I glance over at Blaire and frown without meaning to.
Blaire Kensington is way too overdressed for a seaside romp, with her cream linen pants and matching blazer, gold jewelry that catches the sun every time she moves, and heels that have no business being on a boat. She’s clutching her champagne flute like it’s a security blanket, and her knuckles are white because of it.
“I still can’t believe she’s gone,” Blaire says, and at least she sounds upset. “We were just talking about my engagement party last week. My fiancé Prestonand I are getting married next spring, and Brittany was helping with the planning. She had so many opinions.”At least his secret is safe now. Small mercies.
There it is—relief mixed with guilt, like she’s not sure if she’s allowed to feel grateful about something.
And did she sayhissecret? What secret?
Mental note: look into Preston and figure out what Brittany knew that has Blaire this relieved she’s dead.
Tamsin Rowe, the curvy woman with caramel highlights, is the only one who looks genuinely rattled. She’s in head-to-toe athleisure—expensive athleisure, the kind that most people make monthly payments to own—and she keeps checking her phone like she’s expecting bad news. Her leg is bouncing, and there’s a thin sheen of sweat on her forehead that has nothing to do with the heat.
“Brittany could be difficult,” Tamsin says with a short-lived smile, “but she didn’t deserve this.”Marcus keeps texting. What if someone finds out? What if I’m next?
Her thoughts are jagged and panicked, darting around like a trapped bird. She glances at Sloane and then quickly looks away, and I file that interesting exchange away for later.
And there’s Marcus again. A third mention of him in two days and I still have no idea who he is.
That tall leggy blonde who was having a tiff with Brittany yesterday is here as well, and since we haven’t met yet, I take the initiative.
“Hi, I’m Bizzy,” I say, holding out a hand her way, and she gives a little shake. Her fingers are ice-cold despite the triple digit temps we seem to be having. It could be worse. She could be melting like the rest of us.
She inches back and blinks. “Oh right! Nice to meet you.I’m Kennedy Mills. I saw you at the inn last night. I guess it’s your inn. It’s actually lovely.”
“Thank you,” I say, surprised she’s refreshingly sweet. Or at least seemingly so.
Kennedy Mills is trying so hard to blend in it’s almost painful to watch. She’s in a sundress that’s two seasons out of date, and she’s laughing too loud at everything everyone says. She’s got Biscuit Gravy with her, sitting at her feet with a devotion that lets us know he’d put his life on the line to defend her.
Unless, of course, she’s the killer. Then he should absolutely bite her ankle.
“I’m sorry about your friend.”
Friend?Kennedy blinks away the thought. “Yes, thank you. Oh, it’s just awful,” she says, nodding enthusiastically. “I mean, who would do something like that? To one of us?”
At least the blackmail stops. But now what? Should I tell someone? Would they even believe me?
The tiny dog in her arms gives a few quick barks.
I can’t believe we’re on a big fancy boat surrounded by potential killers with nowhere to run or hide!Biscuit Gravy gives another quick bark like his anxiety is kicking in.But on the bright side, we’ve got snacks. SNACKS!
Sherlock barks and Biscuit Gravy joins the doggie chorus until Fish hisses at them both to stop.
Georgie leans over to Mom. “Which one of these Hashtag Harpies do you think did it? My money’s on the one in the fancy dress. She looks like she could snap at any moment.”
“Georgie,” Mom hisses, but she’s already eyeing Sloane like she’sabout to pull on a loose thread.
“What?” Georgie says at full volume. “I’m just saying, the quiet ones are always the most psychotic.”
Mackenzie shoots them a look that could make all of their hair fall out on cue. “This is supposed to be a healing circle. A safe space to process our grief.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?” one of the girls behind us mutters, and someone else snorts into their champagne.
Mackenzie takes a breath, clearly trying to salvage the moment. “You know what? Let’s change the subject. Let’s talk about something positive. Summer vacations! Where is everyone going this year?” She brightens immediately, like she just pulled the perfect topic out of thin air. “Huxley and I are spending two weeks in Santorini next month. There’s a business development conference, and we’re making a whole trip out of it. Sun, spa, incredible food—I cannot wait.”
Kennedy perks up. “Oh, that sounds amazing. I’ve always wanted to go to Greece.”
“You should,” Mackenzie says warmly. “It’s supposed to be absolutely stunning. What about you, Blaire? Any trips planned?”
