“What makes you think she didn’t like you?” I ask, keeping my tone even.
“She never came right out and said it, of course. But she’d leave me out of conversations. Rarely made eye contact unless she had to. When it came to making plans with us, she’d only talk to Gabe about them. And the slights were so subtle, it was hard to convince Gabe it was going on.”
This is all news to me. “Do you have any idea why she acted that way?”
“I was never sure, no. I think she felt I wasn’t supportive enough of Gabe when he was launching the business—and that I didn’t leave enough time for him because of my own work. And then . . . there was that little indiscretion of mine, and that was the nail in the coffin, of course.”
I bite my tongue. Who could blame Claire for being upset about her son being cheated on? Any mother would have been.
Amanda sets her cup on a side table with a clunk. “You may not be aware of this,” she adds, straightening her back, “but it was Claire who told Gabe I was having a fling.”
The revelation stuns me. Gabe never breathed a word of it to me.
“How—”
“How did she find out? Believe it or not, I’m pretty sure she had me tailed by a private investigator.”
This is getting more nuts by the minute. “She had you followed? That sounds like a fairly drastic step.”
“Not for a puppet master like Claire. She liked being in control, making sure everything ran the way she wanted it to. You know, it was only a fling, and if she hadn’t busted me and told Gabe, maybe we could have gotten through that rough patch.” Her expression turns wistful. “Don’t get me wrong, I know you’re much better for Gabe than I was, and I’m glad he found someone like you. But for Henry’s sake, I wish we’d never split.”
I need to end this conversation now. She’s not only bashing Claire but she’s also clearly rewriting history: Gabe told me he was willing to try to work things out, but that Amanda considered the so-called fling a symptom of a marriage that they’d both outgrown.
I rise, signaling I’m done, and right then Henry comes charging into the room, hoisting his duffel bag onto his shoulder. He and I hug good-bye as Amanda heads out to start the car, and I almost can’t bear it when his arms finally drop. He’s been such a trouper throughout this whole nightmare.
“You didn’t sneak Bella into your duffel bag, did you?” I tease.
He shakes his head and laughs briefly before his face darkens. “Summer, are you and Dad going to be okay?”
“Of course, honey,” I say, feeling another pang. “What makes you say that?”
“I don’t want you to get sick or anything.”
“We won’t, I promise.”
As they drive off a minute later, I watch from the stoop, then wander back to the living room and start pacing. I’m still feeling sick about my exchange with Gabe, but now I’m also troubled by Amanda’s comment that Claire was a puppet master. Was she? Was I so caught up in the thrill of being accepted into this dazzling family that I never saw it? Is it possible that she hired an investigator to look into Hannah, too? Which reminds me: somehow in the middle of this nightmare, I’m going to have to figure out how to address my concerns about Claire’s death.
“There you are.”
I turn to see Blake in the entrance of the room, blazer-free now and cradling a snifter filled with an amber-colored liquid, brandy probably.
“Is Wendy doing okay?” I ask.
“She’s stressed, needless to say, but since the sonogram was fine, I’m not overly worried on that front. By the way, I heard from Marcus a minute ago. He and Keira decided to stop off someplace for a drink. I’m sure they’re desperate for a change of scenery.”
“How were their interviews?”
“Similar to ours, from the sound of it.” He polishes off his drink, tipping his head back as he does, then lifts the brandy snifter. “Can I pour you a splash of Courvoisier? I’ll gladly join you in another round.”
“Better not. I actually haven’t had much of an appetite since your mom died.”
He nods somberly. “Me, either, to tell you the truth.”
“This must be so awful for you today,” I tell him, an idea forming of how I might be able to lead him to my suspicions about Hannah indirectly. “You’ve barely had any time to mourn the loss of your mom.”
“I know. I feel like I’ve had to park my grief in the overflow parking lot and will need to come back to it later.”
“One of the things that makes your mom’s death so hard to deal with—at least for me—is the suddenness of it. It seemed to come out of nowhere. But Gabe says you mentioned she’d been on heart medication for a while. Some kind of diuretic?”
“That’s right. And also amlodipine. It’s a calcium channel blocker that relaxes blood vessels so that enough blood and oxygen can reach the heart. But nothing’s foolproof, unfortunately.”
“I think an aunt of mine takes both of those,” I lie. “And she mentioned once that other things can interfere with their effectiveness. Do you think that could have happened in your mother’s case?”
He raises a single eyebrow, in a way that reminds me of Gabe. “I’m not following.”
“Well, I remember my aunt told me you have to be careful with diuretics. That if she were to take something like, uh, digitalis, with them, it could make her heart beat too fast.”
“But my mother didn’t take digitalis,” he says.
“Right, I was speaking generally. That something might mix the wrong way with a medication.”
“Did your aunt end up with a problem?”
Backing into the subject is getting me nowhere fast, but I don’t feel comfortable blurting out my true concerns.
“No, no, she didn’t . . . . Um, I should head back to the kitchen and send Bonnie home.”
“And I should get back to Wendy. If you need us, we’ll be in the den, trying to distract ourselves with terrible television.”
Bonnie, I discover, is now at the table, sorting through a stack of index cards and looking beleaguered, the dogs at her feet. Her hair’s tied back now with a fat blue rubber band, the kind used to bunch broccoli or asparagus in the supermarket.
“Oh, Bonnie,” I say. “You can’t still be working.”
“I’m just taking a minute to think through the menu for tomorrow. Claire and I had planned a cookout for Thursday, but that now seems—”
She’s been working much, much too hard. “Actually, I don’t want you to even think about coming in tomorrow. You need a break from all this, Bonnie.”
“Oh, no, I—”
“I’m not taking no for an answer. I’ll confirm with Ash when I see him, but I know he would want you to have some time off. Gabe and I know our way around a kitchen, and Keira’s a great cook. Everyone will pitch in.”
“Gosh, if you’re sure, Summer, I would love that. Twenty-four hours to clear my head and recharge would help a lot.” She fingers the gold cross that’s peeking out from the open collar of her blue jersey shirt. “I think I’m still in a state of shock, you know—from what we saw.”