Page 43 of The White Oak Lodge

Beside her on the sofa, Amos looked dumbfounded. Under his breath, he asked, “Is this proof that Seth Green is really…?”

Nina returned with three glasses and a bottle of wine. “It’s gorgeous outside,” she said. “Should we sit on the veranda?”

Nina studied Charlotte’s face, gazing into her eyes for some sense of what Charlotte’s life had been like. She wore no wedding ring, and it seemed as though she were staying at the bungalow by herself. For weeks, Nina had been on Nantucket. Had she been just a short drive from her sister all this time?

They sat on the veranda under a big navy-blue umbrella and were so surprised at the turn of events that they completely forgot to clink glasses before they started to drink.

“Nina,” Charlotte whispered, reaching for her hand. “You’re such a beautiful woman. It’s incredible to see you like this.”

“Older than eleven, you mean?” Nina tried to joke.

Charlotte leaned back in her chair and grimaced. Nina remembered she’d tried to look Charlotte up on the internet but had come up with nothing.

“Doesn’t Seth Green own this house?” Nina asked.

Charlotte’s smile widened. “Who told you that name?”

Nina was suddenly frightened. How did she know she could trust Charlotte? Then again, what did she have to lose by trusting her? If Charlotte started lying to her now, Nina would get to the root of it later on. She’d use the lies as proof of something, more pieces of a puzzle she was trying to put together. She took Amos’s hand and squeezed.

“A mutual friend,” Amos answered for her.

A look of worry passed over Charlotte’s face. “When did you get back to the island?”

“A couple of weeks ago,” Nina said. “You?”

“I’ve been here for a few months. Or maybe it’s been a year. Time flies,” Charlotte said.

“Are you here all by yourself?” Nina asked.

“Sometimes,” Charlotte said. She side-eyed Amos and said, “I recognize you, I think.”

“We went to high school together,” Amos said. “I was two years younger, I think.”

“Jack’s year,” Charlotte said. She snapped her fingers. “Amos, right?” And then she said, “How on earth did you two meet?”

But very suddenly, Nina reached the end of her rope on this false, funny, pretend-nice conversation. It was clear they were all holding cards close to their chests.

What was Charlotte hiding?

Nina came out with it with the power and know-how she’d once displayed as an up-and-coming anthropologist. “Listen,” she said, “we know this is Jack’s house.”

Charlotte’s face looked as though it was about to melt. She leaned forward and whispered, “You shouldn’t get involved in this, Nina.”

“So Jack isn’t dead?” Nina asked. Her heart seized.

“I didn’t say that,” Charlotte said. “You know he’s dead. We all know he’s dead.”

“There are no death certificates, not for him or for Dad. Not for Tio Angelo either.”

Charlotte screwed up her face.

“Why is that?” Nina pressed it. “I can’t understand why the newspapers and the police would lie. Unless one of the cops was paid off? Unless money was involved?”

“I mean, money was always involved,” Charlotte said, half rolling her eyes. “It’s the story of the Whitmores. Money is always involved.”

Nina’s stomach thrashed. After moments of euphoria with her newfound sister, she was crashing hard.

“Where have you been?” Nina demanded suddenly.

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