Page 35 of Death in the Family
Bebe laughed, but her expression clouded. “Please. Nana was kidding. It’s never a good idea to mix business and pleasure. I’m sure Abby knows that.”
It was an absurd statement coming from a woman who was currently sleeping with an employee, but I let it go. “What about after dinner?”
“I went to bed.”
“Together?” I said, eyeing each of them in turn.
She set her jaw. “I went up first. Dealing with him is exhausting.”
Miles shrugged.
“Did Jasper seem normal to you yesterday?” I asked. “Did you see anything that seemed out of place?”
“This is a complete waste of time. I have nothing to do with Jasper’s absence.”
Absence. Another odd choice of words for a sister with a missing kid brother. She was acting like Jasper went home to watch Netflix and chill. “Where do you think he is?” I said.
“If I had to guess, I’d say he got sick of Abby and went back to the city.”
“With a serious wound? Without telling you?”
“My brother’s a big boy. He can take care of himself.”
“Then why bother calling us?”
“That was Nana’s idea. She worries too much.”
“You aren’t worried about your brother?”
“No,” Bebe said, “I’m not. Are you even sure that’s real blood up there? My brother has a flare for dramatics.”
I inclined my head. “Hang on. Are you suggesting Jasper staged that accident himself?” The idea was almost as cracked as Tim’s theory about Abella’s female trouble. I glanced at Miles, who leaned back and smiled. He seemed to be enjoying himself.
“How should I know what he did?” said Bebe. “I wish you’d leave us alone to deal with this for ourselves.”
“We’re investigating Jasper’sabsenceas a missing persons case. But Norton called it in as a murder.”
“Again, that was Nana’s idea. Philip just does what she says.”
“Everyone else I’ve talked to seems convinced Jasper fell into some kind of harm. You don’t agree?”
“How many times do I have to say it? No, I don’t agree. It’s totally feasible he’d take off and leave us to sort out his mess. Jasper gets a kick out of tormenting us.”
“Us?”
“Me,” said Bebe. “Flynn. I wouldn’t be surprised if this was Jasper’s idea of a joke. He’s probably waiting until we feel good and guilty before he shows up laughing. What a lark. Ha, ha.”
I contemplated what she was saying. Norton reported Jasper missing that morning. The nor’easter arrived the previous afternoon. The skiff was still in the boathouse. Could Tim be right? Could someone have ferried Jasper to shore before the weather got bad? Was it actually possible the man was hiding out somewhere, right as rain? Again my cell phone vibrated, another text message coming through. Again I forced myself to ignore it.
Back in the boat on our way to Tern, Tim had said there were easier ways to take your own life on an island. There were easierways to fake your own death, too. That didn’t mean it was impossible—but if all this was a ploy designed to goad Bebe and Flynn, why would Jasper bring his girlfriend along for the ride? Why set the scene in the bedroom and risk Abby getting the blame?
I gave a small shake of my head to clear my mind. There were buckets of blood upstairs on that bed, and it was the real thing. The smell of it hung in the room like a fog. Of course it was Jasper’s. Wasn’t it?
I reached for the mug Norton had left for me. Earlier, he’d served the family coffee with a side of cream, but to mine he added the cream in the kitchen. It lay on the surface of the coffee, refusing to blend in, and when I took a sip I found it oddly bitter. Flustered, I set it down. I didn’t know Philip Norton. Why should I trust him? What if the drink was spiked?
I tried to chase the idea from my mind. It wasn’t logical. I’d already eaten an entire meal cooked by Norton and was fine, but that didn’t matter. It was happening again. This time the flashback was physical, moving like a worm under my skin. I was light-headed and itchy. My skin crawled, just as if there really was a drug back in my veins.
The room was unfamiliar, with no windows. A bare bulb hung above me, its pull string emitting a tinny clink as it swayed. It felt like someone cracked open my skull and filled it with hot, shifting sand. I tasted blood and realized my lips were chapped and split. Where was I? What day was it? I didn’t know.
