The Cousins(75)

“Sensible,” I repeat. The word hangs between us, and I know what it really means. Docile. I’m the one who won’t cause trouble—who won’t try to manipulate her like JT, or challenge her like Milly. I’m the safe bet, someone who’ll swallow whatever she tells me and dutifully report it back. I have a sudden urge not to do what she expects and not to leave quietly. “Okay,” I say. “I’ll go. But maybe you can tell me one thing before I do?” She lifts both perfectly arched brows. “Is there something unusual about how Kayla Dugas died?”



I wish Milly were here to see the expression on Gran’s face. She stares at me in utter shock, putting her cup down so swiftly that tea sloshes onto her gloves. “How do you…,” she breathes. She makes a visible, mighty effort to compose herself. “What on earth are you talking about?”

I pause, not sure how much to reveal. I don’t want to get Hazel or Uncle Archer in trouble. To buy time, I reach for the carafe of coffee. But I’m too nervous to aim properly, and my hand knocks hard against its side. For a half second it tilts precariously, and I almost manage to right it. Then it topples, spilling its scalding contents directly onto Gran.

“Good Lord!” The words are shrieked as my grandmother rises in an instant, ripping off the gloves that got the worst of it and holding her skirt away from her body. I stare at the mess for a few horrified seconds before I have the presence of mind to jump up myself.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it! I’m so sorry!” I babble, shoving my napkin at her.

“Mildred?” Theresa appears in the doorway. “What happened?” Then she takes in the scene and rushes to the table, dumping ice from an otherwise empty glass into a napkin and wrapping the napkin around Gran’s hands. “Are you burned?”

“I may be,” Gran says tightly.

“Let’s get you somewhere where I can take a look,” Theresa says. She turns toward me. “Aubrey, please show yourself out. Now.”



“Okay,” I gulp. Gran’s face is a mask of pain. “I really am sorry.”

Theresa hustles Gran inside, and I try to retrace my steps. I make a wrong turn, though, ending up in a library-like room with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and a massive desk stationed directly in front of the windows. There’s an ornately carved side table right inside the door, holding a variety of vases and decorative bowls. When I glance over them, I spot something familiar nestled inside a bronze salver—a slim silver card, just like the one the chauffeur used to open the gates leading to Catmint House.

I don’t think twice. I just do what Gran would never have expected of me, and slip it into my pocket.





By five o’clock on Sunday, I’ve officially missed my ferry back to Hyannis. I’m not sure what comes next in the big scheme of things, but for the here and now we’re having a cookout. Which seems strangely normal given the past twenty-four hours, but it’s summer and we have to eat.

“I’m not much of a cook,” Archer says, flipping burgers on the grill he found in the gardening shed and managed to start up. “But these are hard to get wrong.”

Milly and Aubrey are here too, brought over in the resort Jeep by Efram. Carson Fine finally confiscated the keys, which would’ve come across as a Donald Camden move if he hadn’t immediately handed them over to Efram so he could give the girls a ride. I wish I’d had a chance to say good-bye to Carson, who all in all was a pretty great boss.

Efram declined Archer’s invitation to stay. “Seems like a family thing,” he said, then grinned at me. “And pseudo family. But thanks anyway.” Before he left, he helped me pull all the chairs that were strewn haphazardly around the yard into a circle on the concrete patio. Milly’s still not talking to me, but she’s sitting next to me, and I don’t think I’m wrong that her overall posture is less chilly than it was earlier today.



The wooden door on the fence enclosing the backyard rattles, then swings open to let a woman through. She’s dark-haired, maybe a little younger than Archer, and carrying a large, foil-wrapped pan.

“Oona!” Archer calls. “Thanks for coming. You didn’t have to bring anything, though.”

“Well,” the woman says, crossing over to the patio and putting her pan on the wrought-iron table. “I wasn’t entirely sure what you’d be feeding these poor kids.”

“I’m doing my best,” Archer claims, flipping a burger straight into the grass.

Oona shakes her head and smiles warmly at Milly and Aubrey. “Hello again, girls. I was sorry to hear how everything turned out at the gala.” My face flames with fresh guilt as she adds, “You both deserved better than that.”

I brace myself for another death glare from Milly, but it doesn’t come. She just tosses her hair and says, “At least we looked good while we were getting thrown out.”

Oona takes a seat and turns to me. “And you must be Jonah.”

“Yeah,” I say, grateful that she leaves it at that.

She leans forward, lifting the rock that’s been keeping the autopsy report from blowing off the table. “Is this what you wanted me to look at?” she asks Uncle Archer.

“Yeah,” he says, scooping up a burger and placing it carefully on an open bun sitting on a plate beside the grill. “Sorry if that’s weird, or morbid, but I couldn’t figure out why Dr. Baxter would want me to have it.” He repeats the process with another burger. “And Aubrey mentioned that my mother had a strange reaction to Kayla’s name this afternoon.”