“I sure could use a handful of chips right now. How’s the fine art?” she asked, borrowing Dhanya’s term for the kind of gallery Chase’s mother ran.
“I have to admit, some of it’s really good,” Will said.
Ivy nodded. “And I have to admit this place is beautiful—so close to the water.”
The lawn beyond the porch dropped down slightly to the beach. It was a warm, humid night, and the stars looked soft enough to melt over the calm expanse of bay.
“It would be real nice to set up an easel here,” Will said, his voice wistful.
Ivy was about to ask Will if he wanted to walk to the water’s edge when a pretty raven-haired girl, whose back had been to them, turned around. “Do you paint?”
“Yeah. Do you?”
Will and the girl quickly got into a discussion of art. Realizing that she had missed her chance, Ivy drifted on and ended up talking with a brother and sister from Chicago. She had started to enjoy their conversation about college—the guy had finished freshman year as a music major and his sister was the same age as Ivy—when Bryan, Kelsey, and Max stepped onto the porch.
Bryan was wearing cargo shorts and one of his college team shirts; Kelsey showed as much skin as possible in short shorts, a glittery tube top, and heels that would have pitched anyone less athletic flat on her face. Perhaps Max’s two preppy shirts, which he had worn several times for Dhanya’s sake, were in the wash. Tonight he wore faded jeans and one of his many bright tropical prints.
“Well,” said the girl talking with Ivy, “looks like the entertainment has arrived!”
“A trio!” The guy eyed Kelsey. “Why don’t you ever dress that way?” he teased his sister.
“Stop staring, Brett. That’s what the girl wants.”
“Then I’m glad to give it to her,” he replied.
“The girl is my roommate, Kelsey,” Ivy interjected. “And Max and Bryan are new friends we’ve met on the Cape.”
“Does one of them play bongo drums?” Brett joked.
“No, a steel drum,” his sister observed, “if you’re referring to the Caribbean clubber.” She turned to Ivy. “But I’m sure they’re nice.”
“They are.” Ivy replied. Deciding it would be a waste of politeness to excuse herself, she simply walked away, joining Max and Bryan, who were parked at the food table. Max tried one thing after another, picking them up with his fingers rather than the toothpicks. Bryan studied the selection of beer. Kelsey was quickly stolen from Bryan’s side by two guys who’d turned almost giddy at the sight of her. Bryan watched her walk off with them, then winked at Ivy.
“Next time,” Bryan said to Max, “all of us should wear tube tops. Did you see the way people stared when we walked in?”
Max looked down at his shirt. “I like this outfit.”
“And I like you, Max, for liking it,” Bryan said. “I gave you bad advice when I told you to wear the button-down for Dhanya.”
Max gazed across the porch at Dhanya, who was standing close to Chase, talking to another couple. The four of them were so perfectly matched, they looked as if they had double-dated for years and would one day be in each other’s weddings. Boring, Ivy thought, surprising herself that she preferred—and was even growing fond of—Max.
“You’re your own man, Max,” Bryan went on, “not part of the herd. Don’t you think so?” he asked two girls who had approached the table to get something to eat. They looked at Bryan, then Max, and giggled.
“The rest of these guys here—they’re wearing a uniform. This guy,” Bryan went on, clapping Max on the shoulder, “he likes to experiment with color. Don’t tell me you girls want a guy with no imagination or sense of fun! How romantic is that?”
The girls looked at each other. The taller one shook her head at the shorter, dismissing Bryan, but he continued. “You like catamarans—you like flying across the ocean like you’ve got wings? Or do you like cigarette boats that race past Chatham at ninety miles per hour? Maybe you’re into yachts. Max has them all—take your choice. And he’s his own man.”
Max started to blush.
Ivy watched with amazement as Max’s endearing bit of shyness, along with his boat résumé and suggestion of wealth, drew the girls in. They introduced themselves, the shorter girl seeming especially interested.
The taller girl turned to Bryan. “Are you dating anyone?” she asked bluntly.
“Yeah,” he said, putting his arm around Ivy.
Ivy choked on her drink.
“Whoa! Careful. You okay, babe?” Bryan asked solicitously. “Come on.”
Choking and laughing, Ivy allowed him to lead her into the house. “What was that all about?” she asked when they were out of earshot.
“Maxie. He’s a good guy and deserves a girl,” Bryan said. “Not one of them, but they’ll do for now. I had to do that, Ivy. Otherwise he’ll wander around and make puppy eyes at Dhanya all night, which’ll be a real turn-off to her. I wish he’d get over her.”
“It would be better if he did,” Ivy agreed, and added with a sigh, “But you love who you love.”
Bryan tilted his head to one side, studying her. The room’s lighting softened his features. “You miss him.”
“Yeah. A lot.” Her voice sounded funny. It was hard to disguise the intensity of her feelings when talking with someone who also cared about “Luke.”
“You’re afraid something will happen to him,” Bryan guessed.
“Yes, and that I won’t be able to do anything about it.”
Bryan rested his hand lightly on her shoulder. “That’s the problem with Luke. You want to fix things for him, but in the end you can’t. He has to do it for himself, especially the drinking part, which is where he always gets in trouble.”
Ivy nodded, feeling more in control of her emotions now because they were talking about the real Luke, not Tristan. “Thanks. Thanks for understanding.”
“You know what you need? Solid food,” Bryan said. “I saw the last kabob get picked up out there. I’m looking for the kitchen.” Bryan studied the three doors that appeared to lead to other rooms. “My built-in divining rod—it’s very sensitive to food—says Door Number Two. Join me?”
Ivy wondered what Chase’s parents would say if they discovered Bryan and her raiding their kitchen; after a moment of indecision, she nodded and followed him, hoping for the chance to ask some questions. Bryan’s divining rod was spot-on, taking them to a kitchen worthy of Martha Stewart: a square room with two cooking ranges, a granite-topped island, and a chandelier of copper-bottomed pots. There was a bouquet of daisies, a few of them tumbling toward their reflections in the dark, polished surface of the island. A ceramic pot with small sunflowers graced an open hearth. Bryan stood in front of a gigantic stainless-steel refrigerator.
“See anything good?” Ivy asked.
He turned around, grinning and holding up a container. “Leftovers—looks like steak. Want some?”
She shook her head.
Bryan continued with his exploration, opening and closing drawers, lifting lids. At last he said, “I’ve discovered what’s wrong with Chase. His diet lacks junk food. There isn’t one piece of decent junk food in this fridge. But the steak will do.”
He closed the door, then lifted the lid of the container, peering down at its contents. “Meat like this shouldn’t be mauled. . . . Knife and fork,” he murmured, surveying the large number of kitchen drawers, finding what he wanted on the second try, then setting the silverware and container on the center island.
“What if someone is counting on that for a midnight snack?” Ivy asked as he cut into the meat.
“What if several people have been counting on it,” he replied, “and no one admits they ate it? That would be a scene.” He stuck his fork in a piece, raised it halfway up to his mouth, then paused. “You look very disapproving.”
“I am disapproving.”
Bryan popped the piece into his mouth. “Filet mignon,” he said, then sighed and closed the cont
ainer. “You sure know how to ruin a guy’s appetite.”
Ivy laughed at him and he smiled back. Returning the meat to the refrigerator, he went back to searching the drawers and returned to the island with a bunch of grapes. “There are plenty more in there,” he said, “so don’t frown at me.”
“All right. Listen, Bryan, I have some questions.”
He sat down on a tall chair and pulled out the one next to him. “Obviously you didn’t follow me here to raid the refrigerator. I figured you wanted to talk about something—like Luke.”
Ivy sat down and wrapped her feet around a chair rung. “Luke was really in love with Corinne, even after she dumped him, right?”
“Yes. God, yes!”
“From what I read about Corinne, she was going to art school and had her own apartment and a job. Luke didn’t make it through eleventh grade. They seemed kind of a strange match.”
“No stranger than Luke and you,” Bryan said, dropping a grape in his mouth. “What draws you to him?”
Ivy thought quickly—Tristan, not Luke, had drawn her. She tried to remember how Bryan had characterized Luke the last time they talked. And she was careful to speak in the past tense. “I guess I saw a kind of need in him. On the surface he seemed strong, but underneath he was vulnerable—almost lost.”
“Exactly. Luke only had his mom, who’d do just about anything for a drink. She couldn’t take care of herself, much less him. No schedule, no real meals, no clean clothes from the time he was a little kid. Growing up, he hung around our house—I told you that. My parents laid down some rules and fed him. It helped. But after a while, I guess it gets weird hanging with your friend’s parents. Then he found Corinne. She was very sure of herself and was glad to order him around like a parent.”
“You didn’t like her,” Ivy guessed.
“I admired her. Corinne’s own home life was no picnic. Her mom ended up with the prince of evil stepdads, at best a jerk, at worst . . .” Bryan shrugged and didn’t finish the statement. “But Corinne was like a good athlete, disciplined and ambitious. You know the old saying, ‘What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’? That girl had steel in her, and Luke was drawn to it.”
“And she was drawn to his need, his vulnerability,” Ivy filled in.
“Aren’t all girls?”
Ivy grimaced.
Bryan shrugged. “Maybe not. Anyway, what was between them worked for a while, until Corinne cashed in her ticket. You need to understand, Ivy, everyone in River Gardens is looking for their ticket out. Hers was her photography. Mine was hockey.”
“And Luke—”
“Could have had one in hockey. He had more raw talent than me, but there were things he just couldn’t overcome.”
Bryan pushed the grapes toward Ivy and she plucked off two.
“Who were his enemies?” she asked.
“Luke didn’t have any real enemies.”
“But in an article I read he was charged with assault and—”
“Those charges were dropped,” Bryan said sharply. “Sorry, didn’t mean to jump on you. It’s just that, after Corinne died, reporters started digging around for old stories, you know, something to show that the justice system and social workers should have seen trouble coming. They made something out of nothing. Everyone in River Gardens knew he had a drinking problem and steered clear when necessary. When sober, he was a good friend, the best. The person who he got in a fight with—just a bar brawl—was passing through and acting stupid.”
“And yet,” Ivy said, “a few weeks ago someone beat him up—”
“Yeah, I see where you’re headed. If the news accounts were accurate, that was more than a scuffle.”
“He was left for dead!” Ivy said. “He was unconscious. If the tide had washed over him, he would have drowned.”
Bryan drummed his fingers against the shiny granite countertop. “He must have gotten help from someone in the stretch between me and you. He had to eat. He probably stole. Maybe he made an enemy while on the lam.”
Ivy sat back. She hadn’t considered that possibility. She could search out every detail of Luke’s life in River Gardens and still not find out who wanted to kill him.
“Do you know where he went after he left Providence?” she asked. “How far did you drive him?”
“I left him off in New York. He and I are city kids—he’d never make it hiding in the mountains of Vermont. Manhattan was a good a place to get lost in a crowd.”
And an impossible place for her and Tristan to trace Luke’s path, Ivy thought. But he had ended up close to his roots, and she had to start somewhere.
“After Corinne’s murder, how did the people in River Gardens see Luke? Did they turn against him?”
“I don’t know for sure,” Bryan replied. “It was April, and I was at school when the news broke. I went home for the funeral, of course, but everyone was still in shock. The weekend after, I went home again, but that time I was just getting Luke out of there, not hanging out with old friends.”
“If someone from River Gardens recognized him, would they go the police?”
Bryan pushed away the grapes and leaned forward on his arms, thinking. “Maybe. If the police offered a decent reward, I know a few who would. I just hope Luke stays far away from Providence.”
“People travel all over in the summer,” Ivy continued. “A lot come here. There was the girl at the carnival—”
“Alicia Crowley? She’d never turn on him. Alicia had a major crush on Luke going back to River Gardens Middle. She left our high school at the beginning of senior year—her parents beat it out of the neighborhood as soon as they could. Anyway, I always thought she was in love with Luke. I know she could never hurt him, not like Corinne.”
“Do you think he killed Corinne?” Ivy asked bluntly.
Elbows on the table, head bowed, Bryan was silent for a long time, then shook his head. “I don’t see how the Luke I knew could have.”
Ivy’s heart skipped a beat. Did she dare to hope? Or was this just a wish fueled by Bryan’s loyalty and her own desperation?
It didn’t matter—she couldn’t stop hoping. What if someone else had killed Corinne? What if she and Tristan could prove Luke was innocent? Then they would be free to live and love in the open. That’s all she was asking for—a chance to love as they would have, if Gregory hadn’t destroyed their life together.
If this hope was real, they needed to find Luke’s enemy to protect Tristan, and Corinne’s enemy to free him. Which meant Ivy had to learn everything she could about Corinne as well as Luke. And the place to start was the third person in their unhappy love triangle—Alicia Crowley.
Thirteen
“EXCUSE ME FOR INTERRUPTING,” KELSEY SAID sharply.
Bryan quickly raised his head and Ivy turned on her stool. They had been sitting silently, their heads close together, Ivy debating whether to ask for Bryan’s help in locating Alicia.
Kelsey strode across the kitchen, bearing down on Ivy. “When Will told me you were with Bryan, he didn’t mention you were having an intimate conversation.”
“We were just talking,” Ivy replied mildly.
“That’s how it starts.”
“C’mon, Kelsey,” Bryan said in a teasing voice. “Don’t you know roommates are off limits? That’s what Ivy told me.”
Kelsey took the bait: “So you were hoping—”
“No, no.” He reached for her hands and pulled her close. “I was just waiting to see when you’d get tired of Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum.”
Ivy slid off her stool, eager to get away before she got sucked into another round of their romantic game. “Where’s Will?”
“Trying to reach Beth,” Kelsey replied, leaning provocatively against Bryan. “He’s wasting the whole party texting. The girl he was talking to gave up and stalked off.”
To Ivy this was good news; it meant Will realized there was a reason to worry. She headed back to the party. After being sidetracked on the porch by Max and th
e girl who’d been lured by his expensive boats, Ivy found Will standing alone at the end of the yard. He looked at his phone, punched something in, then slipped it in his pocket. She walked toward him quickly.
“Did you hear from Beth?”
Will swung around. “No.”
“I’m worried, Will.”
“And you think I’m not?”
The thin peel of moon and stars had melted away completely. Heat lightning flashed in the distance.
“I know for a fact that you are,” she assured him. “With your car, she could be anywhere and—”
“You’re blaming me for lending my car?”
Ivy hesitated, then answered honestly. “A little. I know you meant well, but I don’t think you realize—”
“I’m not stupid! I can see she’s not acting like herself.”
Ivy remained silent in the face of his defensiveness, hoping they could get past it and really talk about Beth.
“You know,” Will continued, “when people go through rough times and act a little different than they used to, their true friends stick around and listen.”
“The problem is, Beth won’t let me,” Ivy replied, and took a step closer.
The edge of the lawn gave way to a short slope of rocks with four steps down to the beach. Will descended the steps, keeping a distance between him and Ivy.
“Beth has pulled away from me and nearly everyone else,” Ivy continued. “You saw her at the fireworks.”
“She doesn’t like Chase,” Will said as if that explained it all.
“You saw how she was yesterday, when Dhanya and I came down to the beach,” Ivy persisted, joining Will at the bottom of the steps. “And with the guests at the inn—you’ve seen how different she is from when we started the job—how cold she’s become.”
“She’s tired.”
“You’re making excuses, Will! Why can’t you face it? Something is very wrong with Beth, and simply listening to her is not going to help.” At the bottom of the steps a path led through a meadow of sea grass to the open sand. Will strode down the path. Ivy watched him for a minute, then followed slowly, trying to give him the space he needed, but determined to get to the issue of Gregory.
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