Hannah is as dangerous as I thought she was. Should I call the detectives who interviewed me yesterday? I shake off that idea. Maybe I should go to Ash with my discovery as soon as he returns. But he tends to be a conservative thinker, and it’s highly possible he’ll treat my theory with as much skepticism as Gabe did. I have to find someone to talk to, though, or I’m going to go out of my mind.
I try to distract myself by answering emails, and I also finally alert a few friends about Claire’s death. At one point I text my mom, asking if she’s around to talk. I haven’t even filled her in on Jillian’s death yet. But there’s no response, and I finally remember it’s Thursday and that means a trip to the movies for her and my father.
With nothing left to do, I simply continue to pace, gnawing at my cuticles.
At 7:25 sharp, I exit the cottage, locking the door behind me. Though the sun hasn’t set yet, the sky is fairly dark thanks to the thick gray clouds crowding it. If there are any state police still down by the woods, they’re probably packing up now. Far off to my left I see a faint flash of lightning. That’s all we need tonight, I think—a storm to knock out the power.
Keira’s already in the kitchen when I arrive, wearing a white apron over her jeans and jersey top and peeking into a pot of rapidly boiling water on the stove, and Wendy’s at the island, drying lettuce leaves in a salad spinner. Keira’s laid out peppers, squash, and zucchini for me on the table, along with a cutting board, so I slide onto a stool next to Wendy. As I dice the vegetables with a large kitchen knife, my mind keeps rushing to my call with Henry and the book about poisons, and what it all means, and I have to force myself to concentrate so I don’t accidentally slice a finger off.
There’s not much chitchat as we work, which is a relief. At one point, though, when Keira’s busy dumping the lasagna noodles into the boiling water, Wendy leans toward me and whispers, “Nothing about Hannah yet, but my guy is on it.”
I nod, relieved that at least Wendy’s still taking me seriously.
When I’m done chopping, Keira collects the vegetables, transfers them to a waiting frying pan, and drains the lasagna noodles into a colander, moving around the kitchen like a seasoned professional. I’m not surprised to see her perform so well. Anytime that Gabe and I have eaten at her and Marcus’s apartment, the meal’s been delicious.
“Did you ever have Claire and Ash over for dinner?” I ask.
“No, never,” Keira says.
“That’s such a shame. Claire would have loved one of your meals.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Keira says. “It seemed like there was only room for one master chef in this family.”
The bitterness in her tone catches me off guard, and I notice Wendy glance up, clearly surprised as well. Marcus told me that the Keatons intimidated Keira, but I wonder if Claire specifically made her uncomfortable. Is she another person who felt Claire was judging her, perhaps even trying to control her marriage?
The room goes quiet again, except for the sizzle of sautéing vegetables. Then, far off in the distance, I hear a rumble of thunder. And then another, this one longer and louder. Poor Bella bounds off her bed, skitters in my direction, and paws at my leg to be lifted. As I take her onto my lap, I check my watch. The guys won’t be back for at least an hour still. I feel restless and uneasy, but I’m grateful at least that Hannah is keeping her distance.
And, then, as if I’ve mentally summoned her, the door from the dining room swings open and Hannah steps into the kitchen. Her face is shockingly red and blotchy. Maybe it’s the result of a beauty regimen mishap, like some Umbrian clay, pore-purifying mask that backfired big-time, but I suspect what’s really going on is that she’s been mentally toying with the idea that whoever killed Jillian might have really been after her. And it’s eating away at her from the inside out.
“I didn’t realize you were making dinner tonight,” she says. “Do you need me to do anything?”
“Oh, sorry, you must not have been on the text thread,” Keira says from the counter, glancing over her shoulder as she layers the lasagna sheets into a pan with the vegetables. “We’ll need a vinaigrette for the salad. Can you—?”
“I’ve got that covered,” I interrupt, raising my eyes to meet Hannah’s. “We don’t need any more help.”
Hannah goes momentarily rigid, then without saying a word, she turns and leaves, letting the door swing hard behind her.
“Care to share?” Keira asks. She’s taken a few moments to slide the lasagna pan into the oven and now turns to face me.
“What do you mean?”
“Why you don’t want Hannah in here?”
“I don’t like her,” I say. “More importantly, I don’t trust her. And that means I don’t want to be anywhere near her if I don’t have to.”
Keira’s eyes narrow. “Did she do something to you?”
I shake my head and keep stroking Bella.
“Did she?” Keira urges.
And suddenly it’s like a dam breaks inside of me. These two women are my sisters-in-law. They’re not my best friends, and they might not have cared about Claire the way I did, but they would never have wanted her dead, let alone murdered. I have to tell them.
“Not to me,” I say quietly. “But to someone else.”
“Who?”
“Keira,” Wendy interjects, “I’m glad Summer’s finally looping you in. She’s had some concerns about Hannah from the start, serious ones. It looks like she lied about her background, and she might also be a thief.”
“Claire was concerned, too,” I add. “She apparently dug into Hannah’s past.”
Keira pauses in front of the stove, a hand on each hip. “Does Nick know any of this?”
“I’m not sure,” I say. “He’s seemed upset with her lately, though I have no idea why.”
Her expression clouds, and I wonder if Keira actually knows why Nick was agitated. Maybe it has to do with what she was discussing so animatedly with him in the side yard.
“The bottom line is that we need to get Hannah out of the picture,” Wendy tells her. “If Nick marries her, it could be a disaster not only for him, but for all of us. But the trouble is, if we attempt an intervention with him, he’ll probably dig in his heels.”
“So what do you intend to do?” Keira asks.
“After we’re past this current nightmare,” Wendy says, “we’re going to have to discreetly relay certain pieces of information and let him make up his mind.”
After we’re past this nightmare. And when will that be? Weeks from now? Months?
Hardly conscious of what I’m doing, I set Bella on the floor and check the dining room to make certain Hannah’s not lurking in there and listening in on us, then turn back to my sisters-in-law. “We can’t afford to wait,” I tell them. “We have to act now. Before someone else gets hurt.”
“What do you mean, Summer?” Wendy asks. “What’s going on?”
I take a deep breath. “Okay, you’re going to think I’m insane, but bear with me. I’m pretty sure Hannah killed Claire.”