Page 57 of Nantucket Gala

June 2025

Nantucket Island

The pink light of the morning evaporated to a clear blue sky. Without bothering to sleep, Henry went downstairs, drank a cup of coffee standing by the kitchen window, and shot out the door, jittery after all night of reading Sophia’s memoir. When he rounded the corner and headed to Sophia’s hotel, he found himself again face-to-face with Madeline Willis. Last night, he’d sped away so quickly that he’d nearly forgotten about her. But now his cheeks were already flushed, and a smile played out across his lips. He was exhausted. But seeing her was like waking up.

Madeline was carrying a to-go cup of coffee and a notebook. “Where are you off to so quickly?”

Henry palmed the back of his neck.

“Are you off to meet your lover?” Madeline asked. “You have a secret look about you. What are you keeping from all of us, huh?” Madeline’s voice was light and teasing, but she looked at him formidably as though she could see all the way through him.

He wasn’t sure what he should tell her. “Why did you say Sophia has us all wrapped around her finger?”

Madeline raised a single brow. “It’s a gift. I can always tell when someone’s lying.”

“How do you know?”

Madeline shrugged. “I don’t, I guess. But something is off about her.”

“You don’t think she killed Natalie, do you?”

Madeline laughed. “That would be interesting, wouldn’t it?” Then she paused. “Do you want me to go with you for backup?”

Henry was suddenly stricken with fear. What if Sophia wanted to get rid of Madeline because she’d figured out her secret?

Or perhaps he was just exhausted. Maybe he was making things up.

“No. It’s okay,” he assured her.

Madeline looked briefly deflated.

“But do you want to have dinner tonight?” he asked.

“If I have time,” Madeline said. “Come find me in my room.”

“Right. You’ll be hard at work on your…” He trailed off, hoping she’d fill in the blanks.

“I’ll tell you about my work over dinner,” she said. “Maybe.”

Henry sped off for Sophia’s hotel, feeling rejuvenated. But when he breezed into the lobby and up the circular staircase to the suite on the top floor, the suite overlooking the ocean, fear wrapped around his heart and made it difficult to breathe. At the door, he tried to solidify his sense of himself. He was just here to ask questions. But he was shaking.

Before he had a chance to knock, the door opened. Sophia stood before him. She wore a red silk robe, and her hair swung in glossy curls down her shoulders. She didn’t look as though she’d drunk anything last night. She looked as though she’d made a deal with a genie for eternal beauty.

“Henry! I hoped you’d come by this morning. Come in. Want some coffee? Or a Bloody Mary?”

Henry’s tongue felt useless. He followed her into the room and shut the door behind him. She was drinking both coffee and a Bloody Mary on the balcony, a newspaper spread out on the table. She hurried to pour him both drinks, gabbing happily about the Nantucket Gala.

“You could say it went a thousand times better than last time,” she said. “But maybe that belittles it.”

Henry tried to laugh but couldn’t. He took his drinks and sat across from her. Finally, she looked up at him, and finally, she realized he was quiet, too quiet. Her smile waned.

“What’s wrong, Henry?” she asked. “Did that young woman already break your heart?”

She sees everything, Henry thought.

“I read your memoir last night.”

Sophia brightened. “Did you? I still haven’t heard from your mother. I’m getting anxious.” She folded her hands on the newspaper. “Tell me. What did you think?”

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