Page 26 of Saltwater Secrets
“Where is Renée Wagner?”
“Who are you? Why are you staying at the Wagner home?”
“Can you comment on the past twenty-five years of Dorothy Wagner’s life of solitude?”
The voices were heinous and mean-spirited. Aria was frozen with alarm. When she finally pulled her hands away from her face, she felt her mother beside her, guiding her back into the foyer and locking the door behind them. Hilary’s eyes were buggy.
“I shouldn’t have opened it like that,” Aria whispered, stricken. She realized she’d been operating on Nantucket Island rules, where you always opened your door with a smile, no matter if it was a stranger calling or not. In the big city, especially when staying in a place like this, you had to be on your guard.
Hilary touched Aria’s shoulder. “It’s okay. It is.”
Aria couldn’t stop shaking. She returned to the sofa and wrapped herself in a ball. They waited for what felt like half anhour, peeping out the window till the journalists went on their way.
“Maybe it’s too dangerous for you to stay here and work,” Hilary said, her hand in a fist. “Dorothy should have considered the fallout.”
“She probably didn’t really think she would die,” Aria whispered.
“She changed her will,” Hilary said.
“Maybe it was just a precaution? I don’t know.” Aria shook her head.
They sat in silence, considering the selfish wants of a woman who was no longer in the world.
That was when they heard the footfalls on the staircase, a percussivesmash-smashthat brought Renée back into the living room. She’d changed back into that same nightdress, and she was clutching an empty glass that she soon refilled with wine. Her face was blotchy.
“Well, I met with the lawyer,” Renée said, her voice syrupy. It was like she hadn’t heard any of the commotion at the brownstone front door, like she lived in her own little world.
“What did he say?” Hilary asked.
“It’s just like I thought. Dorothy didn’t want me to be happy. Not immediately. She left me a few things to do before I can receive my inheritance, which are annoying. One of my tasks is to make sure the two of you keep up your end of your contracts.”
Aria and Hilary glanced at one another, mystified.
In many ways, Aria wished that Renée would go back to wherever she’d come from and leave them alone. But at the same time, Renée brought with her a wealth of mysteries about a family very nearly lost to time.
“We won’t be annoying for you,” Hilary assured her with a soft smile.
Renée sucked her teeth. Aria hated when people did that.
“What are your other tasks?” Hilary asked.
“What?” Renée was distracted, already making her way back upstairs.
But before she could escape them fully, Aria walked after her, eager to know more. “Renée?” she called. “Where did you live? Before this?” She blinked up at her, standing at the base of the stairs while Renée paused in the middle. Her wine glinted in the light coming from the upstairs landing.
Renée sighed deeply. After a long pause, she said, “You aren’t the only one going through a breakup, my girl. But sometimes I wonder if I was doomed to unhappy relationships because of what I knew of my parents’. How ironic that the only refuge I knew was this old brownstone, the very place my father brought his mistresses. But hey, I’m more broke than I’ve ever been. I have nowhere else to live. I suppose, in that sense, my parents are still watching out for me. What do you think?”
Aria was stunned into silence. Eager to know more, she gripped the railing and spoke in a soft voice, asking, “Do you want to talk about it?” She imagined the three of them—Aria, Hilary, and Renée—recounting their terrible past breakups and laughing about how difficult it was to find true love.
But Renée bristled at the idea. “I don’t need cozy times. I’ve never needed them.” She twisted back around and headed upstairs.
Hilary and Aria were left in the living room by themselves, at a loss about the state of Renée’s heart and how to help her. But Aria reasoned that it wasn’t up to them to figure it out.
They both had jobs to do.
Chapter Thirteen
It was a week after Hilary’s trip to New York City, a terrifically sunny day in June that brought with it seventy-eight-degree temperatures and a glittering ocean not unlike the sparkly nail polish that Aria had been obsessed with at age seven and eight. Hilary was on the veranda of Dorothy Wagner’s estate, taking a water break after six full hours of work, and checking her phone for signs of Renée.
