Girls of Brackenhill(30)

She’d stayed away initially out of deference—she thought it was what they wanted. Then after she went to college, moved away from her mother, it was out of rebellion. She’d turned angry at the long silence. After college she lived her life the way everyone does in their twenties: selfishly. Bouncing from job to job, apartment to apartment. Figuring out how to pay bills and make doctor appointments and keep plants and fish alive. Then she’d met Huck, started what felt like her real life, and thought, fleetingly, about calling them. Visiting. It always seemed like she had time to figure out her relationship with her past. It was muddled in her confusion over Julia, if she’d loved Hannah the way Hannah had loved her. There seemed to be so much to work out, so much fog to break through, that it had seemed insurmountable. And now it was silly how possible it would have been. One day, make the drive. A lifetime of questions answered.

She should have come.

Uncle Stuart shook his head, held up his right hand, bobbing it in the air. Hannah gently pulled the mask from his mouth so he could speak.

“You,” he said. “You.”

She thought at first it was an accusation, his index finger still bobbing.

“Me, what?” she prodded gently.

“You have nothing . . . to be sorry for.” He wheezed, his eyes fluttering. “We were so . . . very . . . sorry. It was . . . Ruby. Too much.” He fumbled with the mask, and Hannah replaced it, moved it over his mouth.

Who was Ruby?

His eyes fluttered shut, and she felt the loss suddenly. Intensely. An emptiness blooming in her chest. Uncle Stuart had given her a key piece to the puzzle she’d never solve now, with him barely able to utter a sentence and Aunt Fae dead. Who was Ruby? There was so much that stayed just out of reach, so many secrets to this castle, her family, her sister, her past.

“Who’s Ruby, Uncle Stuart?”

“She was a child. Just ten . . . an accident.” His voice garbled through the plastic.

“Ruby was ten, Uncle Stuart? What happened to Ruby?”

“She never got over what she did.” Uncle Stuart’s voice rumbled, barely audible, and his eyes were drooping shut. “She loved all of you so much.”

Then he smiled.





CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Now

Hannah had no idea what flowers you bought for an estranged and now deceased aunt. There wasn’t a stargazer lily specifically to say, I’m sorry everyone thinks you’re a killer, but I don’t. Not really, but maybe we should have talked about that.

She stood in the florist’s shop—Pam’s Blossoms—the only one in town, with a clerk Hannah could only assume was Pam herself, and stared at the prearranged baskets. So many purple and pink carnations. Aunt Fae could do a better job herself. Hannah obviously should have done this earlier, but she’d never been in charge of a funeral before.

Hannah checked her watch, an idea taking hold. Could she make it up the mountain and back down in time? Maybe. A bouquet from Fae’s own garden might be perfect if Hannah could pull it off.

She left the shop, breathless, and ran directly into a wall of a man.

“Whoa, slow down there. Where you rushing off to?”

Reggie. His face broke out into a slow smile.

“Hi, Reggie,” Hannah said, keeping her tone light. He was in black dress pants and a white button-down. A bead of sweat worked its way down his neck, behind his ear.

“I’m glad I ran into you.” He gave a mirthless laugh. “Or you ran into me. I was hoping to get you alone for a minute.”

“Oh? Why’s that?” Hannah checked her watch. She only had an hour before the service, and Huck was waiting for her back at Brackenhill. She cursed her own lack of forethought. She could have done this yesterday. The days seemed to be blending together.

Reggie leaned forward, his shoulder touching hers. His breath smelled like mint and cigarettes. “I’ve thought about you a lot over the years, you know? The mysterious Brackenhill sisters.”

“You don’t act like a cop,” Hannah said, her voice reedy, betraying her own nerves. Reggie always set her teeth on edge. His hooded eyes felt like they were dissecting her and finding her lacking. His permanently curved lips felt like mockery, except when his gaze got caught on her mouth. Hannah could never tell if he was trying to flirt with her or scare her. Perhaps with Reggie, the line between was too thin.

“Well, I’m on your aunt’s case with Detective McCarran. Sorry, Wyatt.” His voice took on a sarcastic edge.

Hannah put some distance between them until her back was flush with a lamppost, and she realized too late she was cornered. Reggie took a step forward, closing the gap.

“There’s a lot I never understood about that summer. Wyatt is a steel trap about all of it.”

Good, Hannah wanted to say but didn’t.

Reggie ran his index finger down Hannah’s bare arm, bringing gooseflesh to the surface. He didn’t seem inclined to let her go anytime soon.

“What did you want to know?” Hannah closed her eyes. If she told him what he wanted to know, would he let her leave? Why did Rockwell and all the people in it seem so intent on holding her captive?

“For starters, were you and Wyatt really a thing? I always thought you made that up. A little girl with a crush.”

“I was fifteen. Hardly a little girl.” Hannah hated the defensive edge in her tone, playing into Reggie’s mind games.