Mac said, “Seriously? Those are real?”
Catherine nodded. “No joke. This was during that whole shock TV era, where the more over-the-top the story, the more attention people paid to it. And bear in mind that before the #MeToo movement it was incredibly difficult—I mean, more even than it is now—for a woman’s accusation to be taken seriously.” She clicked over to another page. “He covered his tracks pretty thoroughly and made sure any potential problems were nipped off atthe start. Not inconsequential, considering we’re talking about an almost sixty-year career here.”
Mac shook her head. “But… alien babies?”
“That’s a sad one,” Catherine said, checking her notes again. “This woman in the early nineties apparently accused him of assault at some point—here she is, Marianne Forrest. She seems to have been a little… off, and she probably should have been receiving psychiatric care; her story changed every time she told it, and she had a criminal record from when she was young—a single shoplifting charge or something. And of course she didn’t get anything from him. I think he smothered her in threats of lawsuits—”
“And possibly an under-the-table payoff,” Diana interjected.
“Possibly. She died about twenty years later. Suicide.”
“How awful.” Willow shuddered. “The poor woman. And the alleged alien offspring?”
Catherine peered at her screen again. “I can’t find a record of any baby, alien or otherwise. The woman fell off the grid for a long time, kept a low profile. And I can’t find anything on the other harassment or assault charges either; if he was targeted and poisoned by anyone out of his past, my money would be somewhere back there.”
Willow shook her head incredulously. “Catherine, you are… amazing.”
Catherine flushed a little but looked pleased. “I’m a librarian. Research is my jam.”
Willow shook her head. “I’m a grad student; research ismyjam, but you blow me out of the water.” She reached for another brownie. “What about the other paternity claims?”
Catherine shook her head. “I couldn’t find anything about them. But I’ll keep looking.”
Diana mused, “We know most of the people who were there today. Rina, did you notice any strangers, folks from off-island?”
Rina looked distracted. “Maybe. I’m honestly not sure. I knowsome of Sue’s old colleagues from the college came for the service, so I would have chalked up unfamiliar faces to that, or to tourists or day-trippers.”
“We’ll all keep thinking,” Diana said. “It was a perfect opportunity. Anyone could have slipped him something at any time. And whether it was a stranger or an islander, like we’ve said, a lot of people have reason to hate him.”Including me, she did not say out loud.
Rina cleared her throat awkwardly. “Anyone could have, yes. But as far as I know, only one of those people was passing him a cup of lemonade within thirty seconds of threatening to kill him.”
Silence fell again, like a thunderclap, as Rina spoke the words no one else had wanted to say.
“No way. Not your style,” Mac said into the awkward pause. “If you were going to kill someone, you’d need a better reason than ‘because he was being a garbage human’—and besides, it would be with a meat cleaver and in front of the whole town, not secretly slipping poison into lemonade—way too bloodless for you. What?” she asked indignantly when her mother glared at her. “It’s true.”
Rina almost smiled. “No, you’re absolutely right.” She thought for a minute. “Diana, if it comes to it, would you be able to get me off on the meat cleaver defense?”
Diana squeezed her shoulder. “If it comes to it, I’m sure we can do better than that. Yes,” she said in response to Willow’s startled look, “I am—was—an attorney. I don’t practice anymore, but I keep my license up to date. Fifteen years of corporate law was enough for me; now I bake pastries and sell antiques and use my powers for good.” She slid the tray across the table to Willow. “Have another scone.”
Rina looked up and around at them, the beginnings of fear in her eyes. “If Geralt doesn’t come out of this…”
Diana came over and patted her shoulder. “He will. I’m sure he’ll be all right.”
“Of course he will,” Mac said encouragingly, and Catherine nodded.
But none of them would meet Rina’s gaze. Willow noticed that too.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
After the kitchen was cleaned and the leftovers stashed in the refrigerator, the women left. From the porch swing in front of the cabin, Willow sipped the last of her wine, watching their flashlights bob along in the darkness until they disappeared around the curve in the path and were hidden by the mansion.
Willow was, once again, alone.
And yet not alone: Finn had stayed. After slipping down the stairs to pee nonchalantly on a wild rosebush, the corgi came back up and plopped himself on Willow’s lap in the swing. When she went inside, he followed.
The little log home, now empty of people, was much as she remembered: cozy, comfortable—and yet it wasn’t the same. No magazines cluttered the table; no sweaters were draped over the couch back. There were no size 10 slip-on clogs by the door where Sue had always left them. A laminated card next to the TV set, carefully lettered, offered the Wi-Fi code for the house; a similarly lettered sign on the little door off the kitchen readWASHER/DRYER. The cabin was full of light and warmth, but there was none of the human clutter of ahome.
Sue’s bedroom—or what had been her bedroom—was on the main floor. Willow stepped inside and left immediately. She did not want to sleep here. Instead, she made her way up the steps to the loft and the double bed where her younger self had stayed every summer, where she had sat for hours under the slanted skylight, writing in her journal and hiding from the world. Finn followed, leaping onto the bed and curling into a doughnut shape at its foot.
