It wasn’t until the next morning that Aster heard the commotion.
“Aster,” Corinne had said, appearing at her door. Aster blinked at the clock; it was barely six a.m. “Come quick.” She didn’t even bother to put on a bra, just ran downstairs in her Black Dog T-shirt and oversize boy shorts, following Corinne toward the marina. Her parents, Poppy, and several other guests and staff members were already down there, gathered around where the big boats docked at the slips.
“Stand back,” Uncle Jonathan was saying, trying to manage the crowd. In the gray dawn light, the aftermath of the party showed in all its ugliness—the white tents sadly deflated, the ground littered with paper napkins that had turned to mush in the dewy grass. Everyone was standing in a clump at the edge of the water, but Aster managed to shove her way through. When she saw what they were looking at, she screamed.
A body lay facedown in the water. Waves lapped over his head, and his arms were splayed out at his sides. Aster recognized his pink oxford and his white linen pants, which were now translucent, revealing the white boxers beneath.
It was Steven.
Aster had started crying from the shock of it. He’d been so alive just hours before. She felt her cousins’ presence around her, Poppy and Rowan and Corinne’s faces blurring in her vision. Mason stood angrily on the sidelines, speaking into his phone in angry, hushed tones. Aster looked away, stricken by a sudden and terrible thought: her father had done this. He was so furious that Steven had slept with her that he’d killed him.
She wasn’t sure how long she’d held on to that notion—a few hours at the most, because by that afternoon, the police had questioned everyone. Apparently no one had been near the docks that night. But one thing remained clear: Aster had found it conceivable that her father was a murderer. Some people didn’t have it in them to kill, but she had felt deep within her gut that Mason did.
“What are you doing in here?”
Aster’s father stood in the doorway. He was in a trench coat, and was clutching a briefcase in his hands in such a way that it seemed he might throw it at her. His shoulders were stiff with rage.
Aster shot up fast, logging out of his Gmail. “Um, my iPhone wasn’t working, and there was a work emergency. Elizabeth is such a bitch,” she added for good measure, skirting around him. She was so frantic to escape that she bumped her foot hard against the doorjamb. Wincing, she kept going, down the hall and past the dining room. Danielle and Penelope stopped eating, their eyes wide. “Aster?” Penelope called out, but Aster didn’t answer her.
She hurried out of the town house as fast as she could. As soon as she was on the sidewalk, she fumbled to dial Corinne’s number. Her sister answered on the second ring. “Where have you been?” Aster cried.
“Just . . . around.” Corinne’s voice caught.
“Can you meet me on the steps of the FBI field office in half an hour?” Aster said quickly. “I’m going to call Rowan—she also needs to be there. I think I’ve figured something out.”
“I’ll be there,” Corinne answered. “I have something to tell you too.”
24
A half hour later Rowan stood with her hands on her hips on the steps of the FBI field office in lower Manhattan. It was almost seven thirty, and the streets were clogged with people heading home from work, their briefcases swinging, cell phones glued to their ears. Every sound made Rowan’s heart jump: the grumbling subway beneath her feet, the whoosh of the city bus as it passed, a snippet of a salsa song spilling from the open window of a car. She looked frantically for her cousins, hoping they’d arrive soon. Now that she knew what James had done, she wanted to tell Agent Foley before something else terrible happened.
Aster and Corinne arrived at almost the same time from two different directions. “I know who killed Poppy,” Aster said as soon as they were all together.
Corinne blinked at her. “I do too.”
Aster’s jaw dropped. “You know Dad did it?”
“Mason?” Rowan cried, looking back and forth between them.
Aster nodded grimly. “I think he was trying to cover something up—Poppy knew about it and wanted him to come clean. He wanted Poppy out of the company, and he pushed her out—literally.”
Corinne wrinkled her nose. “Cover up what?”
“I don’t know. Something about money and work.”
Corinne frowned. “Dad would never do that.”
Aster looked conflicted. “You don’t really know him, Corinne. Because Dad . . . well, he had an affair with Danielle Gilchrist years ago. I saw them.”
“Wait, what?” Rowan exploded.
“Danielle Gilchrist?” Corinne repeated, her skin turning pale.