But h.e.l.l do it. For Kylah.

Because if he doesnt do itif he doesnt start stepping uphes going to lose her.

If you dont make it back here for the wedding, Kylah says tearfully, then you can go to the apartment instead, and you can pack up all your stuff. Just make sure youre gone before I get back.

Ill be at the wedding, Kylah. I promise you.

Another pause.

Then, Are you in love with someone else, Isaac?

Yes. But its not what you think. Not at all.

CHAPTER 15.

The church is quintessential New England: white clapboard and stained gla.s.s, its steeple rising majestically against a backdrop of glorious peak foliage and a cloudless sky that is precisely the shade of Matilda Harringtons eyes.

The throng of press and curious onlookers is held at bay behind police barricades.

There is no funeral procession, no hea.r.s.e, no casket.

According to the newspaper reports that gleefully dredged up the familys tragic past, there was none of that for Matildas mother and brother, either, twenty-five years ago. Their bodies were incinerated in the crash; there were no remains.

Matildas savaged corpse has yet to be released to the family. When it is, reportedly Jason Harrington will have his only daughter cremated and the ashes buried in the family plot in Brookline.

Standing beneath a dappled canopy of red maple leaves, Quincy surveys the crowd of mourners making their exit down the broad brick steps. Deb and Mike are posted nearby, doing the same thing.

First to emerge from the church, as soon as the double doors opened, was Jason Harrington. Bostons answer to Donald Trump looked wan and ravaged, supported by his loyal friend, the celebrated Troy Allerson, by his side.

They kept moving, their faces veiled by the requisite dark shades as the press snapped photos and shouted their names. Holding Allersons hand was his striking young wife, head bent, wiping tears from behind her own sungla.s.ses. The three of them disappeared into a limousine that immediately drove off toward the Harrington mansion.

Now the remaining well-heeled contingent, similarly clad in dark designer clothes and sungla.s.ses, is slowly making its way toward the line of waiting town cars stretching down the street.

The others mingle on the sidewalk in the unseasonably hot Indian summer sunshine, hugging, weeping, chatting in muted tones.

Quincy watches them carefully, wondering if Tildys mystery lovera.s.suming Ray Wilmington was telling the truthmight be among them.

Her e-mail account yielded a confirmed reservation for the Glenwood Springhouse in Central Ma.s.sachusetts this weekendwhich explains the cryptic G.S. entry in her date book. Obviously, the letters werent initials after all, but shorthand for her weekend getaway plans.

She had reserved the inns Weekend Romance package, which means she probably wasnt planning on a solo escape.

Was her boyfriend planning to join her? And why was she so secretive about her relationship?

Quincy has a couple of good theories: either he was married, or dirt poor, and thus unsuitable. Or all of the above.

A sudden brisk breeze kicks up, stirring the branches overhead.

Maybe, Quincy thinks, Ray really did kill Matilda in a fit of jealousy over her secret boyfriend.

Or maybe hes a psycho stalker who killed her and then made up the secret boyfriend story.

Or maybe her secret boyfriend does exist and killed her himself, in a fit of rage.

Quincy isnt ruling out any of those scenariosor anything else, at this stage.

A hired killer, say, if it was premeditatedand the lack of fingerprints at the scene suggests that it was.

Then again, Quincy cant help but acknowledge that a hit man would have stopped at the mortal blow to the victims head. Youre in, youre out. You dont hang around before or after to stage a scene; you dont leave anything behind.

He studies the crowd of mourners intently, zeroing in on every face for some slight but telltale anomaly.

So Was it someone else?

Someone who knew her well enough to be present today?

Someone who is, at this very moment, expertly feigning grief and masking guilt?

Someone who Quincys thoughts break off abruptly.

He squints into the sun, then shades his eyes with his hand to be sure hes seeing what he thinks hes seeing.

Yes. Without a doubt.

And the Harrington murder case has just taken a drastic turn in an entirely new direction.

As another gust permeates the warm sunshine falling on her hair and shoulders, Ca.s.sie shivers, disproportionately chilled to the bone.

Standing here at the foot of the church steps, she cant help but feel as though someone is watching her. Someone who knows about that night ten years agoand that Ca.s.sies birthday is tomorrow.

Every time she thinks of it, she feels physically ill.

What if ?

No. Stop. For now, anyway.

Shes gone over the endlesswhat ifs nonstop for over a week now.

Alec offered to join her for the memorial service this morning, as did her mother. Her fiances motives were undoubtedly pure, unlike her mothers, but she turned them both down unequivocally.

She did it over the phone, because thats always easier than face-to-face, and because she hasnt seen a soul in days. Alec is at the end of his rope, demanding to see her, demanding that she get some help. He says it isnt normal to react this way, even to your friends murder.

But he doesnt know the whole story.

Barricaded in her condo for the past week, the new alarm system set and the shades drawn, she has yet to return to her pediatric residency. At this point, she doubts sh.e.l.l be welcomed back with open arms.

She hasnt returned a series of increasingly curt phone calls from the staff, including Dr. Prevatt, in a few days now.

But sooner or later, sh.e.l.l have to return to the land of the living. Shes been telling herself she just has to get through today, and then sh.e.l.l be able to function again.

Todayand tomorrow.

After that, sh.e.l.l start picking up the pieces, salvaging what she can from her employment and her relationship.

Are you okay? Brynn asks in a low voice, standing beside her, looking surprisingly put-together in a black crepe dress and low heels.

Sort of. Areyou okay? Ca.s.sie returns.

Same as you. This is surreal.

For a moment, they watch Fiona chat with a well-dressed businessman she met while they were both sneaking a curbside smoke earlier, before the service.

Now, as Fee exchanges business cards with him, Ca.s.sie murmurs, Some things just arent sacred with her, are they?

Brynn flashes a tight-lipped smile. What, you mean networking at a funeral isnt acceptable behavior?

It wasnt a funeral, it was a memorial service, Fiona declares, rejoining them. And he owns a chain of paint stores thats branching out into western Ma.s.sachusetts. Hes thinking of hiring a publicist, so She shrugs.

Neither Ca.s.sie nor Brynn comments.

What is there to say? Fiona will always be Fiona.

Im going to get going, Ca.s.sie decides, taking her car keys from her purse.

Why dont we all go somewhere and get some lunch? Brynn suggests. Because we still need to talk about Shh! Fiona cuts her off, looking around.

I really have to get back. Ca.s.sie jangles her keys, nerves fraying.

Brynn touches her hand. Listen, you need to be careful, Ca.s.sie. I mean it. Tomorrow is I know. She swallows hard and is surprised to hear herself blurt, I was thinking of going someplace for a few days.

You were?

Yes, she was. She just didnt really acknowledge it until this very moment.

You mean going somewhere to hide? Fiona asks, and Ca.s.sie nods.

You can come home with me, Brynn offers promptly.

No, I mean someplace where n.o.body would ever think to look for me. Just until this blows over.

Maybe you should, Fiona tells her thoughtfully. If you know. If itll make you feel safer.

Ca.s.sie shrugs, uncertain anything could make her feel safe at this point.

Listen, if you do decide to go somewhere to wait it out, Ca.s.sie, do us a favor and call to check in. Okay? Brynn asks.

You know what? Im not going to do it, she says hurriedly. I mean, Im sure itll be fine. Theyve got a suspect.

Brynn shakes her head. Yes, but that doesnt mean But it probably does, Fiona cuts in, her expression hidden behind black sungla.s.ses. We just have to think that it does because what else can we do? And dont answer that, Brynn. Going to the police isnt an option.

Sidling up to Deb, Quincy gently elbows her in the ribs and tilts his head toward the nearby group of attractive college-aged women.

Take a look at that.

What is it? Following his gaze, Deb surveys the sorority girls who traveled here from the town where Matilda Harrington attended college.

It takes only an instant before her eyes widen and she curses softly.

Ive been watching everyone here, including them. How did I miss that?

They didnt put them on until the wind kicked up a few seconds ago, Quincy informs her, his eyes fastened on the identical sweaters a few of the girls have donned.

Sweaters that are precisely the shade of gray and red found in the sc.r.a.p of fabric the killer left behind with Matilda Harringtons corpse.

Obviously, Fee, we arent going to see eye to eye on this, Brynn says as they watch Ca.s.sie walk away.

Obviously not.

So which one of us gets her way? What do we do?

Nothing.

Then you get your way,Brynn thinks, shaking her head and breaking eye contact with Fiona.Because thats exactly what you want to do about this. Absolutely nothing.

She closes her eyes momentarily, rubbing them with her fist. Exhausted, nauseous, emotional, she wishes everything would just go away.

If only she could be home, right now, in bed, with the covers pulled over her head.

Well, she has a few more days to endure before that can even happen. Right now, she needs to convince Fiona that its wrong to keep hiding what they know after all these years, and then she needs to drive back out to the Cape and hug her children.

A lump clogs her throat at the mere thought of the boys. When she left this morning, they were happily eating waffles with her dad and Sue, who were full of plans for the day.

Brynn looks at her watch and realizes that theyve probably finished at the bowling alley by now, and have moved on to lunch at their favorite pizza place before the matinee movie theyre going to.

So she doesnt have to rush to get back out Suddenly, a familiar face catches her eye on the far end of the crowd, where the Zeta Delta Kappa sisters are waiting to board their rented minibus back to Cedar Crest.

That man she knows him.

But she cant place him.

Look over by those red bushes, Fee. Who is that?

Fiona glances in that direction and recognition registers on her face. Its Puffy.