*Wednesday
Kyra stepped back from the full-length mirror, smoothed her dress, and gave herself a critical assessment. With a sound of frustration, she snapped another photo with her phone and texted Ali. Black or cream? She waited for her aunt to respond, desperate for help, but unsure why she was putting in such an effort. For the investigation, she had told herself. At Ali’s prompting this morning, after Kyra had filled her in on yesterday’s meeting with the lawyer, the conversation about her father, and this evening’s it’s not a date with the detective, Kyra had gone on a mad shopping spree in search of a cocktail dress that made her look fantastic but also said she didn’t try too hard. The pickings were thin. Most of the shops hadn’t opened for the season yet, and those that were open had limited inventory. She was stuck shopping for last season’s pieces. Shopping bags and wrapping tissue were strewn on her bed, adding to the chaos. She hadn’t even had the forethought to bring any sort of dress shoes.
Her phone pinged. “What shoes?”
Kyra snapped photos of a pair of strappy, black, high-heeled sandals she’d found. They were more appropriate for a girls’ night or a nightclub than a swanky charity cocktail party. She also snapped a photo of a pair of nude block-heeled mules that she’d thought were cute when she bought them, but now felt matronly. Then, just for fun, she snapped a photo of the designer, cognac, suede, knee-high boots with the laser-cut cone heel. She’d snatched them from a deep-discount rack. She was awarded with Ali’s immediate response. “Those are fabulous. You’ve needed those your entire life!” Followed by too many heart emojis.
Kyra smiled, appreciating her aunt’s retail support.
“Can you wear the boots with an oxford and dark jeans? They’ll think you’re very British, very Princess Di.”
Kyra snorted. No one in their right mind would ever compare her to Princess Diana. “Seriously! Help! And, yes, I’m totes wearing that.”
“Wear the black dress with the black sandals, just wear your moto jacket and your hair down to make it a bit more casual. Send a photo!”
Kyra changed back into the black dress she’d found, also in the clearance section, at a boutique in Edgartown. It was a strapless, formfitting, sheath-style dress with a slit up the thigh. Again, a bit too sexy for a political event, but it fit her perfectly, and the slit wasn’t scandalous. She strapped on the sandals and unpinned her hair so it fell down her back. She stepped back to reassess. Not terrible. That’s the best I’m going to do today. She added the only jewelry she thought to bring: a simple pair of diamond studs and a gold chain that sat at the base of her neck. She slung her leather moto jacket over her shoulders like the girls at fashion week. Kyra snapped a photo and sent it to Ali. Ali responded with heart and fire emojis.
“It IS a DATE! I KNEW IT!!!!!”
“Still NOT a date, Ali.”
The little dots faded in and out, and Kyra tapped her foot impatiently. This morning, Ali had badgered her until she’d sent Detective Collins’s headshot from the state police website. That had been a mistake. Her aunt had squealed like a tween. She was so loud she woke up Iggy, and then in more dulcet tones insisted her niece go shopping. Kyra was likely going to need another suitcase to get all her purchases back to London.
“Whatever. I showed Cam the picture of the fit detective. He said definitely a date.”
Kyra gritted her teeth and made a note to throat punch Cam for encouraging his wife. She typed furiously, needing to stop this immediately or die of embarrassment. “I’m attending a cocktail party hosted by Grace and Charlie. Obviously not a date!”
“You don’t put in that much effort for your law galas…” Wink emoji.
Ali wasn’t wrong. She only went to those events because Assaf insisted, but Kyra was reluctant to consider what that meant. Instead, she tidied the mess she’d made with her purchases and triple-checked her hair and makeup. As she was dumping the recyclables in the bin, she heard a knock on the door. She checked the time. Tarek was early.
When she opened the door, though, she was pleasantly surprised to see the Chamberses smiling back at her. Grace was wearing a mossy-green dress with a wide neckline. The skirt flared out at her waist. She’d accessorized with large, princess-cut, emerald earrings. Charlie was dressed in a tailored dark-gray suit that fit her so perfectly, it was clearly made for her. They both looked fabulous.
“Hi, dear. You look beautiful,” Grace gushed, bouncing on her Manolos. “I’m so excited that you’re coming. When Charlie told me she’d invited you, I was over the moon. It’s going to be so much fun, and you’ll meet so many lovely people.” Kyra glanced at Charlie. Charlie raised one shoulder and sucked in her cheeks, expressing how lovely Kyra should expect these particular people to be. Kyra rolled her lips.
“You can hang out with me. At the open bar.” Charlie winked.
“You both look amazing. Come in.”
“Oh, no, we try.” Grace waved off the compliment but broke into a pleased smile.
“Can I offer you a drink?” Kyra asked, ushering them toward the kitchen.
“Oh, umm…”
“We’d love one,” Charlie said and took her wife’s hand. “How many of these things have you hosted, love? And how many have gone off without a hitch and would have been perfect even if you hadn’t shown up hours early?”
“Fine, yes.” Grace frowned, then gave a shy smile. “What can I say? I’m an excellent planner.” She eyed Charlie with reproach. “We can have one. One drink before we go.”
Kyra opened the bottle of champagne she’d been chilling and found some flutes. She poured three glasses and raised hers.
“Cheers!” Grace sang, turning the word into two syllables. The crystal made a soft, tinkling sound as the glasses touched.
“Did you need to ride over with us?” Charlie asked, setting down her glass.
“Umm, no, thank you. I’m going with Tarek.”
“Tarek?” Grace asked, eyes wide in feigned innocence as she pressed her hand to her heart. “Tell us more.”
“Yes, Tarek Collins.” To her embarrassment, she felt her cheeks redden. Too casually, she raised her fingers to her cheeks. “He’s a detective with the state police. He investigated my father’s accident.”
Grace watched her with a knowing sparkle in her eye that only further embarrassed Kyra. Her face was hot enough she was sure she resembled a roasted tomato. “I’d reached out to learn more about what happened, and…” She now realized her mistake. It hadn’t occurred to her she’d have to explain why they were at the event together.
“Grace is just mad because she’s already planning your wedding to Wes.”
“Char!” Grace sputtered.
“But it’s true.” Charlie laughed and leaned in closer to Kyra. She whispered behind her hand, “You’re getting a string quartet, by the way.”
“Wes Silva?” Kyra was at a loss for words. Wes Silva?! “But I’ve only met him once.” And that man gives me the creeps.
“Once is all it takes, dear,” Grace said, patting her hand.
“It’s not like that with Detective Collins, anyway. He’s offered to help me understand what happened last winter. You know, to my dad.” She looked away, embarrassed for a different, more complicated reason.
Grace, somber now, came around the island and put her arms around Kyra, pulling her close. “Oh, my dear, no. Of course. We understand. Char?”
Charlie nodded.
There was a knock on the door, interrupting the moment before it got more emotional, and Kyra ruined her eye makeup.
Grace gave her a gentle squeeze before letting her go. “Go get your detective.”
Kyra made a face at her and, ignoring their muffled laughter, walked to the door. She opened it to see Tarek. He was elegantly dressed in a slim-fit, dark-gray suit with a black dress shirt and matching tie. Kyra felt the barest flutter in her chest. Detective Collins cleaned up quite nicely.
“Miss Gibson.” His mouth hitched in a peculiar half smile, like he was challenging her to amuse him.
“Hi, come in. We’re just having pre-drinks.” She dragged her gaze away from him and waved him inside.
“We?” He quirked an eyebrow and followed her into the kitchen.
“Yes, these are my neighbors, Charlie and Grace Chambers.”
Tarek shook their hands. “Nice to see you both again.”
“Oh, right. I remember you from … before.” Grace’s voice wavered, and her eyes slid to Charlie with an uncomfortable frown.
“Nice to see you again, under better circumstances, Detective Collins.” Charlie poured him a glass of champagne. At Kyra’s questioning look, Charlie explained, “The police asked us some questions when Ed died.” Charlie’s gaze fell to the granite countertop, and when she looked back up, her features were drawn. “Grace and I identified him,” she said.
Oh. Right. I wasn’t here. Kyra swallowed back the burning sensation in her throat. Guilt for ignoring the request to come visit for the holiday and for exposing these women to something so horrific that she had avoided it again today. Kyra stared into her glass. I’m a coward.
“Please, call me Tarek,” he said, taking the glass.
Kyra looked up into his dark-green eyes. He was watching her, probably thinking the same thing. He shifted his attention to Grace.
“Grace, I’m afraid I’m unfamiliar with the cause this event is supporting.”
“Oh, yes, it’s twofold, really.” Grace bubbled, shifting into hostess mode. “We’re kicking off an information campaign for more sustainable energy on the island.” She waved her hand in a circle. “For example, this house is heated and cooled using geothermal energy, and its electricity consumption is offset by the solar panels installed on the roof. Senator Hawthorn is also using this as a fundraising opportunity for his campaign for reelection. He’s running on a green platform.” She sipped her champagne.
“Oh,” he said. “I didn’t realize this was a political event.”
Kyra caught his fib and gave him a questioning look, but he was focused on Grace.
“So, who will be there?”
“Well, besides the senator and his people, we also have several business owners from the island committed to sustainability, including Wes.” She slid an obvious sideways glance at Kyra.
Kyra crossed her arms over her chest. Absolutely not.
Charlie made a strangled sound over her champagne flute and pressed a napkin to her nose.
“And there are some campaign donors who have come in from the mainland.” Grace ignored Charlie and reached for her purse. “I have the program, including the sponsorship and guest list.” She pulled out a pale-green pamphlet from her bag and handed it to Tarek. “You can keep that one. There are more at the club.”
“Thank you.” He pushed back his sleeve to check his watch.
“Oh, yes.” Grace clasped her hands. “We must be getting there. Char?”
“Yes, let’s go.” Charlie sighed and finished her champagne. “Don’t worry, officer, we’ll take a cab back.”
“I’d expect nothing less.” Tarek huffed a laugh.
Grace gave Kyra a quick kiss on her cheek and confirmed she had the address. Charlie followed her wife to the foyer, stopping to look back at Kyra. She pressed her hands together, eyes raised to the sky, a mockery of saintliness before slipping out the door.
“They’re characters.” Tarek finished his champagne.
“Yes, they really are,” Kyra said, realizing in just a few days, she’d become quite attached to her new friends.
“Oh, here. This was out front.” He pulled a small packing envelope from his pocket.
“That must be the cable. It came early.” She ripped into the package. “Wait here.” She ran off as fast as she could to get the burner phone from the office, cursing her stilettos. She brought it back and plugged the cable into the wall outlet.
Kyra stared, almost trembling with anticipation. “Yes!”
The battery signal began fading in and out. It was charging.
She showed Tarek the phone, her eyes shining. “I found this in Ed’s car a few days ago. This isn’t his normal phone. It could be someone else’s? Or a burner?” She waited for him to make a joke.
Instead, he was frowning. “You didn’t say anything about finding a phone.”
“Oh, I must have forgotten. I’m sorry.” Her gaze remained glued to the screen. She tried to power it on, but it needed more charge. “I’d ordered the cable before we met, and I guess I wanted to see if this would work before telling you about it.” She didn’t know why she hadn’t mentioned the phone to Detective Collins. It just hadn’t come up.
“Is it working?” He peered over her shoulder at the phone.
“Yes. It’s charging. I guess we wait?” She slid onto the barstool the phone still cradled in her hands. She looked up, confused when she heard his soft laugh. “What?”
“Haven’t you heard that saying about a watched pot?”
She made a face at him.
“Here, look at the guest list.” Tarek slid Grace’s pamphlet in front of her. “The Hawthorns and the Wetun Energy CEO Maria Alonda are attending. That’s convenient.”
“Yes, it is.” She sighed, annoyed. “Fine, we can go.” She dragged her eyes away from the phone’s screen. “Maybe it’ll be fully charged when we get back. Wait, did you say Alonda?” she asked, pressing her lips together. She scanned the guest list. “Do you think that’s A from my father’s notes?”
“Could be. It seems to fit. Only one way to find out.” He held out his hand.
*
Kyra showed Tarek where she’d found the phone while searching through her father’s car.
“Are there lots of compartments in here?” Tarek asked looking around the Range Rover.
“I think I found most of them.”
“I’m going to ask the forensics team to take a quick look, if that’s okay with you?” He glanced at her, then back at the road.
“Sure,” she agreed. “Wait, will it ruin the car?”
“No, they’d just be doing me a favor. Normally, unless they find something that requires a more thorough search, they return the car in the condition they received it.” He peeked over at her. “If they found DNA in large quantities, for example, then they take the interior apart.”
Kyra frowned. “Are you joking?” she asked, recollecting all the crime shows she and Ali had binged where blood was found in the trunk. “You are joking.”
“A little.” He grinned. “But it’s pretty close to the truth.” He shrugged and slid the car into gear. “I doubt they’ll find anything requiring disassembling the car, but maybe they’ll find something else in a compartment you missed? Like another phone, a memory stick, papers?”
The sun was setting, casting a golden light on all the buildings along Edgartown’s Main Street. Tarek parked, and they walked down to the yacht club on the harbor. The air was thick with the fragrance of lilacs and winter jasmine.
The sleepy little town seemed to have awoken. Restaurants and shops were bustling, their doors open to the sidewalk. The planter boxes hanging below the windows had been filled with colorful flowers.
Tarek pointed to a store. “Main Street opened early to cater to the party attendees.”
“That would happen?” Edgartown had been a ghost town just hours earlier.
“For a political-campaign fundraiser bringing in lots of money? Sure.” Tarek nodded and slipped his hands into his pockets. “The businesses will go back to a reduced schedule for a few more weeks. The official start of the season isn’t until the last weekend in May.”
That’s a whole month away. I’ll miss it, Kyra thought with the pang of disappointment.
“This is it.” Tarek stopped in front of a dark wood door with brass accents.
The building was one of the tallest on the road at three stories high. Porches extended out toward the harbor. Here, too, all the windows were adorned with overflowing flower boxes. Tarek held the door open for her, and she stepped into the entryway.
The interior was decorated in a sophisticated boating theme with lots of glossy, dark-stained wood, plush navy rugs and textiles, and polished brass accents.
“Good evening, name, please?” a woman holding a clipboard asked as they entered. Kyra gave the woman their names. “Right through there. Enjoy.”
They walked through a hall and up a short staircase into a large room with high-top tables placed around the space. A long bar took up the back wall. To their left, the glass doors had been opened, and people were milling about between the interior and the porch. Guests chatted along the porch railing, standing under heat lamps, sipping cocktails.
Kyra was relieved to see she wasn’t under- or overdressed, the other guests having chosen cocktail dresses and suits of varying colors, including an uncomfortable amount of unironic seersucker. Waitstaff bustled among the guests, some carrying trays laden with hors d’oeuvres, others picking up abandoned glasses, napkins, and plates almost as quickly as the guests set them down. At the far end of the room, she spotted Grace chatting with an older man whom Kyra recognized from the news as Senator Phil Hawthorn. At his side was a woman with sleek, black hair. She had that pinched, gaunt face, symptomatic of stress or a lifetime of dieting.
Grace noticed Kyra and waved her over. “Senator Hawthorn, Margot, please let me introduce you to our new neighbor, Kyra Gibson.”
“Nice to meet you, Miss Gibson. Welcome to the island.” The senator gave her a warm smile and shook her hand.
Margot turned hawklike eyes on her. “I was unaware there was a recent sale on Crackatuxet,” she said, her voice haughty and clearly implying little occurred on the island that she didn’t know about.
“It’s my father’s house. I’m just staying there for a while.” She turned to Tarek. “This is Detective Tarek Collins.”
The senator’s eyes widened a fraction.
He recovered quickly. “Ah, yes, of course. You’re helping with the, uh, incident at Mander Lane. Nice to see you again, Detective.” He clasped Tarek’s hand.
Margot pursed her lips in distaste and glared at Tarek. “My love, leave such unpleasantness for another time,” she cooed and wrapped a jeweled hand around her husband’s elbow.
“It’s such a horrible tragedy,” the senator said, paying no attention to his wife. “We haven’t learned any more information on what happened or who the poor victim is.”
Tarek bowed his head. “Yes, it’s frustrating waiting on the medical reports, but I’ve worked with the chief medical examiner in Boston for years. Dr. Khaleng is the best there is. And, given the high profile of the case, I know she’s handling it personally.”
“I appreciate that.” The senator’s tone was grim. “What gives me pause is my staff has reached all but one of my aides. Brendan. Brendan … err. Margot, do you remember Brendan’s last name?”
Margot shook her head, her expression still unpleasant. Kyra suspected Margot had never bothered to learn Brendan’s first name.
“Perhaps we should ask Bill. He’d mentioned earlier today that he couldn’t reach him.” The senator adjusted his tie.
He’s concerned. Kyra didn’t know why that surprised her.
“Sweetheart, I’m sure his phone is just off,” Margot said. “You know how young people are, always off partying.” She ran a disapproving look over Kyra and her thin lips twisted into a sneer. Kyra didn’t know whether to be insulted or complimented that she was included among Margot’s young people.
“Do you think?” he asked his wife.
“When was the last time you spoke to him? Would he have been on the island?” Tarek asked, smoothly switching from party guest to concerned constituent-slash-investigator.
“I’m not sure I’ve ever spoken with the young man, frankly.” The senator had the grace to look sheepish. “I wouldn’t know how he spends his leisure time, but I certainly did not invite him to Mander Lane. Bill may know more about him. He liaises with the aides.”
“Bill?” Tarek repeated.
“Yes, Bill Grover. He’s my chief of staff.”
“He’s here?” Tarek asked, scanning the crowd.
“Yes, he’s over there, the gentleman with the bright-green tie.” The senator pointed out another man across the room.
“I’ll follow up with him. Thank you, Senator Hawthorn.”
“Come, Philip. There are others you need to say hello to.” Margot tugged on his elbow.
The senator grasped Tarek’s hand in a warm handshake. “Your attention to the matter is appreciated, Detective,” he said in a low voice before letting Margot guide him away.
“Sorry. Margot can be a bit … much,” Grace grumbled. “Ignore her.”
Charlie appeared, carrying two champagne flutes. She handed one to Grace.
“Hi. What did I miss?”
“Oh, Margot being Margot,” Grace said, her voice tinged with irritation. She accepted the glass from Charlie. Grace’s eyes followed Margot as she and the senator walked away. “If she continues to insist on attending these events, she really needs to learn graciousness. Tarek and Kyra could have been potential donors.” Grace sighed.
Kyra frowned. I wouldn’t give that horrible woman a cent.
“I’m sure she’s just saving it for people with names like Kennedy and Rockefeller.” Charlie grimaced at Kyra. “Consider yourselves lucky. The only thing worse than being ignored by Margot Hawthorn is having her attention.”
“I hope you’re right, Char.” Grace sighed, clearly not listening to Charlie.
Kyra followed Grace’s gaze to the senator who was standing alone at the railing talking with his wife.
“Ugh, the point of this is for Phil to interact with the guests. Make them feel important so they donate to the campaign. Margot cannot monopolize all his time tonight.” With another huff, Grace stalked off.
Charlie said, “Never a dull moment herding the island elite.” She gave Kyra a quick hug. “I’d better follow her before she starts lining up guests to talk to Phil.” Charlie excused herself.
“Maybe we should get a drink?” Kyra looked at Tarek who nodded, and she followed him toward the bar. “What do you think of the senator?”
“I’d like to speak to his chief of staff,” Tarek said, not answering her question. He ordered two seltzer waters. “Let’s see if we can learn more about this Brendan.” There was an edge to his voice. He handed her a glass, and she followed him as he made his way to the man with the bright-green tie.
“Bill Grover?” Tarek held out his hand. “I’m Tarek Collins, and this is my”—he glanced at Kyra—“friend, Miss Gibson.”
Bill Grover shook Tarek’s hand, then Kyra’s. “Nice to meet you,” he said, his eyes on Kyra with an expression she couldn’t read.
“I don’t want to disturb you, but I’d like to ask a few questions. I’m a detective with the Massachusetts State Police Investigative Unit. It won’t take more than a minute, I assure you.”
Grover nodded; his eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“Miss Gibson and I were speaking with the senator just now, and he mentioned you had been unable to reach an aide?”
Grover’s shoulders relaxed, but his expression was one of concern. “Yes, Brendan. He hasn’t been in the office this week, and no one can reach him.”
“Do you have Brendan’s last name?”
“Delaney. His family is from Framingham. He’s a good kid, responsible. That he hasn’t called in is out of character.” Grover stared into his cocktail glass, the lines on his forehead deepening.
“Have you notified the DC PD?”
“No. Do we need to?” His brow creased in alarm.
“When was your last communication with him?”
“I couldn’t say.” Grover shook his head. “I’ve been here on the island with Phil for the last few weeks, but I can check with the staff in DC.” He placed his drink on the empty tray offered by one of the wait staff.
“I’ll submit a request to follow up on our end.” Tarek opened his mouth to say more, but Grover spoke first, his gaze locked on Kyra.
“Miss Gibson? As in Kyra? Ed and Isabel’s daughter?”
“Yes, that’s me,” Kyra said, surprised. She studied Bill Grover but didn’t recognize him. “Do I know you?”
“From London?”
Kyra nodded again, taken aback when Grover thrust out both his hands, clasping hers. “Ed was a good friend. I’m so very sorry for your loss.” His voice went low, and he squeezed her hand in his own oversized paws before letting her go.
“Oh, thank you,” she said. “You knew him?”
“Yes, very well.” Grover’s smile was sad. “We met years ago in Kuala Lumpur. He was there on an assignment, and I was working with the State Department at the time. We’d stayed in touch over the years and saw each other more frequently since he moved to the island some years ago. He was a tenacious truth-seeker and a talented writer. He was terrible at golf.” He huffed out a pained laugh and glanced at the floor.
“I didn’t know he played golf.”
“He only took it up in the past few years. I think to keep me company. We’d play whenever we could get a tee time.” Grover slid his hands into his pockets. He rolled his shoulders and straightened up, as if pulling himself out of his memories. “Are you here long?”
“No, I’m just settling Ed’s affairs before I return to London.”
Grover nodded. “Of course. Of course.” One of the servers approached them and spoke in his ear. “Thank you, I’ll be right there.” He looked back at Kyra. “I’d very much like to talk with you before you return home. Why don’t you come by the farm tomorrow? The Hawthorns love showing it off.” Grover glanced behind Kyra. “Sara,” he called, waving someone over.
A trim woman dressed in pressed slacks and a half-tucked blouse walked over. “Bill,” she said, her expression blank.
“Kyra, let me introduce you to Sara. Sara is the Hawthorns’ farm manager. Sara, this is Kyra Gibson, Ed’s daughter, and her guest, Mr. Collins, was it?”
Tarek nodded.
“Nice to meet you.” Sara gave a polite nod.
“I’ve invited Ms. Gibson to come visit the farm tomorrow, see all the work you’ve done. Maybe get a tour?”
“Ah, yes,” Sara said, not looking at her. “Tomorrow afternoon.” She stared at something beyond Mr. Grover’s shoulder. “Excuse me.” Sara walked away.
Tarek raised an eyebrow at Kyra.
“She’s an odd duck,” Grover said, watching her walk off. “I think it’s because she spends so little time with humans.” He smoothed his tie. “But she’s an expert in sustainable agriculture, and the farm’s success is entirely because of her.” Grover was about to say something further when the senator’s voice called him from across the room. “Duty calls.” He handed Kyra his card. “My and Beth, the house manager’s numbers. I hope to see you tomorrow. Enjoy your evening.” He excused himself to join Senator Hawthorn, who was surrounded by enthusiastic donors jostling for attention. Margot stood a bit to the side, her lips pressed together so tightly they disappeared.
“He seemed nice,” Kyra said to Tarek, watching Grover walk away. She looked around the room and took in the little clusters of people all waiting for their turn with the senator. “Are all political events so weird?” Kyra asked.
Tarek drank his water. “Yes, and tiresome,” he said with an irritated tone. His hand was in his hair, his eyes scanning the space. “Any idea which one of these people is Ms. Alonda from Wetun Energy?”
“We can ask Grace to point her out or the woman in the front.”
“I’ll go ask. Why don’t you grab something to eat? I’ll come get you at the bar when I’m done.”
Kyra balked, disappointed she was being dismissed, but agreed with a nod. Go, I’ll just go hang out at the bar by myself. He stalked off to find Grace or the attendant. She found an empty seat at the far end of the bar, near the wall. She took it, only realizing when she sat down that her feet had been hurting. Her toes started throbbing the second she relieved the pressure of standing. Stupid sexy shoes.
“What can I get you?”
“Umm, a white wine, please.”
The bartender returned with a glass and a small bowl of salty snack mix.
“Here you go. Anything else?”
She shook her head, thanked him, and placed a few dollars on the bar. Kyra sipped her wine and munched on her snacks, picking through for the tasty bits, the pretzels, and the rye chips. She tossed the offensive wasabi peas onto a spare napkin. Her thoughts wandered as she watched the party’s attendees. The temperature in the room had risen, and it was too warm away from the open sliding doors. The crowd had drifted closer to the porch and the refreshing, crisp sea air. Engrossed in people watching, she was slow to realize that she was within hearing range of a hushed but heated conversation coming from the hallway to her right. Her attention shifted from the mass of people to the voices she didn’t recognize.
“Don’t think I don’t know about your activities, Brian,” a woman whisper-shrieked.
“This isn’t the time or place,” a man responded with a steely, calm voice. “You need to go home. You’re an embarrassment to yourself, your family, and to me.”
“I’m fine,” she snapped.
“You’re hanging on that Coast Guard kid like a desperate whore. At least have the decorum to remain discrete, Adele. This is your mother’s night, and you’re making a scene.” Mother’s night? Grace? Grace hadn’t mentioned a daughter. Kyra scanned the room and noticed a few people dressed in Coast Guard uniforms.
“Fuck her. She didn’t even have the decency to invite us. Her assistant had to make the arrangements. Her assistant. And then only when I asked.” Adele’s voice rose. “That old bitch couldn’t even be bothered.”
“Not here. I’m warning you.”
“What are you going to do about it?” Adele sneered, her voice dripping with contempt. Kyra shifted her gaze to her phone, pretending she hadn’t been eavesdropping, as Adele came barreling out of the alcove. A few seconds later, a man emerged. He straightened his shirt cuffs under his suit jacket and walked to the bar to Kyra’s left, his hand raised.
“Macallan. Neat,” he called down to the bartender, who brought him a pale-green napkin and a lowball glass.
He drank it down in one gulp and brought the glass down with a thump. “Another,” he demanded.
The bartender poured him another drink and set a bowl of bar snacks down in front of him before stepping away.
Brian pulled out the barstool next to Kyra and sat down with a sigh. “Cheers.” He raised his glass.
She raised her own glass, almost a reflex, and shifted away from him.
“Brian Lee.” He held out his hand. “And how are you connected to all this?” he asked and gestured to the room.
“Kyra Gibson.” His hand was hot and clammy. She picked up her napkin, gripping it in her fist, and hoped he didn’t notice. “My friend, Grace Chambers, invited me.” She waited for his reaction. Nothing.
“I don’t know her.” He shrugged, his interest lost.
She studied him from under her eyelashes, pretending to look at her phone. He probably was in his early forties but could pass for much younger. His black hair was cut stylishly, longer in front, falling over his forehead, achieving a rakish appearance he must have been going for. Like nearly all the guests, he wore a business suit, but unlike most of the others, he’d worn no tie, and he’d left the top few buttons undone. He twisted his head around, clearly looking for someone more important to talk to.
Out of curiosity, or perhaps boredom, Kyra said, “Oh, she’s a personal friend of the senator.” She turned back to her drink.
Brian’s head swiveled back. He appraised her with renewed interest.
“You know Phil?”
“A bit.” She shrugged. Not technically a lie. “How are you connected to all this?” she mimicked him, hoping her flirting wasn’t as awkward as it felt.
He gave her a look that said she’d offended him. Apparently, she was supposed to know who he was, and based on his expression, be impressed.
She thickened her accent. “Pardon me. I’m not well acquainted with American politics.”
He sat back and nodded. Her foreignness made her ignorance less unforgivable.
“Margot and Phil are my wife’s parents.”
I didn’t read anything about the senator having a daughter.
“Your wife?”
“Yes. She’s around here somewhere, networking. Helping to raise money for the cause, campaigning. You know how it is in politics.” He knocked back the rest of his drink and motioned for a third. She didn’t know how it was in politics, and she was certain the woman she’d seen storm away was in no way fit to be raising money.
“Hey.” A soft, melodic voice came from behind, and Kyra felt the fabric of Tarek’s jacket graze her bare shoulders. A flush of heat rippled through her.
Tarek angled his body toward Brian. “Tarek Collins.” He held out his hand.
Brian’s gaze shifted from Kyra’s face to Tarek’s, and he pushed his hair off his forehead.
“Dr. Brian Lee.” He emphasized the doctor part and eyed Kyra. Brian had to shift on his barstool to shake Tarek’s hand. He studied the detective for a moment, then stood up. “Nice to meet you, Kate,” he said, someone more important already in his sights. Dr. Lee grabbed his drink and, pushing past Tarek, strode away.
Detective Collins sat in his abandoned seat. “Nice guy.”
“A proper gentleman.” She made a face.
“Who was that?” Tarek laughed and ordered another seltzer.
“Doctor Brian Lee, son-in-law of the senator,” Kyra replied. “But I don’t remember reading about the senator having a daughter.”
“He doesn’t. The wife does, though, from a previous relationship.”
“Oh.” Kyra glanced at Margot who was still attached to her husband. “Did you find the Wetun CEO?”
“Grace introduced me to her. Dr. Maria Alonda.” He handed Kyra a business card and picked at the discarded wasabi peas. “Lots of doctors here, apparently.”
“And?”
“She seems like a nice lady. She’s personally donating to the senator’s campaign fund but has never visited the island before, or so she says. She didn’t seem interested in speaking with me here but invited us to make an appointment at her office.” He shrugged.
“So … what does that mean?” She hadn’t expected Tarek would learn much at the party, but she was still disappointed.
“It means I’ll meet with her when I’m back in Boston.” Tarek slid the napkin along the bar top. “But I’d like to have more information before I harass the CEO.”
“And…” Kyra motioned for him to continue.
“We know there’s a connection between Wetun Energy and the senator, but we really don’t know anything else. I’d like to learn a bit more about that connection. Even if it has no bearing on the case, it may give me some context.”
Kyra nodded, frowning at the entirely practical plan.
Tarek wiped his hands on a napkin. “C’mon.” He stood and held out his hand.
“Where are we going?” Kyra asked, putting her hand in his and letting him help her up.
“Let’s check out the Hawthorns’ boat, then get some real food.” He eyed a plate of intricately arranged hors d’oeuvres as a server passed by and his mouth turned down.
“Excellent.” She grinned. “I’m famished.”