Page 27 of Death in the Family
And from that room, she had a perfect view of the shed.
THIRTEEN
I was the kind of wet that wraps you in gooseflesh and blast-freezes your bones. Dripping all over the mudroom floor, I did my best to clean off my boots and shivered out of my jacket. Then I crouched down on the tiles.
I’d noticed something about the Sinclairs. Aside from Abella, who was in stocking feet today, they all wore house shoes. Apparently, going shoeless in the house was gauche—and based on Camilla’s reaction to Abella’s dirty footprints in Abella’s story, so was wearing street shoes. It explained why Flynn was in summer shoes in October, and the disapproving looks Tim and I got when we sullied the family’s floors with our boots. Personally I’m a fan of thick socks indoors, but the Sinclairs’ custom was fine by me. It gave me a chance to examine the discarded shoes lined up along the mudroom wall.
One by one, I turned each shoe over to inspect the sole. I was looking for one thing in particular: dried mud. The rain started late afternoon on the previous day, and everyone in the family had arrived at the house by then. The shoes were a way to corroborate Abella’s story and find out who else was wandering around in the storm on the night Jasper disappeared.
It was easy enough to match the shoes to their owners. Jade’s sneakers were the smallest, while Flynn’s, an expensive designer brand, were huge. The wing tips had to belong to Miles the lawyer. Ned’s loafers were as long and lean as he was, and Camilla wore pretty boat shoes, sensibly flat. Bebe’s were Italian, also designer. The filthy rubber boots could only belong to Norton. That left Abella’s kitten-heel booties and the shoes that, somehow, Jasper left behind.
Between Norton’s walk down to the boathouse to greet us and his trips outside to restock the parlor basket with firewood, he had an excuse for the wet mud that caked the bottoms of his boots. The state of the other shoes was what concerned me. Aside from Camilla’s and Jade’s, all showed traces of mud and yellow, tender bits of leaves. Bebe’s and Ned’s included a dash of sawdust; they’d been in the shed, no question. Miles’s were especially messy, but that could be because he’d searched the grounds with Norton that morning. Strangely, Jasper’s shoes were also tainted with dried mud. That meant five of the guests, plus Jasper himself, spent time outside between the previous afternoon when it started to rain and our arrival that morning on Tern Island.
My pants felt like spandex against my legs as the wet fabric pulled tight over my thighs. Leaving the shoes the way I found them, I rose to standing and stepped into the kitchen. At the apartment, I always keep a pot of coffee on the counter. I can’t say it’salways fresh and hot, but that’s not the point. It’s strong, and ready when I needed it. There was no coffee in the Sinclairs’ kitchen, at least none that I could see. Norton probably hid the machine away in a custom cabinet, cleaned and prepped for morning. The kitchen was completely deserted. But something wasn’t right. I sensed movement. A whisper, slow and steady, source unknown.
The baby-fine hairs on my neck lifted as my eyes darted around the room. What was that sound? More important, why did every muscle in my body strain back toward the door from which I’d come?
The realization hit me all at once. Across the room, a burner on the gas range flickered blue. The flame licked the underside of a small pot. I ventured closer, images of boiled bunnies racing through my mind. Bracing myself, I looked inside. It was water, nothing more. Nearly all of it had evaporated and the cup or so that was left sizzled softly, trying to disappear.
“Um, can Ihelpyou?”
I’d already turned off the burner and was holding the hot pot by its handle when Jade swept into the room. I could have left the water where it was, but the disembodied quality it brought to the kitchen unsettled me. I wanted it gone. I was already jittery, and Jade’s voice made me jump. “Give it,” she said, and made a grab for the handle, upending the scalding water onto my hand.
I yelped and clutched my hand to my chest as the empty pot clattered across the floor. The pain was exquisite; every cell in my body shrieked. I ground my teeth so hard I thought I might crush the enamel into dust. A world away Jade was babbling excuses. I tuned them out and chanced a glance at my hand.
I was of sound mind when I entered that kitchen. Thinking about Bram in the shed hadn’t impaired my judgment. I’m notsaying there haven’t been times when it did. A string of words spoken just the right way or the clang of old pipes can take me back. But in spite of what Carson thinks, the memories don’t rattle me. If anything, they make me more vigilant. They remind me people can turn on you faster than an eyeblink, and that the smart ones will make sure you never see them coming.
I was of sound mind, yes. But when I looked at my palm, pink as a boiled Easter ham, it wasn’t a burn I saw, but blood. Blood, slick and glossy, gluey and thick. Blood between my fingers and coating my nails. It was like those thirteen months and the distance they put between me and Bram never happened. The walls pressed in around my body, and I found myself thinking,Please don’t let this blood be his.Oh God, I’m too late.
Fear, dazzling in its intensity, coursed through me. The flashback was so convincing I wanted to cry. My chest exploded with pain and I realized I’d been holding my breath. I closed my eyes, and when I opened them again, the imagined blood on my hand was gone.
It was a second-degree burn, real bad. Soon it would puff up, then blister, then leak, a full-course dinner of pain. Studying the injury triggered a sinking feeling in my gut. It was my right hand. The hand I needed to fire my gun.
“What the hell.” It was the best I could come up with. I was incensed. I couldn’t prove it, but I was sure Jade burned me on purpose. This was no accident.
That’s ridiculous, I told myself,she’s just a kid.
As quickly as the paranoid thoughts arrived, logic drove them from my mind.The memories don’t rattle me. They only make me stronger.Believe it, Shay.
“What are you even doing in here?” Jade said.
“Me?”The girl’s oblivion left me slack-jawed with awe. “What aboutyou?”
“Iwas making tea.”
“You’re supposed to stay in the parlor.”
“I don’t need a fucking babysitter.” She ogled my hand with repugnance. “But maybe you do.”
At fourteen, she was nearly as tall as me, so when we glared at each other we were eye to eye. I turned and strode off toward the sink. Cold water from the faucet slapped my raw skin and I sucked in air through my teeth. “I saw you. In your room.”
“So? I needed a break. Everyone’s so fucking serious in there, it’s exhausting. Anyway, the other detective said I could go.”
I didn’t believe her. If she’d voiced a desire for tea, Norton would have made it for her. Tim had corralled everyone and monitored them all day. He wouldn’t invite Jade to wander off now.
“Go get your dad. Right now,” I said.I need a witness so I don’t wring your neck.“Tell him I have some questions for you both.”
Jade leveled her gaze. The corner of her mouth twitched. “I know what she did.”
