“I’ll call you,” I said, unwilling to hear the laundry list of symptoms yet again. “I will.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Okay,” he said. “Stay safe.”
I knew he wanted to help—he was the only one who could, who truly understood. But sometimes when Carson talked about my condition, the seeds of fear and doubt already planted in my mind took me back to the dark place I started in—and once there I had a hell of a time leaving without him. As I pocketed my phone I felt the memories rush forward, a psychological assault that forced my chin to my chest and turned my legs to goo.
I was on the floor of the cellar where the smell of fried meat lingered, hugging my knees to my chest. I watched it happen. Waited for my training to kick in. Knew it never would. There was blood on my hands and a dead man on the floor, his name a sizzling brand on my heart next to the others. Jay Lopez. Becca. Lanie. Jess.
The wind lifted the ends of my hair, and I turned to face the Sinclair’s house once more. The pain those names inflicted was as fresh as ever, but I forced myself to repeat them. Jay. Becca. Lanie. Jess. I chanted them like a mantra under my breath until they blended seamlessly into one long, lilting gasp. Only then did I add another.
Bram. Bram. Bram.
EIGHT
I would have settled for a grilled cheese and a glass of water. Philip Norton was cooking a feast. It was nowhere near ready when I got back inside, but I was glad for the extra time. As Tim entertained the guests-slash-witnesses with stories of how the islands got their names—this one after the British Overseas Territory where Napoleon Bonaparte was exiled, that one for General James Wolfe when the area was under British rule—I spotted my chance to substantiate some of Flynn’s hand-to-God account.
“Abella,” I said from the parlor doorway. “Can we talk?”
The woman jumped to her feet. Holding it together in a house full of strangers couldn’t be easy. With the exception of Camilla, the Sinclairs looked at Abby like she was a pariah. All eyes, Tim’s included, were on her bloodstained hip as she left the room.
Even with unwashed hair and a face puffy from crying, Abella Beaudry was a stunner, all lashes and lips. Whether Jasper saw her as a fling or his future wife, he had good taste.
“How are you doing?” I asked as we sat down in the library. The room was directly across from the parlor. When I’d slid the pocket doors shut behind me they’d made a sound like a dry-lipped kiss.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I just . . . I can’t believe he’s gone.”
Abella had a slight French accent, but her English was flawless. She could easily slip from one culture to the next, Abby to Bella and back again, but I wasn’t as convinced as Flynn that her multiple nicknames were a sign of duplicity.
“Do you have any idea where Jasper could be?” I took out my notepad and inclined my head. Abella looked at me with confusion. “Let me rephrase that,” I said. “Has Jasper ever disappeared before? Does he like to go off and spend time by himself?”
“No. He didn’t just leave.”
“But he was in bed with you last night. And then, this morning, he wasn’t.”
“I know that sounds crazy,” she said. “But it’s what happened, and that’s all I know.”
My gaze traveled back to her bloodstained hip. “Did you hear anyone come into your room?”
I could see her picturing it, someone leaning over her sleeping body. Abella shook her head.
“And you were in the room all night. You didn’t leave? Not even to use the bathroom?”
“No,” she said. “I slept straight through.” Abella must have picked up on my doubt, because she added, “I had a bit too much to drink last night. I was nervous.”
“Meeting the family.”
“Yeah.”
“That must have been stressful.”
She lowered her head and worked her fingers through her tangled hair. It was looking a little greasy, her body’s reaction to the ordeal. “You have no idea,” she said.
“Are you and Jasper serious?”
“We haven’t been dating that long. But yeah, I would call it serious.”
“Jasper’s brother, Flynn? He told me Jasper plans to propose.”
Her brown eyes went wide. “What? He said that?”
“He also said you were recently fired from your job. Is that true?”
Her mind was still on the proposal, so she didn’t answer right away. After a few seconds she blinked and remembered where she was. “I wasn’t fired. They were downsizing, and I was happy to leave. They had me working like fifty hours a week for next to no pay. Some days Jas and I wouldn’t see each other at all, even if I stayed over at his place. I’d get home from an event at two a.m. and leave again at six that morning. It sucked.”
“If you married Jasper, an American citizen, you wouldn’t have needed that job.” I nodded at the stately room. “You might not need a job at all.” Welcome to the lap of luxury. Get comfortable. It was the same suggestion I’d made to Flynn about Ned. The odds that the Sinclairs’ gargantuan wealth didn’t play a part in the family’s relationships seemed slim. Just like Flynn, though, Abella dismissed it at once.
“I’m not looking for a free ride. And it’s not like in the movies. It can take a year or more to get a spousal visa. I want to work.” Her chest rose and fell under her pajama top. “I love him,” she said weakly. “I’m not using him.”
But is he using you? Flynn claimed his brother was the love ’em, leave ’em type, and that Abella caught him out. I couldn’t picture this woman attacking her boyfriend with so many others sleeping nearby, and there was no chance she could relocate a dead man’s body alone. “Were you fighting last night? Around midnight?”
“What? No way. I was asleep way before that.”
If Flynn lied about hearing an argument, I thought, he was a fool. Voices loud enough to reach him through his closed door would have been heard by everyone else on that floor, too. “Have you ever talked about working for Sinclair Fabrics?” I asked, remembering Flynn’s statement. I’d love to, of course!
“Work with Flynn and Bebe?” Abella looked appalled. “Not a chance in hell.”
Huh. “Ned does it, doesn’t he?”
“Not for much longer. He’s being considered for a Burberry campaign, and a bunch of others, too. As soon as one of those comes through, he’s gone.”