Chapter 8
AS THE SUN RISES HIGHER, SENDING WEAK LIGHT THROUGH THE clouds, the EMTs load Simon into the back of the ambulance.
As they slam the doors shut, it feels too fast, too final.
This man had lived more than eighty years and in one quick morning, it’s all over just like that.
It reminds me of my mother’s death, so sudden, so permanent, no way to take it back.
Aubrey stands with her hand on Ruth’s shoulder as we watch the vehicle disappear around a bend in the road.
The cops have talked to everyone and tell us we can go, and they’ll be in touch.
The crime scene people are busy assessing the scene, hunting along the shoreline and traipsing through the woods. Looking for what?
Everyone is going to gather at Ruth’s, but I stop back at Spencer House to change clothes. I check my phone as I walk down the porch steps on my way over to Ruth’s.
My heart sinks. Two missed calls and a voicemail. Unknown callers. I reluctantly click on the voicemail and hear my ex-husband’s anxious voice.
Hi Em, um, I’m so sorry to bother you. I went by your mother’s place yesterday, but the new people were there already, and they didn’t know where you went.
I, um, I’m so sorry, but I’m desperate, babe, I know I don’t deserve it, but could you possibly lend me some money?
I’ll pay you back, I swear. I know I don’t deserve it, but these guys are relentless.
If I could just give them something. Five grand maybe, I can keep them off my back awhile.
They’re fucking scary, Em. I don’t know what else to do.
My parents just went into that assisted living place and they’re strapped. Please call me back …
My cheeks flame and my heart hammers. How dare he call me asking for money!
I stand still in Ruth’s front yard, my breath coming in angry gasps.
I close my eyes a moment trying to get myself under control before I walk into the house looking like a madwoman.
I stab at my phone, deleting Ben’s message.
He’s got a sister and friends. Let him go to them.
I can’t believe he has the gall to ask me.
No, that’s not true. I believe it. My mother’s words come back to me.
People are terrible, Emma. You can’t trust anyone.
The lights are all on at Ruth’s and people are grouped around the kitchen table, except for Jeffrey, who stands apart, near the back door. Aubrey fusses at the counter, poking at the buttons on an old coffeemaker. The conversation is fragmented, uncertain.
“Can I call anyone for you?” Noah asks Ruth.
She shakes her head and sighs. “I’ve already called Alex,” she says. “He’ll be here soon.”
“There’s no one else?”
“No. Larry’s here.” She reaches out her hand and pats Larry’s thick arm. “Other than him, the Spencers are all the family we have really.” She sighs. “Poor Simon.” Aubrey places a mug in front of Ruth. “Thank you, dear.”
I help Aubrey at the counter until everyone has coffee. We put together a platter of Ruth’s homemade muffins and set it in the middle of the table.
Aubrey keeps giving me a troubled look like she wants to say something but is thinking better of it. When I leave to go to the powder room, she corners me in the hall.
“What do you think, Emma?” she whispers. “Why all the questions and the crime scene team?” She covers her mouth with her hand. “Do you think the cops suspect someone did this to Simon?”
“I don’t know. I guess they have to look at everything.”
Aubrey blows her bangs off her forehead. “Jesus. I don’t know what to think.”
“Me neither.”
“Well, I guess we need to all stick together, support each other, right?”
“Yes.” I don’t know what else to say to her.
I’m a virtual stranger here. When I walk back into the kitchen, I can’t help but feel the tension, like a fog, has descended on our little group.
Everyone taking surreptitious glances at one another as if looking for some truth.
Like it’s just dawned on us collectively that we might be murder suspects.
I take my place at the table and pick up my coffee, which has grown cold. I half listen to the stilted banter around the table, everyone talking about anything not Simon, the weather, the lake, the Red Sox. After a while I stand and wander into the front room. Noah joins me there.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yes, fine. I just needed to get up and walk for a minute.” I notice framed photos on the mantel. “Simon?” I ask. He’s standing with a woman and two other couples. By their clothes, it looks like the photo was taken decades ago, but Simon is still recognizable.
“Yeah. That’s him and Ruth with my grandparents and Alex’s parents.”
I pick up the photo for a closer look. “Ruth’s gorgeous.” Fluffy blond hair, dark lipstick, and a knockout figure.
“Yeah. She’s about ten years younger than Simon. My dad said she was quite attractive back in the day.”
“Where are your parents?” I ask, setting the photo back on the mantel.
“They live in New York. Dad’s retired and they travel a lot.”
“Do they come up to the lake house very often?”
Noah shakes his head. “No. Mom doesn’t like it out here in the country, as she calls this place. I grew up here, but when I went off to college, they pretty much moved out.”
Then it occurs to me that I’m also looking at my grandparents. “These are Alex’s parents?” I ask, pointing to the tall couple standing in the middle of the photo. The same people in the family portrait at Spencer House.
“Yes.”
They’re neatly dressed in tailored clothes, a serious look on my grandfather’s face, while my grandmother stands with her arm looped through his, leaning on him as if for support, as if she might slip away without him.
“They’re both deceased,” Noah says. “They died in a small plane crash when I was a kid. Alex inherited the house and everything.”
This is sad. I’ve never known any grandparents and it would’ve been nice to have met them. “Did you call your parents to let them know about Simon?”
“Yeah. They feel bad, but, well, my parents and the Harwoods had a falling-out after my dad sold some of his land to the Thompsons, so they won’t be coming to the funeral or anything.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. The rest of us get along okay. We go back too far to completely fall apart. I’m sure my parents will send a large, expensive spray of flowers for the funeral and make a sizable donation to whichever charity Ruth designates.”
“What about the Thompsons?”
Noah smiles. “Ruth tolerates them. I mean, you can’t help but like Dale and Aubrey, but Ruth keeps a close eye on them. Outsiders.” He raises an eyebrow.
I glance toward the kitchen. “Who is Jeffrey?”
“His grandmother worked for the Spencers and the Harwoods doing cooking and cleaning, that sort of thing. Back in the old days, the Jones family were the help. One or more of them worked for all three families. Now Jeffrey is the only Jones still here, the others died or moved away. Ruth holds on to him like he’s some relic from the good old days.
He’s a nice guy, a little lost maybe. He never finished high school or made any attempt that I know of to leave Cheshire Lake. ”
“So, he lives in the cottage and works for the Harwoods?”
“Pretty much. He maintains Spencer House too when Alex isn’t around.”
I glance out the window at the lake where the boats bob anchored at the docks. “What do you think really happened to Simon?” I say quietly.
Noah shakes his head. “I have no idea.”
By noon Aubrey and Dale exchange looks like they are quietly planning what to do next but don’t want to say in front of everyone.
That silent couple communication I remember from when I was married.
After a quiet conversation with Ruth, Dale runs out and returns with food for lunch.
He ordered enough to feed all of us for two meals.
After Aubrey lays out the food, they gather their coats and leave, telling Ruth to call if she needs them.
Ruth has sent Jeffrey to the garage with instructions to keep him busy with chores. Noah, Larry, and I sit in the kitchen with Ruth. She’s weepy but says that she is happy to have us here, to have company.
We hear a vehicle pull in out front. Ruth tips up her head, a hopeful look on her face. We hear the front door open and shut. No knock or doorbell sounds.
Alex strides into the room followed by a tall, slim, stunning young woman. Alex crushes Ruth in a hug.
“I’m so sorry,” he says. “We got here quick as we could.”
Ruth draws back and wipes her eyes. “I’m so glad you’re here!” She then launches herself into the arms of the young woman. “My darling girl,” Ruth mumbles against the girl’s shoulder.
I recognize her as Alex’s daughter, Sunny.
I saw her picture online. She handles Alex’s social media and publicity.
Her long straight blond hair is pulled back into a slick ponytail.
Her makeup is perfect—sculpted brows, flawless skin, false eyelashes.
She wears a white wool coat, which she slides out of after emerging from Ruth’s hug.
This is my sister, I think to myself. I was looking forward to meeting her and her brother, my brother, but not like this, not with a dead body bringing us together. She glances over at me and smiles slightly, all curiosity and little warmth.
“Where’s Liliana?” Ruth asks.
“Home,” Alex says. “She sends her condolences. The doctor put her on bed rest. Her sister’s with her, and I hired a nurse as well to take care of her.”
“Oh, no. But everything’s okay?”
“Just a precaution.”
“The baby’s due soon,” Ruth says. “Liliana needs to take care of herself.”
“Yes. Another new Spencer to add to the fold.” Alex raises his eyebrows, shoots me a smile.
Sunny drops her Coach bag on the table with a thud and purses her lips.