Page 100 of Electric Kiss

“Cynthia,” Jennifer said softly.

Cynthia straightened her back. “I’ll fly Jonathan and Benny to Copper Island and bury them in the family plot. No one needs to know they are there. It will be my secret. They’ll be safe there. No one will disturb them. I’ll contact Mr Philpott. He won’t say a word.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Jennifer asked.

“The alternative is a bottle of vodka and a bottle of pills,” Cynthia replied.

“Well, I don’t want to see that happen. What am I packing?”

“Just an overnight bag. We’ll leave in a week, and travel with my two loves to take them to their final resting place.”

“Okay,” Jennifer whispered. “Drink your tea, and we’ll make plans.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Six months later

Cynthia sat near the fireplace, wringing her hands as she leaned into the warmth. She wore a bottle-green jumper with a roll collar. Her hair was up in a low bun. She felt all her years straining to gain any heat from the flames. Her once all-black hair was streaked with white.

Cynthia didn’t want to appear like a frail old lady, but since returning from Italy, she could not get warm. She pulled the blanket to cover her legs and waited for her nephew, Archer Turner, to enter the drawing room. He had contacted her like she knew he would. She’d also learned what he wanted, albeit it didn’t say in his correspondence.

“Hello, Aunt,” Archer said once he was a few feet away.

As a habit, she schooled her features whenever she was in Turner Hall. Twelve months, she reminded herself. Twelve months and then she could move somewhere warm.

Showtime.

“You’re late,” she answered in her clipped upper-class accent.

It was cold, harsh, like a verbal whipping. Exactly as she intended. When she turned her head to look at him, she took a sharp breath. Archer was a broader version of his father. She saw all her brother’s features in him. But it was his eyes that belonged to his mother. Cynthia couldn’t bear to look at him and carry out what she needed to do.

Self-preservation, she told herself. She was alone, and she would be alone. That she was certain about. But as long as she drew breath, she would not die in Turner Hall and not Copper Island.

Twelve months.

“I had to rescue a dog who was drowning.”

Just like his mother. She couldn’t cope with seeing a stray of any kind. If it was breathing, she would save it.

“Is that why you’re traipsing your sodden shoes through the house?”

“I didn’t think you’d appreciate bare feet on the ancient carpet.”

She gave him a critical glance from head to toe, taking in his suit. It fit him perfectly—dark blue with a matching tie and crisp white shirt.

“Shall I call down for tea?” Archer asked after a too-long stretch of silence.

Absolutely not. She needed him to say his piece and then go. Looking at him brought back too many memories. Too many things she did that scarred too many lives.

“Will you be here that long?”

Sighing heavily, Archer unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat on the sofa opposite her.

“So you know why I’m here?”

She prayed it was to have a part of the Turner Estate, or at the very least, a house to live in on the island. Whatever it was, she would give it to him. Cynthia had already called Mr Porterfield, the family solicitor, to ask permission to advance Archer some property. She’d been granted permission.

“Not a clue. Your letter said you wanted to talk to me but lacked details.”

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