved she’s gone from simply being offended by Hannah’s action the other night to spotting the cracks in her facade.
“No, I hear your concerns,” I say, before we wish each other good-bye and continue in opposite directions.
Though I saw the renovation of the carriage house in process, this is my first glimpse of the final results, and they’re impressive. It’s double-heighted downstairs, a great room with an open living and dining area and a small separate kitchen at the far end. The couch and chairs are comfy looking, and there are a few antiques scattered about, echoing the style of the main house, but the overall design is modern. I scan the space, confirming that there are no flowers anywhere, unless I count the framed botanical prints on the wall.
After taking a quick peek out the window to make sure no one is coming along the path, I carry the vase up the stairs to the open landing that runs the width of the house. There are two doors, which, if I remember the plans correctly, each lead to an en suite bedroom. I twist open the handle of the first one and slowly push it open until I notice Wendy’s Louis Vuitton duffel bag on the whitewashed bench at the end of the bed. I close the door and inch down the landing until I’ve reached the next room. The only sound besides my shallow breathing is from a bird outside one of the windows chirping “Peter, peter, peter.” I slowly twist the handle and ease the door open.
The room is nearly identical to Blake and Wendy’s, though one side of it is strewn with shoes, shorts, and T-shirts that obviously belong to Nick. The cloying scent of Hannah’s patchouli-vanilla mix still clings to the air.
I scan the room. There aren’t any flowers in here, either, which means neither Hannah nor Nick stupidly picked the foxgloves and stuffed a vase with them. As I start to back out into the hallway, ready to beat a retreat, I hear the soft tread of footsteps. I swivel in place, and my heart skips as I see Hannah standing at the top of the stairs.
“Looking for me?” she asks, raising a thick, perfectly groomed eyebrow.
“Yes. I mean, sort of. I’ve been dropping off flowers this morning.”
For a moment she says nothing, simply takes me in with her eyes, which in the dimness of the landing seem coal black, not brown.
Her lips swell briefly into a pout and then she opens her mouth. “Don’t you know it’s not nice to go into someone’s room without their permission?”
I feel my chest flush, followed by my cheeks, like there’s a red tide surging up through my body. “I wasn’t goingintothe room. I was planning to set the flowers inside the door.” I shrug, a pathetic attempt at nonchalance. “But I can hand them to you instead.”
“If you don’t mind, actually, I’ll pick my own.”
“Fine.” Get out of here, I command myself.Shut up and leave.But I can’t resist. “Be careful, though. Some of the flowers around here are poisonous and shouldn’t be brought into the house. Like foxgloves.”
“Thanks, I didn’t know that,” she says, her expression even. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
That’s one more lie she’s told me.
12
Hannah stares straight at me, unblinking, committed to this falsehood. I think of Billy’s comment—that Hannah Kane has ice in her veins.
