Chapter 20 Saturday, 13 June 2026
The guests were getting restless. Around half of the group had been too antsy to eat dinner, and hunger was shortening already short tempers as the detectives conducted their seemingly endless stream of interviews.
After Ami had been escorted upstairs, Hannah had migrated from the library to the lounge, where she’d allowed herself a brief rest on the Chesterfield sofa by the fireplace, one of the club’s cashmere shawls pulled over her.
She’d been woken a few moments ago by a cringeworthy exchange between Beatrice and Alice, which began with Alice enveloping Beatrice in a sloppy hug and ended with Beatrice telling Alice to get lost. Another explosion of tears had followed, and Alice had rushed to the bathrooms.
At after three in the morning, everyone was at the end of their ropes – or had given up entirely.
Tyler Marsden had collapsed on the couch Hannah had vacated.
The low flames from the fire turned his skin gold, then tangerine, and his loud snores could be heard throughout the club.
Other guests curled into sofas and easy chairs in the library, or were slumped over tables in the lounge.
Edward and Elle sat at the bar, nursing fifth or sixth drinks and snacking on a fresh supply of nuts and truffle popcorn.
Hannah was now settled on the dining room floor beneath a landscape of the Long Island Sound.
Ami had returned from her interview a few minutes ago, and her head rested on Hannah’s shoulder.
She should really be trying to get a few moments with Bash, or trying Elle again, but Ami had drifted off, and she couldn’t bring herself to wake her little sister.
At a quarter after three, Bash stood at the bar and clapped his hands. After a few more attempts, a hush fell over the crowd.
‘I’ve just spoken with the detectives,’ he began. ‘I’m afraid it seems we’ll be here a while longer. With this—’
Disgruntled murmurs swelled all around. Bash waved his arms in the air, a half-hearted attempt to regain control. Everyone was spent, including Bash.
While the crowd grumbled, Hannah straightened up.
A while longer was good. It meant they didn’t have enough to make an arrest. She still had time.
In a moment, Edward was at his brother’s side, loudly clearing his throat.
Slowly, the murmurs began to die down. Beside her, Ami stirred and rubbed her eyes.
‘Thank you,’ Bash continued. ‘I’m truly sorry, but there’s nothing we can do about the timeline of the investigation.
But we’ll do our utmost to make the rest of your night comfortable.
Our staff will be coming around shortly with slippers and blankets, and the kitchen is working on a full breakfast buffet.
In the meantime, Chef Bernard will be setting up cheese and charcuterie boards in the dining room. ’
Hannah took off her shoes and rubbed her feet. They ached, and a blister had formed on her right heel. She could definitely use a pair of those slippers.
‘What did I miss?’ Ami asked.
‘Not a lot. Bash started to say he’d spoken to the detectives, and we’re all still stuck here. Then everyone got pissy. Also, they’re going to feed us.’
Ami’s lips twisted to the side, her thinking face.
‘What?’ Hannah asked.
‘Probably nothing. It’s just… all night, Edward’s been escorting people to the interview room, when there are four uniformed officers who should be doing that. And clearly Bash just had a tête-à-tête with the cops. They’re treating them like colleagues, not suspects.’
A muscle in Hannah’s jaw ticked. ‘I’m sure the Beaumonts give generously to the NYPD.’
Just then, three white-gloved waitstaff entered the dining room with the promised meat and cheese boards and a giant platter of fresh fruit. Hannah stood. ‘You should eat something. I’m going to look for Bash.’
Bash wasn’t in the dining room, nor was he at the bar.
Hannah was about to do a sweep of the library when she spotted someone else she needed to talk to.
Ethan Astor was seated, alone, at the far end of the bar, near the empty reception desk.
Beyond it, one of the uniformed officers stood unmoving, his back still resting against the club’s front door.
The seat beside Ethan was empty. She gave one last glance in the direction of the library – still no Bash – then walked over to the bar.
If she was honest, she’d been avoiding Ethan tonight, still haunted by her role in his breakup with Bruno all those years ago.
But she needed to get over herself. Ethan didn’t know the truth, for one.
And more importantly, Madison had given both her dear disciples plenty of reason to hate her back in their Prescott days, and Ethan Astor was very much a suspect.
Hannah squared her shoulders. She had work to do.
‘Nothing for me,’ she told the bartender when she’d slid onto the high-backed barstool.
Ethan looked at her, startled, then settled back into his seat and raised his glass.
‘Long time.’ He took a sip of bourbon. He’d filled out since high school; broad shoulders filled a tux jacket in a muted olive green.
His mop of wavy brown hair was the same, though, lending a boyish quality to the face beneath, and his green eyes sparkled brighter than ever, brought out by the threads of his tux.
‘Ten years,’ Hannah agreed. She generally avoided alumni events, and besides, they’d graduated in different classes. ‘You still keep up with everyone?’
‘Not everyone. Not most people, I guess.’
‘Bruno?’ she asked, now wishing she did have a drink.
He gave her a wary glance. ‘Sometimes.’
‘I saw you two talking earlier tonight,’ Hannah tried again. ‘It reminded me of old times.’
Ethan shrugged. ‘Seems like a million years ago.’
‘You gave him a lot of grace, after the cheating thing. You guys were only sixteen – I remember being impressed by that.’
Ethan took another sip. ‘Yeah, well. I was hell-bent on being the bigger person. I kept up the friendship all senior year, and soon enough, I actually forgave him. After graduation, I used to visit Bruno at Columbia when I was home. He came out to Berkeley a couple of times. But once he and Will got serious, he didn’t have time for me anymore. ’
‘Will?’
‘William Peter Von Essen the Third. Bruno’s husband. He’s a banker, some private lender downtown.’ Ethan stifled a yawn.
‘He here tonight?’
‘Nah. Will’s a Dalton boy. He doesn’t do Prescott.’
Hannah nodded. She got it, even if she didn’t get it. Dalton and Prescott had always been rivals. In fact, Elle had once been convinced that someone from Dalton ran The Upper Edge.
‘Did you manage to stay in touch with Elle?’ she asked. ‘Or Madison?’
Ethan sighed. ‘Things changed after your class graduated. There was still drama, but no one quite filled their shoes. Honestly, it was nice.’
‘But you were so close for a while. Especially with Madison.’
‘Close is one way to put it.’ There was a tinge of bitterness in Ethan’s voice. ‘She kept us close any way she knew how. You saw it.’
Hannah nodded. She’d seen it all year, and by the spring term, Madison’s controlling behaviour had begun to wear on both Ethan and Bruno.
Her mind travelled back to Valentine’s Day weekend, when she’d nearly run into them in the Meatpacking District.
They’d been talking some serious shit about Madison.
They’d both fantasised about killing her.
Had either of them mentioned poison? She wheeled around on her barstool, snagging a pair of black hotel slippers from a Lenox Club housekeeper with a wicker basket.
Gratefully, she kicked her shoes to the floor and slipped them on.
They were a bit snug, but a major improvement.
‘Hey.’ She turned back around. Oliver was in the seat to her right, sliding a matching pair of complimentary slippers onto his feet. Ethan gave him a small nod.
‘So you didn’t keep in touch?’ Hannah asked. ‘With Madison?’
Ethan knocked back the rest of his bourbon, then signalled the bartender for another.
‘Like I said, it was nice when she left Prescott. Quiet. Not to speak ill of the dead, but honestly, before tonight I hadn’t given darling Madison a passing thought in years.’
‘Oh bullshit.’ Oliver rested his arm on the bar, leaning across Hannah towards Ethan. ‘We all know that’s not true. And you were at the big to-do announcing Winslow’s campaign this spring. I saw you rubbing elbows with darling Madison.’
Ethan dismissed it with a shrug. ‘Henry’s father worked with my uncle for years. I wasn’t there for Madison.’
‘Admit it,’ Oliver pressed. ‘You’re as obsessed as you ever were. More even. I saw your latest—’
The bartender placed a fresh tumbler in front of Ethan, and Oliver shut his mouth. Hannah eyed the bourbon longingly, but ordered a ginger ale.
‘That’s bullshit,’ Ethan countered. ‘You and Madison were never friends. She despised you. What were you even doing at the campaign announcement? Maybe you’re the one who’s still obsessed.’
Hannah shrank back, caught in the middle – literally and figuratively. This wasn’t exactly how she’d planned for her chat with Ethan to play out, but Oliver was on a roll now.
‘To the contrary. I was there because I was hired to be, by the Winslow campaign, as a videographer. Madison had nothing to do with it.’
‘You’re working for the Winslow campaign?’ she asked, surprised. Oliver’s politics were far left of Henry Alcott Winslow’s last time she’d checked.
‘Oh, not really.’ Oliver flapped his hand dismissively. ‘YouTube keeps me busy enough. I did a couple of events, but it was just a favour. Our politics don’t mix, but there’s a history.’
Ethan leaned in. ‘You know the Winslows?’