Is she suggesting that with Claire dead, Marcus and Gabe can convince Ash to give them the money they need? It seems like a crude point for her to make now, though, and really unlike her to think that way.
By the time I return to the pool, Blake’s gone, but Ash has taken over one of the lounge chairs. He’s not in a swimsuit today, instead wearing a business casual green polo shirt and khakis—and a face taut from distress. He’s staring down at his phone and appears to be writing an email, practically stabbing at the screen. Without a word to any of us, he struggles up out of his chair, strides across the deck, and heads over to the house.
Seeing Ash this way, when he’s usually so comfortable inhis own skin, is jarring, but I’m sure he’s handling his grief as best as he can.
I’ve had a question I’ve been wanting to ask Gabe and I slide back onto the lounge chair next to his. “Would you mind—or would your dad mind—if I spoke at the service tomorrow?” I say. “I thought I could read a poem.”
“That would be really nice, Summer. Please, yes.”
“There’s one by Mary Oliver that I know your mom loved. I could show it to you if you’d like.”
“No, I don’t need to see it. I trust you totally.”
“Okay, good. You’re planning to say something, right?”
“Yeah, of course. I’m still working it out in my head.”
I’m grateful for Gabe’s support of my decision to do a reading, but I sense that things are still a little off between us—and I’m not sure how to remedy that without making me the focus when what he needs to do is grieve.
As the afternoon slips away, Henry and Gabe opt for one more dip, but I decide to return to the cottage, saying I’ll see them there later.
It’s really dim inside when I arrive, and I fumble for the wall switch to the right of the door. Once the light comes on, I discover that Gabe has pulled the muslin drapes closed for some reason.
I pick up the book of poems on the coffee table and turn again to the one I bookmarked earlier with a scrap of paper: I read it several times aloud, familiarizing myself more deeply with the words.
I calculate that I have enough time for a quick shower, and while toweling off afterward, I consider my outfit options for dinner. There’s a dress I haven’t worn yet on thistrip, but I decide to save it for the service tomorrow. Instead, I yank a cotton skirt off a hanger in the closet and open the dresser drawer to find an appropriate top.
My eyes light on a sleeveless jersey tank, and as I lift it from its spot, something falls into the drawer—a small piece of purple cloth that must have been caught in its folds.
But no, that’s not it. As I stare into the drawer, I finally realize that what’s fluttered down isn’t a piece of cloth.
It’s a trumpet-shaped bloom from a foxglove.
15
Igulp air, trying to catch a breath.
Someone snuck into the bedroom and tucked the blossom among my things. I rifle through the drawer, and the one below it, chucking items of clothing onto the bed. Nothing else is out of place. I scan the room next, but there are no other nasty leave-behinds that I can see.
After stuffing my clothes back into the drawers, I sink onto the mattress and press both hands to my mouth.
There’s only one possible explanation: Hannah left the blossom. It has to be her because she’s the only one I’ve mentioned foxgloves to. Which means she might very well have killed Claire. I’ve dismissed the idea each time it’s wiggled into my mind, but why would Hannah hide a blossom in my drawer if something wasn’t going on?
It’s like she’s issuing a warning:Back off or you’ll be next.
So what the hell do I do now? I need to talk to Wendy as soon as possible—to see if she’s managed to dig up anything, even though it’s only been a couple of hours. And as Laertes says to Ophelia, “Best safety lies in fear.” I have to letHannah scare the living daylights out of me, meaning my guard must be up at all times.
“You okay?” Gabe asks.
I’ve been so immersed in my thoughts, I didn’t hear him come up the stairs. I twist around to face him, and see an unusual wariness in his eyes.
“Uh, just tired,” I say. The sound of my heartbeat seems so loud I bet he can hear it. “How about you? You must be exhausted.”
“Yeah, I’m probably gonna crash right after dinner tonight. I’ll need all the energy I can summon for tomorrow.”
“Henry’s with you?”
“In his room changing.”
