Mom, I know you were fucking my boyfriend.
Mom, did you try to murder Michael?
It was all too surreal.
Summer walked across the tarmac in a daze, retrieving her luggage and bracing herself for the arrivals terminal. She did her best to compose herself before the electric double doors whooshed open and she found herself standing in a sea of smiling faces. Everyone was wearing the Vineyard uniform of khaki shorts and button-down shirts, waiting for their friends and relatives to arrive as if this were a normal day, as if the world hadn’t stopped spinning. Summer scanned the crowd. She couldn’t see her dad. Annoyance mixed with relief—at least she wouldn’t have to break the news to him yet. But as she walked out to the taxi stand, there was Arnie, panting as he ran toward the terminal. Catching sight of Summer, he slowed down, walking up to her and pulling her into a bear hug.
“Sorry, baby.”
He smelled of aftershave and coffee and cigars—the dad smell. Despite her best efforts, Summer started tearing up again.
“So good to have you back,” said Arnie, mopping the sweat from his brow. “Do me a favor. Promise not to tell your mother I was late.”
And in that instant Summer realized: I can’t tell him. At least not until I’ve talked to Mom. Not until I know the truth for sure. It’ll totally destroy him.
“Hi, Dad. It’s good to see you too.” She tried to hold them back but it was impossible. There, in her father’s arms, the tears began to flow uncontrollably.
Arnie looked horrified. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”
Everything.
“Nothing. I guess I’ve just really missed you, that’s all.”
“Oh, honey. Mom and I have missed you too. But you’re here now. Don’t cry. Come on.” Arnie picked up Summer’s suitcase in one hand and took her arm with the other. “The Jeep’s just outside. Let’s get you home.”
Alexia looked at Lucy’s bulging rucksack with alarm.
“What on earth have you got there? You look like you’ve packed for the North Pole.”
“It’s only a picnic,” said Lucy.
“For who? An invading army?”
“I may have brought along a few other essentials. One should always come prepared.”
Alexia felt anything but prepared. She’d arrived on the island the previous night. Jet lag was still dulling her reactions, making her feel foggy. It had all seemed so straightforward back in England. She would fly back to the Vineyard, tell Lucy what she’d discovered in New York—that Arnie’s company, HM Capital, had deliberately driven Billy Hamlin out of business—and ask her what she knew. Simple.
Only it wasn’t simple. Now that she was here, actually with Lucy, Alexia realized the full implications of what she was about to ask. This was Arnie they were talking about. Lucy’s husband. The man she loved. Alexia was about to suggest that he was implicated, not just in threats and extortion, but in murder too. Lucy would have every right to tell Alexia to stick her theories where the sun didn’t shine.
And really, why should she believe me? At this point I’m not sure if I believe myself.
Alexia had known Arnie Meyer for as long as she’d known his wife. She could imagine him being tough in business, even underhanded if the situation demanded it. But she couldn’t picture him as some sort of psychopath, making threatening phone calls using a voice distorter, pursuing some unknown vendetta, kidnapping and murdering innocent people. Then again, after everything she’d learned about her own husband in the last year, Alexia no longer fully trusted her own judgment.
I won’t accuse him of anything. I’ll put the facts to Lucy. Calmly. Rationally. Dispassionately.
She watched as Lucy laced up her hiking boots, applied sunscreen and insect spray and checked their water bottles. One look at Lucy Meyer’s open, round, makeup-free face reminded Alexia forcefully that her friend’s world was very different from her own. Alexia had become so used to drama and tragedy in the last two years nothing shocked her anymore. But Lucy’s world was still as it had always been: simple and safe and normal and predictable. The very idea that Arnie might have known Billy Hamlin would sound preposterous to her, never mind the thought of him setting out to do Billy and his family harm.
Because it is preposterous. None of this makes sense.
Lucy smiled. “Ready?”
No. Not remotely.
“Ready. Where are we going, by the way?”
Lucy looked at Alexia cryptically. “It’s a surprise. You’ll see.”
They turned left off of Pilgrim Road, toward the center of the island. Here salt marshes and cranberry bogs were intersected by an apparently limitless maze of sandy tracks, none of them sign-posted. Occasionally other hikers would appear on one of the paths, or four-wheel-drive vehicles would bounce past, their tires partially deflated so they could drive on the dunes. But mostly the whole area was deserted, save for the deer and rabbits that were to be found everywhere on the island.
Lucy walked in front, occasionally consulting her map or stopping to sip from her water bottle. She looked over her shoulder every now and then, smiling at Alexia, checking she was okay. But she made no attempt at conversation. Alexia was the one who had proposed this hike, who had said repeatedly that she needed to talk. Lucy assumed she would do so when she was ready.
An hour passed, then two. It was past noon now and the sun, pleasantly warm earlier in the morning, now blazed above the two women with a punishing heat. Alexia had never been to this part of the island before. She could hear the ocean, the waves crashing wildly against the cliffs, and realized they must be approaching the north shore. Currents were stronger on this side of the island, and the tides were unpredictable. As always, the sounds of the sea frightened her, calling her back to another time, another beach that would always be with her.
“Do you think we could rest for a moment?” she shouted ahead to Lucy. “It’s so hot.”
“Sure,” Lucy called back. “Let’s just get through the moor here to the top of the cliffs. There’s a bench there where we can sit.”
The “bench” turned out to be a roughly hewn log, plunked unceremoniously down about fifteen feet from the cliff’s edge. It wasn’t a sheer drop in front of them. A steep, rocky path that looked like it had been made by deer rather than humans wound down from the clearing to a hidden cove below. But they were elevated enough to have spectacular views across the sound toward Nantucket. Thick gorse and heather moorland stretched behind them as far as the eye could see, just as the blue water rolled out endlessly in front. It made Alexia feel as if she were perched on the edge of the world.
Sinking down gratefully onto the log, Alexia took a long, deep drink of water. Lucy did the same. Suddenly, here in this peaceful, isolated place, Alexia felt ready to talk.
“There’s something I need to ask you about.”
“I figured. The call from London, when you said you really needed to talk to me and to arrange some time alone? That kind of tipped me off.”
Alexia tried to smile but she couldn’t. “It’s . . . not easy.”
“I figured that too.”
“I wouldn’t want you to take this the wrong way.”
Lucy frowned. “Alexia. After all the things you’ve told me over the years, you really think I’m going to freak out on you now? Come on. You know you can tell me anything.”
“It’s about Arnie.”
Lucy couldn’t hide her surprise. “Arnie?”
“Yes. When I was in New York, I met with Jennifer Hamlin’s mother. Billy’s ex-wife.”
“I know. You said. Sally. She was the one who made you decide to forgive Teddy.”
Wow. She must really have been listening at Elaine’s.
“That’s right. She was the one who told me about the threatening phone calls Billy had complained about. She also gave me a bunch of information, contacts and stuff, from when Billy’s mechanics business was still going.”
“Okaaay.” Lucy looked confused.
“Th
e calls from the crazy Bible basher began during the period that Hamlin’s went bankrupt,” Alexia explained, “so she thought there might be a link. Well, it turns out there was.”
Lucy waited.
“The link was a company called HM Capital. Do you know it?”
“Sure. That’s one of Arnie’s businesses.”
“Exactly. I saw his name on the directors’ list. Later I asked Teddy about it, and he told me that Arnie was the founder-owner.”
“That’s right,” said Lucy.
She didn’t seem angry or ruffled so far. Encouraged, Alexia went on.
“Okay. So over a period of two years, HM Capital systematically set about poaching Billy Hamlin’s clients and buying out his suppliers. There are too many connections for it to be a coincidence, especially given that the company had zero involvement in the automotive sector either before or after that time. As crazy as it sounds, Arnie wanted to ruin Billy Hamlin. And he succeeded.”
Lucy was quiet, apparently taking this information in.
“So my question is, why? Can you think of any connection, any connection at all, that Arnie might have had with the Hamlin family? However tenuous?”
Lucy shook her head. “No. I really can’t.”
“Please try,” Alexia pleaded. “There must be something. This is serious, Luce. Billy’s daughter and his business partner, Milo Bates, were both murdered.”
“I know that,” Lucy said calmly.
“When I told you about Billy Hamlin coming to find me in London, the last time we walked out to this side of the island . . . when I told you about my past . . . had you ever heard his name before?”
Lucy was smiling, but it was a strange smile. There was something off about it, something unfamiliar and not quite right.
“Maybe Arnie mentioned him?”
“Arnie never mentioned him.”
Lucy stood up and began pacing slowly back and forth, between the cliff edge and the bench.
Alexia wondered if Lucy was angry. If she’d somehow gone too far in mentioning Arnie. She tried to backtrack.
“I’m not accusing Arnie of anything. It may be he had nothing to do with the phone calls, or the murders. I don’t know.”
“You’re not accusing him,” Lucy repeated robotically.
Something was definitely wrong. Had Lucy gotten too much sun?
“But Arnie’s company’s name popping up like that, not just once but multiple times, everywhere. It can’t just be a coincidence. There must be some form of link.”
“Of course there must!”
Lucy laughed loudly, but there was no joy in the sound. It was more of a cackle, bordering on the hysterical. She was squatting on her haunches now, rummaging in her backpack. Alexia thought. Good. She clearly needs some water. And some food. The shock must have been too much for her. Either that or we’re both getting too old for midday hikes through . . .
Her thoughts trailed off.
Lucy Meyer had pulled out a gun. Pointing it right between Alexia’s eyes, she had stopped laughing. Hatred blazed out of her like light from the sun.
“It’s you, Alexia, don’t you see? You’re the link. Although I must start calling you by your real name. Toni. Antonia Louise Gilletti, sly, scheming, hateful bitch that you are ! Everything that happened, all the death, all the pain—it was all because of you.”
Chapter Forty
Summer Meyer threw her bag down on her bed, then lay down wearily beside it. She felt desperately tired, but not the kind of tired that would ever lead to sleep. Instead her body twitched with the restless exhaustion of the emotionally shattered. Staring at the ceiling, which was still half covered in glow stars from her childhood, she felt as wired and tearful as junkie in withdrawal.
I have to talk to Mom.
Arnie had told her in the car that Lucy had left on a hike this morning and wasn’t expected back till late afternoon. “She’s with Alexia.”
This brought Summer up short. “What do you mean? Alexia’s in England.”
“Nope. She’s with your mother.”
“Dad, she’s been all over the news in the UK. This business with Teddy. I saw her on TV.”
“Yes, well, all I can tell you is she telephoned your mother and said she had something important to discuss with her. So important it couldn’t be dealt with over the phone, apparently. She flew in last night.”
This threw a major wrench in the works. When Summer confronted her mother, it had to be alone. She would tell Alexia, of course. Alexia had the right to know the truth about her son’s relationship with her so-called best friend. But there was no way Summer could say what she had to say in front of an audience.
On the other hand, the idea of waiting until nightfall was unbearable. She already felt stretched to a breaking point. Six more hours and she’d be foaming at the mouth.
Not sure what else to do, she took a shower, brushed her teeth, and changed into cooler, more comfortable clothes: a pair of cutoff jeans and a thin cotton shirt from James Perse.
“You look cute, honey.” Arnie smiled warmly as she came downstairs. “Shall I get Lydia to make us a late lunch?”
“No thanks, Dad. I couldn’t eat.”
“What do you mean you couldn’t eat. You have to eat, Summer. Are you sure nothing’s the matter?”
“I’m fine, Dad. A bit nauseous, that’s all.”
“You’re not pregnant, are you?”
“Pregnant? Jeez, Dad, no! How could I possibly be pregnant?”
“Well, go sit outside, then, and Lydia will bring you out some cheese and fruit. You can manage that much at least.”
Protest was clearly useless. Summer walked toward the kitchen door.
“Oh, by the way, your mom left this for you.” Arnie handed her an envelope on her way out. “She asked me to give it to you as soon as you landed, but I forgot. Don’t tell her, okay?”
“What is it?”
“Beats me. I usually find, with envelopes, the mystery becomes clearer when you open ’em.”
In normal circumstances, Summer would have laughed at that. Now she took the envelope in silence and walked away.
Arnie Meyer thought, There’s something wrong with that girl. What the hell’s gotten into the women in my family today?
“Get up.”
Lucy Meyer held the gun steady. Her voice was normal again, the same soft singsong that Alexia knew so well. All traces of her earlier hysteria were gone, replaced by a chilling calm. She means business.
Alexia stood up.
“You know, for someone so smart, someone who made it to the top of their game, you can be damned stupid sometimes.”
“That’s probably true. I—”
“Stop talking!” Lucy commanded. “I’m talking. Over there.” She jerked the pistol in the direction of the cliff edge. Slowly, Alexia walked to where she was directed until she heard Lucy say, “Stop.”
“I think the funniest part of all of this has to be you pointing the finger at Arnie. ‘I’m not accusing him of anything.’” Lucy mimicked Alexia’s accent perfectly. “That’s just flat-out hilarious. As if you, YOU, who killed an innocent child, are in a position to accuse anyone of anything! You smug, entitled, self-righteous bitch.”
“You who killed an innocent child.” Alexia’s mind raced.
“This is about Nicholas Handemeyer.”
“That’s right,” Lucy said simply. “Nicholas Handemeyer. The little boy you left to drown. He was my brother.”
Summer ran into the house, Lucy’s letter still in her hand.
“Where did they go, Dad?”
Arnie was slicing bread at the kitchen counter. “Where did who go?”
“Mom!” Summer practically screamed. “Mom and Alexia! Where are they? We need to find them, now! Right now.”
“Calm down, honey.” Arnie rested a hand on her shoulder. “I don’t know where they are exactly. Somewhere on the north of the island. What’s the panic about?”
Summer handed h
im Lucy’s letter. After a few seconds she watched the blood drain from his face.
“Jesus Christ,” he whispered. “Call the police.”
Summer was already dialing.
“But . . . your maiden name wasn’t Handemeyer.” Alexia spoke without thinking. As frightened as she was, her need to understand, to know the truth, was overpowering. “It was Miller.”
“That’s right. Very good,” said Lucy. Finishing her bottle of drinking water, she dropped it on the ground. “Bobby Miller was my high school sweetheart. We married at eighteen. It only lasted six months, but I kept the name. Handemeyer held too many sad memories by then. Terrible memories.” She lifted the gun again, shaking the barrel at Alexia like an angry fist. “Do you have any idea, any idea, what you did to my family? You and Billy Hamlin?”
Alexia said nothing. Her eyes were fixed on the gun.
“Nicko was the sweetest kid in the universe, so trusting, so darling. It broke us all when he died, but my mom . . .” Tears filled Lucy’s eyes. “My mom was shattered. She never recovered. She killed herself two years later, on the anniversary of Nicko’s death. Did you know that? Hung herself in our barn with Nick’s old jump rope.”
Alexia shook her head in mute horror. She remembered Mrs. Handemeyer from Billy’s trial. Ruth. How dignified and gracious she’d been in the courtroom. How pretty she was, with her butterscotch hair and brown eyes, so like her dead son’s. She tried to remember Lucy back then, but drew a total blank. There had been a sister at the trial, a girl clasping the mother’s hand. But Alexia hadn’t focused on her at all. She couldn’t bring her face to mind now.
“Dad died less than a year after. His heart just cracked. You took everything from me. And you thought I was just gonna sit back and let you disappear, dance off into the sunset and live happily ever after, without paying for what you’d done? Of course, for decades, the longest time, I didn’t know it was you. Like everyone else, I thought Billy Hamlin murdered my brother. He was the one I needed to punish.”