There were overlaps, and Tom saw that it made logical sense to think that Pete could have been inspired by his father-in-law’s crime: twenty-three years earlier a husband, although a hundred miles away, had set in motion a violent act that had caused his wife’s death.
Garth Woodward’s wife had died during the course of the crime, so the charge had been raised to felony murder. Some believed it hadn’t been an accident at all—that Garth had wanted Helen killed, had ordered the Andersons to make sure the gag was so tight she would choke, so he could collect insurance not only on the paintings but on her life.
Is that what Pete wanted too? To collect the insurance on Beth? Tom forgot to worry that Conor was rushing to judgment and watched his brother stare at his suspect with the unrelenting attention of a hungry panther tracking its prey.
Tom smiled at Pete Lathrop.
You’re in for it, he thought.
7
It was hard to believe that just that morning, Kate had found her sister’s body. Every minute that ticked by took her farther away from Beth yet made the realization she was gone even more horrifying. Flying to Maine and back, trying to find anything halfway comforting to say to Sam, had filled the hours with heartbreak.
The kettle whistled, and Kate poured boiling water into Mathilda’s Blue Willow teapot. The scent of Earl Grey, Beth’s favorite tea, nearly knocked her over. Sam was wrapped in a blanket, watching TV. Kate had told her to keep the news turned off, but Sam wanted to see everything. Kate heard the somber voice of a newscaster broadcasting from outside her sister’s home at 45 Church Street, Black Hall.
Kate lived on the top floor of an 1833 warehouse on Bank Street in New London. Although gentrifying, the maritime neighborhood was still rugged. Bars had always lined the street, but now cafés and a hair salon had moved in. The sturdy granite Custom House with its Doric columns, now the New London Maritime Society’s museum, was next door.
The terrible day had turned to night. Late-afternoon summer light had blazed through skylights and tall windows, and now there was darkness. The Thames River with all its boat traffic flowed by. Train tracks ran along the riverbank. Two Orient Point ferries passed each other near the New London Harbor Light, exchanging short horn blasts—everything reminding Kate that time was passing, more time without Beth.
Telling Sam about Beth had been unthinkable, a nightmare; Sam was still in shock. Now it was time to tell Lulu. The four of them—Kate and Lulu, Beth and Scotty—had been best friends forever, and Kate owed it to Lulu to make sure she heard it from her—no one else. But all her calls went straight to voice mail.
Scotty had not simply called but had been waiting at the airport when Kate had landed after getting Sam: a tearful, grieving welcoming committee of one. Kate hung back while Scotty went straight to Sam. She embraced her tightly—the way Beth would have. Sam actually put her head on Scotty’s shoulder for a minute—after all, Scotty’s daughter Isabel was Sam’s best friend, and Scotty was practically a second mother to Sam.
“Have you talked to Lulu?” Kate had asked Scotty when they’d met at the airport.
“I can’t reach her,” Scotty had said. “It’s weird and so not Lulu. She always answers her phone.”
Now Kate could barely breathe. Lulu didn’t inspire worry. She was the most independent woman Kate knew, other than herself. But her skin felt charged with the knowledge that the worst could happen, as it had to Beth. She needed Lulu to call so she could know Lulu was okay.
She leaned against the kitchen counter for a minute, pulling herself together, then loaded a tray with the teapot, cups, and a plate of oatmeal cookies.
“Tea,” Kate said, setting the tray on a low table in front of Sam. Popcorn lay on the floor at her feet, tongue out and eyes friendly. His tail thumped.
“Look, it’s our house,” Sam said, gesturing at the TV. “There you are, Popcorn.” The screen showed the dog on a red leash, a police officer leading him into the back of a patrol car. Popcorn had been at the Black Hall station until Kate and Sam had picked him up on the way home.
“Turn it off,” Kate said.
“They keep showing pictures of us,” Sam said. “Me, Mom, and Dad. Mostly Mom. Where did they even get those pictures?”
“Not from me,” Kate said.
“Some rancid so-called friend probably sold them. Now, look, here comes the body bag again. That’s the other thing they keep running, the medical examiners carrying her out of the house.”
“Why are you watching that?”
“Because I want to know and see everything that happened to her,” Sam said.
Kate tried to grab the remote, but Sam held it out of reach. At least she’d muted the sound. Kate poured two cups of tea. Sam was sixteen, long legged, and beautiful, a brilliant student getting ready to look at colleges. But right then, curled up on the sofa, she seemed like a tiny girl. Her lower lip wobbled, but she didn’t cry. She had always been stoic. Kate took her bike riding one time when she was six. She skidded on sand and fell off, scraping her elbows. I’m brave, Sam had said. Shake it off, don’t cry. And she hadn’t until they’d returned home, and the minute she had seen Beth, she’d thrown herself into her arms, sobbing. Only with her mother could she let her feelings out.
Kate’s phone buzzed, and she glanced at the screen. The state police had flown Pete back to Connecticut from the Vineyard, and he had just been to the morgue. Now he wanted to pick up Sam.
“It’s your dad,” she said, showing her the message.
“I just want to stay here,” Sam said. “I can’t talk to him yet.”
Kate stared at her niece. She could think of many reasons why Sam might be mad at her father; she just wasn’t sure how much Sam knew about the issues between him and Beth.
“Can you tell me why?” Kate asked.
“It’s too hard,” Sam said.
“I know, honey. We’re all so sad. But he’s your dad. You need to see each other.”
“Not yet,” Sam said.
“Sam, you’re each other’s family.”
“Stop!” Sam said, her voice rising.
“Listen, Sam. You need each other.”
“You’re the one who’s not listening. I don’t want to talk about it anymore!”
Kate felt shocked by Sam’s fury.
“Okay,” she said, trying to sound calm.
Sam took a deep breath. She gave Kate a quick glance.
“Thanks,” Sam said, holding Kate’s gaze for a few seconds. Kate felt her wanting to say more, but then Sam looked away.
“There’s one thing we can’t put off,” Kate said. “The detective wants to talk to you too. I spoke to him on the phone, and he’s coming over.”
“I am not ready to talk to anyone,” Sam said.
“I know the feeling,” Kate said. It was 8:00 p.m., barely twelve hours since she had found Beth.
“So don’t let him in.”
“Sam, he has to interview us,” Kate said. “It’s important.”
“Nothing’s important anymore,” Sam said. “Not without Mom.”
Kate closed her eyes. How would a world without Beth make sense for either of them?