“Good night then.”
“Good night, Kiki. Take care.”
He starts to turn, then hesitates, as if he has more to say, but a second later he’s crossing the flagstone floor, pushing open a glass door,and stepping into the darkness. I picture him driving through the night and returning to an empty house, without Cody there to greet him. During our last phone call, he’d mentioned that he’d recently changed to a different rental, making me wonder if he felt uncomfortable living in a place we’d shared.
Suddenly I’m almost swamped by a wave of remorse. Not over the split—which I know was the right thing to do—but for coming tonight, too selfish to turn down the invitation. I should have waited until the fall to meet Daphne, when she was back working in her New York office. I’m sure Ava could have orchestrated a meeting for us there.
When I return to the front of the house, I’m relieved to see I’m not the very last to leave. Vic’s agent and his wife are still here. But then I remember Ava telling me on the phone that Dan would be staying at the house this weekend.
“Oh goodness,” I say to Ava. “I’ve somehow overstayed my welcome.”
“You haven’t at all,” she insists. “A few of us are going to have a nightcap and do a postmortem on the party. Would you like to join us?”
“That’s so nice of you, but I should head back to the inn. Thank you for a wonderful party, Ava. Can you wish Vic good night for me?”
“Of course. And if you’re up for it, stop by for coffee tomorrow on your way back to New York.”
As I’m telling her I’d love that, Tori appears behind me and touches my arm. “Kiki, any chance you can give me a lift?” she asks. “Liam went home a while ago, and I figured I could bum a ride from you to Salisbury.”
“Sure,” I say, happy to oblige. Tori and Liam live only a short drive from the inn.
After I wish the two houseguests good night, Ava walks Tori and me into the foyer. A departing guest has left the door ajar, and a lightbreeze enters the space, rustling the edges of the curtain on the hall window. The insect chorus has quieted just a little from earlier.
“What great music to fall asleep to on a summer night,” I say.
“It is,” Ava concurs. “It’s part of why I love August here so much.”
And then comes something different: a sharp popping sound—from somewhere to the right, and not that far away.
I could swear it’s the crack of gunfire.
3
IFREEZE. IT CAN’T BE A GUN. IT MUST HAVE BEEN A CAR BACKFIRING, the sound carrying from the road at the end of the long driveway.
“Hmm,” Ava murmurs, looking perplexed. “Someone might be setting off fireworks.”
Dan’s wife, a pretty redhead, emerges from the parlor. “Was that anything to be alarmed about?” she asks.
“I was just saying that it could be fireworks,” Ava tells her. “Kids setting—”
And then another sound pierces the night. A car alarm, or no, a carhorn, coming from the road as well, it seems, and not letting up. It’s the kind of response you get from hotheaded New Yorkers stuck in traffic—except we’re not in New York. Tori raises her arms and presses her hands to her ears.
“Well,that’snot fireworks,” Dan’s wife says.
Ava turns and faces the rear of the house. “Vic?” she calls out down the hall, doing her best to be heard above the noise.
“Dan thought he might be upstairs in his office,” Dan’s wife says. “He went to look for him.”
Ava walks to the base of the stairwell and calls out again, this time directing her voice up the steps. There’s no response. The horn sound keeps on, relentless, and I’m tempted to cover my own ears.
“Vic,” Ava calls once again. She flips over her hands in dismay and then glances at the rest of us. “Goodness, where is he?”
Suddenly Vic appears at the far end of the downstairs hallway and hurries toward us.
“Sorry, I was making sure the caterers had turned everything off. Who in god’s name is blowing their horn like that?”
“We have no idea,” Ava says. “There was some kind of bang, like a firecracker, and thenthis.”
