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“No,” Quinn said, “I didn’t know. Beckett hasn’t said much to me about her. That sounds really impressive. But isn’t that more, uh, practical? It’s not research or anything, right?” She hoped she sounded lowbrow enough. A little contempt would probably be good here.
“Some would think so,” Christine said. “But science is ever-changing, and you have to keep up. I was an art historian myself, and even there, theories evolve. I’m not fully retired, either, although of course I’m younger than Colin. You never really retire when your life’s work is also your passion.”
“Oh,” Quinn said, and blinked stupidly. Which was easy, because she was seriously tired. “So what do you think happened to Abby? I heard about the … the Xanax. I’m sorry to bring it up, but I have to ask. She drove into the river. Do you think that was an accident?”
“No,” Christine said. “I think he killed her.” She didn’t say it in the same way she’d laid out the rest of her conversation, as delicately as embroidery stitches. She slammed it right down on the table.
“Gosh,” Quinn said. “Really? Wow. I didn’t—”
“Oh, he wasn’t driving the car,” Christine said. “But Abby was brilliant. A shining talent. A shining young woman in every way. She made all her achievements seem … effortless. And now she was taking medication just to get through the day?”
“She was?” Quinn asked. “I mean, she did take that medicine? See, Beckett said she didn’t have a prescription for it. I thought that was a little fishy. How else would she have gotten it? I thought maybe he was in denial, because if shewastaking it …”
Christine said, “She didn’t confide in me about that. She’d never have complained to me about Beckett. She insisted that she loved her life, and if I tried to ask more, she cut me off. Pride, of course. Not wanting to admit that she may have made a mistake. But if she took that medication before driving in those conditions, and along with alcohol, it must have been habitual. She was too well educated not to know the effect it could have. How much was she drinking, too? Suddenly, we had to ask ourselves, but too late. We’d never worried abouther.We’d never—”
“That’s right,” Quinn said. “You have another daughter, don’t you? You must be a really good mom, if Abby turned out that well. I’m glad you still have Abby’s sister. I’ll bet she’s really smart, too, huh?”
She thought she’d overdone it, because Christine looked sharply at her, probably thinking,Well,you’rea perfect match for Backwoods Beckett, anyway.“Samantha is wonderful, too, of course,” she said. “In her own way.”
Quinn took a sip of tea. “This is great tea. Thanks. I was on the plane a long time. So she isn’t in, uh, academics?”
“No,” Christine said. “Samantha joined the military rather than pursuing her education. The Air Force.”
“Oh,” Quinn said. “Is she a pilot? Well, that’s—”
Christine’s lips compressed. “No. An air-traffic controller.”
“Wow,” Quinn said. “That’s a really hard job. Is she older, or younger? I mean, was she. Having a sister must be nice. Supportive. I only have a brother.”
“Three years younger,” Christine said. “Abby was very supportive, yes. Helping her sister with her schoolwork, walking with her to school, advising her about clothes and makeup. Abby always had excellent taste, even as a girl, and she could set Samantha right when she was being influenced by her friends to go too far. Better than I could, because teen girls do tend to resent advice from their mums. Some girls.”
“Maybe I’m glad I don’t have a sister,” Quinn said. “I think I’d have been jealous if she’d been that perfect.”
Christine said, “Excuse me?”
“Oh, sorry,” Quinn said. “I was just thinking out loud. So you think Beckett just sort of … messed up Abby’s life. Kind of dragged her down to his level.”
“I wouldn’t put it that crudely,” Christine said, “but yes.”
“So hedidn’tkill her. Just stressed her out, or whatever. Even though he’s really fun. Really hot. That’s probably what she liked.”
Christine stood up. “That’s all the time I have, I’m afraid.”
“I’m sorry,” Quinn said, standing up herself, “did I say the wrong thing? My mom’s always telling me to be more tactful. I guess I’m not much of a lady. I’m from Montana.”
“Never mind,” Christine said, walking to the front door and opening it. “You and Beckett may be a better match. I’d just ask you to do one thing.”
“What’s that?” Quinn asked.
“Ask him to consider sending the children to us,” Christine said. “That will be much easier for the two of you, don’t you think? You can start your new life together from scratch. Having fun.” And shut the door.
* * *
Beckett jerkedawake to the sound of tapping beside his ear. He blinked, turned, and pressed the horn by accident. Then he recovered and punched the lock. “Well?” he asked, when Quinn had slid into the car.
“I did want to cool off,” Quinn said, “but you could freeze ice cubes on that woman. And now here you are, you hooligan, honking and destroying her perfect neighborhood.” She yawned. “I wanted to scratch myself and burp. She brought out all my inner Montana. Not that I learned much.”
“So she hasn’t changed,” Beckett said, putting the car in gear and pulling out.
