Page 23 of Saltwater Secrets
“Thank you.” Aria groaned. “What a whirlwind. It’s hard to believe it’s already over.”
“You can stay in the city if you want to,” Hilary told her. “Dorothy knew you needed a fresh start. We can research other clients. Consider our options.” All she wanted, of course, was for her daughter to return to her. But she knew the black hole that awaited Aria should she come back to Nantucket so soon. Memories of Thaddeus were everywhere.
“I need a purpose, I guess,” Aria offered. “If I were in Manhattan all by myself, roaming around, waiting for something to happen, I might go a little crazy.”
Hilary chuckled. “You can’t give yourself permission to be lazy, can you?”
“It doesn’t seem like it.”
Hilary beamed with pride at her daughter’s good nature and love of hard work.
“You know what your grandparents mentioned today?” Hilary said offhandedly. “Some people believe that Dorothy killed her husband, Philip.”
“What?” Aria gasped.
“I know! I mean, think of that little old woman doing anything to anyone!” Hilary laughed. “I can’t imagine it.”
“Neither can I.” Aria was quiet for a moment. “But Renée said that her mother hated her.”
Hilary’s smile faltered. “Really?”
“I know. It’s weird. But I mean, we barely knew Dorothy, right? She spent twenty-five years in that estate by herself. Who knows what happened before then?”
Hilary’s thoughts ran rampant. All she wanted in the world was to sit with Dorothy Wagner and hear her stories, understand her. Hilary wanted to know why people thought Dorothy killed her husband. Why did her daughters think she hated them? Why did she hide herself away?
The following morning at half past seven, after sleeping soundly and cozily in her childhood bedroom with Samantha down the hall in hers, Hilary drove back to the house she’d raised Aria in, showered, packed an overnight bag, and took off for the ferry. After she parked in the boat, she went to buy a cup of coffee at the upstairs kiosk and read the morning’s obituary. It was about Dorothy Wagner.
It was terribly short.
Dorothy Thompson Wagner (1940-2025)
Socialite and wife of the late stock market titan Philip Wagner, Dorothy (Thompson) Wagner passed away at the age of eighty-five in her estate on Nantucket Island. For decades, she and her husband lived a decadent life of European travel, sailing adventures, and elite Manhattan parties. She will be missed by all who really knew her, of which there were few. Memorial donations can be sent to Big Brothers Big Sisters Charity.
Hilary gaped at the obituary and reread it, searching for more clues about a woman who, it seemed, was defined only by the man she’d married, a man who’d cheated on her almost continually until the death she was so often accused of causing. Hilary felt an ache, knowing that so few people had “really known” Dorothy. She wasn’t sure she could count herself among them, given the fact that she’d only spent a little more than a week with her. But she’d felt such tenderness and compassion in the older woman.
How could any of this be happening?
After the ferry, Hilary drove the five-ish hours all the way to Manhattan, updating Aria on her location as she went. When she pulled into Greenwich Village and managed to slip into a recently abandoned parking spot, the vacating SUV shuttling down the street, she took a breath, wondering if she was about to meet one of Dorothy Wagner’s mysterious daughters. Why hadn’t they been mentioned in the obituary? It was standard, even if all relevant family members weren’t exactly on perfect terms.
For example, if Sam and Hilary had never made up, Hilary would have wanted Sam included in her obituary. It wouldn’t have been right without.
Before Hilary had a chance to ring the bell, Aria tore open the door, as though she’d been waiting and watching from the front window. Her eyes were slightly panicked and googly, and there were two packed suitcases by her feet. She threw her arms around Hilary, whispering, “Thanks for getting here so soon.”
Hilary had the sense that Aria wanted to escape the brownstone as soon as possible. But Hilary was too curious to run away. Making an excuse about needing to use the bathroom, she stepped into the foyer and closed the door behind her, assessing the remarkably old decor and how much it really did need that update Aria had been hired for. She entered thekitchen, feeling her daughter’s eyes on her back, and poured herself a glass of water, craning her ears to hear anyone else in the townhouse.
“She hasn’t come out of her room,” Aria murmured.
Hilary nodded. “I want to talk to her.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Aria said timidly. “She thinks her mother hated her, and she thinks her mother really liked you. You were there when she died, and that’s heavy, you know? You’re her enemy, maybe.”
Hilary hesitated. The last thing she wanted was for Dorothy’s daughter to live the rest of her life thinking Dorothy had replaced her with someone else. “I have to clear the air, then,” she said. “I don’t want any bad blood.”
“You don’t!” Aria cried. “Maybe it’s best to leave her alone?”
But before Hilary could make up her mind, there was a creak on the top stair. The hairs on her arms stood on end, proof of her fright.
There were too many mysteries at play here. Hilary hadn’t reckoned for any of this when she’d agreed to what she’d thought was a typical interior design gig.
