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Tom and Emma continue out of town and soon afterward Tom turns the car to the right and heads uphill. When Emma rolls down her window, she’s greeted by the smell of the ocean and the scent of endless bayberry bushes.
And then, up on a rise, the house is in sight, the small one-story home Tom swore she wouldn’t like, but that she finds enchanting. It’s constructed of unfinished wood and features a vaulted roof and wraparound covered porch that reminds of her pictures she’s seen of old Australian farmhouses. There’s also a tiny outbuilding Tom uses as an office. Though the rooftops of neighboring homes are visible in the distance, the immediate area has a secluded, remote feel.
“Wow,” Emma says as she unfolds herself from the car and gazes at the endless Atlantic. “I forgot just how fantastic the view is.”
“It never gets old for me,” Tom says, staring out. “Hey, what do you say we eat soon? I’m famished.”
“Sure, I think we need an early night.”
They spring into action, grabbing their bags and the cooler from the trunk and lugging them into the house.
The layout is as simple as the exterior suggests—an open kitchen, dining and living area, with a bedroom on either end. As soon as they set down their belongings, Emma noticesthat everything has been recently cleaned to sparkling, including the glass doors with their stunning view of the ocean.
“Why don’t I cook,” Tom says, starting to unpack the cooler.
“You sure?”
“Yeah. I need to make a call or two later from the landline in my office, so it’ll be nice to have a diversion now. Give me thirty minutes.”
“Okay. And I can use this time to check in with Eric.”
After carrying their overnight bags into the larger of the two bedrooms, Emma returns to the veranda and steps down into the garden on the south side of the house. As she reaches the spot where she’d had luck with cell service on her other visit, she finds a few bars displayed on her phone and places a call to Eric. It’s six on the dot, so she’s surprised when she reaches his voice mail.
She turns her attention back to the garden. Since Tom’s been renting out the house, he hasn’t been as fastidious about it, but the overgrown patches of wildflowers and blackberry bushes only add to the lush mysteriousness of the setting. Emma lowers herself to sit on one of the boulders at the end of the garden, grateful for the emotional comfort the spot provides.
And she needs comfort. Though she’s put her concerns about Tom to rest, the days of endless worry have drained her, and she can’t believe how much has unfolded this week—the bombshell from Lilly, Taylor’s death, Justine’s arrest, and now the disturbing revelation Brittany dumped on her. Tom’s going to be beside himself when he hears what his stepdaughter did.
As Emma thinks back to her conversation with Brittany, she realizes something else. Brittany spent a huge amount of time with Taylor, which means she might have an inkling of why the chief of staff ran afoul of Justine—and if so, it might be contributing to her anguish about Taylor’s death. Someone is going to have to tell the police about the relationship, for Brittany’s own sake.
A thought stirs in her mind, slightly out of reach, something about Taylor. She recognizes its outlines from when it started to form on the ferry ride, but she has no better luck this time grabbing hold.
Her phone rings and she assumes it’s Eric, but when she pulls it from her pocket, she sees a Maine number she doesn’t recognize.
“Is this Emma Hawke?”
“Yes, who’s calling?” she answers, struggling to a standing position.
“This is Stacey Manning. You left a message on LinkedIn for me?”
Of course, Stacey, Tom’s former number two. It feels like months ago that Emma reached out to her.
“Thanks so much for calling back.”
“Sorry to track you down at the start of the weekend, but my mom’s in hospice care, and these days I only have a few minutes here and there.”
“Oh, gee, I’m so sorry to hear that, and we can certainly talk at another time. I wanted to pick your brain a little—about, um, stepping off the treadmill.”
Emma can barely call up the lie she’d written in the LinkedIn message.
“Would you mind if we did postpone it? It’s a subject I’d actually love to chat about. I left for Maine to be with my mom when she started to fail and I’m so grateful to have had these past couple of years with her.”
“Absolutely. Just reach out whenever you can, Stacey.”
“Will do. I hope everything’s good at Halliday. I’m not very connected to the place anymore, but Tom and I spoke at one point last year, and he sounded deliriously happy to have met you.”
It doesn’t seem like the news about Taylor’s death or Justine’s arrest has reached Stacey yet, and Emma decides that this isn’t the moment to burden her with it.
“Ah, good to know. And I’ve heard such wonderful things aboutyou, Stacey. I’m sorry we never had the chance to meet.”
“Same here. Though we’ve actually been in each other’s company once.”
“When I first came to Halliday?”
“No, I’d left for Maine by the time you got there. It was before that—in Manhattan.”
Emma’s chest compresses, a breath trapped inside.
“Really?” she says.Please no, she prays.
“Yes, Tom and I heard you on a panel once. At the Harvard Club.”
