“That’s so nice of you,” Rowan said, her voice oddly melancholy, as though she were going to burst into tears.
Natasha sank down into a lounge chair. Having her here was jarring. When had they last been together—aside from funerals? A pang struck Corinne, as she remembered how cute Natasha used to be. One year, when Natasha was about seven, she’d decided she wanted to be an Olympic figure skater when she grew up. All of them, even Poppy, who was much older by then, put on fluffy skirts, took off their socks, and skated on the wood floor as her competitors, though it was unwritten that Natasha would win. “A perfect ten!” the cousins had crowed to the little girl, smothering her with kisses.
Now Natasha ripped into the package. “Pretty!” she whooped as she unveiled the pashmina wrap underneath. “Just like we wore for Poppy’s wedding.”
“That’s what gave me the idea,” Corinne said shyly. Poppy had gotten married at Meriweather four years ago. They’d sat in this very room before her wedding, and she had given each of them similar gifts. It was a December wedding, so those wraps were furlined. She’d also given the girls fur muffs and hats; they’d all boarded a horse-drawn carriage to go to the Old Whaling Church on the main island. The ground had been covered with crisp, untouched snow, the stars twinkled in the sky, and the church was already decorated for Christmas, silver and gold balls everywhere, the whole altar filled with amaryllises. After Poppy and James got married, they’d gone on a second sleigh ride back to the house, singing Christmas carols. Corinne and Dixon, solidly back together by then, had huddled close to keep warm.
Aster’s eyes filled with tears. Rowan dropped the wrap in the box, her face twisted with pain. Corinne tried to breathe in, but it felt as if there were a load of bricks on her chest. She looked to the doorway, picturing Poppy stepping through, crowing, Ha, ha! It was all a joke!
Aster grabbed the wine bottle and poured four glasses. She picked up one and held it in the air. “A toast to Poppy. I don’t know what we’re going to do without her.”
Corinne chose a glass from the remaining three. “To Poppy.”
Everyone sipped quietly, the strange mood settling around them again. Corinne sucked in her stomach, hoping everyone would cheer up. Then Natasha’s phone, which was sitting on the coffee table, bleated. On instinct, Corinne glanced down. A familiar 212 number was on the screen.
Aster was looking at the phone too. “Agent Foley?”
Natasha grabbed the phone and silenced it. “She wants to interview me. I wish she’d just drop it.”
Aster flinched. “You haven’t done your interview yet?”
Natasha shrugged. “Things keep coming up.”
“But everyone else has talked to her already,” Corinne said softly, irritated by Natasha’s cavalier attitude, as if finding Poppy’s murderer was just a big inconvenience.
Natasha turned her phone over. “To be honest, the FBI seems kind of useless. Don’t you think? They don’t even have a single suspect.”
Everyone exchanged a glance.
“You don’t know that for sure,” Rowan said.
Natasha crossed her arms over her chest. “What about James?” Kalvin jumped on Natasha’s lap and began kneading at her legs. “You always hear that the husband is the first suspect? Maybe James had a motive.”
“James didn’t do it,” Rowan said, dismissing the idea out of hand.
“I agree,” Corinne said. James seemed so devoted to Poppy, so proud of all she’d accomplished. One time, when they were all at Meriweather, Poppy was being featured on the cover of Time magazine. James had gotten up at six in the morning to drive to the mainland’s newsstand to buy the first copies the day it came out, even though the family had received advance copies the day before. He was so excited when he pulled back into the driveway.
Aster crossed her arms over her chest. “Let’s talk about something else.”
“Yes, maybe we should go through pictures?” Corinne said loudly. She wanted to choose some photos of the family to display at the wedding. The wedding. Even in Corinne’s mind, she couldn’t call it her wedding.
“How can you be so sure?” Natasha challenged, looking at Rowan. “Unless . . . you were with him?”
Shame flashed across Rowan’s face. “As a matter of fact, I was, okay?” she blurted out. “He was at my apartment. In my bed. Are you happy now?” Rowan hid her face in her hands.
“Oh my God,” Corinne heard herself say. The room was silent except for Kalvin’s purrs. She met her sister’s gaze; for once, she looked as shocked as Corinne felt. She cleared her throat and looked at Rowan. “I mean, how did it happen?”