“Sweet, thanks, Summer.”
“Before you leave, can I ask how your debrief with Paul went? I want to know what to expect.” What I want even more is to observe Nick when he answers a question or two about yesterday. I’m wondering if he’s worried the police might suspect him. And though I hate to admit it to myself, I’m still wondering if he actually killed Jillian, thinking it was Hannah.
“It was all right, I guess. He seems like a smart guy.”
“I’m so sorry about yesterday, by the way. Telling you Hannah was dead. That must have terrified you.”
He shakes his head. “Yeah, I wouldn’t want to repeat that moment, but I can see now how you made the mistake.”
“Bonnie thought it was Hannah, too,” I say, studying his face. “Because she’d seen her walking across the lawn earlier, like she was going for a walk.”
“Right, Hannah mentioned she might do that.”
Nick’s never been a good liar. I used to wonder how he managed to succeed in real estate, but I guess people in that game often hear what they want to hear. And because he’s a gregarious, expressive guy, it’s always been easy for me to notice his tells—either his body language won’t match what his face is saying, or he’ll scratch the side of his nose.
Well, he’s scratching his nose at the moment. Is he simply feeling embarrassed that he and Hannah had been fighting and he had no clue what she was up to?
He excuses himself to grab a muffin. As he slips out theback door, I feel a pang of guilt, for sitting here in this room I’ve always felt so happy in while trying to get a bead on my brother-in-law, attempting to sense whether or not he’s a murderer.
I sigh, then try to redirect my anxiety. I collect the remaining dishes from the dining room, wipe the sideboard with a wet sponge, and then check the living room. As I’m returning through the hall, carrying a couple of drinking glasses, I hear a faint sound from the side corridor and turn to investigate.
Hannah’s standing in there, her hand in the pocket of one of the slickers.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“What am Idoing? Why does that matter to you?” Her haughtiness might have been subdued yesterday, but it’s back full throttle now.
“It just does.”
“Well, if you must know, I wore one of these coats yesterday and I left my earbuds in them.”
She’s obviously telling the truth because the next moment she extracts two wireless earbuds from the pocket and holds them up for me. “Satisfied?”
“Actually, no. You shouldn’t be around here. Jillian was wearing one of the slickers yesterday and the police might need to examine this area later.”
“How do you know that?” she asks.
“I watch cop shows. Police examine things.”
“No, I mean how do you know what she was wearing?”
“Because I saw her body, remember?”
She hesitates briefly and then brushes past me, looking suddenly flustered. It’s easy to see that a certain thought is starting to form in her head, the way it formed in mine.
When I return to the kitchen, I spot Wendy through the window, sitting alone at the table under the pergola and drinking what must be a cup of tea. Just the person I wanted to see. I step outside and wish her good morning.
“Hi,” she says, her voice subdued. “Want to join me?”
“I’d love to.” I slide into the chair across from hers. “How’d you sleep?”
“Staying upstairs beat being in the carriage house, but mainly I want to get out of here.”
“I know, and hopefully it won’t be much longer.” I pitch forward in my chair a little, so she can hear me as I lower my voice to tell her about the text from Billy. I’m worried she’s going to think I’m beating a dead horse, but her expression reads pensive, not annoyed.
“Okay, my bad,” she says. “I told my guy to only find out if she’d actually attended USC, not whether she graduated. She must have done something pretty serious to get thrown out on her ass, right?”
“I know,” I say, grateful to have her interest back. “What do you think it could be?”
