Page 47 of Death in the Family
Philip Norton’s voice rang out through the hall, and all at once they were on the move. Bebe, Flynn, Miles, and Jade made for the staircase. Ned snaked an arm around Abella’s waist and they followed reluctantly, like they suspected what was happening was outrageous but didn’t know how to resist.
I raised my hands. “Whoa, where the hell do you think you’re going?”
“To dress for dinner,” said Bebe, as if it was the stupidest question on earth. Abella, in her bloody pajamas, went crimson. The skin under her eyes was marbled with veins.
Cocktail hour. The thought of it pulled my mouth into a grim line. With tensions high, the last thing we needed was to introduce alcohol into the mix. The circumstances surrounding thisisland-bound case were unorthodox, sure, but no way would I consider allowing a group of sketchy witnesses to have a few rounds. I didn’t like the idea of them scattering either.
I glanced at Tim and felt my nerves go taut.What happens next decides it. If he was the investigator I thought he was, he’d agree with me on both counts. Tim would back my decision completely.
In response, my associate adjusted his belt and made a noncommittal sound with his teeth.
“We need you to stay in the parlor,” I said. “No one’s changing. Nobody’s having a drink.”
“No drinks?” Bebe’s expression was halfway manic.
“A change of clothes and a glass of scotch. We’re talking basic human needs, here,” said Flynn. “What’s wrong, detective? You worried I’ve got a knife under my mattress?”
“Flynn,” Ned said weakly. “Don’t.”
“No, Ned, this is bullshit.” Flynn faced me once more. “All day we’ve done what you asked. We played along with your pointless interviews, and where did it get us? I told you who’s responsible for all this hours ago.” Flynn’s gaze slid from me to Abella. “Why haven’t you pressed charges against her? Why haven’t you hauled her ass to prison? The fact that she’s still here and my brother’s not, it makes me fuckingsick. Get her out of here!” Flynn roared. “What the hell are you waiting for?”
All the color drained from Abella’s face. She broke away from Ned and backed up unsteadily until she reached the staircase banister, where, without a word, she threw up on the lustrous floor.
“Jesus,” Flynn muttered with loathing as Norton rushed off to get his cleaning supplies. “I’m done following your orders. This isour house.”
Not yet it’s not. “This is an active investigation, so youwillfollow my orders, Mr. Sinclair.”
“You’re not going to allow this, are you, Wellington?” said Bebe, and one by one every person in the hall transferred their gaze to Tim.
There were no dirty looks for Timmy Wellington. All day long he’d been developing relationships with the family and their guests. They had camaraderie; as far as the Sinclairs were concerned, Tim was on their side. I’d assumed his efforts were strategic, another impressive trick up his sleeve. I wasn’t so sure anymore.
“That’s enough,” I said to Bebe and Flynn before Tim could reply. That’s when Norton cleared his throat.
In one hand, Philip Norton held a bucket. The other clutched a bottle of wine. Fresh from the fridge, it glistened with condensation. Tim wrinkled his brow as he looked from the bottle back to Norton’s face.
“Are you sure?” Norton said. “Won’t you reconsider, given the day they’ve had?”
They, not we. I didn’t expect Norton to clink glasses with the others, but considering how upset he’d been that morning and how well he knew Jasper, it was a strange choice of words. They suggested he alone was free of emotion. Distanced him from the family.
“It’s tradition,” he went on. “The cocktails, the formal attire. It might seem trivial to you, but I know it would mean a lot to Mrs. Sinclair to be doing something normal with the family. It’s a comfort, if you know what I mean.”
I didn’t bother pointing out that Camilla, still resting upstairs, hadn’t been with her family for hours. I was too busy wondering why Norton was dead set on plying the family with drinks. “I’m sorry,” I said, “but it isn’t appropriate.”
Suddenly, Flynn was in my face. “I thought I made myself clear. You don’t tell us what to do.”
Tim pushed his way between us. “Cool it, Mr. Sinclair. Relax. He’s fine.”
That last part, Tim meant for me. I wasn’t sure why, at first. Then I felt an explosion of pain and realized with a start my hand was once again on my gun.
I wouldn’t be where I am today if I had a problem with self-control. I have a remarkable ability to stay calm, even when the situation’s dire. That’s what Carson called it when I told him what I’d been through:aremarkable ability to remain calm. Cops who can’t keep their shit together don’t stay alive. Some of it’s muscle memory, sure. We’re trained to react. Nibble your nails, think it through, and you’ll have a bullet in your neck long before you make a call. There’s a time and place for a freak-out, and it isn’t while you’re on the job.
What I experienced in that hallway was different. I had no recollection of pulling my weapon on Ned in the library until the muzzle was inches from his face, and couldn’t have been more surprised to find it there than if it flew through the window on wings. Now I’d nearly done the same thing with Flynn. My arm trembled. Flynn wasn’t backing down. His breath, hot on my face, reeked of stale coffee, but I couldn’t move out of its path. I couldn’t take my hand off my weapon either. My fingers were welded in place.
“Bebe’s right,” said Flynn. “You small-town detectives are pathetic. I should never have let Norton call you. You can’t help us find Jasper. You can’t even find your own ass.”
I wanted to tell him to back off, that he was asking for trouble, but the bulk of my energy went toward keeping my hand on myweapon. Flynn was losing it, and if he moved on me I couldn’t be sure what I’d do.
“Don’t you get it?” Like paper in the blades of a shredder, Flynn drove the words through his teeth. A trail of spittle swung from his lower lip, and as he shouted it splattered, warm and wet, on my cheek. “We invited you to this island, thisprivate island. It’s time for you to go.”
