“That’s not what I meant. It’s just that the timing of everything caught me off guard. And though this isn’t an excuse, I’ve felt in the dark about a lot of things lately. I had no idea you’d been having issues with Jillian. No idea you spoke to her.”
“Well, how about you witnessing that scene between Jillian and my father and not informingme?”
“That was because Marcus wanted to be the one to tell you.... Please, Gabe, we need each other now more than ever. We can’t let there be a rift between us.”
He sighs deeply. “Okay. Okay.”
This seems like the best I can hope for tonight.
“How did your interview go?” I ask gently.
“Ugh, it was exactly like Blake warned me. They clearly think one of us did it. But my brain’s too fried to talk about it now.”
“Okay. I’m going to pour myself a glass of wine to help me sleep. Do you want one?”
“No. All I want is to be in bed.”
As he mounts the stairs, I open one of the Spanish riojasand settle at the kitchen table to unwind for a few minutes. I pick up my phone, which I’ve barely looked at today.
It turns out I haven’t missed much. There’s an email from my agent saying she’s booked me for yet another voice-over job a week from Monday. I’m glad for the news, but it’s hard to derive any thrill from it right now.
Taking another sip of wine, I move on to texts, and see that there’s a new one from Billy Dean. I’ve been so caught up in today’s horror show that I’ve completely forgotten about our conversation. He’s not only done his homework but dropped a bombshell.
Hannah DID go to USC but was kicked out soph year. Don’t know why yet, but apparently it was very fishy. Still working on it. U really owe me for this one, sweetheart.
It doesn’t line up with what Wendy’s guy dug up for her, but it makes total sense, given Claire’s hint to me about Hannah’s undergrad years. Is this what she discovered? Is it even relevant to anything? I’m so confused tonight, I don’t even know how to evaluate this piece of information.
The rain finally starts, drumming on the cottage roof. I take one last sip of wine and struggle up from the chair. Passing through the sitting room, I check that the French doors are locked, too. To my relief, the latch is on.
Ash’s words from earlier play again in my head—that a sick monster somehow found his way onto the property today and murdered Jillian.If only, I think. Because for all I know, the monster is right here in our midst.
25
The next morning, I head over to the main house just after seven. Gabe and I both woke early after a restless night—when he wasn’t thrashing around in bed, I was. Though things still feel strained between us, we at least had coffee together and managed a few words of conversation. About the text he got from Henry, via Amanda’s phone, saying he was sad to be gone. About the fact that it’ll be warm today but with thunderstorms expected in the late afternoon or evening.
Nothing, however, about Jillian’s murder or the investigation. I don’t think either of us wanted to go there this morning.
I’d brought Gabe’s keys to the house in case no one was up yet, but it turns out I don’t need them. The kitchen door is unlocked, and once inside I’m greeted by the aroma of fresh coffee wafting from a mostly full carafe. Though the dogs aren’t anywhere in sight, there’s fresh food in their bowls.
I pour myself a cup of coffee and then kick operation modified continental breakfast into gear. I dig out muffinsand bagels from the bread drawer and drop them in a basket, which I cart outside along with plates, cups, a loaf of bread, and a bowl of fresh berries. Other family members, I’m sure, will chip in and help as the day progresses. I wonder how Claire would feel if she knew anyone besides her or Bonnie was running the kitchen right now.
Claire. For the first time since last night, I revisit Amanda’s bitter view of her, that she needed to control everything, particularly her children’s lives and destinies. On the one hand, it doesn’t seem like the Claire I knew, and yet it echoes recent comments from both Wendy and Ellen about her being extremely judgmental. And hadn’t she dug up a damaging secret about Hannah, one that led her to say,You do the right thing—orIwill?
Maybe I didn’t know my mother-in-law as well as I thought I did. Was I in denial all this time about who she was and what she was capable of?
My attention is torn away as the door to the dining room opens and Nick saunters into the kitchen, dressed in khaki shorts and a wrinkled pink polo shirt, his hair rumpled.
“Morning,” he says, stifling a yawn and letting the door swing closed behind him.
“Morning, Nick. Did you decide to sleep in the house last night?”
“Yeah. Staying in an isolated carriage house the day after a murder seemed too close to aScreamsequel for my liking.”
“What about Blake and Wendy?” I ask. I’m eager to tell Wendy about Billy’s text from last night.
“Yup, they’re here, too. She seems pretty shaken. I think they’d love to get out of here, just like the rest of us, but we’reall sitting tight for now.” His gaze briefly roams the countertops. “Any clue where Bonnie’s stashing the muffins?”
“I put a basket of them out on the patio.”
