Death in the Family

by Tessa Wegert

  Norton gave a start and shook his head. “It wasn’t me! I don’t . . . the trapper! He must have come back.”

  Bebe said, “Ned’s right. It’s Norton who should have checked them. Maybe he did.” She pivoted to face the caretaker. “Maybe you’re the one who let them go.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” said Camilla. “Philip would never do such a thing. How could you even suggest it?”

  “You heard them,” said Bebe. “Someone in this room is a killer, and I refuse to believe it’s a Sinclair. My God, we’re not animals.”

  “I’ve got a dead body that suggests otherwise,” I said.

  Bebe ignored me. “How can you defend him, Nana? Philip’s not even family!”

  Camilla’s eyes flashed. “He’s family to me.”

  A violent flush crept up Norton’s bare neck. “I swear it, to all of you. It wasn’t me.”

  I was inclined to believe him, but there was no denying Norton was in a unique position on the island. He had the freedom to wander off without anyone batting an eye. It was his job to be invisible, to live on the fringe of this miniature society, and he spent more time alone than any of them. He wasn’t part of the family in the same way as the others, regardless of his relationship with Camilla. Norton had no reason I could see for wanting to hurt Jasper or Abella. That didn’t make him innocent.

  “Ned’s not family either,” Miles pointed out.

  “Neither are you, Miles,” said Ned.

  “Ned and Abby were friends. Ned and Jasper, too,” said Bebe, keen to protect her lover. “If someone let the boats go that means someone wants us stranded here. But why?”

  Flynn began to laugh. It started as a chortle, the intensity building until his voice boomed through the room. When he was done he wiped his eyes and tapped the ashes from his cigarette onto the coffee table. “Guilty,” he said with a shrug. “It was me. I let the boats go free.”

  Tim and I swapped glances. We hadn’t been back to the boathouse all day. The boats could have disappeared hours ago. Other than Norton, Flynn alone hadn’t come to the parlor when Tim asked him to that morning. He could have slipped outside while I conducted my search of the house. He had plenty of time to make it to the boats and back.

  “Care to explain?” Tim said.

  “It’s simple. My boyfriend was threatening to leave me,” Flynn said. “He abandoned me in the city yesterday morning, and when I finally caught up with him here, he completely blew me off. I knew the next time Ned went somewhere without me he wasn’t coming back, and I had a hunch it wasn’t going to be all snuggles by the fire this weekend. Obviously, I was right—and it worked out perfectly, because now there’s plenty of time to explain why he’s fucking my sister.”

  My eyes went straight to Camilla. Bebe’s desperate pleas to Miles in the library made it sound as if learning about the affair would kill Camilla on the spot. We didn’t need another dead body on our hands. If Camilla heard what Flynn said, it didn’t register. Quiet now, she stared absently at the blackened embers in the hearth.

  In fact, no one spoke as Flynn’s eyes traveled the room. “Ahh,” he said slowly. “I see how it is. Everyone knew but me.”

  Standing in the doorway, I tapped the toe of my wet boot on the floor. After talking to Ned I’d been fairly sure Flynn was our man. He and Bebe might have collaborated on the plan, but Flynn did all the heavy lifting. If he was the killer, though, why rob himself of his only escape from Tern Island? A visit to the boathouse earlier meant he could have taken off before we even knew he existed. Why stick around?

  The man was entirely focused on outing Bebe and Ned. It was obvious he knew about the affair—but how? Flynn’s analysis appeared to be right; based on their reaction, everyone save maybe Camilla was already aware of Bebe’s tryst. So how had Flynn discovered it, and when?

  It had been ages since that first interview in Flynn’s bedroom, but I probed my memory for a sign he’d known then. The conversation Flynn had with Ned when he got to the island suggested he had his suspicions. He’d questioned Ned’s decision to travel with Bebe, and noted his lover’s evasive response. Now, though, he was certain. Between yesterday and today something settled it.

  On Flynn’s neck ropy veins rose up from the skin, bloated to bursting with fury and humiliation. This discovery was fresh, his emotions unprocessed. Someone had told him recently. Possibly within the hour.

  I scanned the faces in the room. Next to her father, Jade was doing her best to hide hers. It was she who disclosed Jasper’s proposal plan to Ned. She’d told Miles, and possibly also Jasper, about seeing Ned and Bebe enter the shed. There was little for a girl Jade’s age to do in a place like this, especially during a storm. She hadn’t been texting or calling her friends, which meant that something else had occupied her time during the countless hours she’d spent in the parlor with her father’s wife’s eccentric family. And now Flynn was smoking one of her cigarettes.

  I had to wonder whether Jade could even begin to comprehend the enormity of what she’d done. In a way, it was a shame Miles was leaving Bebe. When it came to the Sinclairs, Jade fit right in.

  “Flynn,” Bebe said, glancing at Camilla once more. “Not now. Not like this.”

  “How then, Bebe? Back in the city? At work? Does everyone there know, too? The irony is perfection, and you don’t even see it. I’m guilty,” he said. “And not just of releasing a couple of boats. But you know what, sis? So are you.”

  “Don’t listen to him,” Bebe said quickly, to no one and everyone. “He’s out of his mind. My brother would never hurt Jasper.”

  “Hurt him? I ruined him,” said Flynn. “Jasper, Nana, even you.”

  It wasn’t a confession of murder, but Flynn was admitting to something. Looking at the shirtless brute reclining in his buttery navy moccasins made me furious. “Spill it,” I said. “If you were involved in what happened to Jasper, or Abella, or anything else linked to this investigation, tell us. Right now.”

  “Flynn,” Bebe said. Her tone was dangerous, but it made Flynn smile. He liked watching her suffer. Enjoyed the suspense. This was his big moment, and he relished it.

  “My darling sister. What I’m guilty of is tax evasion on a scale you couldn’t possibly imagine.” Flynn watched as Bebe went pale. Tipped back his dark head, and laughed some more. “We’ve got dear old Dad to thank for laying the groundwork for us. He was hiding money in the Caribbean. That’s why he was always in Antigua. He kept a bank account down there, fattened it up real nice. It’s not enough to bail us out, unfortunately. Not even close.”

  Bebe’s skin had turned the color of raw river fish. “No. No, I would have known. It isn’t true.”

  “Don’t feel bad you didn’t spot it, you were a little distracted,” said Flynn. Ned, when Flynn looked at him, pressed his lips together and said nothing. “I couldn’t pay the taxes, you see, not without tipping off the IRS, so I kept doing what Dad did, thinking I could fix it in time. Well, guess what? Time’s up. I got a call the other day. There’s going to be an audit. It’s all coming out. Not paying our employees? All those bills you’ve been ignoring? That was nothing. This is so much worse.”

  Bebe shook her head. “But I didn’t know.”

  “You’re the fucking CEO. I didn’t report it. But neither did you. We’re in this together—as far as the IRS is concerned, you’re just as guilty as me. I’m going to jail. And I’m taking you with me.”

  Dumbfounded, Bebe stammered, “But I’m your sister.”

  “Yes. Yes, you are. But what does that mean, really? Family’s just a collection of people who happen to be bound by blood. I don’t owe you anything. Not you, and not anyone else.”

  “Jasper,” I said. “Did he know?”

  “He knew enough not to hand over his inheritance when we asked for it. If he had, it would be long gone by now.” Flynn nodded in his grandmother’s direction.
“Nana’s money, too. That bastard always was smarter than me. I hope he burns in hell.”

  Flynn’s hair had fallen into his eyes. He threw back his head the way Bram used to and jutted out his chin, one last-ditch attempt at pride. The similarity between them in that moment sickened me, but it also made my limbs rigid and ready. “Sinclair Fabrics would have been seventy-five years old next year, did you know that?” Flynn said. “We were going to have a party. It was Nana’s idea—wasn’t it, Nana? Picked a date and everything. I hope to God you die soon,” he said under his breath, his gaze on his grandmother and his mouth on the rim of his glass. “I’d really hate to disappoint you.”

  I felt no empathy for Flynn, none at all. I didn’t pity him for the terrible situation his father left him in. It meant nothing that Flynn and Bebe’s attempts to take Camilla’s and Jasper’s money were fueled by a desire to keep the family’s legacy alive. Yes, they’d invested years of their lives in the business, while Jasper’s entire career to date had gone to ensuring some other company’s success. None of that justified how they treated their brother, or their grandmother, or anyone else. Their hardships didn’t make the behavior these sick siblings exhibited forgivable. Jasper was gone. He was gone and his girlfriend lay dead on the floor.

  “Philip,” Bebe said with a quiver in her voice, “take Nana to the library so she can lie down.” Camilla, it seemed, had entered some sort of trance. A puddle of drool glistened at the corner of her mouth and her wineglass hung precariously from her fingers. Norton wasted no time in carrying out the request. With a few soothing words he coaxed Camilla up, took her hands in his, and guided her from the room. My eyes lingered on her glass, the wine it contained was paler than the chardonnay the others guzzled around her.

  “She doesn’t look good.” I heard Camilla’s shallow, labored breathing as she passed, and I stopped them at the door. “Mrs. Sinclair,” I said, “are you all right?”

  The old woman’s lips fluttered. Her breath smelled oddly sweet.

  “It’s the medication,” said Norton. “It makes her tired. She just needs to rest.”

  “Should she be drinking while she’s undergoing treatment? You’ve been serving her wine.”

  “What, that? It’s watered down. There’s hardly any wine in it at all.”

  “You mix it in the kitchen?”

  “Easier that way.”

  “How often does she take them?” I watched his face. “The drugs.”

  “Two . . . no, three times a day.” Nobody in the room challenged him. No one said a word. I doubted they had a clue what her cancer treatment entailed. Only Jasper would have bothered to ask.

  “We should keep an eye on her,” I said, stepping aside to let them pass.

  Norton nodded as he led Camilla into the hall and then the library, where he settled her on the couch and covered her with a blanket. Lying on her back, the old woman looked like a corpse.

  In the parlor Flynn’s cigarette was down to the filter. Again the lights flickered. I hadn’t thought to ask Norton if the house had a generator.

  Flynn said, “How about a little Q and A?” His face was red and he was sweating heavily. The man was plainly drunk. “I came clean, now it’s Ned’s turn. Tell me, sweetheart, what’s so enticing about my sister? Is it her delicate features? Her sweet-natured personality? It sure isn’t her money. God knows she’s got none of that.”

  I glanced at Bebe, who was looking at her brother goggle-eyed. She wasn’t over the shock of Flynn’s bombshell news, and in her delayed response her soon-to-be ex-husband saw an opening.

  “I have a question, too,” Miles said from his chair. “Mine’s for Bebe. What drew you to our good friend Ned? At first I thought this was some kind of charity project—fuck a dirt-poor African kid, feel like a million bucks—but Ned’s bank account is a lot bigger than yours these days, so now I’m not so sure.”

  “Whoa,” I said, leaning into the balls of my feet. Across the room Tim did the same, preparing to dive into the brawl that was surely seconds from breaking out. Ned’s face was creased with fury, teeth clamped and nostrils wide, but he didn’t move or utter a single word.

  In more than a decade working with the police in the city, I’d heard so much offensive language I could write a dictionary of abominable slang—but Miles’s racist remark was shocking in its cruelty. I couldn’t fathom why Ned didn’t have him up against the wall. His restraint revealed a lot. Ned was accustomed to this kind of treatment from Flynn, who used and abused him every chance he got, but I didn’t get the sense that Ned was a pushover either. Then I remembered there was a child in the room around the age of Ned’s youngest sibling.

  “My turn,” I said, capitalizing on the chaos. For the moment our suspects’ attentions were diverted, but I knew that wouldn’t last. “Who killed Abella? Come on, guys, think of it as family bonding. Free therapy.”

  Bebe’s face was violet with rage. “All of you can go to hell.”

  “Already there,” said Flynn.

  “Enough. Goddammit,” said Tim, “that’s enough. Listen up, all of you. New rules. From now on, nobody leaves our sight.”

  Despite facing the prospect of being under house arrest all over again, the group emitted no further signs of dissonance. Score another win for Tim’s social skills. He was still the good cop in their eyes. They trusted him, and my nonsensical behavior had probably contributed to that. It was the one and only perk to acting batshit crazy on a case.

  There was another reason our suspects didn’t object. Nobody was accustomed to being in physical danger on a dark and stormy night. Sitting in a room with a single exit and two BCI investigators at the door was the only safe place on Tern Island, and the best scenario they were going to get.

  “In a minute,” Tim said, “Merchant here is going to make a call to the sheriff.”

  At that, Bebe let out a snort. Sheriffs were another trapping of the small-town life she looked down her nose at from her penthouse in Manhattan.

  “The sheriff,” Tim went on, “will immediately dispatch a team of officers to transport you to the mainland. You’ll be questioned at the police station in Alexandria Bay, at which point you’ll be free to contact an attorney.” Tim glanced at Miles. The only attorney in the room seemed to have no problem with Tim’s instructions.

  The relief I felt at hearing them was vast and cool as a lake. Since the moment we found Abella Beaudry’s body I’d been racking my brain over what to do. Our six remaining suspects—I’d long since ruled out brittle and sickly Camilla—were unpredictable and cruel, but they were also human. At some point they’d need to eat again, or use the bathroom. Even burdened by the memory of what happened the last time they went to bed, they’d eventually need to sleep.

  All the bedroom doors featured the same antique lock and key as Jasper’s, which meant Tim and I could lock everyone in. There’d be no way for them to get from the second-story windows down to ground level without breaking some bones, and no way to get through a locked door without breaking it down. I’d been having visions of a long, abysmal Agatha Christie–style night spent watching those doors and waiting out the storm. But help was finally coming, and not a moment too soon. We were getting off the island at last.

  Bebe drained what was left of her wine. Ned nibbled at the skin around his flawless nails. When Tim was satisfied they’d comply with his orders, he nodded at me to follow him into the hall.

  “Okay, Shana,” he said, out of earshot of the others, “start talking.”

  I was determined to be professional about the situation. Everything Tim had said about Carson could wait. I wasn’t prepared to make a call about our killer, but I had some ideas. “It’s all about the money,” I told him. “Flynn and Bebe don’t have any, but Jasper does, and he’s in line to get more when Camilla’s gone. If Jasper’s not around to take it, there’s a good chance it goes to them.

  �
�That explains Jasper’s disappearance, and Abella’s, too. She either knew who killed him or why. Something happened over the course of the day that tipped her off, because she hadn’t caught on this morning when I interviewed her, I’m sure of that. That’s why she wanted to talk to me. She had a lead on the killer, based on some behavior she saw in here, or some realization she had about her argument with Jasper. And the killer knew it.

  “Now, who can we eliminate?” I went on. “Camilla, for one. She’s way too weak, and she’s got no motive. As for Jade . . . Jade’s trouble, and I’d be willing to bet she’s furious with Jasper and the girlfriend who took him from her. Could she move Jasper’s body? No—at least not alone—but she may not be entirely blameless.”

  “That all sounds pretty reasonable,” Tim said, interrupting me. “A second round of interviews could get us closer, remove a couple more people from the equation. But this isn’t why I brought you out here.”

  It took a second for me to catch on. “What,” I said. “Now?” I sounded like Bebe in the library, trapped and desperate to wriggle away, but I couldn’t help it. “Shouldn’t I be calling McIntyre?”

  Tim glanced back at the parlor. We were shoulder to shoulder with clear sight lines, just a few feet from the door, but even that amount of distance from our suspects made me deeply uncomfortable, and I could tell Tim shared my apprehension. “You know how I feel about this case,” he said. “I never tried to hide it. I believed we’d find Jasper alive. I don’t anymore.” His gaze moved up the stairs toward the crime scenes, the second room we’d locked to preserve what we could. “These people are dangerous. Whatever’s going on with you, you need to tell me. I have to know you’re capable of doing this.”

  No way, I thought. Not now, not like this. “The deception, the lies,” I said, “it’s what I’ve been trying to warn you about all day. The trapper’s in the clear, and there’s nobody but us on the island. The killer’s right there, in that room. So maybe this isn’t the time for a chat. Look, when we get back to the station later I’ll spring for a coffee—the good stuff, not office crap—and spill my guts, okay? All you need right now is my assurance I can make it another hour until help comes, and you’ve got that. I swear, Tim, I’m fine.”