But it felt like he was being lured to the back of the shop, to the cardboard box where he’d hidden his experiment.
Lifting the box, Henry moved to the door, poking his head out to check that the coast was clear. Then, just to ensure that no one would stumble upon him, he ducked onto the dirt path that led to the garden shed. There he could tinker on his project in secret.
6
Lunch in town was predictably short. No sooner had Henry and I ordered when we noticed the middle-aged woman sitting at thebar, watching us.
“Got a problem?” I finally asked her like a six-year-old.
She shrugged. “Just wondering how he can sit there and enjoy a warm meal while Kennedy Russo’s body is still going cold. Not even in the ground yet.”
I press my lips flat, trying hard not to respond and failing. “You’re saying that he shouldn’t eat?”
“I’m saying he and his brothers should burn in hell for all the havoc they’ve wreaked.” She wrapped her hands around herself like she needed protection. “Pure evil.”
“Okay, well, thank you for that thorough report, ma’am,” I said, blood simmering as the waitress placed a cold Coke in front ofme. I picked it up and raised it to the woman. “You have yourself a nice day.”
After that point, even the waitress started to look at us funny, apparently making the connection between the Abbott boy at my side and the recent murder. Suddenly unsure if we could trust the food, Henry paid for the Cokes, and we headed back to his house to make our own sandwiches.
“You were right,” Henry says now, carrying both plates to where I’m seated at the kitchen nook. He places a turkey sandwich and a bag of potato chips in front of me, then removes a vase filled with withered flowers his mother must’ve collected from the garden weeks ago, setting it by the sink.
“Wish I hadn’t been. You were brave to try anyway.”
“Brave? Or stupid?”
“There is never one without the other,” I say, trying to do a voice impersonation of a wizened, ancient sage before taking a bite of my sandwich.
“You should write a book of wise sayings,” Henry jokes, but I can tell by the way he’s pushing his chips around on the plate that his thoughts have already drifted elsewhere.
“What is it?” I put my sandwich down.
“How do we start?” he asks with a shrug. “This investigation, I mean. Should we talk to Kennedy’s friends ourselves?”
“First of all—and I mean this in the nicest way—you’renot talking to anyone. If we actually want these people to give us any information, you have to stay my silent, invisible partner.”
Henry nibbles on a chip. His glasses have slid halfway down his nose, and at some point in his anxiousness, he must’ve stuck his fingers in his hair, undoing that neatly combed style. Even the collar of his polo shirt is upturned. Though I’m supposed to be thinking about how to help him and his brothers, my mind veers to how good he looks in this disheveled state. “You’re right,” he mutters. “Again.”
“And it won’t be the last time,” I assure him with a smirk. “I think I want to start by talking to your brothers.”
Henry’s eyes widen in something like panic. “Why?”
I shrug, trying to calm him by keeping cool myself, though it’s a complete act. If anything, Henry’s fear has me wondering what the hell his brothers are hiding. “Because we’re here, and they’re here. And I think getting down their version of events—any part they’re willing to tell—will help form a complete picture when I interview everyone else.”
Henry takes a breath, considering this. When he meets my eyes, I cut him off and say, “Told you it wouldn’t be the last time, didn’t I?”
He kicks me under the table the way he used to when we were kids. I laugh and toss a chip at him.
“Well, good luck,” he says. “I doubt they’ll say much. I’ll just…be in my room if you need me.”
Before he lifts our plates off the table, I notice that he hasn’t touched his chips.
Instead, he’s arranged them on the crumb-sprinkled plate to form the letterK.
***
I take the stairs, noting the thick layer of dust coating the railing and the cobwebs strewn between the balustrades. The mansion has been in a slight state of disrepair since last year’s accident. Mrs. Abbott used have a staff to help with the upkeep, but she fired them when she discovered someone was leaking photos of the family to the press. I haven’t seen Mrs. Abbott around much lately—even less than I’ve seen her husband—and whenever I ask Henry, he says she’s on another retreat to get away from the stress. I guess this new case isn’t exactly going to help her self-renewal journey.
The staircase landing features a large arched window overlooking the gardens, and sunlight streams in, highlighting millions of dust motes. I reach the second floor and start down the long hall, passing portraits and wall sconces with unlit candles. The large black-framed mirror that always gives me a jump scare is not only filthy but curiously cracked. I try Adam’s room first, but he’s blasting heavy metal and apparently, doesn’t hear my knock. You should never open someone’s door uninvited, and I know from experience that Adam can be somewhat volatile. So I text him.Can we talk?
