by Tessa Wegert
“But that didn’t stop you from showing Ned how much you appreciate his help,” Miles said, facing his wife once more. With a lewd expression he added, “Ned’s just so good at what he does.”
“Shut up,” said Bebe. “You shut your mouth.”
“She may not be worried about Jasper,” said Miles, “but I am, and my daughter is, too. There could be a killer in this house, and I’m not going to sit around and wait for another attack. You had your chance, Bebe. You should have told them the second they got here. And if you won’t, I will.”
My eyes narrowed as I listened to Miles rant. A few minutes ago he’d suggested Jasper’s abduction was on par, stress-wise, with moving house. Now there was a murderer hiding in the curtains, and he and Jade were quaking with fear.
“Stop it,” Bebe said, digging her fingernails into her knees. “I’m warning you, Miles.”
“Christ, Bebe, you couldn’t wait until you were back in the city? You had to do it here, in full view of the house with your whole family watching? Honestly, you’d think a person who’s fucking her brother’s boyfriend would try to be a little more discreet.”
“You bastard,” said Bebe. “You absolute beast.”
“Was that part of the fun? Did you get off on the risk? She saw you. Jade saw you with Ned.”
Jade’s bedroom window with the view of the shed. I know what she did. Jade was talking about Bebe.
When Bebe shook her head, strands of hair stuck to her forehead. She was sweating. Afraid. And Miles wasn’t done yet.
“You know what else Jade saw? She saw Jasper, out on the lawn. You saw him, too, didn’t you? You and Ned. And Ned couldn’t have him knowing. He couldn’t take the chance that Jas would run off and tell Flynn.”
Watching Bebe was mesmerizing. Her eyes got enormous while every muscle in her face went slack. “Ned would never hurt anyone. Never.”
“What about Flynn? What would he do if he found out about you two? Oh, I’m sure he suspects—your trip up here together, the way you’re always fawning over Ned. But what would he do if he knew for sure? Flynn’s not great at controlling his temper, is he? You know how he feels about Ned, how afraid he is of losing him. He’d rip you both apart.
“You’d be finished at the company, of course,” Miles went on. “The business can’t afford a scandal, not with Attitude nipping at your heels. You and Ned would both be out so fast it would make your heads spin. I’m sure Ned doesn’t care. He’s leaving anyway. But your reputation would be obliterated, and Ned knows it. Did he tell you he’d protect you from all of that? Did he explain Jas would have to die, or did he leave that up to your imagination?”
I didn’t know what type of law Miles practiced, but I’d have bet money he had experience as a litigation attorney. He watched Bebe closely while awaiting her response. He had her trapped, and he knew it.
“So you see why I’m worried,” said Miles as he crossed one leg over the other. “In the past twenty-four hours, Jasper witnessed his best friend banging his sister and then promptly disappeared. I’d say that’s cause for concern, wouldn’t you?”
“Ned would never hurt Jasper,” Bebe repeated weakly. She looked ill.
“You’re sure about that?” I asked, taking Miles’s lead. “Your feelings for Ned might be skewing your perception of things. Right now you two are happy. You’ve got each other’s backs. But soon the sparkle will wear off, and when it does do you want me wondering whether you, Mrs. Sinclair, are involved in your brother’s disappearance, too?”
“You can’t seriously tell me you’re going to listen to him,” Bebe said. “This is a setup! You want to talk about feelings getting in the way? Miles is angry with me, and his solution is to frame Ned for murder. We’re through—not because of Ned, by the way, but because Miles is a selfish bastard who only married me for my money.”
“What money?” said Miles, deadpan.
Another vibration. Another text. I was starting to get worried. If McIntyre had news she’d shoot me a message asking if I was free to talk—just one. Something was up, but I couldn’t hit pause on Bebe and Miles. What I was witnessing was better than all those episodes of Geraldo I watched with my mom as a kid, and it was getting me closer to where I needed to be.
“This is insane,” Bebe said. “If you insist on treating this as a suspicious situation, the person you should be questioning is Abby, or Bella, or whoever she is. Jasper barely knows her and she’s about to get kicked out of the country. She has nothing to lose.”
“Jasper must know her better than you think,” I said, “considering he’s about to propose.”
Bebe and Miles traded a glance. The act was automatic. They hadn’t been on the outs for long. “Who told you that?” said Bebe.
“I believe that news came from Jade.”
The room was plunged into silence. That told me everything I needed to know. Jade had the inside track on Jasper’s life, and it was common knowledge in the family. The mention of her name was confirmation enough for Bebe. Jasper and Jade were friends, and he confided in her. Jasper did plan to propose to the girl who now sat in the parlor with his blood all over her. When Jasper divulged his secret, Jade immediately turned around and told Ned. Why didn’t Ned pass the news along to Bebe? Where exactly did Ned’s loyalties lie? I wondered the same about Jade. Of all the people in the house she could have told, she didn’t go to a family member but a man she hardly knew.
Something else occurred to me that complicated things further. According to Miles, Jade told him she saw Bebe and Ned sneaking into the shed. If Jade and Jasper were so close that he’d revealed his plans to propose, surely Jade talked to Jasper about the dirt she had on Bebe and Ned. It wasn’t Jasper in that raincoat, peeking through the shed window. But Jasper had to know what was going on.
Dusk was falling on the island. Night was a few hours away still, but the leaden light beyond the window had dimmed. Moments earlier I could see Bebe clearly, but now she sat in shadow. I wanted to flick on a lamp to get a better look at her expression, but I didn’t dare. I didn’t move.
“So who did it?” I said into the void. “I think we all know Jasper didn’t stage that grisly scene up there as a prank. Someone inflicted the wound that resulted in that bloodstain. So was it Ned, or was it Abella? Or”—I looked to Bebe—“was it you?”
She let out a startled laugh. “You can sit here and devise ridiculous theories all night long for all I care. I’m leaving.”
As she stood and turned to go, Bebe knocked my full mug of coffee to the floor. The mottled liquid spread and darkened the antique rug.
“Nana’s going to love that,” said Miles. “Better add it to your list of confessions.”
Bebe’s head whipped around and a look of sheer horror came over her face. “Don’t even think about it. Don’t you dare.”
“It’s not like it would make a difference. She despises you already.”
I watched them carefully, trying to read between the lines. From one second to the next Bebe had changed. Her vigor drained away. Now she looked at Miles with desperation in her eyes. “Please, Miles, you can’t. Tell Flynn, I don’t care. Just don’t tell Nana.”
I was missing something. Camilla wouldn’t approve of the affair, but Bebe wasn’t close to her like Jasper was. What was the worst that could happen if Camilla found out? “Mrs. Sinclair,” I said slowly. “I should warn you, in the course of this investigation your relationship with Mr. Yeboah may well come out to your grandmother.”
She spun around to face me. “No. I won’t allow it. It would be too much for her. Jasper, and that blood . . . it’s all too much.”
I pictured Camilla. Her gaunt face. The wig. The realization hit me like a stream of icy water. “Camilla’s sick.”
“Cancer,” Bebe said, nodding. “She has a few weeks at most. My poor, poor grandmother.” She ratcheted up the sadness in her eyes
.
Camilla was dying. That’s why Jasper brought Abella to the island, and why Camilla insisted everyone else come, too. She might have hoped for reconciliation, but based on what I knew about Camilla’s grandchildren, it was more likely she knew the most she could hope for was that they pretend. It explained why Miles and Jade were present even though he and Bebe were splitting up. They’d all come together, because Camilla asked them to.
Bebe didn’t want to upset her grandmother. Or was it that she didn’t want Camilla angry? Bebe and Flynn didn’t spend time with Camilla in the city like Jasper did, but Bebe wished she had come to the island earlier, and was adamant that we suppress her affair. Flynn visited Camilla when he first got to Tern, too. Now that she was dying, it seemed to me they were both trying awfully hard to stay on their nana’s good side.
“Jasper’s gone, Bebe,” Miles said evenly. “It’s all going to come out eventually. It always does.”
As I reached into my pocket to grab my phone, I hoped to God he was right.
SEVENTEEN
Gone. That word means something different to me than to most. That’s partly because of my job. Homicide victims are gone forever. I’ll never know them, and I can’t change that; all I can do is try to keep the same thing from happening to someone else. Death is fast and finite. A hawk plucks a pigeon from the sky in a flurry of feathers. One goes while the other stays behind, wearing a shit-eating grin.
There’s more to it, though, because I was gone, too. As far as my family, the media, even the police were concerned, I was as gone as gone can be. The only difference between me and other victims is that I came back.
It was clear Miles believed Jasper was dead, and his case against Ned was strong. The stories I’d been told by Abella and Miles about the previous day, from Flynn’s temper to the tryst in the shed, lined up.
That only generated more doubt. Ned and Bebe’s secret had the capacity to tear apart an already unstable family. It was the kind of thing a person might go to great lengths to bury. So who wielded the shovel? It wouldn’t go well for Ned if Flynn found out about the affair; one conversation with Jasper’s brother was all I needed to see that. But what about Bebe? She had just as much reason to panic, and plenty of excuses for why Jasper was gone. This woman who cheated with her brother’s partner while he worked nearby might be capable of anything.
I wasn’t ready to give up on Flynn either. According to Abella, he routinely abused Jasper. If he was angry about Jasper’s comparably successful efforts to save the family business, or even something as trivial as Jasper’s happy relationship, Flynn might snap. He was quick to pin Jasper’s disappearance on Abella. If he’d done the deed, framing her for murder would serve him well.
It was after four by the time Miles and Bebe left the library and I was finally able to gather my thoughts and check my phone. I’d started hoping McIntyre’s messages contained a bombshell revelation about Ned Yeboah, the ambitious bisexual New York YouTuber who needed Bebe so urgently he threw her over a sawhorse in a freezing-cold shed. To my surprise it was Carson’s name, not Maureen McIntyre’s, I saw on the screen.
There were times, especially lately, when Carson made me feel like a child under a parent’s watchful gaze. He’d say it was for my own good—and maybe it was—but it concerned me that he was reaching out in the middle of a case. He’d made his position clear. What good would it do to keep reminding me I might lose my shit? Couldn’t he at least give me a chance to prove him wrong?
Cut him some slack, Shay. Whenever Carson’s micromanaging annoyed me, I reminded myself what he’d done. Carson saved me. In a way, I owed him my life. Quelling my frustration, I scrolled through his messages.
Been thinking about Tim, his first text read. You’re right about the wedding. We shouldn’t invite him.
It’s a bad idea, Carson went on. It’s tradition for friends of the groom to drudge up old stories. Roast them or whatever.
We have history. Tim would love to embarrass me.
There’s some jealousy there.
He’s that type.
That’s where Carson ended it. I puzzled over the texts. Why the sudden change of heart? I couldn’t imagine Tim telling embarrassing stories about Carson. As far as I knew, Carson and Tim hadn’t hung out in years. Get up in front of a hundred people to roast a guy Tim hadn’t been close with for decades? No way.
I didn’t expect Carson to answer when I texted my reply. It was ages since his last message came through. OK then he’s off the list, I wrote, even though he’d never been on it. I didn’t have it in me to solve this mystery, too. Today of all days, I needed my mind in the game.
When I hit the send button, his response was instantaneous.
Good, Carson wrote. Watch out for him. He might try to turn you against me.
I’d been prepared to end the conversation, but that stopped me short.
What? Why the hell would he do that? I was more proficient with the tiny keyboard than Carson, and the dead time between my text and his response was agony. Finally, his reply appeared.
Jealousy, like I said. It was always him who got punished for the shit we pulled as kids. And look at us now.
Meaning you’re rich and important and he’s a lowly cop? I thought. What I wrote was, Tim doesn’t care about that. As I typed, it struck me I wasn’t sure whether Tim’s lack of wealth bothered him. It didn’t look like Tim was blowing his paycheck on designer clothes and fancy cars, but he was visibly impressed by the Sinclairs and their estate. He knew a lot about how families like this one spent their fortunes. Maybe it did grate on him that Carson made it big in the city while he never got out of A-Bay.
I get that he’s your colleague and you want this to work, Carson wrote back, but he’s not a good person. I’m sorry, I’ll explain when you get home, but please believe me. It’s the truth.
Not a good person? Ten hours ago Carson was Timmy’s biggest fan, petitioning for his inclusion in the most meaningful day of our lives. I’d only known Tim a few months, but Carson’s left-field claim didn’t mesh with what I’d seen firsthand. Or maybe I just hadn’t been paying attention. Hearing Carson, my fiancé, talk about him that way turned my stomach. I did want our partnership to work. Was it possible I’d been misreading Tim all this time?
Just be careful, Carson wrote, for the second time that day. Promise me. You might feel like you’re in control out on that island, but remember what you’ve been through.
“Typically,” Carson had said thirteen months ago on the day we met, “adult victims of this kind of trauma experience one of two reactions. An emotional response—shock, disassociation, hopelessness—often tops the list, but there may also be social repercussions. Despite having been isolated from society during their confinement, victims often withdraw from others after they’re freed, even their closest family and friends. You may experience intense feelings of loneliness, even when you’re not alone. I know that doesn’t make much sense, but it’s textbook for this kind of psychological condition. You’re going to feel lost. Abandoned. Adrift.”
I walked out of Dr. Carson Gates’s Junction Boulevard office with my brain reduced to mush. I’d gone in expecting to be picked apart, but I was still disheartened when, after listening attentively to my story and promising not to give up on me, Dr. Gates said I was in for a lifetime of pain. I remember thinking, Great, this pretty police psychologist’s going to turn the ordeal I barely survived into a case study. Before I even got back to the subway I was convinced he’d already decided which psychology journal was most likely to give him the cover.
I was all set to call it quits and fight through that pain on my own—go through the motions, my ass—when Carson did something surprising. After our first meeting he called me to apologize. It was too much too fast, he conceded. Of course I felt overwhelmed.
As we talked, I realized it wasn’t his diagnosis that left me feeling beaten down,
but the implication that it wouldn’t go away. I needed to work, couldn’t imagine a life without the force once my leave of absence came to an end. Dr. Gates said the damage was done. My trauma was too great. I could no longer separate good from evil, not even when evil stared me in the face. He recommended a desk job, and tasks that were “professionally gratifying, but far removed from violence.” It was the last thing I wanted to hear. So I refused to hear it.
But I didn’t quit. Week after week I begrudgingly continued those mandatory visits, and every time I argued my case. I could get over the ordeal, I told him. I’d find a way to move on. When he saw how determined I was, he made me a promise. He’d work with me until I was ready to go back, no matter how long it took.
I showed up for our sessions with new energy and resolve. For his part, Carson went out of his way to schedule extra meetings and check in with me via phone calls and texts in between. Before long we were seeing each other outside of the office—a coffee on a Saturday morning, a drink when he finished work. In all the ways I felt weak, Carson was strong. He insisted the horrible things I’d done for Bram were forgivable.
It felt like ages before our relationship progressed beyond a friendship. The more time I spent with Carson, the more convinced I became that only a psychologist trained in trauma therapy for police officers would ever be able to understand the person I’d become. The day he told me he could no longer be my therapist because our connection felt too personal, I knew there was no going back. It didn’t seem to matter that dating him was unethical and unwise, not to mention a criminal offense. When I stumbled out of that basement with blood on my hands, I was utterly alone. Until I found Carson.
“Detective Merchant?”
“Jesus.” I brought my bandaged hand to my heart. Norton had a way of sneaking up on me that made me want to jump out of my skin. He was standing in the hall. Over his shoulder I saw Ned crouched next to Abella, murmuring gently in her ear. Watching them together yanked at my gut. Three friends with a lifetime ahead of them, now down to two.
