“She did everything she could to ruin our wedding ...”
“And she got killed instead.”
“By someone who thought she was me.”
Conor was silent for another minute. “Or maybe he didn’t think she was you. What if he meant for Belinda to die? What if she was the intended victim? The killer is someone passionate aboutBeauty and the Beast. I keep thinking ofPsycheand of that house on the island—there are so many references to his obsession. And when he killed Belinda, he left a rose imprint in her blood.”
“Or she,” Kate said. “It could have been a woman.”
“Possible,” Conor said. “What if it was Suzanne who did it?”
Kate considered that. “Her name tracks—it’s an homage to the author, to Gabrielle-Suzanne Barbot de Villeneuve. She might well have left a rose—in Belinda’s blood, but also at the hospital grave site.”
“Could they really have been mother and daughter?” Conor asked.
“I don’t know,” Kate said. “Maybe you should get the tooth and hair DNA tested.”
“I’m already on that. It was weird and disturbing to get them, but they weren’t associated with a crime, so I just stuck them in a drawer. I’ll get them to our lab.”
“Is there any way Suzanne would have intentionally murdered her own mother?” Kate asked.
Conor didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Kate knew that over the years he had worked on the worst, most unbelievable murder cases. So often the killer was someone who had once loved—or should have loved—the victim.
“I want to get a copy of that note we found on Tyler’s grave,” Kate said. “I should have made one myself, but I left it to Maeve. Maybe something in it—the 1740 reference—will make more sense considering what you found on the island.”
Kate texted Maeve:
Hi, I’m with Conor and want to show him that note. Can you send me a photo?
They drank another cup of coffee while waiting for her to respond. It took so long, Kate wondered if Maeve was sleeping late. The sun was fully up, and people were starting to stroll down to the beach. Kate checked her watch. It was almost nine, and Maeve was an early riser. Maybe she was all packed up, checking out of the hotel, possibly even on her way home. She could be taking the slashed Suydam painting to the conservator.
“She’s not answering?” Conor asked.
“No, and I’m surprised. She’s always got her phone with her.”
“Give her another minute,” Conor said.
“Maybe she’s already checked out,” Kate said. She met Conor’s eyes. The whole wedding party was supposed to check out today. “I guess we should too.” She stood up.
Conor didn’t answer. She wondered if he felt the way she did. They had spent the whole wedding weekend apart. This was the first time she’d started feeling as if they could be together again. She didn’t want to leave. She wanted to stay with him, right here in the Tower Suite.
“What are you thinking?” he asked, pushing his chair back and standing up.
“That Maeve might be on her way home,” Kate said. “Or maybe she’s already taking the painting to the conservator, to have it repaired.”
“I don’t mean about Maeve,” Conor said, taking a step closer to her. “Or the painting. I mean what are you thinking about us.”
“Don’t you already know?” she asked. She felt energy pouring off him, electricity that rocked her.
She took his hand and led him down the stairs, past the joyful Garrett PriceNew Yorkercovers, into the master bedroom. When she had packed for her wedding last week, anticipating the most important day of her life, she had folded each item perfectly, with great care. Yesterday, anticipating leaving the Ocean House, she had pulled out her suitcase and tossed everything into it. She hadn’t been at all careful; she had packed her clothes the way she felt—as if nothing mattered anymore.
But that was yesterday, she thought. Now everything mattered again: How quickly things could change. The bedroom, like the rest of the Tower Suite, had windows facing the ocean, all the way out to Watch Hill Point, and Montauk beyond, across Block Island Sound. She stared down at the waves, as if they were telling her the most wonderful story, and then she turned to Conor.
“Don’t you already know?” she asked again.
“About us?” he asked. “Yes, I do.”
“And I’m sorry that I forgot who we were for a while. Did you too?”
