She didn’t need to look. Sprawled on the ground with her cheek against cold stone, she could feel their eyes on her back. Inside the shed, Ned and Bebe were watching. Abella knew this sure as she knew what it meant. She’d seen them. And they had seen her.

The next few minutes were a blur. By the time she found herself hobbling down the hall toward the parlor, Jasper had set up the game and settled Camilla into a chair. In the hearth a newly laid fire sparked to life. There was firewood in a basket by the wall, there all along. Panting, she stumbled into the room.

“Where’d you go?” Jasper asked with a note of concern. He surveyed the jacket, her crimson cheeks, the wide stripe of mud on the thigh of her jeans. She’d panicked and come straight back inside without even taking off her muddy shoes. A look of disapproval rolled across Camilla’s face as her gaze followed the muddy footprints down the hall.

“Just . . .” Sweltering, Abella shrugged off the hood. “Outside,” she said. “To get some air.”

If he picked up on her fear, Jasper didn’t show it. “My jacket looks good on you.” He said it with a wolfish grin. Abella wearing nothing but his too-big T-shirt on a lazy Saturday morning. Abella tucked into one of his threadbare college sweatshirts as they sat on Jasper’s couch drinking good wine. The images he was trying to convey with those words and that playful expression were meant to be prophecies, but they were as painful to her as torn skin. They were what Abella thought she wanted, and what she’d now never have. “No luck with Ned?” asked Jasper.

Abella took off Jasper’s jacket and draped it over her arm. She stared at it for a long time before meeting his gaze again. “Sorry,” she said. “I couldn’t find him anywhere.”

TEN

Bebe and Ned,” Tim repeated slowly. “She’s absolutely sure.”

I’d seen the shed Abella was talking about. It was visible from the library window where I’d listened, unmoving, to her story. Where Tim and I stood now, alone. “She’s sure,” I said.

“Flynn’s boyfriend and his sister. Man, it’s like . . .” Tim paused. “Like a bad soap opera or something.”

Together, we glanced over at the parlor. I’d questioned the wisdom of sending Abella back in there with Jasper’s family, but isolating her could tip off the others to what she revealed in her interview, and I needed to hear their side of things without that kind of interference. Tim had implemented a mandatory bathroom break, which meant he was on break, too. While the Sinclairs took turns stalking down the hall muttering about the absurdity of the routine, Tim and I took the opportunity to regroup.

“If it’s true,” I said, “they’d want to keep their affair secret. That, right there, is motive. Picture it—they’re in the shed while Flynn’s working here in the library—”

“That’s a hell of a risk to take,” Tim interrupted.