“Yeah,” Gabe tells him. “That’s a priority.”
“Dad’s tracking one down now, a guy who does criminal cases,” he says, looking pained as he says the wordcriminal. “You called 911 already?”
“Summer did,” Gabe tells him, “and the police are on their way. Does anyone know what Jillian was doing by the woods?”
“According to Dad, she was checking out the area for the burial. Apparently, she needed to provide some information to the people digging the damn hole.”
I guess that makes sense, sort of. “But how would she even know her way down there?” I ask.
Marcus shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“Do you think Nick’s aware if anything was going on between Dad and Jillian?” Gabe asks. “He was around them a lot more than we were.”
“Nick’s so goo-goo eyed about his own love life, I doubt he’d notice if Godzilla made landfall and came up theDelaware. But it’s worth asking him. And we’re all on the same page about the hug, right?”
“Of course,” Gabe says. “I won’t breathe a word.”
When I don’t respond immediately, they turn to me.
“Agree, absolutely,” I say, but my stomach twists. What if this means I have to deceive the police? I can lie and make anyone believe me, but I don’t want to have to do that.
“And everything else?” Gabe asks, back to looking at Marcus. “The less said the better, right?”
Marcus nods, but before I can ask what they’re referring to, Gabe wonders aloud where Blake and Wendy are.
“Doylestown—they left around one,” Marcus says. “Wendy’s doctor arranged for her to have a sonogram there for some reason. They shouldn’t be much—”
He stops short as the distant wail of a police siren penetrates the quiet of the room.
“Okay, here we go,” Marcus says. “Brace for impact.”
How in the world are we supposed to brace forthis? It feels like someone’s taken my life in their hands and is shaking it hard like a snow globe, making pieces come undone.
We hurry into the living room, where Keira’s sitting with the just-returned Blake and Wendy, all three looking stunned as Nick debriefs them. Ash must still be trying to connect with an attorney because we can hear him through the open door of the study talking on the phone, his voice low and his tone urgent.
“And you’re sure it’s Jillian,” Blake says, glancing at the three of us who’ve just entered.
“It must be,” Marcus says. “Dad tried her cell and there was no answer. And anyone else is accounted for.”
The siren cuts off abruptly and we hear a vehicle heading up the gravel driveway and lurching to a stop.
“Okay,” Blake says. “Since Dad is tied up, I’ll speak to the police first. Summer, you should come with me, to describe what you found. Everyone else should remain in the house for now, I think.”
“I want Gabe to be there, too,” I say.
“Fine.”
When Blake, Gabe, and I exit the house, we discover an ambulance, not the police. But as the ambulance doors spring open, an official-looking SUV charges up the driveway, and moments later, two male state troopers climb out, dressed in gray pants, gray shirts, and black ties, their faces wooden.
Blake does as promised, introducing us in somber tones and explaining that it was me, along with the housekeeper, who found the body near a wooded area on the property. “We believe,” he adds, “that it’s Jillian Herrera, my father’s assistant.”
“You’re not certain, though?” the older trooper asks, the one with a mustache too thin for his face, locking eyes with me.
“No, because she’s lying facedown,” I explain. There’s no reason to waste time describing my initial confusion and the farcical scene with Hannah in the living room.
“And when was the last time Ms. Herrera was seen alive?”
“This morning.” It’s Ash talking, out of the house now and coming up behind us to introduce himself to the police. “She assisted me with some paperwork in the study and left about ten o’clock. Her intention was to return to the city, but first she’d offered to check out an area by the woods. Ididn’t notice until a few minutes ago that her car was still here in the driveway.” He chokes up on the last few words.
