Chapter Thirty-One
But Cameron House was closed, locked front and back.
Willow stood outside the kitchen door and cursed with frustration.
Perhaps Geralt’s death had affected the house’s ability to decide whom to admit and whom to hold outside—or maybe it simply didn’t want to let her in today.
Last night’s intruder had probably used some more prosaic means, like a lockpick or stolen key, to get in, but Willow wasn’t willing to go that far. Not yet, anyway.
As Willow and Finn circled to the back of the house, the dog stopped abruptly and gave a low growl, looking pointedly toward the long footpath leading into the woods. Willow caught the flash of a blond ponytail as it disappeared into the thick stand of pines.
She looked down at Finn, who looked back.
Willow was confident she had nothing to fear from the ghosts who made their home here; she wasn’t sure the person who had started down the path to the allegedly haunted graveyard could say the same.
With a satisfied little smile, she nodded to the dog, and they both took off across the field.
The Cameron family graveyard was bigger than Willow had expected.
A couple dozen mossy gravestones filled the clearing; some were in neat rows, while others were more haphazardly placed.
Wild roses dotted the yard with their sharp thorns and flower buds beginning to form, waiting for the sun to reach down to them on bright summer days.
But not today; the clouds covered the sky and wind whipped through the trees; swirling branches and creaking wood sounded thunderously loud in this otherwise silent place.
The unexpected visitor stood looking down at a headstone about a third of the way into the graveyard, her back to Willow. When Willow opened the heavy gate with a mournful creak, the trespasser whirled around. Willow found herself face-to-face with Naomi Talbot.
“Jesus Christ,” Naomi said, her face sagging in relief as she recognized Willow. “You scared the crap out of me.”
“Sorry,” Willow said automatically as she stepped into the graveyard and approached Naomi.
“Finn and I were out for a walk, and he suddenly wanted to head out here. Probably smelled you or something.” Some part of her wondered when she had gotten so good at lying without a second thought.
She looked around, realizing the dog was no longer at her side. “Finn?” she asked, puzzled.
Finn sat calmly at the gate. He did not seem perturbed, but neither did he seem inclined to set foot into the graveyard.
Interesting, she thought, and turned back to Naomi. The other woman held a small gardening trowel in her perfectly manicured hand.
Naomi saw her staring and said, in the voice of one not expecting to be believed, “It’s …
it’s Geralt. He’ll be buried with his parents down in Kennebunkport, once the postmortem is done and they release his body, but—a couple of days ago, he got all weird and maudlin, and he asked if I would make sure to bury something of his out here by his brother’s grave.
” She looked down at the stone beside her; Willow arrived at her side and looked down too. It read:
Peter Talbot
1932–1956
Beloved brother and son
“Brother and son,” Willow commented, almost to herself. “Nothing about his wife.”
Naomi said distractedly, “He was married? I didn’t know.” She pulled from her pocket a small wooden box with a simple latch. She opened it and showed it to Willow; inside was a gold pocket watch and a small baggie with—
“Is that a lock of Geralt’s hair?” Willow asked dubiously.
Naomi nodded, looking almost embarrassed.
“I know, it’s bizarre, but he insisted on it.
It was the last thing he asked me to do for him, aside from getting off his back about all the empanadas he ended up eating behind my back, anyway.
” She blinked hard and looked away to hide the watery shine in her eyes.
“Since I basically did nothing he told me to through his life, I might as well honor this one thing.”
Willow let a moment pass before holding out her hand for the trowel. “Can I help?”
Naomi sniffled, then smiled a little in spite of herself. “I guess it spoils the effect if I’m hesitating at fulfilling my husband’s last wish because I don’t want to spoil my manicure, but thank you.” She handed Willow the little shovel.
Less than ten minutes later, they stood, quietly looking down at the tiny mound of dirt beside Peter Talbot’s grave.
The brothers, in this small way, were reunited at last. The two women departed the graveyard in silence, Finn joining them as they walked along the pine-needle-covered path back toward the house.
After a few moments, Naomi spoke. “So … do you think she did it?”
“Who?” Willow asked distractedly.
Naomi shot Willow a sharp sidewise look. “You know who. Rina. Do you think she poisoned my husband?”
Willow took a breath and let it out. “No. No, I don’t.”
Naomi said, just as calmly, “I don’t either.” Then she asked, “Do you think I did it?”
The silence after this question was a little longer, a little less comfortable.
Do I? Willow asked herself, unsure of what her own answer would be. Finally, she said, “Honestly? I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wonder … but I don’t think you did. You didn’t have much of a reason to.”
Naomi shrugged. “For the money, of course. It’s what they’re all saying; it’s what they’ve been saying for years. Even with Rina in custody, they’re still saying it. I can all but hear it whenever I walk by.”
Careful, Willow thought. Be very careful. “Well, are they right? What’s the benefit to you from his dying now, rather than, I don’t know, letting him live his life out?”
Naomi snorted. “Not a single thing.” She stopped walking and turned to Willow.
“Here’s what none of them know, because my smoke-blower of a husband went to great lengths to keep it quiet: There isn’t any money.
It’s all debt and bad investments and lawsuits needing to be settled.
” A muscle twitched at the corner of her mouth.
“If he’d had time, and if he’d been able to legally inherit Cameron House before he died, he could at least have sold it to pay most of the debts and keep our heads above water.
But now? I’m left high and dry. I’m the last person who wanted him dead.
And even after it all comes out, I doubt if anyone will care; it doesn’t fit the accepted North Islands narrative about the wealthy Cameron line, or me as a moneygrubbing trophy wife.
Once they know I’m broke, it’ll be woman overboard in shark-infested waters.
” She glared in the general direction of the village.
“At least Nick believes me. But then, for such a pretty guy, he actually seems to have half a brain. Rare to find both in the same male specimen, you know.”
Something unfamiliar and decidedly uncomfortable roiled in the pit of Willow’s stomach. “I didn’t realize you and Nick knew each other,” she said with deliberate casualness.
“Oh, of course,” the other woman said, not noticing Willow’s discomfort.
“We’ve been here every summer and fall for years—we came early this year after Effie died—but Nick has usually been the one to come out and try to talk sense into my husband after he aimed his golf cart at a tourist, or scared a small child on the dock, or any of the various problematic things he used to do for fun.
” She gave Willow a sly glance. “As embarrassing as it was to have to be on the receiving end of it all, it wasn’t that much of a hardship.
Nick’s definitely easy on the eyes. I didn’t marry Geralt for his looks. ”
Naomi gave one last sad look back at the graveyard. “But I miss him. Everything is so quiet now. The house, the town—he was larger than life, you know?”
Willow nodded. “I think he might have been the most alive person I ever met. Even when he was dying.”
“Exactly.” Naomi nodded. “It’s almost impossible to believe even death could stop him.”
Willow thought of the little pile of dirt next to Peter’s grave. She had an idea about why it was there, why Geralt had asked for it.
But she only said, “It is, isn’t it?”
As Naomi and Willow rounded the house to the shore path, they saw Audra DuBois approaching almost at a run. The young widow’s frustrated assistant called out, “Naomi, I’ve been texting you for an hour. Where have you been?”
“I turned my phone off,” Naomi said curtly. “I had things to do.”
“How am I supposed to find you if you turn your phone off?” Audra asked, clearly frustrated.
“Maybe I didn’t want to be found,” Naomi snapped. “It looks like you found me, anyway. What’s up?”
“I got a call an hour ago from—” Audra faltered mid-sentence and gave Willow a nervous glance.
“It’s okay, Audra.” Naomi managed an anxious smile in Willow’s direction. “Geralt trusted her. I’m inclined to do the same. Willow knows. At least the basics.”
“Are you serious?” the other woman exploded.
“My God, how can you be so naive?” Audra shook her head in frustration and stepped closer to Naomi.
“You know she and her friends are working to get the Montalto woman off the hook—in what universe do you think she won’t put you into the hot seat in a fast second if she can?
No offense,” she added, turning briefly to Willow.
“None taken,” Willow murmured, the corner of her mouth twitching.
“Come on, Audra,” Naomi said with barely concealed irritation. “Just tell me.”
Audra’s look flicked back and forth between Willow and Naomi. “The Times. The Globe. A few more.”
Naomi sighed. “Ah. So it’s about to hit the fan. When?”
Audra’s expression of worry deepened as she glanced at Willow again.
“When?” Naomi pressed.
Audra’s jaw tightened, then released. “Tomorrow morning’s editions.”
“The money?” Naomi asked, her voice bleak.
Audra nodded. “And … everything else.” Her eyes skittered again to Willow, and then away. “How much of the basics? What did you tell her?”
“That the money is gone.” She reached out a tentative hand to Willow, who took it. “And no, I don’t think she’ll throw me under the bus. Besides,” Naomi continued, “when the world knows I’m broke and I have nothing to benefit from his death, I basically have no motive to have gotten rid of him.”
Willow said, “Believe it or not, none of us are looking for some random person to replace Rina and get her off the hook; I want to know who really killed Geralt. And I think you—both of you—do too.”
Naomi nodded. “I do.” She gave a small smile.
“We’ll talk later. And—thanks.” She started off down the coastal path; when Audra started to follow, Naomi waved her off and said in a voice too brittle to qualify as polite, “Look, I … I need a little time to myself, okay? Just let me walk.” She turned her back on Audra and Willow and headed toward the village.
Audra flashed Willow a side-eye. “Still like her?” she asked dryly. “Still convinced she’s innocent?”
Willow nodded warily. “I … do, yes. Both. I mean—” She glanced sympathetically at Audra. “I mean, yeah, that was sort of rude, but she’s had an awful week. And it seems like it’s just getting worse.”
Audra snorted and said bluntly, “You like her because she wanted you to like her. From the start, at the reception after the memorial service, she locked in on the thing you both had in common, which was feeling like the outsider, the one who didn’t belong.
Bonded with you. A little sisterhood of Little North Island rejected women. Remember?”
Willow remembered and suddenly felt cold.
“That’s how she operates, how she is with everyone she meets.
She has this instinct for knowing what someone is looking for in her, and she becomes it.
With Mr. Talbot, she was ambitious and unfiltered, and she stood up to him in a way no one else dared, and he loved it.
With Talbot’s business associates, she was always competent and calm, the antithesis of her husband, presenting herself as the ally who could get him to do what they wanted when they couldn’t manage it themselves. With me—”
Audra looked away; Willow wasn’t sure if those were tears she’d seen in the shine of the other woman’s eyes.
“At first, she was the perfect best friend,” Audra continued.
“We went shopping together, got our nails done, shared advice and horror stories about men, talked about our hopes and dreams and ambitions. When she and Talbot got engaged, I became her unofficial wedding planner, helping with vendors and fittings, and keeping her disorganized self on track. She made me feel appreciated and needed, which of course made me feel good about myself, and after the wedding, she begged me to leave my job and be her assistant full-time. By then, it didn’t even occur to me to say no; she’d maneuvered me into a place where it felt almost inevitable. ”
Audra eyed Willow. “You’ve been here, what, less than a week? Trust me, you do not know the real Naomi Talbot. I’m not sure Naomi herself even knows who she really is.”
The shiver that went through Willow had nothing to do with the chill island day or the impending storm. Be careful who you trust, Geralt had told her, and Naomi herself had echoed it.
Was Willow putting her trust in the wrong person, after all?
First thing when all this goes down, Naomi thought as she strode past the village toward the ugly modern house Geralt had insisted on building, will be informing my pushy and paranoid assistant that I can no longer afford an assistant.
Then she took a mental step back; she knew she would never have gotten through the past few days, let alone the past eight years, without Audra’s near-manic level of organization. Naomi just needed a little space.
The gulls yowled above her; the incessant thundering of the sea was giving her a headache.
Maybe it would be better if I walked away from all of this, found myself a nice, normal life, Naomi thought.
I never much liked Maine or island life.
Maybe I’ll go back to Boston—or heck, maybe California or Texas or something.
She thought about Willow’s short-legged, loaf-shaped companion.
Maybe I’ll get a dog. A dog, and maybe a nice little town house.
She’d saved a little money of her own that wasn’t tied to Geralt’s; she could do it.
She could renew her physical therapist credentials, go back for a couple of classes to update her certifications, be a regular person again if she had to. She’d been one before.
But she’d worked her tail off for this. Being Mrs. Geralt Talbot had taken a lot more maneuvering and strategy than she’d bargained for. She wasn’t going to throw it away yet.
She had one more play. One last effort to keep what she had earned.