But Grandmother was looking at me. “Is this Hiromi Kennedy really so special?”
I hesitated—the simplest solution was to kill Lyon, which would keep him away from Hiromi forever. But with him dead, my summer here would be over. I’d be sent home, away from her.
“She’s exactly what we need,” I said.
Grandmother nodded, and folded her needles. “Well, then, I have a flight to catch. London is lovely this time of year.”
The rest of us exchanged glances—the Seths weren’t having a wedding, a funeral, or a kabaddi tournament, but our matriarch was visiting.
“How much longer?” she asked Garrett.
“Dr. Lyon’s summer party is in two weeks,” he said. “The whole cult will be there, prospective members too.”
Arabella turned to me. “Are you set?”
“Hiromi threw away the invitation. I pulled it out of the trash and RSVP’d for us.”
“So you haven’t talked her into going?”
“Don’t worry, Aunt Arabella. I will.”
“Two weeks,” she said, and the room fell silent.
I wondered if the meeting that had ended Peter’s life was like this—the other four arguing pros and cons, Grandmother only listening, smiling now and then to show her inclinations. I’d never found out who the fifth vote had been. My mother, Elizabeth, Veronica, Cyrus…
Arabella was so ready to kill Lyon; maybe it had been her. Or maybe this aggression was just nerves. She didn’t like things moving slowly.
This was the right time to bring up Faraday’s problem. “There’s also the issue of the Wilbert-Lees’ former business partner.”
Garrett waved a hand. “He stared at Faraday on a train.”
“There’s more.” She had texted me last night. “She ran into him again in Boston, in a bar. He left, but then stood at the window—in the rain, no umbrella, staring back inside.”
As Arabella considered this, her shoulders relaxed, the edginess fading.
“Tell me this man comes to New York soon.”
I nodded—he hadn’t changed his passwords since the court case. “He has a reservation in Midtown, three days from now.”
Arabella sighed with relief. At last, she had something concrete to do.
“Uncle Orrin will be pleased,” Grandmother said with a smile.
32
I arrived at the hotel late in the evening, wearing glasses and a broad hat.
A one-time credit card to check in, a state ID with an indistinct photo, courtesy of Gertie. She was in the city too, interning at the Museum of American Finance, taking the A train uptown on weekends to draw the Cloisters, brick by brick.
My suite was full of ill-considered luxuries, the bed too soft, the sheets too slick, a settee blocking the view of Central Park. Even after their recent setback, Faraday’s former business partners had more money than taste.
I set an alarm for three in the morning and lay on the covers, but sleep didn’t come. I was warm in my gloves and head wrap—to leave no fingerprints or hairs in the room.
It felt odd now, being alone in bed.
I wondered what Sebastian was up to. This was the longest we’d gone without seeing each other since he’d arrived at the estate, holding Grandmother’s hand and a borrowed suitcase of clothes that would wind up in the rag baskets. I’d begun to imagine his face in crowds, the way Peter’s sometimes flashed in the corner of my eye.
Was a summer in Albany curing Sebastian of politics? Or was he soaring to new heights, spinning his charm into unMorton forms of power?
