From somewhere deep inside of me, I pick up the faintest siren sound, like a tornado warning that’s miles and miles away but still close enough to scare you.
“What?” Gabe asks.
“It’s just . . . I don’t know.”
“What?” he asks again, this time with the hint of a scowl.
“The timing seems weird, that’s all.”
“You mean us having a contentious talk with Jillian this morning? Well, needless to say, we had no idea she’d end up murdered later.”
“I meant why be talking to her at all this week, with so much happening? Was Jillian such a big threat to everything that the conversation couldn’t wait?”
For a moment there is silence so pronounced it almost has a sound of its own.
“What exactly are you suggesting, Summer?”
“I’m not suggesting anything, Gabe. I’m only asking what the rush was.”
But am I implying something?
“You used the word threat. It almost sounds like you think Marcus and I wanted Jillian out of the way.”
“Of course not, Gabe.”
“First it was Hannah you thought was a murderer. Now it’s me. Next you’ll be accusing me of poisoning my own mother.”
“Gabe, that’s ridiculous.” My heart is drumming so hard now I can hear it in my ears.
I reach for his arm again, but he yanks it away. He turns on his heels and leaves the house, slamming the door hard behind him.
23
Desperately catching my breath, I peek into the hall to make sure no one’s there and could have overheard us. To my relief, it’s empty.
I’m in shock from the conversation I’ve just had with my husband. How did it go so awry? I hardly think Gabe is a murderer. Not for a second. But it troubles me that at a time like this he seems more worried about his business than anything else. Plus, he’s held back a couple of things from me lately—how upset he was with his mother the day she died, the discussion with Jillian. Which makes me wonder if there’s other stuff he hasn’t told me.
My priority right now, though, is Henry. After locking the front door, I hurry to the dining room, where he’s sitting at the table, his eyes trained on the chessboard. The dogs are lying sad-eyed on either side of his chair.
“There you are,” Henry says, glancing up. “Where did you go for so long?”
“I was doing my interview with the police and then talking to Dad. Did you grab something to eat?” There are a few types of cheese and cold cuts and several loaves of bread on the sideboard, which Jake must have set out before he left for the station.
“Yeah, Dad made me a sandwich. But did you hear? It’s only Wednesday and I have to go home already.”
“I know, and I’m sorry, too, but we’ll make up for it later. We still have weeks more of summer to enjoy.”
“I just want everything to be the same,” he says, leaning into me. “The way it was.”
I wrap an arm around his shoulder. “I know, honey. It’s so hard to have Gee gone. But what she’d want more than anything right now is for you not to feel down. And you and your mom will probably do something fun this weekend.”
I’ve barely uttered the words your mom when I hear a rapid knock at the front door. Of course, it could be the police instead of Amanda. I ask Henry to wait and I hurry back to the foyer.
“Who is it?” I call through the thick wooden door.
“Me, Amanda,” she says, a note of exasperation in her tone.
I open the door and beckon her inside. Though Gabe does most of the interacting with her, our paths cross every couple of weeks in the city, so I’m pretty comfortable in her presence. Needless to say, though, we’ve never been in this house at the same time.
Her expression is harried, but overall she looks as pulled together as usual, her strawberry-blond hair arranged in an attractive sloppy bun. She’s dressed in jeans so white they could trigger snow blindness, hip white sneakers, and a long-sleeved turquoise shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows. Gabe once told me that after reading in a magazine that some celebrity considered jeans and button-down shirts her uniform, Amanda adopted it for herself, both for weekends and in her job as an event planner.
“Wow,” she says after stepping over the threshold. “This is weird. It’s been, what, at least seven years since I was here last?”
Leave it to Amanda to make this about her.
“Yeah, I guess it would be pretty weird.”
“So what happened?” she asks, dropping her voice. “I read online that this woman worked for the family business?”
My heart sinks. If there are already posts about the murder on news sites, who knows what kind of speculation is happening.
“You know, you should probably talk to Gabe. I can have him call you tomorrow.”
“You can’t tell me anything?”
“The police advised me not to talk to anyone about it, sorry.”
She gives me a “suit yourself” shrug. “Poor Henry,” she says, her expression concerned. “I can’t believe he’s in the middle of this.”
“According to Gabe, Henry only knows someone was injured. Let me get him. Do you want to use the bathroom before you go? Or have something to eat?”
“You know, I could really use a cup of coffee before the ride back.”
“I’d be glad to make you an espresso?”
“Sounds great.”
Before I can decide whether to leave her cooling her heels in the living room or bring her with me, Henry comes barreling down the hall and flings his arms around her waist. The thing about Amanda is that though she may be prickly with Gabe, difficult to coordinate plans with, and slightly officious, she’s a good mom and Henry is crazy about her.
“Aren’t I lucky,” she says, “seeing you five whole days sooner than I thought I would. Where’s all your stuff?”
“Dad put it upstairs so it wouldn’t be in the way.”
“Okay, run up and get it.”
As he rushes toward the stairs, I tell Amanda that if she waits in the living room, I’ll be back in a few with her espresso. When I open the kitchen door, I find Bonnie wiping a counter.
“Oh, Bonnie,” I say, “you must be bushed.”
“I’m okay, really,” she insists.
“I have to deliver an espresso to Amanda and see Henry off, and then I’ll be back, okay?”
When I return to the living room, white porcelain cup and saucer in hand, Amanda’s perched on one of the mint-colored armchairs, scanning the room with her eyes.
“Thanks,” she says when I hand her the cup. “I was sorry to hear about Claire, by the way. I expressed my sympathy to Gabe, of course, but I’ve picked up from Henry that you were close to her.”
“Yes. I was very fond of her.”
“You’re lucky,” she says, after taking a sip and licking a tiny bit of espresso foam from her pink-glossed upper lip. “His mother never took to me. Which meant it was no fun having to spend so much time with his parents.”
I knew Claire resented Amanda for the way she blew up the marriage, but I had no idea that there was any issue prior to that.