The library she’d walked past on the way to this room had made her want to stop and linger. It soared two stories high, with an entire wall of tall windows. The dark wood walls and ceiling gleamed in the sunlight, and a wooden staircase spiraled to the loft filled with more books. The dark Persian rug and leather furniture added to the antique feel of the room––a space where a reader could be transported back in time. Blaire had felt the urge to climb those stairs and run her hand along the thick wooden banister, to lose herself in the books.

But instead, she’d continued to the vast living room, where appetizers were now being passed by waitstaff and white wine offered on trays. The space was immense and filled with light, which made it cheerful, if not cozy. Blaire took note of the high ceiling with its intricate crown molding and the original paintings on the walls. They were the same kind of works that she’d seen in Kate’s parents’ house, with the smooth patina of age and wealth. The wide-plank floor was covered with an enormous oriental rug of dark maroon and blue. Blaire noticed the fraying fringe on one corner and a few spots that looked a bit threadbare. Of course—she smiled wryly to herself—it had probably been in the family for years and years.

She looked across the room at the gawky man standing by the bar, her eyes drawn to the bow tie around his neck. Who wears a bow tie to a funeral? She had never gotten used to the Maryland obsession with them. Okay, maybe in prep school, but once you were a grown man, only to a formal affair. She knew her old friends wouldn’t agree, but as far as she was concerned, they belonged only on Pee-wee Herman or Bozo the clown. Once she registered his face, however, it made sense. Gordon Barton. A year or two ahead of them in school, he had trailed after Kate like a lost puppy when they were young. He’d been a weird and creepy kid, always staring at her for long moments in conversation, making her wonder what was going on in his head.

He caught her eye and walked over.

“Hello, Gordon.”

“Blaire. Blaire Norris.” His squinty eyes held no warmth.

“It’s Barrington now,” she told him.

His eyebrows shot up. “Oh, that’s right. You’re married. I must say, you’ve become quite well known.”

She didn’t really care for him, but his acknowledgment of her literary success pleased her nonetheless. He had always been such a tight-ass, so superior as he looked down his nose at her.

He shook his head. “Terrible thing about Lily, just terrible.”

She felt her eyes fill again. “It’s horrifying. I still can’t believe it.”

“Of course. We’re all quite shocked, of course. I mean, murder. Here. Unthinkable.”