Page 18 of Death in the Family
“Look,” I said, because I couldn’t stand his silence or the immense disappointment it conveyed. “I’m taking some statements over here, that’s all. This missing guy will probably turn up. Tim’s sure of it.”
“Tim,” Carson repeated. “You’re there with Tim.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Of course I am.”
There was a long pause before Carson muttered something I couldn’t quite hear. “Listen to me, all right? This is serious. Be careful. Be aware of what you’re experiencing, Shay. If you notice any kind of stress reaction, any familiar signs of—”
“I’ll call you,” I said, unwilling to hear the laundry list of symptoms yet again. “I will.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Okay,” he said. “Stay safe.”
I knew he wanted to help—he was the only one who could, who truly understood. But sometimes when Carson talked about my condition, the seeds of fear and doubt already planted in my mind took me back to the dark place I started in—and once there I had a hell of a time leaving without him. As I pocketed my phone I felt the memories rush forward, a psychological assault that forced my chin to my chest and turned my legs to goo.
I was on the floor of the cellar where the smell of fried meat lingered, hugging my knees to my chest. I watched it happen. Waited for my training to kick in. Knew it never would. There was blood on my hands and a dead man on the floor, his name a sizzling brand on my heart next to the others.Jay Lopez.Becca.Lanie.Jess.
The wind lifted the ends of my hair, and I turned to face the Sinclair’s house once more. The pain those names inflicted was as fresh as ever, but I forced myself to repeat them.Jay.Becca.Lanie.Jess. I chanted them like a mantra under my breath until they blended seamlessly into one long, lilting gasp. Only then did I add another.
Bram.Bram.Bram.
EIGHT
I would have settled for a grilled cheese and a glass of water. Philip Norton was cooking a feast. It was nowhere near ready when I got back inside, but I was glad for the extra time. As Tim entertained the guests-slash-witnesses with stories of how the islands got their names—this one after the British Overseas Territory where Napoleon Bonaparte was exiled, that one for General James Wolfe when the area was under British rule—I spotted my chance to substantiate some of Flynn’s hand-to-God account.
“Abella,” I said from the parlor doorway. “Can we talk?”
The woman jumped to her feet. Holding it together in a house full of strangers couldn’t be easy. With the exception of Camilla, the Sinclairs looked at Abby like she was a pariah. All eyes, Tim’s included, were on her bloodstained hip as she left the room.
Even with unwashed hair and a face puffy from crying, AbellaBeaudry was a stunner, all lashes and lips. Whether Jasper saw her as a fling or his future wife, he had good taste.
“How are you doing?” I asked as we sat down in the library. The room was directly across from the parlor. When I’d slid the pocket doors shut behind me they’d made a sound like a dry-lipped kiss.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I just... I can’t believe he’s gone.”
Abella had a slight French accent, but her English was flawless. She could easily slip from one culture to the next, Abby to Bella and back again, but I wasn’t as convinced as Flynn that her multiple nicknames were a sign of duplicity.
“Do you have any idea where Jasper could be?” I took out my notepad and inclined my head. Abella looked at me with confusion. “Let me rephrase that,” I said. “Has Jasper ever disappeared before? Does he like to go off and spend time by himself?”
“No. He didn’t justleave.”
“But he was in bed with you last night. And then, this morning, he wasn’t.”
“I know that sounds crazy,” she said. “But it’s what happened, and that’s all I know.”
My gaze traveled back to her bloodstained hip. “Did you hear anyone come into your room?”
I could see her picturing it, someone leaning over her sleeping body. Abella shook her head.
“And you were in the room all night. You didn’t leave? Not even to use the bathroom?”
“No,” she said. “I slept straight through.” Abella must have picked up on my doubt, because she added, “I had a bit too much to drink last night. I was nervous.”
“Meeting the family.”
“Yeah.”
