“It was our mother who organized those dinners. So no,” Flynn said bitterly. “We don’t.”

Two years since the death of their parents meant two years without family get-togethers. It wasn’t as if Bebe, Flynn, Jasper, and Camilla couldn’t have kept up the tradition. That left me wondering if there was another reason the siblings no longer made an effort to catch up.

“And you didn’t hear anything last night?” I confirmed, remembering Norton and Camilla’s insistence that nothing happened after dark. “Voices maybe, or loud noises? Seems like you might not have slept so well, given what’s going on with Ned.”

Flynn bristled. “I’ll tell you what I heard. I heard perfect little Abella stumbling around drunk in the hall.”

“How do you know it was her?”

“What?”

“How do you know it was Abella you heard and not Jasper, or somebody else?”

He hesitated. “There was a fight. I heard them shouting.”

“What time was this?”

“Late, past midnight. Abella must have left the room to use the bathroom afterward. I didn’t hear anything else.”

Outside, the wind whistled and wailed. Last night past midnight the storm was already in full swing, and I had a hard time understanding how Flynn could be sure of what—or who—he’d heard. I got to my feet. “Thanks for your time, Mr. Sinclair. I’m going to need you downstairs now.”

“I’m not setting foot in the same room as that bitch.”

“I’m sorry, but you don’t have a choice.”

Flynn’s fury was starting to mount again. It bared itself in the clench of his teeth and the bulge of the blood vessels at his hairline. “You saw his bed,” he said in a voice that was low and dangerous. “She slept in that bed with him. She was alone in the room with Jasper all night, and they fought, and the bed’s covered in his blood and he’s nowhere now, just gone.” He dug his nails into the pillow and twisted hard. “What’s wrong with you? Are you seriously so stupid that you don’t see it? She killed my brother. I don’t know how she did it, but she did. And if you don’t do something about it, I swear to God I will.”

“That sounds like a threat.” I made a show of noting it on my pad. “Watch yourself, or the next conversation we have will be at the station.”

“You don’t scare me,” he said with a sneer. “If you think you can manipulate me, you’re wrong.”

“Tell you what,” I said, spotting my chance. “You do what you’re told, and I’ll try to find your brother. When this is all over you can file a complaint against me—here, take my card.”

I reached into my pocket and tossed the card into his lap. Reflexively, he raised his right hand from the pillow to bat it away.

It was a quick glimpse, but it was enough to confirm what I’d come to suspect. The knuckles on the hand Flynn was hiding all this time were an unmistakable shade of fresh-bruise blue.