Aria shrugged. “I’m used to it.”
It was Mr. Kahn’s turn to shoot, and he rolled up the sleeves of his blue Brooks Brothers shirt, leaned over the table, and hit the cue ball with laserlike precision. It banked off the far rail and clonked against the number six, sending two more balls plopping into the pockets.
Mrs. Kahn golf-clapped. “Brilliant shot, dear! You’ve still got the magic touch.”
Mr. Kahn looked at his kids. “Did Mom ever tell you I hustled pool one weekend in Monte Carlo?”
“You were so sexy,” Mrs. Kahn purred, kissing Mr. Kahn’s cheek.
“Guys, gross.” Noel covered his eyes.
Mr. Kahn took his wife’s hands and started waltzing her around the room. “We need to practice for the Art Museum Costume Gala next month.”
“I can’t wait,” Mrs. Kahn lilted. “It’s so lovely to dress up, isn’t it, dear?” She glanced at the others. “We’re going as Marie Antoinette and Louis the Sixteenth.”
“We’ll make a lovely pair.” Mr. Kahn dipped his wife so low that the top of her head practically kissed the carpet. “I do love a good costume.”
Aria was so startled she nearly swallowed her gum. But as she watched the Kahns swirl around the game room, she felt herself relaxing. No matter what Mr. Kahn did in his free time, this was a couple that loved each other. There was probably a logical explanation for why Mr. Kahn had dressed up as a woman at Fresh Fields. Maybe he was getting in character for his Art Museum Gala costume—people spent thousands of dollars on flamboyant disguises for that event. Or maybe he’d lost a bet with a business partner.
Aria grabbed Noel’s hand and squeezed it tight, feeling victorious. She hadn’t gotten a single text about this, which meant she’d beaten A at A’s game. For once, she was in control of the information, not the other way around.
Mr. and Mrs. Kahn kept dancing, and the pool game continued. The boys sank the rest of the balls, edging them to victory. Afterward, Noel scooped Aria up in his arms. “Want to get out of here? Escape to a movie at the Ritz, maybe?” His eyebrows rose up and down suggestively. Going to the Ritz was code for sitting in the back row and making out.
Just then, Mr. Kahn clapped his hands. “What does everyone say to gelato? There’s that new place in Yarmouth I’ve been dying to try.”
“Ooh, I heard that place was divine.” Mrs. Kahn slid the pool cues back into the rack. “I’m in.”
“I could go for that,” Eric said.
Naomi made a face. “Gelato is, like, pure fat.”
“I no like things that are cold—only hot,” Klaudia said, making sexy eyes at Eric, who ignored her. Apparently he’d gotten the message that Klaudia was loony, too.
Noel glanced at Aria apologetically, probably thinking she wanted to get out of there, but Aria just shrugged. She didn’t have time to go to the movies with Noel, anyway—she was meeting Emily at the Bakers’ open house in about an hour and a half.
“I think gelato would be great,” she said to Mr. Kahn.
“Fantastic.” Mr. Kahn was already halfway up the stairs. “I’ll go pick it up.”
“The weather is so dreary, though.” Mrs. Kahn peered through the door of the walk-out basement at the rain pounding on the brick patio. “I’d hate for you to drive all the way to Yarmouth.”
“I don’t mind,” Mr. Kahn called over his shoulder. “Why doesn’t everyone give me their orders?”
Noel, Aria, Eric, and Mrs. Kahn climbed the stairs behind Mr. Kahn and waited as he dug the menu out of a leather file in the cabinet drawer. They selected their flavors, and Mr. Kahn made the call. As he was slipping on his rain jacket, Mrs. Kahn touched his arm. “Want me to go with you?”
Mr. Kahn kissed her lightly on the lips. “There’s no use for us both to get soaked. I won’t be long.”
He shut the front door, and his car engine roared. Mrs. Kahn and Eric disappeared into the den, and Noel excused himself to the bathroom, leaving Aria all alone in the cavernous kitchen. The huge house was suddenly very still and overwhelming, the only sound the pounding rain against the roof. Suddenly thunder crackled, and the room went dark. Aria screamed. “Noel?” she called out, feeling along the walls.
Somewhere in the distance, someone—Naomi, maybe—giggled. Another clap of thunder sounded, shaking the pots and pans hanging over the island. Lightning lit up the room. For a split second, Aria was sure she saw a pair of eyes staring at her from outside the back window. She screamed again.
Then the lights snapped back on with a spark. The refrigerator hummed calmly, the recessed lights cast a peaceful yellow glow over the room, and the eyes at the window were gone. When Aria looked down, she saw that her cell phone, which was nestled in her pocket, was blinking. She grabbed it and swallowed hard. One new text message from Anonymous.