“She told me she’s a widow. Her husband died years ago.”
“Oh no,” Kate said. Maybe that explained the feeling she had gotten, seeing Conor and Belinda deep in conversation. “That’s so sad. How did he die?”
But before Conor could answer, they saw Tom draw even with the dinghy dock. He threw the line around a cleat and walked up the weathered wooden ramp toward them.
“Nice,” Conor said. “Half an hour to our rehearsal dinner, and you’re covered with salt spray.”
“I’ll take the quickest shower in history,” Tom said. “I’m used to it, from being at sea.”
“Coastie,” Conor said.
“Cop,” Tom said.
Kate loved the way the brothers teased each other. They were both in different arms of law enforcement, but they often shared cases. They could be merciless about whose work was more important. Tom was one year older. They both had brown hair and bright-blue eyes. Conor’s wavy hair was longer than Tom’s military cut, a fact Tom gave him grief about.
The three of them started up the hill. A navy-blue pickup sped past them, and Conor put out his arm to keep Kate from being hit.
“Whoa,” he said, staring as the truck turned into a driveway across the street from the hotel.
“Someone’s in a hurry,” Tom said.
Kate saw Conor watching to see who the driver was, but she tugged on his arm, and they kept walking. When they got to the hotel, the valets greeted them, and so did the entire lobby staff. Kate and Conor had become regulars here, often visiting Hadley and CeCe, who had moved permanently into the Sea Garden Suite. Everyone was excited about the wedding. Kate knew how much the Ocean House staff loved CeCe. She had become one of their own after her mother’s murder, and many of them had told Kate how much it meant to them, how touched they were that Kate had asked CeCe to be her flower girl.
Tom took the elevator up to his room, to shower before he and his wife, Jackie, joined them. Conor and Kate walked down the lobby staircase to the Bemelmans Gallery, a serene spot where they could have a minute alone. The gallery walls were painted Buxton blue, to echo the ocean, and they were covered with the largest private collection of works by Ludwig Bemelmans in the world. The owners displayed them so everyone could enjoy the charming and playful art.
Kate gazed at the illustrations of Madeline—the heroine of a favorite childhood book—and at theFarewell to the Ritzseries of drawings, made from the artist’s experience at the Ritz in New York. They brought back memories of dates she had had at Bemelmans Bar at the Carlyle, with a series of mostly forgettable boyfriends. No one had really mattered to her until Conor.
“Okay,” she said, looking into Conor’s blue eyes. She knew him so well, and she could tell he was shaken about something. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“Nothing. It was just strange to see Belinda after all this time.”
“What was she showing you? You looked very serious.”
“You sound jealous,” he said as if it were a joke, but he wasn’t smiling.
“Should I be?” Kate asked.
“Of course not,” he said. “We were neighbors. She was the girl next door, and she moved away when we were just kids.”
“You looked awfully close, there on the bench.”
Conor put his arms around her and held her very tight. Then he gave her that devilish Irish grin that always turned her inside out. “That wasn’t close,” he said. “Thisis close.” He kissed her, softly at first, then as if he wanted to take her upstairs to their suite.
“Excuse me,” a voice said.
Kate and Conor broke apart, and she saw a young woman standing there. She looked about Sam’s age—twenty-one or so—and she had dark-blond hair, a golden tan, and startling blue eyes. She wore a maxi dress with white and indigo flowers that complemented her eyes. Kate noticed that her fingernail polish was turquoise, the same color as Belinda’s.
“I’m Suzanne,” she said.
“Hi,” Kate said. Then, with a slight question in her voice, “The calligrapher?”
“Yes. I’m so sorry to interrupt,” Suzanne said, sounding anxious. Her eyes lingered on Conor, then looked away. “All your guests have arrived. Maeve asked me to find you.”
“Thanks,” Kate said. Suzanne nodded and ran upstairs ahead of them.
Kate’s chest tightened; something about the girl—not just her nail polish—had unsettled her, and the feelings that had swept over when she’d seen Conor with Belinda rushed back. She grabbed Conor’s hand.
In that moment, she had a powerful urge to skip the party, to be alone with him. She had a bizarre premonition that if they went to the dinner, everything would change.
