“I know this isn’t an easy time,” he says, “and I’m going to do everything possible to help you through it. I’ve already had the chance to check in with Nick, and I’ll debrief soon with each of you individually about your interview with the state police. But since it’s late, and we need everyone to be fresh over the next days, why don’t I give you a brief overview now, and touch base with you tomorrow. Sound good?”
We all nod without enthusiasm.
“Unfortunately, tomorrow’s going to be another tough day,” he continues. “The police will be back, searching the property. We’ve given them permission to do so, but not, let me stress, to enter the house or any of the outbuildings. I suggest doing your best to avoid contact with them, and under no circumstances should you answer any questions. If any of them asks you a question, you can just politely say they should speak to me first. That goes for any requests from the media as well. Frankly, I’m surprised they’re not here yet, but they’ll turn up soon enough. Do you have any questions?”
“I have one,” Marcus says. “What about going back to the city at some point? Are we allowed to leave?”
Mizel cocks his head a little to one side. “They aren’t actually requiring that you remain here, but I’d advise staying put for as long as feasible,” he says. “For starters, we want to present a united front. And since the police will surely have additional questions as the investigation proceeds, you might end up having to rush back here if you leave now.”
Marcus nods, and I see Keira bite her lip. There are no other questions, so Ash announces he wants to let Paul get on the road, and the lawyer departs with a promise to speak to us early tomorrow.
“A couple more things,” Ash says after we have the room to ourselves. “For starters, I’m postponing the burial for a few days. This isn’t the time for it. Also, we do have four extra bedrooms in the house, besides the one Marcus and Keira are using, so if any of you would feel more comfortable sleeping here, you’re more than welcome. It seems impossible to believe that the sick monster who killed Jillian will show up on the property again, but there are no guarantees.”
So that’s the official Keaton stance on the matter: that a psychopathic, probably random killer is to blame for Jillian’s death.
Looking grim as gravestones, the family members rise and disperse. Gabe nearly dashes out of the room, but I catch up with him in the hall.
“Do you want to stay here, in the house?” I ask quietly.
“No, we’ll be okay in the cottage,” he says, his tone still aloof. “There are decent locks on the doors.”
I take a moment to tell Ash that I’ve given Bonnie the next day off and then, after shoving leftover food from the sidebar into the fridge, I start with Gabe down the path to the cottage, neither of us saying a word. Though the sky is overcast, the rain never came, I realize. As soon as we’re inside the cottage, with the door locked and the lights on, I turn to Gabe.
“Honey, you have to believe me,” I say. “I wasn’t accusing you of anything earlier. I’d never think you could hurt Jillian. That’s absurd.”
“Maybe not Jillian. But you acted like I was dancing on my mother’s grave.”
“That’s not what I meant. It’s just that the timing of everything caught me off guard. And though this isn’t an excuse, I’ve felt in the dark about a lot of things lately. I had no idea you’d been having issues with Jillian. No idea you spoke to her.”
“Well, how about you witnessing that scene between Jillian and my father and not informing me?”
“That was because Marcus wanted to be the one to tell you . . . . Please, Gabe, we need each other now more than ever. We can’t let there be a rift between us.”
He sighs deeply. “Okay. Okay.”
This seems like the best I can hope for tonight.
“How did your interview go?” I ask gently.
“Ugh, it was exactly like Blake warned me. They clearly think one of us did it. But my brain’s too fried to talk about it now.”
“Okay. I’m going to pour myself a glass of wine to help me sleep. Do you want one?”
“No. All I want is to be in bed.”
As he mounts the stairs, I open one of the Spanish riojas and settle at the kitchen table to unwind for a few minutes. I pick up my phone, which I’ve barely looked at today.
It turns out I haven’t missed much. There’s an email from my agent saying she’s booked me for yet another voice-over job a week from Monday. I’m glad for the news, but it’s hard to derive any thrill from it right now.
Taking another sip of wine, I move on to texts, and see that there’s a new one from Billy Dean. I’ve been so caught up in today’s horror show that I’ve completely forgotten about our conversation. He’s not only done his homework but dropped a bombshell.
Hannah DID go to USC but was kicked out soph year. Don’t know why yet, but apparently it was very fishy. Still working on it. U really owe me for this one, sweetheart.
It doesn’t line up with what Wendy’s guy dug up for her, but it makes total sense, given Claire’s hint to me about Hannah’s undergrad years. Is this what she discovered? Is it even relevant to anything? I’m so confused tonight, I don’t even know how to evaluate this piece of information.
The rain finally starts, drumming on the cottage roof. I take one last sip of wine and struggle up from the chair. Passing through the sitting room, I check that the French doors are locked, too. To my relief, the latch is on.
Ash’s words from earlier play again in my head—that a sick monster somehow found his way onto the property today and murdered Jillian. If only, I think. Because for all I know, the monster is right here in our midst.
25
The next morning, I head over to the main house just after seven. Gabe and I both woke early after a restless night—when he wasn’t thrashing around in bed, I was. Though things still feel strained between us, we at least had coffee together and managed a few words of conversation. About the text he got from Henry, via Amanda’s phone, saying he was sad to be gone. About the fact that it’ll be warm today but with thunderstorms expected in the late afternoon or evening.
Nothing, however, about Jillian’s murder or the investigation. I don’t think either of us wanted to go there this morning.
I’d brought Gabe’s keys to the house in case no one was up yet, but it turns out I don’t need them. The kitchen door is unlocked, and once inside I’m greeted by the aroma of fresh coffee wafting from a mostly full carafe. Though the dogs aren’t anywhere in sight, there’s fresh food in their bowls.
I pour myself a cup of coffee and then kick operation modified continental breakfast into gear. I dig out muffins and bagels from the bread drawer and drop them in a basket, which I cart outside along with plates, cups, a loaf of bread, and a bowl of fresh berries. Other family members, I’m sure, will chip in and help as the day progresses. I wonder how Claire would feel if she knew anyone besides her or Bonnie was running the kitchen right now.
Claire. For the first time since last night, I revisit Amanda’s bitter view of her, that she needed to control everything, particularly her children’s lives and destinies. On the one hand, it doesn’t seem like the Claire I knew, and yet it echoes recent comments from both Wendy and Ellen about her being extremely judgmental. And hadn’t she dug up a damaging secret about Hannah, one that led her to say, You do the right thing—or I will?