The Cousins(60)

Another gut punch hits me, and this time, I grab her hand. “Don’t cry,” I say urgently. There are at least a dozen things I should say after that, but all I can manage to get out is, “Your mascara will run.”

Aubrey sniffs. “I don’t care about my mascara.”

“We’ve arrived,” the chauffeur says smoothly. I turn to look and we’re pulling up on the lawn in front of the resort’s side door. That was literally a ninety-second drive.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper to Aubrey, but that’s all I have time for before my door opens to reveal Donald Camden in all his silver-haired, tuxedo-clad glory.

“Good evening, ladies. I’m your escort to the gala.” He and the chauffeur help us out of the car, and then Aubrey and I are on either side of Donald and heading inside. We can’t talk, except to answer his polite questions as we make our way through the resort, and I feel restless and anxious about how we left things in the car.

“And here we are,” Donald says, pausing at the entrance to the ballroom. The room is filled with music and laughter and beautifully dressed people, the crystal chandeliers sparkling and making the tapestries on the wall glow a rich gold. A string quartet is set up on a small stage at the center of the windows, and circular tables are evenly spaced at one end of the vast room. For a second my spirit lifts—I really do love a party—and then Donald says, “Your grandmother requested that I bring you by one at a time so she can speak with each of you individually before dinner. She’d like to start with you, Aubrey.”



Of course she would. I swallow the words, but Aubrey sees them on my face anyway. “Maybe Milly should go first,” she says.

“No, it’s fine,” I say tightly, disengaging myself from Donald. “I’ll mingle.”

“Milly—” she says unhappily, but Donald is already ushering her toward the head table. I grab a glass of champagne from a passing server and take a much longer sip than etiquette would recommend. Then I work my way farther into the room.

The Summer Gala. I used to think it was a magical event, the absolute height of glamour. I loved looking at pictures of my mother in her white dress, and imagining myself transported in her place. Now I’m finally here, and all I can think is that I hope she wasn’t as miserable that night as I am now.

“Hi, Milly.” The quiet voice at my side startles me, and I turn to see Hazel Baxter-Clement looking tired and drawn in a wine-colored gown. Her dark hair is piled high on her head, and she’s holding a full champagne glass.

“Hazel, oh my gosh.” I grab her free hand with mine. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to talk to you at the funeral.” The burial after the Mass had been private, family only. “And I’m so sorry about your grandfather. He was a really sweet man.”

“Thanks,” Hazel says. “The good thing, I guess, is that he had a long life. And his dementia was getting worse, so…” She heaves a sigh. “Mom says maybe it’s a blessing that he doesn’t have to go through the late stages of that. I don’t know. I just wish he would’ve died in his sleep, or something more peaceful.”



I can’t think of anything comforting to say in return, because she’s right. Drowning in the woods behind your own house is a horrible way to go. I finally settle on, “I know I only met him a couple of times, but I could tell how proud of you he was. And you took great care of him.”

Her expression darkens. “I don’t know about that. I let him go outside on his own that morning, and I shouldn’t have. But he was having one of his better days, and he said he was meeting a friend, so…”

The back of my neck prickles. “Do you know who?”

“No. I wish I did. Nobody’s come forward, and it would be nice to know how he spent his last morning.”

I pause, thinking about Dr. Baxter’s letter to Uncle Archer. There are things I should have told you long ago. “Had your grandfather, um, mentioned my uncle Archer recently?”

Hazel blinks. “About him possibly being back in town?” Some of her usual energy returns as she adds, “Is he really? People keep insisting they saw him last Friday, but nobody’s spotted him since. I’m not sure Granddad knew, though. He never said anything. Did you guys see him? Archer, I mean.”

I hesitate. It’s been over a week since we talked to Uncle Archer, and Aubrey is convinced he hightailed it off the island. We stopped by the bungalow a couple of times, but the shutters were always drawn and no one answered the door. So she’s probably right, and there’s no harm in feeding Hazel’s curiosity, especially after the week she’s had. “We did. He’d been staying in a little bungalow behind his friend Rob Valentine’s house, but—”

“Sweetheart.” A woman materializes beside Hazel, looking like her middle-aged doppelg?nger. “One of Granddad’s classmates from medical school wants to meet you. He’s at Mrs. Story’s table. Can I steal you away?” She turns to me with an apologetic smile, and her eyes spark with recognition. “Well, goodness, speaking of Storys. You must be Milly. I’m Katherine Baxter, Hazel’s mother. I saw a lovely picture of you and your cousins leaving my father’s funeral in the Gull Cove Gazette.”



“Yes, hello,” I say, shaking her outstretched hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m so sorry for your loss.”