Page 39 of Again with Feeling

“Who?”

“Of course she’d bring him up. Because that’s how she is! She’s always been such a dried-up old stick-in-the-mud. She’s never made any mistakes. She’s never done anything wrong. What did she say? What did she tell you?” Again, I didn’t have a chance to speak before she barreled forward: “I don’t care. I don’t want to know!”

“Why don’t we start with who you think—”

“Vivienne!” It was a shriek, and Keme and Ricky looked up from the book of tattoo designs they were examining.

A moment later, that combative tap came at the window, and Fox asked through the glass, “What did she say about Vivienne?”

That was when I decided that this would be the first—and last—episode of family-style sleuthing.

Fortunately, Candy was on a real tear by then, and she just kept going. “She’s always hated us. She hates that we’re her family, that she came from us, that she can’t get rid of us. And shehatedRichard. You said you wanted to know why she’d hurt him—that’swhy. She hated him so much she—she was insane. She would have done anything to hurt him.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” I said. “Everyone told us how close they were. Vivienne told us she loved Richard. Jane said—”

A nasty laugh ripped its way out of Candy, but she was crying too, wiping her cheeks and spreading mascara everywhere. “Isawthem,” she said, and the words had a child’s outrage. “I walkedinon them.” And then, as though I might be even denser than she’d thought: “Doing it.”

Maybe I was denser than she’d thought because the words that came out of my mouth were: “Vivienne and Richard?”

“No, you idiot. Vivienne and Jane! That’s why Vivienne killed him. She was jealous of him! She hated him because she was obsessed with Jane. I told you Richard and Jane were arguing. I told you Jane was having an affair. Jeez, how dumb are you? She killed Richard to get him out of the way, made it look like a robbery, and—and threw Richard away like he was a piece of garbage.” Candy let out that ugly laugh again, but now her eyes were dry. “Jane didn’t want anything to do with her after that, though. Because she finally saw Vivienne for exactly who she was—who we all knew she was: someone who would do whatever it took to get what she wanted.”

Chapter 13

Later that afternoon, surrounded by people on the beach, I was still trying to wrap my head around what Candy had told me.

After that revelation, I hadn’t been able to get anything more out of Candy—she’d started crying so hard I thought she was going to make herself sick, and Ricky had asked us to leave. The ride back to Hastings Rock had been quiet. Too quiet, really, because I’d had too much time with my thoughts. And it hadn’t gotten any better in the stillness of Hemlock House. I couldn’t bring myself to check Bobby’s room to see if he’d taken more of his stuff. I tried holing up in the den to work on my story with Hugo, but my brain seemed to have quit working. Hugo was understanding, of course. After an hour or two, he politely told me he needed to jump in the shower, and we’d work on it again tomorrow, and to have a great afternoon. Jump in the shower, I thought. On a Sunday afternoon. Which meant he was going out. Or maybe just hooking up with someone. And I was alone in a Class V haunted mansion while Bobby moved in with a baby gay fresh out of the packaging.

I heard how unkind that thought was and gave myself a stern talking to, but it didn’t help.

Maybe that was why, when Fox told me to get in the van, I obeyed. I didn’t even ask where we were going. And that was how I ended up at the beach, with so many other people that I thought I could actually feel my hair turning white, for the sandcastle competition.

It wasstilla beautiful day; maybe even more beautiful, in fact, on the water. The sky was the deep blue of a summer day winding to a close, with puffy white clouds marching alongthe horizon. Under the late afternoon sun, it was almost warm enough to feel hot, but the breeze and the swash of cold water kept it comfortable. When I looked out at the ocean, and the bright patches of reflected sunlight churning in the dark green water, I thought of silver-backed leaves turning over and over in the dark. I thought maybe I’d use that in a book one day. In a scene after someone died.

I tried to turn my brain toward the mystery I was supposed to be solving, but that didn’t get me anywhere either. The revelation that Vivienne and Jane had been sexually involved—ifit was true—changed the relationship dynamics underpinning the entire investigation. I knew, rationally, the revelation was important. I knew I needed to confirm it. But I felt braindead and hollowed out. When I tried to force myself to think, I came up with details that seemed useless—in Agatha Christie’sNemesis,the question of a same-sex desire underpins much of the story, but it’s presented as obsessive and twisted. And Josephine Tey’s biographers have long suggested that she was a closeted lesbian herself. Were those facts important? Or were they just my exhausted brain randomly firing in an attempt to make connections?

I had no idea, which was part of the problem.

A bigger part of the problem was that it was hard to focus on a mystery, or on feeling sorry for myself—or, frankly, on feeling melodramatic—with so much happening around me. People—tourists and locals alike—crowded the beach, and it seemed like they took up every inch of available space. Many of them had clearly been there all day, working on elaborate designs, and I realized with a hint of guilt that my friends probably would have been here too if they hadn’t been making sure I didn’t get myself killed. We finally found a spot a quarter mile down the beach and got ourselves set up. It wasn’t a hard walk, and everybody besides me seemed to be in decent spirits. Keme wasclearly thrilled about the opportunity to demonstrate for Millie his capacity for carrying heavy things.

I turned down Indira and Fox’s invitation to help them with their sandcastle. (In case you’re wondering—no, Keme didnotoffer, and I was going to remember that because his birthday was coming up.) I set to work on my own design, using the little trowels and scoops and buckets to excavate my raw material and then start building.

Even here, at the edge of the crowd, it wasn’t exactly quiet. A little girl shouted with excitement as she sprinted toward the water. When the swash rolled up the beach, she came running back. It was, apparently, an endless game. Mr. Cheek, who had dressed in one of those full-body, old-timey bathing suits (the striped kind, you know?), was busy having an energetic discussion with an out-of-towner in an enormous sunhat. (He was telling her about his own, personal additions to the standard sandcastle design. I swear to God, I heard the wordbathhouseabout seven times.) Brad Newsum, of Newsum Decorative Rock, had marshaled what appeared to be an army of teenagers to create a sandcastle city. The teens—the boys, in particular—looked over at Keme a few times. They didn’t say anything, though. And Keme pretended not to notice.

He actually mightnothave noticed because he was thoroughly engaged in some hardcore (and, frankly, agonizing to watch) teenage boy flirting. He stole Millie’s hat, and she had to chase him to give it back. He knocked over the tower she was building, which turned into a splash war at the edge of the water. He had somehow (God bless that enterprising young man) managed to find a reason to take his shirt off, and he had apparently chosen as his latest act of, uh, courtship to bump into Millie as hard as he could every time she tried to add a detail to their design.

Fox and Indira, on the other hand, had what appeared to be a solid working relationship. Fox, who had worn a magenta caftan to the beach (the outfit was completed by foam beach slides that were designed to look like googly-eyed fish), was snoring softly as they napped. Indira’s sandcastle was—let’s face it—perfect. It had some strongSleeping Beautyvibes, and there was something soothing about watching Indira at work: the concentration on her face, the steady, self-assured movements of her hands.

“Dash, your rock looks good,” Millie said.

I stared at her. And then I looked back at my lump of a sandcastle.

Keme whispered something in Millie’s ear, and Millie giggled before she clapped a hand over her mouth.

“It’s not a rock,” I said. “It’s—I’m just getting started!”

“Why don’t you help me, dear?” Indira asked. “You’re so good at adding the little scallops.”

Okay, I have to admit—thatalmostworked. Because Iwasvery good at adding the little scallops. But I caught myself and said, “No, thanks. I’m going to keep working on my sandcastle.”

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