“You don’t think we’re suspects?” Corinne heard herself ask.
“Of course not,” Foley said, but she didn’t look any of them in the eye. “But I do need to know where you all were that morning, just for due diligence. I also want to hear if you know anything about Poppy that might indicate why someone would want to hurt her. If she made mistakes at work—or if she dabbled in drugs, got mixed up with dangerous people who might have a motive to hurt her.”
“Poppy?” Rowan sputtered. “Poppy was . . . perfect,” she finished sadly.
And she was, Corinne thought. She imagined Poppy here, her ghost flitting from seating area to seating area, thanking everyone for coming, remembering the smallest details of everyone’s lives—names of pets, summer plans, the old yacht Natasha’s father was rebuilding.
“You never know,” Foley said. “And I don’t mean to worry all of you, but there’s also the possibility that this could be personal to the Saybrooks.”
Mason frowned. “Meaning?”
Foley cleared her throat. “You’re a prominent family. A lot of people are envious of you. Someone might want to hurt you because of your power, your wealth, your influence—or perhaps just to knock you down a few pegs.”
Mason waved his hand. “Please.”
“I would take this seriously,” Foley warned. She typed something else into her laptop, then spun the screen around again. A familiar website appeared. The website.
Foley scrolled down the page. Below the banner with the site’s name was a large headline that took up the whole screen. “One Heiress Down,” it read. “Four to Go.”
The room fell silent. Corinne’s stomach sank to the floor, and her mind went blank. The only sounds were thumps from the back parlor, where Poppy’s children were playing.
“W-who wrote that?” Rowan stammered.
“We don’t know,” Foley said. “We’re trying to figure that out. We’ve tracked the website’s latest update to the IP address for a computer at the New York Public Library. They don’t keep thorough records of who uses the machines, but we’re trying to get video feeds of the rooms to see if that yields anything. This could just be public speculation, someone’s idea of a sick joke. But it could also be much more sinister.”
“Are you saying that we might be next?” Corinne whispered.
“I’m saying to take this seriously, and if it is a threat, we’ll keep you safe,” Foley said, and then closed the laptop with a solid click. She turned to Edith. “Thank you very much for welcoming me into your home, Mrs. Saybrook. I’ll be in touch.”
Mason, Penelope, Edith, and Rowan’s mother, Leona, jumped up to follow the agent out. James slipped out of the room to check on his children. Soon the only people left were the cousins. Corinne’s head whirled.
One heiress down, four to go.
Finally Rowan breathed in. “Who would want to kill Poppy?”
“Who would want to kill us?” Aster whispered.
Natasha was staring, unblinking, her face set with determination. All at once, something she’d said to People when she disinherited herself crossed her mind. The Saybrooks aren’t what they seem. I need to surround myself with more trustworthy people.
Natasha finally lowered her eyes, but Corinne was still shaken to the bone. She couldn’t wrap her mind around any of this, but one thing was clear. Someone had murdered Poppy. And one of them might be next.
8
A few days later, Rowan stood at James’s door in the hall of the Dakota. When she’d been here for Skylar’s birthday, the air had been festive and happy. Now someone had left a bouquet of flowers for Poppy on the doorstep. Rowan scooped them up and rang the bell.
James opened the door, his hair standing up and dark bags under his eyes. He wore a fitted T-shirt and dark denim jeans, and was barefoot.
“Thanks so much for coming,” he said. He’d called her fifteen minutes ago in a panic, saying the nanny had a family emergency, Briony was sick, and Skylar needed cupcakes for preschool the next day. A thrill had run through her—of everyone in his life, James had called her. Instantly, though, she’d felt horrified that such a petty thing had crossed her mind, and she’d lapsed back into the guilt and grief that had consumed her all week. Her cousin was dead, and Rowan had betrayed her in her final hours.
She didn’t make eye contact with James as she swept into the apartment toward the kids in the living room. A Disney cartoon was on the flat-screen; glitter and paste littered the heavy wooden coffee table. Briony was sitting on the floor, staring listlessly at an electronic toy that was singing the ABCs. Skylar was on the couch, dressed in a pink satin princess gown and a silver tiara, and holding a silver magic wand. Tears ran down her cheeks.