Chapter 5

I went up the grand staircase and took a look down the hall. The door to Vivienne's bedroom was open, as was the door to my room. In both rooms, the lights were on, and the sounds of movement came from each. A man called out, "Lauren, did you get more powder?"

"I told you to get it yourself." That was a woman. "Your legs aren't broken, are they?"

The man said a few choice words about what he (in a charming flash of misogyny) called "Women's libbers."

I ducked back into the stairwell and hurried down. If I'd been Will Gower, private investigator, I would have lucked out—the deputies would have been taking a smoke break, or they would have already finished processing the rooms, and one of them would be dozing lazily. But then, if I'd been Will Gower, my heart wouldn't have been beating as fast as a hummingbird's, and I wouldn't feel like I was about to enter the Guinness Book of World Records for being the first person to pass out and throw up at the same time.

When I reached the hall, I turned left and stepped into the servants' dining room. The room was brightly lit, and I realized I'd walked in on a group of people. Four people. Indira, the boy called Keme, Fox, and—

"DASH!"

I checked my ears for blood, which was a mistake because it gave Millie enough time to get free of her chair and crash into me with a hug.

"Let him go," Indira said. "Mr. Dane, are you all right? I wasn't sure I'd see you again."

I nodded. "I'm sorry I interrupted you."

"Not at all." The gap in the words was slight, but it was there. "Are you planning on staying at Hemlock House? I don't mean to be rude, but I would have thought—"

"We thought you were going to be in prison," Millie announced.

Fox choked on their coffee.

"I was going to say," Indira said with a look for Millie that Millie seemed oblivious to, "I would have thought you'd like to stay somewhere else."

"One of the deputies suggested I stay here." It wasn't exactly a lie. In fact, Deputy Bobby had pretty much decided for me. "Is that a problem?"

Indira shook her head slowly. "I assume that eventually, there will be considerations about the estate, but—no, Mr. Dane, that's not a problem."

"Dash, please."

"Would you like something to eat? Leftovers are in the fridge, or you're welcome to cake and coffee." She gestured at the spread in front of them—not only a beautifully iced layer cake, but chocolate chip cookies, a blueberry pie, and, for some reason, bacon. "I thought we could all use something sweet. The bacon is for Fox."

"I'm a slut for bacon," Fox said as though that explained everything.

"Actually—" My automatic reflex to flee any kind of social situation kicked in, the excuses piling up: I have a headache, I have to get some work done, I have to wash my hair. But I didn't. Maybe it was the fact that I wasn't thinking clearly after a long, horrible, confusing day. Maybe it was because I was tired and hungry and weak. Maybe it was simply because I was lonely. Instead, different words popped out of my mouth: "I'd love to."

I took a seat at the table. The servants' dining room was a good size, and even with five of us, it didn't feel cramped. It was homey, with a little cross-stitch sampler of what I thought might be huckleberries, a ceramic vase of little white roses on the table, and hooks near the door where several rain slickers hung. Even though it was quite possibly the only room in the house without a fireplace, it was snugly warm with what I guessed was the residual heat from Indira's baking. And it felt cozy, too. The vibe, for lack of a better word, of these people was good. They seemed to like each other. No, that wasn't quite right. They seemed like friends, even though they all seemed so different: Millie had to be twenty years younger than Indira and Fox, and Keme was at least a couple of years younger than her. But as soon as the word popped into my head, I knew it was right. They were friends. You could see it in the way Indira and Fox had taken Millie in stride, or the way Indira and Fox had talked about bacon, even the way Keme seemed to be a part of it, although the boy sat slightly back, removed from their circle.

"I didn't realize you all knew each other," I said as Indira loaded a plate with cake and then served coffee from a carafe. "How did you become friends?"

"Hastings Rock is a small town," Indira said with another of those neutral smiles. "If you'd like to take your food to one of the bedrooms, I can help you get set up for the night."

"Don't kick him out," Fox said. "He's interesting and new, and we're all so boring."

"And he's my best friend," Millie proclaimed. "We're all best friends, Dash. That includes you, too."

Keme made a face about that, and for some reason, it made Indira laugh.

"We're friends because we're the Last Picks," Fox said. I could hear how they said the words, the capital letters attached to them. "Like Indira said, Hastings Rock is a small town."

"Plus we love each other," Millie said.

Fox rolled their eyes. "That too."

"The Last Picks?" I asked.

Fox grinned. "You know, like the last picks in gym."

"Or for prom," Indira said drily.

"Or for your final presentation," Millie said, "and it's a group project, and someone even picks Robby Greaves before they pick you, even though Robby is suspended because he drew a—" She paused, her cheeks flooding with red. "—thing on the floor of the boy's locker room with a marker, and the group project is a PRESENTATION!"

I couldn't help it; a laugh escaped me. Fox's grin swept over their face again. Even Indira smiled, although it looked reluctant. Only Keme didn't. The boy's dark eyes were fastened on me, and his face was unreadable.

"I definitely qualify as a member," I said. "I've been a last pick pretty much my whole life."

"Nope," Millie said. "I don't believe it."

"I believe it," Fox said, and that made us all laugh again.

"I'm serious," I said. "For example, at the faculty party in the spring, we were supposed to play a trivia game. I didn't even qualify as a last pick—when they made the teams, nobody picked me. I mean nobody, not even when I was the last person. Finally, the department chair said she wouldn't play either so that the teams would be balanced."

At the time, it had been humiliating. Hugo had been furious when I'd told him. (In hindsight, I realize Hugo was probably furious for other reasons.) Fox burst out laughing, though, as did Millie, and even Indira gave a surprisingly genuine grin. Only Keme didn't, and now his expression wasn't unreadable. It was downright hostile.

The clarity of that dislike brought reality back: these people were being kind to me, but they—like Sheriff Jakes and the rest of the town—must have considered me the prime suspect for Vivienne's murder. And I hadn't come in here to eat cake and—I'd almost said make friends, but it had been so long since I'd made a friend that I wasn't sure I knew how. Anyway, I had a mission, and, I now realized, this was a golden opportunity.

"You must have been close with Vivienne," I said. "I can't imagine how hard this is."

Keme was still trying to murder me with nothing but his eyes, but Indira's face became strangely composed—that professional fa?ade I'd seen before, which I now realized covered a much more complicated woman. Fox, though, just snorted. And Millie, who clearly couldn't tell a lie to save her life, grimaced and stared down at the floor.

"Did I say something wrong?" I asked.

"No," Fox said.

"Not at all." Indira folded her napkin. "Vivienne's death is a tragedy."

Which didn't sound, I thought, like they'd been very close with her. Or that this was a particularly difficult situation for them. Indira made it sound like a tragedy in general. The way every murder was a tragedy.

"She was so kind to me," I said, "offering me this job, making sure I felt comfortable in the house. And, I mean, she was such a force, you know? Culturally, I mean. For decades."

Indira settled her newly folded napkin under her fork. Fox gazed off into the middle distance and played with one button of their vest.

"She gave me a job when nobody else would," Millie said. "Delivering her coffee."

"I can't stop thinking about what the sheriff asked me," I said. "He wanted to know if she'd had any personal conflicts, disputes, that kind of thing lately."

No one said anything for what felt like a long time. Then Fox shrugged.

"Or if she'd felt concerned for her safety," I said.

Keme stood so abruptly that his chair legs squeaked across the floor. He stormed to the door and disappeared into the darkness beyond, and the door crashed shut behind him.

"I'm sorry," Indira said. "Vivienne wasn't terribly kind to him, and I think he's still a bit upset that you said something to her. Not that you knew—I explained it to him."

I started to reply to that, but Fox was staring at me. Their mouth opened, and then, in a tone of disbelief, they said, "Are you interrogating us?"

"No!" But a full-body flush ran through me, stinging like pins and needles, and a distant part of me observed that Millie might not be the only one who couldn't lie. "I—"

Fox erupted in laughter. Millie started laughing too. They laughed so hard that they leaned against each other for support. Indira gave them a dirty look, but I could tell she was trying not to smile.

When they had finally recovered, I said, "I'm sorry."

"Oh God, don't be," Fox said. "Being suspected of murder is the first interesting thing that's happened to me in twenty years."

"Stop being so dramatic," Indira said.

"We only laughed," Millie said, "because we were going to try to interrogate you."

"You're not supposed to tell him!" Fox shouted, but they sounded amused more than angry. "Now I'm never going to weasel out all his secrets."

"None of us killed Vivienne," Indira said. She glanced at the door and added, "Keme spent the night at my place last night, and neither of us left."

Maybe Fox saw something on my face because they said in an undertone, "It's not like that. Keme just can't go home some nights; it's not safe." In a stronger voice, they added, "And I'm completely exonerated because I had a romantical guest."

"Oh my God," Millie said. "Not the lumberjack."

"Don't worry about my business."

"Fox, he's the worst."

"If you don't have anything nice to say, then don't say anything at all."

The expression on Indira's face told me she agreed with Millie, but she didn't say anything.

"Well, I was home all night," Millie said. "And I share a room with my sisters."

"There you go," Indira said, a little edge to her voice. "Does that satisfy you?"

"I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't mean—"

"She's upset because Keme's upset, and Keme's upset because—"

"Fox," Indira said.

Fox wrinkled their nose, but they stopped what they'd been about to say. "You want to figure out who really killed Vivienne so that you're off the hook. Yeah, we get it."

"Uh," I said, "not to sound rude, but you don't think I killed her?"

"Oh God no," Millie said. "You almost fainted when you had to decide what milk you wanted in your coffee."

"Hey!" The reaction slipped out of me before I could stop it, and I was surprised to see Millie—and Fox—grinning.

"You clearly didn't kill her," Indira said. "I saw you after you called the sheriff."

"I'm a little more skeptical, since you did have the amazing secret passage in your bedroom," Fox said, "but I'd still say I'm ninety percent certain you didn't kill her. You don't have the chutzpah."

"Thank you, I guess?"

"OH MY GOD!" Millie sat up, beaming again. "We can investigate together!"

"Oh no—" I tried.

"Finally," Fox said, cracking their knuckles. "I knew I didn't watch all twenty seasons of Law Order for nothing."

"I really don't think—"

"This is a terrible idea," Indira said.

"Yes, exactly—"

"But I don't think we have any other option."

"Well, see, I work best alone—"

"No," Fox said, "you don't."

"You clearly need help, dear," Indira said. "And you haven't touched your cake."

Will Gower was a lone wolf. The man always on the outside looking in. He worked on his own to solve cases entire teams of police officers couldn't unravel. That was part of what made him so compelling: the white knight who walked the darkness alone, his grit and resolve carrying him to the successful conclusion of each mystery. But, I thought, maybe, every once in a while, Will Gower needed help. Every once in a while, he was allowed to phone a friend. Or maybe he wasn't a loner—maybe he had a partner? His girl—or boy—or agender person—Friday? Or maybe a bunch of Fridays, and one of them had a tendency to shout directly in your ear. So, I was both surprised and not surprised at the next words out of my mouth.

"We need to get into Vivienne's office."