“If someone wanted revenge for Steven’s death, why would they wait five years to push Poppy out a window?” Elizabeth asked. The machine beeped, and she moved the facial wand to her forehead as it started to buzz. “Someone could have done that the next day.”
“I know it doesn’t add up. But maybe this person wasn’t sure Poppy killed him. Maybe she just found a final piece to the puzzle or something. Maybe you told someone else what you saw?”
A horn honked out the window. Elizabeth gestured to the facial machine. “Microdermabrasion.” She sighed. “Tiny little knives are searing off all my dead skin cells. I love thinking about it like that.”
“Look, do you know anything or not?” Aster asked, as impatiently as she dared.
Elizabeth pressed her lips together. “The only thing I can tell you is that my husband had a thing for townies. They looked at him like he was a god. He loved that. Sometimes I found things they left behind—name tags from diners, drugstore lipstick, a lifeguard whistle, even a pay stub once. I went into the fudge shop on Main Street, and this little blond thing ran into the back. That’s when I knew Steven had nailed her too.”
Aster glanced at the pictures of Steven on the mantel. He seemed to be smirking at them. The idea that she’d been with him suddenly made her sick. “And you never said anything to him?” she asked.
“What did I care? Better them than me.” Elizabeth looked closely at Aster. “Steven wasn’t all that great in the sack, as you know,” she added pointedly.
Aster flushed. “No one deserves to be cheated on.”
Elizabeth turned the hose back on and scoured her chin. “That’s pretty rich, coming from you.” She sighed. “Besides, we had quite the prenup. Poppy’s way was much cleaner.”
“We don’t know for sure that Poppy killed him.”
Elizabeth snorted. “Yes, darling. We do.”
The sun came out from a cloud, sending a shard of light through the windows. “You said something before about Poppy having a secret. Do you think that’s true?”
Elizabeth smiled knowingly. “Steven used to say Saybrooks were born liars.”
“Do you know what he was talking about—specifically, I mean?”
Elizabeth looked at her for a long time. Aster flinched, anticipating a huge blow, but Elizabeth just stood up and removed the towel from her head. Her skin glowed. Her wet hair streamed down her shoulders. She reached for a glass of water on the table and took a long, slow sip. “You know, now that you mention it, there was a girl who seemed like she’d do anything for him,” she said.
“Do you know where she worked? Or her name, maybe?”
Elizabeth balled the towel in her hand. “I never asked. But I wouldn’t waste your time, honey—I don’t think my husband’s trashy ex-girlfriend killed your cousin. Personally, I think it was an inside job.”
“Inside . . . what?”
Elizabeth smiled mildly. “Inside the family.” Then she gently took Aster’s arm and led her to the door. “Time to go now.”
“What do you mean?” Aster asked as the doors swooshed open. “Why would you say that?”
Elizabeth practically shoved her outside. “My shrink is coming in a few minutes.” She tossed Aster’s hat to her chest. “My advice, dear? Go ask your father.” She winked. “You can’t be daddy’s girl forever.”
21
Monday morning, Rowan absent-mindedly bumped her bruised knee into a newly built cubicle and then burst into tears. It didn’t even hurt that badly; it just felt like another mishap in a string of very, very bad luck.
“God, it’s so creepy,” Jessica, one of the paralegals, whispered as Rowan trudged to her office. “Two Saybrooks within weeks of each other.”
“Natasha still hasn’t woken up,” Callie, a second paralegal, chimed in. “They’re totally cursed.”
“Is she still in that hospital in Massachusetts?” Jessica stirred her coffee, the spoon clanking against ceramic.
“No, I heard they moved her somewhere in the city. Lenox Hill, maybe?”
Beth Israel, Rowan wanted to correct them as she sat down at her desk. Natasha had been moved there a few days before so she’d be closer to her family. Rowan had visited her yesterday, sitting by her bedside and staring at Natasha’s placid face. A few times her eyelids had fluttered, and she’d turned her head slightly, as if she was rousing from a dream. Rowan stood halfway in anticipation. She will wake up, and I will get the truth out of her, she’d thought. But then Natasha’s features had stilled and she seemed to slip back into that dark, unknowable well, her secret locked inside.