Gwen reached for Liam’s hand, and for once he didn’t tease her because he seemed as unnerved as she was. Soon a group of the aunts with their banging pans and checkered tablecloths had arrived, and the octogenarian cavalry surrounded them.

They were safe.

35

Gwen experienced a strangely unreal feeling after the shooting. The entire family was forced to congregate in the gathering room. No one had confessed to shooting a weapon, and Frederick didn’t want anyone wandering off to hide a recently fired gun until he knew who’d done it. The main room was large, with plenty of upholstered furniture on one end and a massively long dining table on the other, but it felt crowded with three dozen people crammed inside. The elderly aunts and their husbands took the upholstered seats, while the second and third generations filled the dining chairs or sat on the fireplace hearth. The children crawled on the floor or sat on nervous mothers’ laps.

Uncle Oscar had watched in horror as Joshua carried Poppy to the only bedroom on the first floor. Everyone fell silent at the sight of Poppy’s blood-spattered gown, and Aunt Martha went to assist with preparing for the birth. There was no doctor on the island, nor was there any form of law enforcement. Oscar wanted both.

“I’m sending the Black Rose back to the city to fetch a doctor immediately,” he insisted, his voice tense with agitation. The crew had been living aboard the yacht and could reach the mainland within an hour.

“It’s starting to get dark,” Bertie said. “It’s not safe to send a yacht off at night like this.”

“And it’s not safe for my wife to deliver a child without a doctor!” Oscar roared.

Frederick held up a hand. “No arguing,” he said in a voice of command. “The Black Rose leaves in ten minutes, and I want Liam aboard.”

“What?” Liam asked, sitting on the hearth, exhaustion on his face. “I can stay. You might need help.”

Frederick whirled, his face iron-hard. “I already lost you once. I won’t tolerate it happening a second time. I want you off this island until we figure out who is trying to kill you.”

Gwen scanned the room. Nobody admitted to shooting a gun, and the only people from the estate who weren’t here right now were Patrick and Aunt Martha’s husband, Milton. Patrick still hadn’t returned from wherever he’d stormed off to after Poppy’s insults, and Milton had been fishing for saltwater bass all day.

“Could it have been Milton?” someone asked. “Does he hunt?”

Aunt Martha was tending Poppy and couldn’t be asked, but Aunt Helen refused to believe it. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, her pin curls bobbing. “The only person who was nearby for both attacks on Liam is that lawyer fellow.”

“Patrick didn’t do it,” Liam snapped.