Page 64 of The Dysfunctional Family's Guide to Murder
Dad’s face sobers.
“Nick’s adopted?”
Aunty Vinka, realizing she’s said too much, dumps the mugs into the sink and breezes out the door. “I’m having a bath!” she shouts.
Dad follows her (best-case scenario he’s apologizing, but it’s hard to say) and I take advantage of the moment to duck out the front door before anyone discovers the pile of wet towels in the bathroom. There’s something I need to know.
Bec and Shippy are smoking in the garden, ashing into the lavender plants that wrap around one side of the house. Grandma used to dry the lavender and sprinkle it onto cakes.
“Ruth,” Bec says. Shippy’s stare should bruise my ribs, but with my family inside, he’s lost the power to scare me. Mostly.
“You’ve come back for round two?”
“Shippy,”Bec says, the same way she usually saysDylan.“What is it, Ruth?”
“I wanted to make sure you’re okay,” I lie. “I’m sorry.” I’m not sure what they think I’m apologizing for—snooping in their room or indirectly accusing them of murdering my step-grandmother are probably at the top of the list—but it does the trick, if the trick is to make Shippy stop looking like he’s trying to decide between the candlestick in the conservatory and the revolver in the library.
“It’s not your fault,” Bec says, which is the truth, so I’m not giving her bonus marks for being classy in the moment.
“Is Dylan okay?” I ask, which isn’t the question I want to ask but is the only one I can manage. Bec doesn’t answer.
“Do you think they’re going to call the police?” Shippy asks. I shrug, by which I meanyes, probablyand alsowhat do you expect?
“Thanks for checking on us, Ruth, but we’re fine,” Bec says. It’s a polite way of asking me to get lost, but it’s just polite enough that I can get away with ignoring it.
“I also wanted to ask something,” I say. “Shippy, uh, I know this is a strange question, but were you smoking in the garden the night GG died?”
He gives me a look like he’s considering that candlestick-versus-revolver thing again, but just as quickly his eyes slide to Bec and he looks guilty.
“It was a tough day.”
“Right, right, that’s always the line,” she says.
“Staying withthisfamily would be tough on anyone. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but they’re a bunch of psychos. They probably all killed Gertie together, like that movie on the train.” Bec and I meet each other’s eyes, and it’s a rare moment when I’m sure we’re thinking exactly the same thing:It was a bookfirst.
“Sorry, but is that a yes?” I ask.
“Sure. Why?”
“I saw someone smoking out here that night.” So Shippywasout of bed and out of the house for sure on the night GG died. It would have given him the perfect opportunity to set upthe ladder, but if he was planning on killing GG, wouldn’t he go out of his waynotto be seen outside? “Did you tell the cops you were out there?”
Shippy frowns at me, but not like he’s angry. “I smoked a cigarette. I didn’t kill your grandma.”
“Mygrandmadied”—quickly I do the math—“eight years ago,” I tell him coolly.
“Shut up, Shippy,” Bec says. “Ruth, I can see your mind working like it does, but Shippy only didn’t mention it because he was trying to keep his smoking a secret from me. For good bloody reason. It’s a disgusting habit. Ruth, don’t ever start.”
“I get it,” I say, baffled by the idea that she might imagine that her schlubby boyfriend could make cigarettes appealing in anyway.
“It’s not like I’m the only one with a secret habit,” Shippy says. “There’s a bunch of butts in the driveway. In fact, if you’re going full junior detective on this one—”
“Is Nancy Drew still a thing?” Bec asks me, clearly trying to take the edge off Shippy’s anger. “Or, who’s that girl in the TV show? The one where Henry Cavill is her hot uncle or something?”
“—then you should ask Vinka what she was doing taking a cup of tea into Gertie’s room in the middle of the night.”
I perk up at this. “What?”
“I saw her when I came inside from my smoke. She was going up the stairs.”
