I poured another glass of champagne and drank it straight down.
My father, smartly, put the bottle away. “You’re as clever as he is, Charlotte, and a great deal quicker. Though Leander, bless him, is lazy enough to solve a crime and forget to tell his client for months.
“He came to your seventh birthday party,” my father told me. “Don’t you remember?” My seventh birthday party had been held at one of those roadside amusement parks with a go-kart track and a half-dozen arcade games. “He brought you a rabbit as a gift. Giant thing. Big floppy ears. Your mother, being your mother, sent it immediately to a nice home in the country.”
“Harold,” I said, piecing it together. That had been the rabbit’s name. I had an impression of a towering man with slicked-back hair and a lazy smile.
“I roomed with him back before I met your mother,” he said. “Bachelor days, before I was lured away to London. Leander had set up as a private detective, and I was . . . well, I was very bored. We were introduced at an alumni event at a pub; I’m sure you’ve noticed how keen everyone is to introduce a Holmes to a Watson. He was chatting up the bartender. I think he brought him home in the end. Could turn on the charm, Leander, when the situation called for it.” He raised an eyebrow at Holmes, who didn’t blush but looked like she might’ve liked to.
“And you’re still friends?” I asked.
“Yes, of course,” my father said. “The two of us, we’re the best kind of disaster. Apples and oranges. Well, more like apples and machetes.” He studied my face for a moment. “I thought you could use a little shaking up, Jamie. That school in London was too expensive for what a bloody toff factory it was, and even with what I could contribute, we couldn’t afford to keep you there. I told Leander about my frustrations, and he mentioned that Charlotte here had just been deposited, friendless and alone, only an hour from my house. Did you really think this was a coincidence—the two of you winding up here, in America, at the same boarding school?”
I was fed up with all these ridiculous bombshells and rhetorical questions. “Yes,” I said pointedly. “Also, your pie smells like it’s burning.”
Holmes sniffed the air. “It smells quite good, actually,” she said, and took it out to cool. I scowled at her. She made a helpless gesture.
“The tuition . . . well, Leander offered to pay it. When I said no, he told me that otherwise he’d just buy another Stradivarius. I tried telling him that he’d have to put an entire town through Sherringford to come close to the price of a Strad, but he held firm. I gave in. And so Leander arranged some sleight-of-hand with the board of trustees and offered you a ‘scholarship.’ You didn’t wonder why you didn’t lose your scholarship when you were suspended from the rugby team?” He grinned. “That’s why. The whole thing was quite fun. I think he enjoyed it immensely.”
“Yes,” I said, thinking of all my violent resentment at being sent away, of having to leave London, my friends, my kid sister. “Fun.”
“Well then.” My father clapped his hands together. “You’ve met! You’re friends! You’ve found yourselves a murder! I couldn’t have asked for more. Come, let’s eat before the detective arrives.”
Holmes’s phone buzzed. “I have to take this, excuse me.” She stepped out the back door, and I watched her through the glass as she paced in her dress, speaking rapidly to someone.
“Who could possibly be calling her?” I wondered aloud. “It must be her brother.”
My father kept slicing the pie. “I hope you’re not terribly mad at me.”
“I’m not,” I said. “I’m furious.”
“It seemed to have worked out rather well, though, you have to give me that.” He handed me a heaping plate. I wished, badly, that I wasn’t starving.
“Well? This worked out well?” I choked. “God, I don’t have to give you anything.”
“Jamie. Please don’t be like this.” He was avoiding my eyes. “Aren’t you happy you met Charlotte? She’s lovely, isn’t she?”
“Will you please stop side-stepping the point? This isn’t about Holmes, it’s about the strings you pulled to get me here. God, you don’t even know me! I hadn’t seen you for years! How can you not understand that being bored isn’t an excuse to reach in and fuck with my life for fun?”
“Language,” my father warned.
“You don’t get to do that.” I heard myself getting loud. “You don’t get to deflect every response you don’t like. I’m in a horrible mess that you, for whatever reason, have decided to find charming.”
With shaking hands, he set down the knife. I was shocked to see his eyes glossed in tears. “You’re right, Jamie. I don’t know you anymore. God help me for wanting that to change.”
The doorbell rang.
“He’s early,” my father said, and hurriedly plated some pie for Holmes. “I’ll get it.”