Keira gasps and Wendy’s lips part in surprise, then both women listen in stunned silence as I spill it all: the confrontation with Claire that Henry overheard, the missing foxgloves, the lost jug, the symptoms of digitalis poisoning that Claire presented on Sunday, the fact that Hannah knew the plant was poisonous, the foxglove blossom in my drawer, the newly planted foxgloves.
“I know the individual details don’t seem like much,” I continue, “but when you add them up, the result is impossible to ignore.”
Neither of them says anything. Without warning, I feel myself choke up.
“Please,” I nearly beg, “I need someone to believe me. We can’t let Hannah get away with murder.”
Wendy rises from the table and crosses to me, then touches my shoulder gently.
“It’s not that we don’t believe you, Summer, but it’s a lot to take in.” She turns toward Keira, who’s still frozen in place by the stove. “What do you think, Keira?”
“I don’t know,” she replies. “I’m not a fan of Hannah’s, but poisoning . . . It seems so nineteenth century.”
“And that makes it all the more cunning,” I say. “She was clearly counting on the fact that no one would even consider it.”
“But does that mean there are two murderers around here?” Keira asks. “Hannah and the person who killed Jillian?”
“I . . . I guess so.” It sounds unlikely to me, but if there’s actually only one murderer at large, then what was Hannah’s motive for killing Jillian?
More silence. Even the thunder has ceased. I catch Wendy and Keira shoot nervous side looks at each other.
“Look, Summer,” Wendy says finally. “Why don’t you let me discuss this with Blake? He’s a doctor. He may have a sense of how feasible this could be—and also know what steps we can take to find out more.”
I exhale in what feels like the first time in ten minutes. “That would be so helpful, Wendy,” I tell her. Maybe I should have pushed my conversation with Blake further last night.
A marimba ringtone reverberates faintly from another room.
“That must be mine,” Keira says. “I left it in the hall.”
She hurries from the room, perhaps eager for a chance to escape from me and my lunatic theories.
“Don’t worry,” Wendy says. “Like I said, it’s a lot to digest, but we have your back. Do you have any physical proof whatsoever? Something I can share with Blake?”
“Um, sort of,” I say, and fill her in on what Henry told me earlier and about finding the book.
“Oh wow,” Wendy says, a hand on her chest. “That’s telling. And the book’s there now?”
“Yup.”
She nods. “Okay, I’ll definitely talk to Bl—”
The door opens with a bang. We look over to see Keira, still holding her phone.
“You’re not going to believe this,” she says. “Ash started having trouble breathing on the way home, and they’re in the ER with him.”
“Oh, no,” I exclaim. “Which hospital?”
“It’s about halfway between here and Princeton. The doctor doesn’t think it’s serious. Just stress, maybe the start of a panic attack.”
What if Hannah’s done something to Ash as well?
“Is Blake with them?” Wendy asks urgently.
“No, he’s already on his way back in his own car. He apparently left the meeting early because he wanted to check on you.”
Wendy slips her hand into the pocket of her cotton sweater, yanks out her phone, and immediately taps the screen. “Blake, where are you?” she asks after the call’s clearly gone to voice mail. “Call me. Please.”
“Maybe he’s in that dead zone,” I venture.
I don’t like this. I don’t like it at all. Ash isn’t well. Blake can’t be reached. And we’re alone in the house—with Hannah. Outside, dusk has morphed into darkness and once again I hear a far-off rumble of thunder. The houselights briefly flicker. I glance at the exterior kitchen door to confirm I turned the bolt after returning from the cottage.
Across the room, Keira removes her apron and tells us the lasagna has another thirty minutes to go, and she intends to wait in her bedroom and try to read. She departs without acknowledging the bomb I detonated a few minutes ago. Is she simply going to ignore it?
As soon as she’s gone, I fish out my own phone and text Gabe.
Heard the news. Is there anything I can do? I could Uber there if you need me.
I can’t help but feel a pang that he didn’t reach out to me directly, just counted on Keira to spread the word. Meanwhile, Wendy is still urgently tapping away at her phone screen.
“Still no luck?” I ask.
“No, and it’s worrying me. I think I’ll try calling him from the landline in the den and see if the problem might be with the cell service here. What are you going to do?”
“I guess I’ll wait here.” My gaze drifts to Bella and Ginger, who are both staring at me intently. They’re wigged-out by the thunder, but I also suspect they need a potty break. “And I guess I should take the dogs out.”
“Good idea.” As she steps toward the door, she turns back and smiles wanly at me. “I’ll talk to Blake tonight, I promise.”
“Thanks, Wendy, I appreciate that so much.”
I’m pretty sure I can count on her to inform him. But will it be couched in the words Summer’s gone insane? I have this terrible feeling that I might regret sharing my knowledge with my sisters-in-law, that nothing will result except a widening of the rift between Gabe and me.
Desperate for a task to slow my pulse, I whisk together olive oil and vinegar for the salad, then check my phone, hoping that Gabe’s texted me back, but there’s nothing. The only ones eager for contact with me appear to be Bella and Ginger, who are now waiting anxiously by the kitchen door. I wish I could stall and take them out when everyone’s back, but it wouldn’t be fair.
I flick on the outdoor lights from the switch in the kitchen, unlock the door, and cautiously step outside, glancing up and down the patio. I’m not sure what I’m looking for. The coywolf? A sexual predator? All I know for sure is that it’s dark out here, and there’s an aggressive wind whipping through the tree leaves. I’m under the pergola so it takes a minute for me to realize that it’s finally raining now.
“Stay,” I yell to the dogs, who by now are off the patio and sniffing around the lawn.
They take their damn sweet time, but I can hardly blame them. How much have they even been out today? As they press their noses into the wet grass, I stand near the doorway, my arms crossed over my chest, praying they’ll make it quick.
“C’mon,” I call nervously after a couple of minutes. Ginger raises her head with a cheerless expression that seems to ask, Really? but she lumbers toward me obediently, shakes off the rainwater, and trots into the house. Bella, however, refuses to budge. And then just like last night, she suddenly dissolves into the darkness.
“Bella,” I shout. “Get over here.”
A sudden streak of lightning splits the sky directly in front of me, briefly illuminating the night. Bella is now pretty far from the patio, I see, and exploring the underside of a bush. Leaving the back door open, I make a mad dash across the lawn, but as I’m about to swoop her up in my arms, there’s a deafening clap of thunder and she takes off like a rocket toward the area north of the pool.