The Murder Rule(13)

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. I was absolutely sure that he’d had people cleaning up after him his entire life. Maybe in his parents’

home it had felt less about him, and I was close to his age, so that made things weird for him. He flushed, looked down at his book, and took another bite of toast. I got on with emptying the dishwasher.

When I finished I wiped down countertops that didn’t need wiping and looked around at floors that already looked real y clean.

“I think it’s pretty good in here. I’l do the bedrooms now.”

“Oh, no,” he said. “No, I mean, there’s no need.” I guess I just looked at him, and he explained that his room was fine, and that Mike was away.

“Where’d he go?” I asked. I couldn’t help myself.

“He took the boat north, to see some friends.”

“Boat?”

“Uh . . . a sailboat? Like a yacht? It’s my father’s. We sailed it here from Virginia. That’s why we’re here actual y. It was Mike’s idea.

Get away for a couple of weeks before col ege starts.”

I nodded. Silence descended again. I moved to the door. “I guess I’l do the other floors, and some dusting. Unless there’s something in particular . . . ?”

He shook his head. “It’s fine, real y.” I mumbled something about it being my job and he looked even more awkward for a second and then blurted out, “I just thought . . . you know, we could hang out.”

I stared at him. I’m pretty sure my mouth dropped open.

“No one needs to know. Wel . . . that sounds weird. I just meant, it’s so hot today. I don’t have anything to do. I thought we could swim, if you like. Just chil .” His expression changed; he started to look worried. “Not that you have to, I mean, of course, if you’d like to go home I can give you a ride. Or if that gets you into trouble you could just wait in the library and read, or something. I mean . . .”

“You cleaned the house so that we could hang out and swim?” I said.

“I didn’t mean to offend you, I—”

“Okay,” I cut across him.

“Okay,”

“Yes.”

I said yes to Tom’s invitation because, first of al , only an idiot would have said no. Who wouldn’t want to spend an afternoon swimming, instead of scrubbing toilets or listening to Mariah Carey on repeat?

And second, he seemed real y lonely.

I’m not stupid. The whole sweet/awkward thing might be an act. I mean, on paper it wouldn’t make sense for a guy like him— completely loaded, and a col ege student—to try to make friends with his housecleaner. If I told my friends about this, they’d say he’s just trying to get in my pants. I don’t think that’s it but I think you’d have to be here to get it. I mean, for starters, anybody stuck in a big old house with his toxic friend Mike would probably go looking for other friends. And also, we spent the whole afternoon together and he didn’t make a move once.

First he showed me the pool. It was so beautiful—wide and deep and tucked away in a grassy little del protected from the wind by sheltering trees. There was a smal pool house with a changing room, a stack of towels, and some spare bathing suits. I borrowed one and we swam, a few lengths first to warm up then sort of aimlessly. Conversation started and stopped and I thought about going home. But I didn’t. I was—I stil am—curious about him. He is insanely loaded. I asked Rosa and she told me that the family is worth hundreds of mil ions, his dad is from the South, his mom (she’s his dad’s second wife) is some New York City socialite. She knew a lot about them—I guess Rosa likes to read the society pages. Who knew? Tom has one stepbrother and one sister. Is it weird that I know so much about him? He knows nothing about me. So I stayed, because I was curious, and maybe because I’ve been lonely. It was nice to have company, to be social, even if things were a bit awkward in the beginning, and after a while we both started to relax and talk and he was pretty good company.

When we’d had enough of swimming, we got out of the pool and dried off and he asked if I wanted to see the beach. I said sure, so we got dressed and he led me away from the pool and down a stone path that meandered for a little while, then broke out of the trees again to the most incredible view over the water. It is so weird, by the way, that that house is built way back in the trees when the property line goes right down to the water. The owners could have had views out over the ocean if they had wanted. I asked Tom about it but he didn’t know anything about the architect or the history of the house or anything.

“If your father rented the place, how come he’s not here?”

Tom gave me a sideways smile and told me that his dad had rented the house because their vacation home was being remodeled. And then his mom hadn’t wanted to come (the island wasn’t nice enough or cool enough or something), so they went to Europe instead.

I rol ed my eyes. I couldn’t help it. I’m one hundred percent sure he saw me too, but he didn’t react, just kept walking. The land dropped away in front of us, sloping down toward the water. There was no sand, just a pebble beach and a rocky outcropping, a quiet bay with navy-blue water, and a single timber jetty that extended maybe fifty feet into the water. That’s where they moor the boat, when Mike hasn’t taken it off somewhere. We sat on the jetty for a while.