That didn’t turn up anything either.
Cooper kept sorting through the notebook, while I opened file after file on the computer.
Nothing.
“We need to look at email,” Cooper said.
I took a breath. “You do it. It feels weird, digging into all of her personal stuff. I know her so well.”
“And I don’t?”
“The things women share with each other are different than the things we share with male friends.”
“Fair enough.”
We both stood and shuffled around each other so he could take the chair. I was acutely aware of the way Cora’s face had shown her desire, and I kept my eyes averted. He smelled of something green and growing, sunlight and chlorophyll. How could I have forgotten that fragrance? I closed my eyes for a single second to inhale it deeply. Arranged myself in my chair and pretended I didn’t notice him. Our arms bumped, and I pulled mine back.
“Don’t you give me any cooties,” he said, brushing my touch off his arm.
I chuckled. It was a word I’d learned at grade school in Santa Fe during one of my stints there. “I can’t believe you remember that.”
“I know.”
He took a pair of spectacles out of his shirt pocket and put them on. They were gold wire frames, round, and made him look like a bookish student, or maybe John Lennon.
It was both terrible and lovely to sit so close to him, to feel the warmth of his skin just beyond the fabric of his shirt. It had been years and years since we’d been alone—we’d been polite to each other in the company of other people, kind but never intimate. It exasperated Diana to no end. “You were bloody soul mates, and now you can’t talk to each other like normal people?” she’d said more than once.
I found myself thinking about his hands, and the drawings of his naked body, and the moors and the copse where we’d made love in the moss, gloriously naked outside.
I wondered if he remembered it.
“This is a bit more challenging than I expected,” he said.
“Do you feel guilty?”
“What? No.” He shifted to look down at me. “Not the email business. You.”
One word and I was liquid. “Me?”
“The memories of you.”
I met his gaze. “I know. Me too.”
“It’s probably all chemical. Something about the way our bodies speak to each other.”
I couldn’t help smiling at that. “Everything is chemical.”
“Not always like this.” He looked at me. “I can’t with you, even if we’d both like it.”
Leave it to Cooper to put it right out there. Sharply, I replied, “You already made that very clear.” A sting of tears shimmered in the corners of my eyes, and I looked away, furious and embarrassed. I would absolutely not be vulnerable as well.
“Hey,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
I shook my head. “I’m fine.”
His hand fell on my thigh. “We’ll always be related, the two of us. Whatever else, that’s true.”
“Soul mates,” I said.
“Yeah.” He bumped against me, trying to jolly me out of my acute embarrassment. In a gentler voice he said, “But we tried the other way. We broke each other for a time.”
I took a breath. Looked up. A fan of lines radiated from his eyes, from squinting across the moor, and a combination of wind and sun had given his face an eternal tan. “I know.” But even as I said that, I felt the lure of him, the chemical pinging between us lively and loud. “It’s just not easy to be around you and . . . not . . .”
“I know. Me too.” He patted my leg, as if he were my uncle. “But we have to get this done. For Diana.”
I nodded. Straightened my back. “Let’s dig into the deep, dark secrets of email.”
Of course her inbox was tidy, with clearly labeled folders down the left side of the page. Among others were files for Orders, Invoices, Personal, Inquiries, Action Required. All the folders had the numbers of unopened emails each contained. Action had seventeen.
“Open ‘Action,’” I said.
We scanned the subject headings together. Nothing very illuminating, just orders and various other daily business items. I narrowed my eyes and tried to think like my grandmother.
“Maybe run a scan in email for ‘Perse’?”
“Ah, good idea.” He typed the name into the box, and a long line of entries turned up. He opened the first, and it was an order for sixteen box lunches, sixteen servings of roast chicken and sides, twenty-eight sous vide eggs. Delivery to the Persephone yacht, 24 April. “Big party for a yacht that size,” Cooper said.
“You know the boat?”
“It’s a local. It might be able to sleep six, tops.”
“Four guys for four days?”
“Maybe. Four days is a long weekend.”
“Good question.” I took a screenshot of the page. “Let’s look at some of the others.”
Cooper took notes and I shot photos as we looked through them, one by one. Most of them were fairly straightforward, but some had instructions for particular food types, and puddings.
The invoices went to a London address. “Henry? He was the one setting up all the parties, wasn’t he? I think that’s how they met.” I made a mental note to look through my texts about him again.
A loud deep voice broke into the room. “Oh, hail hail, fair Diana, my sweet lady. Where are you, my little love muffin? I’ve a present for you.”
I looked at Cooper. “Henry.”
He sounded so happy, so full of anticipation. Both Cooper and I stood and faced the door.
A big handsome man, a bit too stout in the way of a former footballer, came around the corner with an enormous bouquet of flowers. He was deeply tan, wearing khaki slacks and very expensive shoes. His eyes were so blue they leapt out of his face.
Oh, Diana. This is so not fair.
“Hello,” he said, spying us. His tone was friendly and upbeat. “Why so quiet here today? Things are usually all abuzz on Sundays. You’re new here. I’m Henry.” He reached out a hand to shake, and I took it.
“I’m Zoe,” I said, “and this is Cooper.”
“Oh, sure, Cooper, good to meet you, lad. We’ve missed each other so often.”
“Henry,” Cooper said, moving aside. “You need to sit down.”
Instantly, his guard was up. “Why? Is there something the matter? Is Diana all right? Is—”
Cooper pressed his hand on Henry’s shoulder and guided him into the chair. “I’m afraid we don’t know where she is, or if she’s all right. She disappeared sixteen days ago, and we haven’t heard from her since.”
Henry looked from Cooper to me, then back again. His face showed confusion. “Disappeared how?”
“We don’t know.”
“But I—” He scowled, pulled out his phone. “I was fretting that she hadn’t texted me, but sometimes she worried about being too needy.” He cleared his throat. “Crazy woman. I’ve been in the Hebrides, y’see.” He scrolled through his messages, just as I’d done, as if looking would make a new text appear. “But where would she go?”
“That’s the trouble,” Cooper said. “We don’t know. I’m sure the constable would like to talk to you.”
The color drained from his face all at once. I’d never seen it happen so completely before. Even his lips looked blue. “Police? Do they think she might . . . that something terrible . . . that she’s dead?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “We don’t know.”
“But I brought her flowers.” His voice was small. His eyes swam with tears.
Cooper said gently, “You might have information that will help them understand where she’s gone. Let’s have a wander over to the constable, shall we?”
“Of course.” He stood up suddenly, slamming the chair against the desk. The flowers jiggled in his tight grip. “What’ll I do with these?”
“Why don’t I pop them in some water?” I s
aid. “They’re so beautiful. We’ll want them to be nice when Diana gets back.”
His face sagged as he released them. “I had such good news,” he said. “It was all I could think about all the way here.”
The scent of lilies filled my nose. Death flowers. My gut twisted.
Cooper waved a hand as he left. “Text me when you want to bring Isabel.”
I nodded.
As they left, my entire body felt weak. I sank down into the chair Henry had vacated, holding the flowers he’d so exuberantly been bringing to Diana. Perhaps he was a great actor and really had been the reason she’d disappeared, but I no longer believed that. That draining of color in his face couldn’t have been faked. Unless he was afraid of getting caught at something? Could he have killed her?
No, it just didn’t feel right. He might have known something, but my instincts said he hadn’t harmed her, that his arrival this morning had been sincere.
Still, he had to know something.
I carried the bouquet to the sink and looked around until I found a vase for them. As I arranged the lilies and baby’s breath and roses, I imagined Diana coming back through the door and seeing them on the counter. An exuberant offering of love.
A wave of loss broke over me suddenly, deep and wide. It swamped me, soaked me, every inch of my heart and mind and body, and I stood against the counter, shaking.
Sobbing. It didn’t seem fair that she should have found love, only to lose out to—what? Who?
Who would do something to Diana? And why?
It just seemed impossible that anyone would.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Zoe
Restless and unsettled when I returned to Woodhurst Hall, I sat at the kitchen table drinking hearty tea with milk and looked over the notes my mother had made last night about Gran’s meds and routines. Her handwriting gave me a peculiar pang, as if seeing a letter from someone long dead. I thought of her sitting at this very table last night, with Isabel, making friends with her. It made me uncomfortable.
Because it wasn’t like Isabel was at a strong point in her life. What if my mother betrayed her too? Let her down? Poppy didn’t have a great record, after all.
Isabel came banging in through the back door, her camera bag on her shoulder. She was still draped in the hoodie, but at least she hadn’t pulled it over her head. Her dark curls shone in the bright day.
“Hello,” I said. “How was your morning?” I had tracked her on Find My Friends, and her trail had been straight to a hilltop outside the village, then back down to the hill fort.
“It was good. Do you want to hear about the workshop on the Hare Moon?”
Did I? I felt raw and emotional still after the scene at Diana’s business. Maybe I didn’t have to pile on anything more just this second. “No, thanks, unless you have some illumination you want to share.”
“Not really.” She turned on the kettle and leaned against the counter. “I did what you suggested—I went back to the hill fort and took photos anyway, even if I’m not going to post them.”
“A friend of mine suggested that we could go to the next village over and see if there are some old-school scrapbooks and things.”
“I need a color printer if I’m going to do that,” she said.
“Gran probably has one.”
“No, I checked. Old-school black-and-white laser.” She indicated the size with her hands, a giant of a thing. “It would only cost a couple hundred, which I have in my savings.”
“That’s not necessary. I don’t mind buying it. We can find something you can use with the camera.”
“Okay.”
“We can ask Gran—”
“Ask me what?” she said, making her way into the room with the help of her cane. She did not love using it, but it gave her a little help on the uneven floors of the ancient house.
“Where to buy a color printer for my photos. I can leave it here for when we come back to visit, and you can use it if you want.” Isabel waved Gran into a chair. “I’ll make your tea.”
“I have one, but it won’t be powerful enough for your photos. You’ll need to drive into Exeter, I expect.” She slid a bright floral napkin from its ring and shook it.
I nodded. “We can go Monday.”
“Monday! Why not today?”
“We’re going up to Dartmoor this evening, remember?”
“Oh yeah. Okay.”
Gran said, “Will you make me some toast, dear Isabel? On the thick bread. And I’ll need a little marmalade.”
Isabel said, “Of course.”
I gave her a smile and stood to fetch the fat pot of marmalade, a clear glass jar with its own spoon that had been part of my childhood.
“About that trip to Dartmoor,” Isabel said. “I have something to tell you.” She settled a pot of tea and an antique plate in front of Lillian.
Something in the tilt of her head made me look up. “What?”
“Um. Well, I met your friend. Sage?”
“Really, where?”
She shrugged with exaggerated nonchalance and began to make toast. “At your mom’s house this morning.”
A brick dropped in my gut. I knew she’d gone there, but thinking of Poppy and Sage and Isabel all cozy without me felt like a betrayal. It felt like everyone was transferring their allegiance to my mother. My enemy.
The tiniest thread of doubt snaked through my antagonism—was I wrong? Should I be taking steps toward forgiving her?
I thought of those postcards I’d sent every week, thought of that sad girl, thought of Isabel at that age and what I would have done to protect her.
No.
Everyone in the world could forgive her, party it up, but I would not. Everyone forgiving her had not suffered the unforgivable thing she’d done to me.
But I couldn’t help asking, “Did Cooper participate in the workshop?”
“No, I think he was just helping her set up.”
I stared at her, a thought burning in my gut. “I see.”
Isabel spread marmalade on her toast, toast without butter, just as my grandmother ate it. When a thick, glistening layer was perfect from edge to edge, she picked it up. “My dad thinks it will probably be good for me to get to know Poppy.”
“Ah, you talked to him about it, did you?”
A flicker of annoyance crossed her eyebrows, so slight I nearly missed it. “It wasn’t like that.”
“What was it like, Isabel? You can talk to your dad, and your grandmother, and the counselor, and whoever else in the world, but you can’t talk to me?”
“I just wanted his opinion.”
“Why not my opinion?” I could feel the emotions I’d been tamping down beginning to whip out of control. “Why not the person who has been right here, at your side through thick and thin, your whole life?”
“I don’t know! I mean, I guess I knew what you would say.”
“Did you, Isabel? What would I say?”
“That you didn’t want me to meet her.”
I stood up and walked to the stove, turning my back so that Isabel couldn’t see my face. The tears threatening, which would infuriate me. I took in a deep breath, trying to calm down, but there was a cold, furious anger at my core that I couldn’t shake. I turned around. “You’re right. I would have told you not to meet her because you might get hurt. She isn’t reliable.”
“Mom! She wasn’t reliable a long time ago. That was then. This is now.”
Fury blistered my throat. “You’re free to make a relationship with her,” I said with some effort. “Just don’t expect me to do the same.” I turned, carrying my mug with me. “I have some work to do. Excuse me.”
It was true that I had some work to do. I’d been plugging away on a logo assignment that was finished and needed to be uploaded. When I logged in to send it, I also found an email from a magazine I loved, a literary journal that didn’t pay much for my illustrations but carried a lot of prestige. I opened it eagerly to find an invitation to ill
ustrate an article on the companionship pleasures of dogs called “All Dogs Are Therapy Dogs.” They wanted six pen-and-ink drawings with light washes, something cozy and upbeat. The only problem was the deadline, which was fairly short for this kind of thing.
Then I realized I wasn’t working full time on something else, and really, having something to do while we tried to solve the problem of Diana’s disappearance might not be too bad. I wrote back, accepting the assignment.
I mailed off the logo to my boss at Santa Fe Graphx and then went to the window. Thanks to the brilliant weather, a spill of watercraft had tumbled out of the harbor to the open sea—sailboats and rowboats and yachts and fishing boats dotting the vividly blue water like a scattering of child’s toys, all the way to the horizon. It made me think of my youth, when Cooper and Diana and I would set out from shore in a battered but seaworthy rowboat that belonged to Diana’s dad—not that he ever sailed on it, since even then he’d either been hungover or drunk. We’d take pies and biscuits and bottles of Coke and sail up to some other beach besides our own, into a cove with a tiny spit of sand, or a sandbar at the mouth of one of the rivers that emptied themselves along the coast. Diana always turned pink no matter how much sunscreen she slathered herself with, and she wore big silly hats I couldn’t bear, but I tanned easily and deeply, and so did Cooper, whose arms had grown darker and his hair more tousled and bleached as the summer wore on.
A soft yearning ache moved in my limbs. Had I ever gotten over him, really? It didn’t feel like it when we’d sat side by side, when I’d smelled his skin and wanted to crawl into his lap and lay my head on his shoulder.
How was it possible that after twenty years, that part of it was exactly the same? The chemistry between us was just as it had been when we were teenagers, probably the same as it had been all our lives.
I closed my eyes, thinking of a rainy day when we’d curled up in his bed and kissed and kissed and kissed, twining legs and arms, sliding skin to skin in delicious play, drawing out the pleasure. We had learned every inch of each other. I wondered how much would be different now.
We’d been so young, so inflexible, both of us.
In those days, he’d been completely antimaterialistic. Didn’t believe in buying new clothes, only used ones. Didn’t eat meat, darned his socks, didn’t believe in television.
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