The Cousins(49)

“There’s more where that came from.” I still have her hand in mine. “Did you know that sarcasm is a defense mechanism?”

She gazes around my room, looking everywhere except at me. “Did you know your room is a disaster area? You realize you have a dresser, right? And that clothes can go in it?”

“Deflection is also a defense mechanism.”

Her lips quirk. “Defense against what?”

“Feelings of abandonment, probably.” She laughs a little, giving me one of those looks from beneath her lashes that always makes my pulse speed up. All of a sudden, I’m reminded of a conversation I had a couple of days ago with Efram, when he told me how he’d asked out his now-girlfriend while she was stopped next to him at a red light, bobbing her head along to the music he was playing. You gotta shoot your shot when it comes, he’d said. Who knows if you’ll get another chance? I’d thought of Milly then, and how impossible it is to have a shot with someone when you have to pretend to be their cousin in front of the entire world.



But for once, it’s just the two of us.

I keep my voice light, because I don’t want to freak her out. “Or maybe you’re experiencing feelings of attraction toward someone inappropriate.”

“Oh?” She raises a brow. “Like who?”

“Red Sox fan,” I say, and she snorts. “Elderly townie, maybe? Pretend relative. Could be any one of those, really.”

Milly tugs her hand away, but not like she’s mad. “Hardly.”

“Don’t fight it,” I say in my best professional voice. “Repression is unhealthy.”

Now she laughs for real. Almost a giggle, which isn’t like her. It’s so cute that I rack my brain trying to think of something else funny to say. But then she crosses her arms, her eyes returning to that spot over my shoulder. “You’re doing it again,” she says accusingly.

“Doing what?”

“Flirting with me.”

“No I’m not.” I wait a beat. “Unless you’re into it. Are you?”

She fights a smile. “You should really be wearing pants for this conversation.”

That feels like the opposite direction of how I’d like things to go, but I’m not about to argue with her right now. “Fair point. Could you—” I gesture toward her, and she turns around so she’s facing the door. I grab my jeans from the end of my bed and pull them on. It’s too hot for jeans on this island, but I’ve never been a shorts guy unless I’m playing basketball. And I haven’t played basketball since I had to start working double shifts at Empire. Which I’m not going to think about right now, because Milly is in my room, and—



She lets out a gasp. When I turn, she’s staring at her phone, eyes wide. “What’s up?” I ask. “Archer finally get in touch?”

Milly shakes her head, her hand at her throat. “No. Oh no.”

My shoulders tense. I’ve never seen Milly look this rattled before, and I’ve been with her through two fake-identity reveals, including my own. “Everything okay?” She doesn’t answer right away, so I start lobbing guesses. “Is something going on with your grandmother? Your parents? Aubrey?”

“Yes,” she finally says. “I mean, no, it’s not about Aubrey, but she texted me from the pool. Carson Fine just gave her some news.” Her eyes, still round and glassy with shock, meet mine. “About Dr. Baxter. He died this morning. Drowned in a creek in the woods behind his house.”





We see the gate well before we see the house. It must be fifteen feet tall, made of thick wrought iron, flanked by an equally tall stone wall that stretches as far as I can see in either direction. There’s no way into Catmint House except for this gate, unless you want to try scaling the oceanside cliff that flanks the back of the house.

“Almost there,” our chauffeur says, pressing the brake as he rolls down his window. I’m immediately overpowered by the scent of honeysuckle. He extracts a slim silver rectangle that looks like a credit card from the sun visor, and holds it up against a sensor attached to a wooden post. There’s a loud clicking noise, and the gate doors slowly swing open.

We’re riding in a Bentley Mulliner that has four seats in the back, two on either side facing one another, with a chrome and walnut table between them. The seats are buttery espresso leather and equipped with dozens of buttons that let us adjust temperature and seat position. Jonah has been fiddling with his controls for the entire ride, but he looks up now as the car proceeds slowly down a winding driveway. Flowering honeysuckle bushes climb tall trellises on our right, and lush green trees that I haven’t seen anywhere else on Gull Cove Island are on our left.



Aubrey sighs. She looks stiff and uncomfortable in a striped shirtdress, the only article of clothing with a skirt that I’ve ever seen her wear. “I got a text from Hazel this morning. She said the funeral is going to be Wednesday. We should ask Carson for the day off.”

“Yeah, of course.” I run my fingers down a seam in the smooth leather of my seat. “Do you guys think Uncle Archer got a chance to talk to Dr. Baxter before he died?”

“I think…” Jonah hesitates, like he’s weighing how ready we are for bad news. Then he just goes for it. “To be honest, I think he’s been drunk since he saw us.”