The Cousins(80)

Milly and I exchange glances, and I can read an echo of what I’m thinking on her face: Theresa, again. We got more than a little distracted last night, but I think I was on to something about Theresa being unbalanced. There’s something creepy about a woman who spends most of her life in a seaside mansion with only her boss for company. But before either of us can say anything, the doorbell rings.

Archer’s brows pull together as he rises to his feet. “Maybe that’s Aubrey.”

“Is the door locked?” Milly asks.



“I didn’t think so, but…” He trails off as he leaves the kitchen.

My attention snaps back to Milly, who’s still eating her bacon slice. “Hi,” I say, feeling a quick, electric thrill at the thought of being alone with her again. Even if it’s only for a minute.

She swallows and takes a sip of coffee. “Hello.”

“I like your shirt.”

“Thank you. It’s very comfortable.”

My eyes stray to her legs. “It’s giving me…thoughts,” I admit.

“Keep them to yourself.” But she smiles when she says it.

The background murmur of indistinct voices grows louder, and Archer steps into the kitchen, with Hazel close at his heels, midsentence, “…sorry to interrupt your breakfast,” she says, then spots Milly and me and waves apologetically. “All your breakfasts. Hey, guys.”

“Hi,” we both say as Archer waves to an empty chair.

“It’s no trouble at all,” he says. “Do you want to join us?”

“No thanks. I just wanted to give you this.” Hazel unzips the tote bag slung across her shoulder and digs into its depths. “You asked if there was anything else in Granddad’s files that was addressed to me or you. Well, I went through a bunch of stuff last night, and this had a Post-it with my name on it so—here.” She pulls out a sheet of paper and hands it to Archer.

Milly leans forward. “What’s that?” she asks.

Archer scans the sheet of paper, then flips it over and keeps reading. “It looks like a medical report for my mother,” he says. “It’s a diagnosis for…” He breaks off, frowning. “That can’t be right.”

“What?” Milly gets up to peer over his shoulder. “What is…hypertrophic cardiomyopathy?” she asks, pronouncing the words slowly and clearly.



“It’s a condition where your heart muscles are abnormally thick,” Archer says. “It can be mild or deadly, depending on the degree. My father had it, but nobody knew until he died. So this must be a mistake. My mother’s name on a postmortem diagnosis for my father.”

“When did he die?” Hazel asks.

Archer pauses, thinking. “Toward the end of 1995.”

“This is from 1996,” Hazel points out. “There was an echocardiogram done and everything.”

“Huh,” Archer says, the crease between his eyes deepening. “So, if I’m reading this correctly, my mother has the same condition my father had. But she’s lived with it for…what? Twenty-five years? She must be managing it fine. I’m not sure why Dr. Baxter would have wanted you to see this, Hazel.” He hands the paper back to her with a kind smile. “I’ve been wondering—do you think his letter to you, and the autopsy report, might just have been the dementia talking? Confusion and disorientation is part of it, right?”

“I guess,” she says uncertainly.

“Donald Camden did say Mrs. Story was sick,” I volunteer. “The first time we ever talked to him. He wanted us to leave the island because of it. She seemed okay every time we saw her, though.”

Milly rolls her eyes. “I don’t think we can believe anything Donald says unless it benefits Donald, and the only thing he seems to care about is…Oh. Wait,” she adds in a quieter tone, clearly working something out in her head. Her face is suddenly suffused with color, her eyes sharp and bright. “Uncle Archer, you said this morning that Mildred’s taste in art has gotten better over the years, right? That it used to be horrible?”



“Yeah. So?” Archer asks.

“And yesterday—I didn’t really think anything of it because everything else was so weird, but yesterday at Catmint House, I asked Theresa if she wanted to watch the Yankees–Red Sox game with me and she said no, that she doesn’t watch baseball.”

“Really?” Archer blinks. “That’s weird. Theresa was a huge Yankees fan when we lived here. She and Allison were the only ones.”

“I know,” Milly says, her voice gaining in urgency. “And Kayla had something to tell Theresa, right? Then she died. And Dr. Baxter had something he wanted to tell you, and he died. So what if…Uncle Archer, what if they’re not the only people who died?”

Archer’s face is a total blank. “I’m sorry, Milly, but I’m not following you.”

She grabs the medical report from Hazel’s hand and waves it at him. “Mildred had a deadly heart condition, right? Diagnosed in 1996. One year later she cuts all of her children out of her life and you’ve never known why. Well, what if she didn’t? What if she couldn’t?”

Archer and Hazel are both looking at Milly like she’s lost her mind. But I’m starting to grasp what she’s implying. I look at Archer’s phone, abandoned on the kitchen table, and it hits me like a tidal wave. “The text,” I say. For a second, I can’t breathe. “Aubrey’s text. It said, There wasn’t a birthmark.”