I snap the laptop closed and stand up. There’s something I need to do in the main house before Gabe and Henry return: Get my hands on the iced-tea jug Claire always used. If Claire was poisoned, maybe there are still traces of the toxic tea.
I swing open the front door, and to my surprise, Nick is on the other side, dressed in a weathered Bucknell T-shirt and shorts, his arm raised as if ready to knock.
“Oh, Summer, gosh,” he says. “You look distraught. Give me a hug.”
“Thanks, Nick,” I tell him as we quickly embrace. “I am distraught.”
“Totally understood. You and my mom had such a great connection.”
As we pull apart, I notice that his eyes are bloodshot, suggesting he’s had his share of crying jags since yesterday.
“Your mom was so generous. I bet a lot of people feel that way.”
“No, the two of you had a special bond.” He flashes one of his trademarked half-cocked grins. “In fact, you’re part of the reason I felt so comfortable bringing Hannah out here and sharing the news about our engagement. I knew my mom clearly had a soft spot for actresses.”
Nothing in his words or demeanor suggests that he had any clue about Claire’s reservations regarding Hannah or that he’s aware of their confrontation. I work at keeping the smile on my face as he goes on. “Of course,” he adds, “she also loved how bighearted you are.”
“That means a lot, Nick. Though for a bighearted person, I haven’t even asked how you’re doing.”
“Miserable. I still can’t believe it’s true. It hit me this morning that my mom won’t be there for my wedding. But Hannah and I will get through it. We have to.”
I can barely meet his eyes, but I nod. “I’m sure you will.”
“Hey, is Gabe around? I was hoping to grab a few minutes with him.”
“He and Henry are walking the dogs, but they should be back before long. Is there anything I can help you with?”
“Uh, no, I can drop by later, I guess.” He scrunches his handsome face, clearly deliberating. “There is one thing that maybe I could ask you, though.”
“Shoot. Anything, Nick.”
“Is Gabe pissed at me?”
“Pissed at you?” I say, caught off guard. “Of course not. What reason could he possibly have?”
“You heard about how my father turned him and Marcus down for money?”
It clicks. Ash had justified his choice by saying that he’d already been generous to Gabe and Marcus and now it was Nick’s turn, and Nick clearly feels guilty.
“I’m sure Gabe doesn’t fault you for that. It was your dad’s decision, after all.”
He drops his eyes to the ground, kicks at a stone with his Top-Sider. “Yeah, Dad’s decision—partly,” he says looking back at me. “But apparently mostly my mom’s. She was the one who told Dad that it wasn’t fair to me, and I needed a turn.”
I stare at him, hiding my confusion. Gabe hadn’t mentioned that his mother had been part of the decision-making process related to the wine business. To my knowledge, in fact, she’d never been involved before. “How do you know this?”
“Marcus told me that Dad admitted it at their meeting, after Gabe and Marcus prodded. You hadn’t heard?”
I shake my head.
“Gabe probably didn’t want to throw my mom under the bus. Can you act surprised when he brings it up? I’m sure he will at some point.”
“Okay,” I say, still reeling a bit. I can’t believe Claire would have stopped Ash from helping Gabe and Marcus, simply because it violated some previously unknown protocol she’d established about how much they should support each son financially.
“And I’ll talk to him when we get a chance,” he says. “I just feel so bad that this happened right before she died.”
“I’m sure Gabe put it all into perspective,” I say.
Nick looks stricken. “No, he was upset with her, Marcus told me. Really upset. He didn’t know why she’d do something like that.”
For a moment, I can’t even think how to respond. Is this what Gabe was about to tell me as we sat on the bench outside the cottage? It must be eating at him, the idea that his mother died while he was so angry with her.
“Um, well, yes, do talk to him about it, Nick. He’ll be around later.”
He hugs me again then takes off down the path at a sprint. I give him a minute to put a little distance between us and then start off for the house myself, noticing how warm the day’s gotten. It must be in the mideighties by now.
I enter the house through the kitchen. Jake’s alone in there, scooping tuna salad onto slices of bread.
“Hi again,” I say. “Is Bonnie around?”
“She ran upstairs to make the beds.”
“Okay, I’ll futz around here until she gets back.”
He returns to his task and I begin the one I came for. Though the kitchen has always been Bonnie and Claire’s domain, I’ve never felt it was off-limits to me. I swing the fridge door open, but there’s no iced tea on any of the shelves. I proceed to a cabinet at the far end of the kitchen and scan the inside. No jug there, either. Okay, it’s got to be someplace else in the room. I’m pivoting on my heels when Bonnie enters the room, clearly a little winded.
“You need something, hon?” she asks.
“Actually, yes.” I wish I didn’t have to burden her with another task, but it’s important. “I was looking for the jug Claire always used for her iced tea.”
“There’s iced tea out on the patio already.”
“Okay, thanks, but as silly as this sounds, I was hoping to use Claire’s jug and make some herbal tea. For, you know, sentimental reasons.”
“Sure,” she says agreeably enough. “We actually keep it in here.”
I trail behind her into the pantry, where she tugs open a long cupboard I’ve never looked inside before. One of the interior shelves is lined with nine or ten pitchers and jugs, some glass but also ceramic ones in the shape of things like peaches, oranges, rabbits, and monkeys.
I watch her sweep the collection with her eyes, absentmindedly fingering the small gold cross she wears around her neck.
“That’s odd,” she says. “It’s not here anymore.”
13
Shaking her head, Bonnie lingers before the shelf, obviously perplexed. This is her turf, and the mystery has snagged her attention. With her brow furrowed, she closes the door of the cupboard and pulls open another one. And another.
“For Pete’s sake, where’d it go?” she says. “I’m sorry, Summer. Someone’s clearly using it.”
“When was the last time you saw it?” My heart’s thrumming from what all this might mean.
“It was upside down on the drainboard when I came back from my break yesterday. Claire must have washed it before she left the room.”
Her face clouds as she speaks. A short time later, of course, she would find Claire writhing on the living room floor.
“But what would someone be using it for?” I say.
She shrugs. “Maybe they wanted water in their bedroom. I’m sure it will turn up at some point.”