Tighter by Adele Griffin Page B

on the island. We all hated thummertime, when the fanthy folk came in. I’m thtill thuthpithuth.” This last word would have set Mags off; alone, I nodded seriously.
    “But aren’t the McRae people fancy folk?”
    “I work for Thkylark,” Connie clarified. “And my mother before me, and her mother before her. And her mother lived here. Thkylark wath built by my great-grandfather.”
    “Winslow Hastings Horne?”
    Connie looked pleased. “Why, how do you know ’bout him?”
    Here was my opportunity. A pleased Connie was not in her signature mood. “My parents are architecture buffs,” I lied. “I read about Horne in one of their books. He’s kind of a big deal. In my house, anyway.”
    Pleasure opened Connie’s face. “He’th internationally recognithed. Fact ith, I own Horne’s only thilhouette.” She leaned forward. “Never published.”
    “Horne’s silhouette? Cool. I can’t wait to tell my parents.” I gave it my all. “So you’re from an original family of Bly.”
    Connie seemed thrilled that I’d reached this conclusion on my own. “That’th true.”
    “And the Quints have lived here forever, too, right?”
    Another nod. “Augie Quint doeth home thecurity. He can lock and unlock the entire island with the touch of a button.”
    “Was Peter planning to go into the family business?”
    Connie’s lips pursed at the name. “Peter? No … too much of a hothead.”
    “But he sounds like he was fun to be around.”
    A tic in her face suggested doubt. “He’d come over full of mithchief. Throw Itha in the air, tell joketh, play all hith awful muthic real loud. But he brought in the dark, too.”
    “What do you mean?”
    She hesitated. “Moody, wath all I meant.”
    “And Jessie? What was she like?”
    “A thummer Bly girl. Only thing different being how thee picked Peter over her people—and her family weren’t none too happy about that.” Connie pulled out her hankie and blew.
    “But it must have been hard on Peter.”
    “How tho?”
    “Just, I mean, with Jessie and Isa and all these other Bly kids having so much.” It was now or never. “I’ve been here over a week. And I’ve discovered some things. The strange things he did.”
    “Who?”
    “Peter. I’ve noticed how he took some of his, you know, his darkness out on Skylark.”
    “What are you thaying?” If Connie’d had quills, they’d all have been sticking out in defense.
    “Almost like little tantrums or grudges.” I shrugged. “Even Isa knew about it. It’s like there are all these scars all over the house.”
    Connie fell quiet.
    “Like the cigarette burns.” Now I’d really launched myself. “And the missing tiles in Isa’s fireplace. I know you saw the J that he knifed into the wood of that lounge chair upstairs. At first I’d thought it was Jessie, but that’s not her style at all. She was outgoing, a free spirit. He was different, more withdrawn, but he was angry, too—and he’s done a lot of damage around here. That’s why you never go up to the third floor, right? Because you take good care of this house, Connie. You see everything. Except for some reason you’ve decided not to see the pinholes in that portrait of the three kids. And you’ve ignored the ashes in the fireplace, and the dead squirrel and the—”
    “No, no, thith ith all too thilly.” With a snap of her head, Connie seemed to break herself from her trance of listening. “I don’t have the leatht idea what you mean,” she declared.
    “You do so,” I pressed. “You let Peter hang out here all last summer. Because he was a local, and the locals always watch each other’s backs. But you didn’t know the damage he was doing, or you’d never have let him. You’re probably still kind of upset about it, since it all happened on your watch, am I right?”
    Hot spots had appeared in her cheeks. The flat of her hand rolled her napkin back and forth, back and forth. It made me nervous to see her so vulnerable. I’d expected