In the kitchen, I make coffee and slip outside with my mug. The temperature is probably in the seasonal range, but the dampness in the air makes it feel a little raw and unpleasant, such a far cry from the past couple of days.
Leaving the path, I cross the lawn toward the row of shrubs I saw that animal shoot behind last night. I know it’s unlikely I’ll find a tuft of fur snagged on a branch, or, ha, a pile of scat I can ask Marcus to analyze, but I’m hoping there might be some paw prints in the dirt around the bushes. But there’s nothing. I might as well be looking for signs of Bigfoot.
Still, the lack of evidence doesn’t leave me any less rattled—not only about what I saw, but the idea that it felt like a harbinger of something bad.
Gabe and Henry are both stirring when I return, and we eat breakfast together. Afterward, determined to give Henry more of my undivided attention, I act out part of a chapter of Peter Pan for him. Once that’s run its course, we all settle in the sitting room—Gabe with his dog-eared thriller, Henry with his iPad, and me with my laptop.
From time to time I sense Gabe studying me from the corner of his eye. Is he wondering if I’ve done what he asked—taken a long deep breath and let the Hannah business go? I’m certainly using all my acting chops to look like I have. There’s no way he can tell from my I’m-just-perusing-scented-candles-on-Amazon expression that I’m actually doing a deep dive on digitalis. From what I’ve read so far, it stays in the system for days, which means that if an autopsy is done on Claire before she’s buried, the authorities will be able to tell if she had ingested it prior to her death. But first, of course, someone would have to alert the authorities.
Shortly before ten Gabe asks if I’d mind if he went for a run on the road while the weather’s still decent, and I tell him of course, offering a smile.
“Are we gonna be in the cottage all day?” Henry asks after he leaves. Curious rather than whiny, with a sliver of hope that I’m going to answer in the negative.
“Well, it’s not really swimming weather. How ’bout a game of horseshoes?”
He shrugs, unenthused. “Can we go play with Bella and Ginger in the big house?”
“Great idea,” I tell him. I feel desperate to escape the cottage, too. Maybe if I clear my head, my next steps will become evident to me.
In the kitchen, we greet Bonnie, and Henry drops to the floor with the dogs.
“Anything going on?” I ask her.
“It’s been real quiet so far this morning,” she reports, setting down the whisk she’s been using on an aluminum bowl filled with raw eggs. Next to it are a half dozen empty tart crusts. “Ash has been in the study with the door closed, and Wendy had her dry toast and tea in the dining room, but I think she’s since gone back to the carriage house.”
“No one else is stirring?”
“Not that I’ve seen. Oh, Hannah was here a little while ago, getting coffee.” She lowers her voice. “I feel sorry for that girl.”
Beneath my sleeves, goose bumps roll up my arms. “What do you mean?”
Bonnie lowers her voice so Henry can’t overhear, though he’s probably doing his best to do so. “This can’t be easy for her. Coming out here for the first time, getting engaged, and then having her future mother-in-law die. I think it’s putting a strain on things.”
“On her, you mean . . . or the relationship?”
“Both. I shouldn’t be talking out of turn, but you’re so bighearted, Summer, maybe you could reach out to her, see if you could help.”
“Of course, of course. But why do you suspect there’s a problem?” I ask lightly, then hold my breath.
“They were in a tiff last night after dinner,” she says, whispering now. “I heard them right before I left.”
“Do you know what they were arguing about?”
“No idea. But Nick seemed pissed. And you know Nick. He never gets pissed.”
In a split second, some of the tension coiled in my body unwinds. Maybe Nick is finally coming to his senses. It could have something to do with whatever Keira told him right before dinner. Maybe she discovered that Marcus, despite his protestations to the contrary, had been meeting privately with Hannah, and she conveyed as much to Nick.
“Summer?”
I’ve been so lost in my thoughts, it takes me a couple of seconds to realize Bonnie’s still talking to me.
“Yes, I know what you mean,” I say. “Let me see what I can do.”
“You’re a doll.”
If she only knew.
Henry and I end up taking Bella and Ginger outside and romping with them in the yard at the far side of the pool. I doubt anyone’s played with them since Sunday and they seem in heaven.
Once we’ve tired out the dogs, we drop them off in the kitchen and return to the cottage, and Gabe shows up a while later, carrying one of the freshly baked goat cheese and asparagus tarts that Bonnie made. “I figured we’d eat lunch here,” he says.
I appreciate the thought, but his tone and body language toward me still feel really distant.
While Henry and I set the table, Gabe slices the tart and uses a spatula to wiggle three slices onto plates. “Don’t let me forget,” he says. “I promised Bonnie I’d return the tart pan so she doesn’t lose track of it.”
“Does Bonnie always wash her hands when she makes our food?” Henry asks. It’s the kind of question I’ve never heard him utter.
“Of course. What brings that up, Hen?” Gabe says, clearly surprised, too.
“My mom says you always have to wash your hands before food preparation, or people can get sick.”
“That’s true, and Bonnie always does it.”
“And what about the people who help her? Do they wash their hands, too?”
“You bet. Bonnie would kick some serious butt if they didn’t.”
Gabe and I make brief and puzzled eye contact, and I can’t help but wonder if Henry’s preoccupied by sickness because of his grandmother’s death.
After lunch, Gabe and Henry retreat to the couch again, but I feel even antsier than I did this morning. With each hour that ticks by, I’m further away from proving what I know. I need to stretch my legs and think.
“Hey,” I call out to Gabe and Henry, who barely look up. “I’m going to take the tart pan back to Bonnie.”
Only Jake is in the kitchen when I arrive, loading glasses into the dishwasher and bobbing his head to a song on his iPod I can’t hear. Wondering if anyone else is still around postlunch, I open the dining room door an inch to see Keira at the table, drinking an espresso and studying the contents of a folder, probably for work. Instead of disturbing her, I quietly ease the door closed.
“Bonnie nearby?” I ask Jake.
He plucks out his wireless earbuds. “Hmm, I think she’s at the carriage house. She said she wanted to tidy up over there.”
“Okay.”
“No, wait,” he adds. “I saw her out the window so she’s already back. She must be in the woods now.”
“The woods?”
“Yeah, she said that after she was finished, she was going to walk down to the spot where they’re going to do the burial. For, you know, for Mrs. Keaton. Bonnie wanted to check it out before it rained.”