Tern Island was ready for company, meaning the house looked like an interior stylist came through to buff and fluff every object in sight. A long table was set on the enclosed porch, the mule-deer-antler chandelier that hung above it wiped clean of dust and rubbed to a resin-like shine. Later, Norton would light a couple dozen candles and the family would eat while the antlers threw warped shadows across the walls. It would be cool on the porch, and the forecast called for a storm, but Camilla wouldn’t have it any other way. Flynn’s grandmother believed dining on the porch was the best way for first-time guests to experience the beauty of the island.

Camilla wasn’t the only one keen on welcoming Jasper’s new girl. The smell of Norton’s fresh-baked rolls and something tangy-sweet Flynn later discovered was sour-cream coffee cake wafted through the house. When Jasper flopped down on the couch in the parlor and pulled Abella onto his lap, Flynn excused himself and went upstairs.

“Well, I finally met the girlfriend.” Flynn dropped his overnight bag on the bedroom floor and pulled the door shut behind him. “Honestly, what does Jas see in her? She’s got the personality of a dead fish and a complexion to match.”

Ned Yeboah sat up. He was on the bed with his long legs crossed at the ankles and an iPhone in his hand. “Girlfriend,” he repeated. “So he hasn’t done it yet.”

“Done what?”

“Nothing, just . . . I heard Jas might pop the question.”

Flynn chuckled. “The day Jasper settles down is the day Nana sprouts wings and shits rainbows. Where’d you get that idea?”

“Jade will say anything for attention, I guess.”

“You should know better than to listen to her.” Flynn sat down on the bed and said, “You made it out early.” He’d lost track of Ned that morning, having been busy at work. The only contact they’d had all day was the pointed text Ned sent when he arrived at the river. “How’d you manage it?” Flynn asked.

Ned shrugged. “Caught a lift with Bebe.”

“Huh. Where were Miles and Jade?”

“They had stuff to do before leaving the city. Bebe offered. I accepted.”

“You should have waited for me.”

Ned gave him a long, dull look before returning his gaze to his screen. “Your nana’s waiting,” Ned said. “Better run along.”

Knowing Ned was right about his grandmother, Flynn made his way upstairs to see Camilla. But the strained exchange and curt good-bye would trouble him for hours.

—

“How long have you been dating?” I asked when Flynn paused to roll his neck. His account suggested he and Ned weren’t getting along, but this was a one-dimensional view of a two-sided relationship.

“Six months,” Flynn replied. “Jasper’s the one who introduced us.”

I had a vague idea of where the Sinclairs’ fortune came from; Tim had mentioned something about fashion, which didn’t jibe with the old-money claim for me. But Flynn described Sinclair Fabrics as the largest designer drapery and upholstery outlet in the city, established by Camilla’s husband in the 1930s and managed by members of the Sinclair family ever since. When Flynn’s father died two years ago, Flynn took over the finances and Bebe was appointed CEO. Only Jasper had held out. He hadn’t joined the company until last year, when he became its director of marketing and PR.