Elin Hilderbrand - The Rumor

But Madeline was too good a friend to begrudge Grace her study. It wasn’t merely an excuse for interior decorating: Grace had gardening issues to take care of, and she ran the business of raising Araucana chickens and selling organic eggs.

Madeline sat in the green leather armchair and draped a thick, cream-colored chenille blanket over her lap. Grace collapsed across the crushed-velvet sofa. She propped her chin up on a golden brocade pillow and stared into her goblet of Screaming Eagle, which she held with both hands.

“Grace,” Madeline said, “what is it?”

“Do you remember when I told you that I had a crush on Benton Coe?” she said.

“Yes,” Madeline said. “Obviously.” It had been at the end of last summer. She and Grace had been plunked at the waterline at Steps Beach, drinking homemade watermelon margaritas that Grace was serving from a thermos. Tequila had long been truth serum for Grace, and so somewhere in the middle of the warm, drowsy afternoon, she’d reached over to touch Madeline’s arm-waking Madeline from a nap-and she’d said, “I have a crush on Benton Coe.”

Madeline had still been half or three-quarters asleep, but she said, “No, Grace, you don’t.”

“Yes,” Grace had said. “Yes, I do. You must know what I mean. You must have had a silly, harmless crush on someone over the course of your marriage.”

Madeline shook her head. “No.”

“Really?” Grace said. “You guys have always been Dick Van Dyke and Mary Tyler Moore?”

“Always,” Madeline said.

The conversation had ended there, but Madeline hadn’t forgotten it.

Now, Grace said, “Something has started between us.”

Madeline had had so much wine, she couldn’t even form the appropriate expression on her face. And what would the appropriate expression be? Shock? Horror? Disapproval? Madeline had never been one to judge; the spectrum of human experience was simply too vast to believe in absolute right or absolute wrong.

“What kind of something?” Madeline asked.

“He brought me pistachio macarons from the bakery,” Grace said. “And then he kissed me.”

“Kissed you?” Madeline said. “Was it just one time?”

“It was just once at first,” Grace said. “But then it happened again in the garden shed. And it happened a third time while we were putting up the hammock.” She swirled the wine in her goblet with such abandon that Madeline feared she would spill it all over the golden pillow. Grace was pretty drunk. Possibly she was blowing the “kissing” out of proportion.

“Now,” she said, “it happens every day.”

“Every day?” Madeline said. “What kind of kissing is it?”

“The best kind,” Grace said. “The kind of kissing that makes me dizzy. You know what that feels like, right?”

“Right,” Madeline said. Her and Trevor, the summer of 1993.

“Or maybe it’s desire particular to a forty-year-old woman who has been ignored for so long.”

“Does Eddie ignore you in bed?” Madeline asked.

Grace shrugged-meaning what, Madeline wasn’t sure. “It’s been so long since I was his primary focus,” she said. “How long, do you think?”

“A long time,” Madeline admitted. For pretty much as long as Madeline had known Eddie-close to twenty years-he had taken Grace for granted. Grace had complained about it in the past, but she also said she understood that Eddie was busy. Their lifestyle took an enormous amount of money to sustain, and Grace brought in three hundred dollars a week selling eggs, which was just enough to fill her Range Rover with gas and pay the girls’ cell-phone bills. The leather jacket Allegra had been wearing tonight had probably cost more than what Madeline spent on groceries in a month. Eddie had a lot of pressure on his five-foot-eight frame, hence his constant case of heartburn.

“I’m lonely,” Grace said. “I’ve been lonely for years.”

“Are you going to sleep with him?” Madeline asked. She was whispering now. She could not believe Grace was involved with Benton Coe.

“I don’t know,” Grace said. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“I would try getting back to just being friends,” Madeline said.

“That’s easier said than done,” Grace said. “I feel like I’m in a race car and there’s no reverse.”

“How do you see this ending?” Madeline asked. “I’ll point out, Grace, because I’m your best friend and it’s my job, that no good can come of this.”

“I know,” Grace said. “Do you remember the séance?”

Rhetorical question.

The séance had been held in Grace and Eddie’s basement on Mischief Night the previous October. Eddie’s sister, Barbie Pancik, was known for having certain prescient powers. When she was in her twenties, she had purchased a crystal ball at a flea market in Brimfield, and it had made its way around the party circuit on Nantucket, back when Barbie used to do the party circuit. Somehow Grace and Eddie had convinced Barbie to bring it over on Mischief Night-the twins and Brick safely ensconced at a party at Hannah Dromanian’s house. Barbie had not only said okay; she had dressed up as a full-on gypsy, in a long black dress, with her frosted hair wrapped up in an Hermès scarf.

She had sat for a long time, staring, so long that Eddie and Grace and Madeline and Trevor began to fidget like schoolchildren, and then, when Barbie took a breath, they all tensed.

She said, in the world’s most uncomfortable voice, making everyone at the table believe that she was absolutely telling the truth: “Two of the women at this table will betray the person on their left.”

Eddie was to Grace’s left, Grace to Madeline’s left, Trevor to Barbie’s left.

Now, Grace said, “Barbie predicted I would betray Eddie.”

“The séance was idiotic,” Madeline said. “You didn’t believe what Barbie said?”

“I think about it,” Grace said.

“If you believe what Barbie said, then that means that either Barbie is going to betray Trevor-which doesn’t seem likely-or I’m going to betray you, which is even less likely, since you’re my best friend.”

“Yes,” Grace said. “Thank you.”

“The séance wasn’t real, Grace.”

Grace set her wine safely on the side table and sat up to face Madeline. “What I can’t get over is how suddenly my life has changed. Everything was normal and boring. And now… now, my life is a novel.”

On Saturday night, Damon, the bartender at the Pearl, heard the rumor from the hostess, Phoenix Hernandez, who had been to the dentist earlier in the week.

It was all over town by noon on Sunday. This was partially because Damon’s housemate, Blue Sky, worked as the bartender upstairs at Ventuno, and Blue Sky’s mother, Alice, was the elementary-school secretary, and Blue Sky’s aunt Margaret worked at the Nantucket RMV. Blue Sky, Alice, and Margaret met for breakfast every Sunday morning at the Fog Island Café, where Blue Sky told her aunt and mother the notable stories from her weekend.

Part of the rumor was substantiated when Rachel McMann, an enthusiastic user of social media, posted a picture of the outside of the blue Victorian in a tweet that said, Just rented space to a Nantucket author! #nantucket #bayberryproperties #islandia. This was retweeted by Jacinda Morgan, the office manager at Bayberry Properties, who was required to retweet anything using the hashtag #bayberryproperties to all ten thousand of their followers. It was also retweeted by Madeline’s publisher, Final Word, who was required to retweet anything that used the hashtag of any one of their thirteen hundred titles to their 1.1 million followers.

Did you hear?

Saturday night at eight o’clock, Eddie went to the old Cumberland Farms to buy some cherry Tums. The old Cumberland Farms was run down and catered to a questionable clientele-teenagers on skateboards, heroin addicts, petty criminals, pretty much the bottom of the Nantucket barrel-but it was the only place on the island that sold cherry Tums, and Eddie was in dire need.

At nine thirty, he was due at Low Beach Road to meet with Ronan LNW. And at ten o’clock, the girls would arrive.

Grace normally liked to pin Eddie down to a date night on Saturdays, but this week the topic had-blessedly-not come up, and Eddie hadn’t looked a gift horse in the mouth. Grace had made lobster stew and baked fresh baguettes, and shortly after cleaning up from dinner, just as Eddie was wondering how he was going to break the news that he had to go to work, she retreated to her study, saying she had some garden planning she wanted to do.

Hope was driving Allegra into town, then she was coming home to practice the flute. Allegra hadn’t made the honor roll and hence hadn’t earned the privilege of driving the four-door Jeep Sahara that Eddie had given both twins for their sixteenth birthday. Allegra had said she would get a ride home, and Eddie asked, From whom? And Allegra had said, I don’t know, Daddy, from someone. The girl had five thousand friends, and, although Eddie was pretty sure she drank and probably also smoked, she had never gotten into trouble trouble. Of course, for the past two years, she had spent most of her free time with Brick-but recently, her plans had become vague. Going into town to hang out on the Strip, maybe catch a movie.

Eddie said, Call me if you need a ride. I’ll come get you, no matter what time.

Allegra had hugged him and said, Thank you, Daddy, while Hope looked at him like he was the world’s easiest mark.

To Hope, Eddie said, “I have to go check on a rental. I should be home by ten thirty, eleven at the latest.”

Hope had shrugged.

Now, at the old Cumberland Farms, Eddie picked two bottles of cherry Tums off the shelf and brought them to the counter.

A voice behind him said, “Hey there, Eddie.”

Eddie turned around. It took Eddie a second to recognize the man because he wasn’t in uniform. Ed Kapenash, the chief of police, was wearing a white shirt, jeans, and a blazer.

“Hey, Chief,” Eddie said, and he shook Ed’s hand. Eddie paid for his Tums, took his change, accepted the bag, then turned around to smile at the Chief.

The Chief said, “Wait for me by the door for a second, would you?”

“Sure thing,” Eddie said. His heart felt like it was being fed to a pack of feral dogs. While he waited, he popped open the Tums and chewed up a small handful. What would the Chief want with Eddie? Only the very worst came to mind.

The Chief was buying a gallon of milk. He held it up. “Much cheaper here,” he said.

Eddie smiled. “Don’t I know it.”

“Eggs are cheaper, too-but then, I guess you don’t buy eggs anymore.”

“Grace’s hens have spoiled me rotten,” Eddie said. “I’ll never go back.”

The Chief opened the door and walked with Eddie out to the parking lot. His cruiser was parked next to Eddie’s Cayenne. Thank God Eddie had gotten the thing inspected!

Eddie hesitated before heading to his car. Did the Chief want to talk to him?

The Chief said, “So, how are things with you, Eddie?”

“Oh,” Eddie said, “can’t complain, I guess.”

“You’re building those houses on Eagle Wing Lane?”

“I’m trying,” Eddie said.

“And are you still taking on that high-roller rental on Low Beach Road?” the Chief asked.

Eddie wanted to look the Chief in the eye, but he couldn’t. He stared at the chipped shingles on the side of the building.

“I am,” Eddie said.

“All of those guys are big spenders, huh?” the Chief said. “Fifty grand a week.” He whistled.

Eddie’s heart was in red, raging turmoil. He nodded.

The Chief clapped Eddie on the back. “Well, nobody deserves to rake in the spoils more than you, my friend. You’ve been in the business a long time. You hustle faster than anyone I know.”

These sounded like words of encouragement. But were they?

“What you did when we sold the MacAvoy house was incredibly generous. I’ll never forget it, and neither will Andrea. And neither will Chloe or Finn.”

“Well,” Eddie said, “it was the least I could do.” He held up his bag of Tums in a kind of salute, then headed for his car.

“Have a good night,” the Chief said.

“And you,” Eddie said. “Enjoy that milk.”

Eddie waited in his Cayenne for the Chief to drive away before pulling out his phone.

He wanted to call Ronan LNW and cancel. Running into the chief of police only moments before doing the worst thing he had ever done or hoped to do? It meant there was trouble. The police were watching the house. Possibly Ronan LNW was an informant for the FBI. Possibly, Eddie was being set up by Glenn Daley, who was Rachel McMann’s boss at Bayberry Properties and who would like nothing more than to see Eddie and Barbie go belly up.