Still, no one said anything.
Language seemed useless when all you wanted to do was break something, even if that thing was yourself. Their father was dead and there was nothing Waxler or Henry or anyone could do or say to change that.
After a few moments of quiet, Fola finally spoke. “Are you investigating something in particular? Do you think there was foul play involved?” she asked, her voice fragile as she switched into problem-solving mode.
Waxler paused, noticeably hesitant to answer. “I won’t know the details until we get a full report back from the officers on the ship. Right now we are not too concerned, as we know that this case is in the safest hands possible. Our principal aim is keeping this contained. No one except the people in this room is aware of your father’s passing, and we will aim to keep it that way for as long as we can, to ensure Henry, the lawyers, and your father’s estate are able to control the news as desired.
“That will be pretty difficult, what with thebrunchstarting in a few hours. Guests will be here soon, and they will be expecting my father to be here too,” Fola said.
“Yes, we plan on controlling the flow of information. We don’t want to raise too much alarm, so when the guests settle down, I will simply let them know that there was an incident on the boat last night and ask them to recount their version of events to my officers. Given your father’s high status, we will not be releasing a statement to the press until we’ve heard from his lawyers about next steps. To eliminate the spreading of this news, we’ll be taking everyone’s phones and electronic devices upon their arrival and until further notice.”
“Even our devices?” Perdita asked.
Henry nodded. “Yes, though the police won’t be searching through the devices at this point; this is just to stop the news spreading to the outside,” he said as he removed his glasses and gave them a quick clean. She noticed the slight tremor in his hands and the way his face was overcast by shadow. Perdita tried not to look too visibly relieved at the confirmation that their devices wouldn’t be searched.
Bilal’s low rumble of a voice broke through. “You said you were interrogating all the guests from last night. Does that mean us too?” he asked.
“Yes, that will be the case. Though I hasten to add it isn’t an interrogation, more so an informal interview. In fact, why don’t we do all your interviews now? Get them out of the way before the others arrive?”
No one said a word. Instead they all just stared helplessly at the uniformed men before them. For some reason Waxler saw this response as an affirmative.
“Wonderful! Mr. Xu, is there a room we can use for the interviews?” Waxler turned to face Henry now.
Henry’s eyes were bloodshot as he nodded. “Yes, I’ll have the staff prepare some rooms, and you can do the children’s interviews in Eden—I mean, Mr. Button’s office… his old office now that he’s… It’s upstairs,” Henry said with finality, his fingers shaking as he clasped his hands together.
“Great,” Waxler said in too jolly of a tone for the situation. Then again, Perdita imagined it would be hard for Mr. Waxler not to look jolly in general, given the chief’s very bushy upturned mustache and wide dazzling brown eyes. “I say we go in alphabetical order, to save you all the hassle of deciding.” He gave a final nod, not waiting to get their approval.Did he even need it?While they were all seventeen and thus still children in the eyes of the law, Perdita didn’t feel she could refuse their questioning. She and her siblings were privileged in many ways, but having agency wasn’t one of them.
“No need to look so worried,” Waxler said, staring at the misery mirrored across all of their expressions. “I’m just going to ask you to take me through your entire night from start to finish, with special attention paid to anythingstrange you might have seen or heard.” Waxler looked hopeful that this added detail would help the heirs to see the situation as less complicated than he believed it was, but was only met with more silence and more gloom.
Henry stepped in before Waxler could speak again. “Chief, one of the maids, Lara, will show you to Eden,” Henry said, and then he turned to Bilal. “Billy, you’re up first.”
11:48A.M.—THE BUTTON MANOR
Their father was dead, and Romeo’s tea had gone cold.
Henry had given Romeo the mug of steaming red chai after his police interview, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to go near it, so the tea now sat abandoned on the side table next to him.
As midday approached, the Manor had filled up with the smiling faces of familiar strangers.
There had to be at least eighty or so odd people here, and that was only including the guests from last night. The staff that had been working on the yacht, such as the waiters, the captain, and the crew, were also here, but were being kept in a separate room down the barricaded hall, so as not to rouse suspicion about what wasreallygoing on. Everyone else had been crammed into the drawing room like sardines in a commodious tin, and Romeo was now at the edge of the chaos, as he often was, seated on one of the floral-patterned couches, knitting a scarf.
They were essentially landlocked in the space between the foyer and the drawing room—with the entrances to the hallways and west wing staircase blocked off by random pieces of furniture—and there was security posted all over. Despite this, the air in the drawing room was filled with loud, excited whispers that formed a low hum throughout. From his spot, Romeo could hear everything, from chatter about what someone had had for breakfast that morning to general anticipation for the Button Banquet Brunch. The brunch that had now been canceled and replaced with interviews with the head of the police.
But the guests didn’t know that yet. They were all too caught up in their blissful ignorance.
Romeo’s interview with the police chief had been short and straightforward, but that hadn’t made him feel any less anxious while it was happening. It all felt like he was taking some kind of test—an important one. And, as Romeo had never been good at tests, he was almost certain that he’d failed it. After the interview, he was instructed to stay in the drawing room, to not leave or go wandering about. His siblings, as well as the guests, were also told to stay put, but he couldn’t see any of his brothers or sisters in the room now. Had they somehow escaped?
His siblings couldn’t have gotten too far. But it wasn’t like he could text them to ask; their phones had all been confiscated, and so Romeo only had his stale cup of bloodred tea, the scarf he was knitting, the dread-filled knocking in his chest, and his thoughts about his dead father to keep him company.
This was definitelynothow he expected to be spending the morning after the ball.
The knitting was doing a terrible job of distracting him from the fact that his home was filled with people, all invited here by his father and now all trapped here because of what had happened to his father.
Romeo looked up, his heart in his throat as he surveyed the room, eyeing the crowd of unassuming guests, all oblivious to the tragedy of today. It was as if he were in one of those weird dreams he sometimes had where everything in the world felt backward, and then he’d wake up to find that things were all right and normal. But he had a feeling this wasn’t one of those times. There was no waking up from this nightmare.
He spotted Henry weaving through the crowd anxiously, helping some of the maids serve coffee, tea, and Mrs. Gray’s freshly baked cookies. The scene reminded Romeo of some kind of twisted version of the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party. Which was fitting, as this was indeed a madhouse.
Close by, he spotted Evie, dressed in a deep-red cardigan, a dark denim skirt, and leather boots, looking triumphant as she managed to grab a cookie from the quickly emptying tray. She waved at him, then walked over to where he was sitting in the corner.
