in my ears. “Took her place,” Archer finally says in a dead voice. “Milly, that’s insane. You can’t…a person can’t just take another person’s place.”
“Why not?” Milly asks.
“Because…because…,” Archer sputters. “Because people would know!”
“Not if you refused to see them anymore,” Milly points out.
Archer’s face is tight and haunted. “Stop it, Milly. You’re out of control.” He barks out a shaky laugh, running a hand over his mouth. “I need a drink. This is—you are—I can’t—” He turns, and starts rummaging through the cabinets. “My mother isn’t dead, for God’s sake. People would know. Theresa, and Donald Camden, and Dr. Baxter—”
“Do you hear the names coming out of your mouth?” I interrupt. Milly needs backup, because Archer is losing his shit. “Donald Camden? Seems like his entire job is making sure nobody with the last name Story ever gets close to Mildred. Dr. Baxter? He was trying to tell you something’s wrong. And Theresa? She—”
“Why?” Archer spins and nearly screams the word. His eyes are wild, his hands clenched into fists at his side. “Why would anyone do something like that? To her, and to us?”
“Well.” Milly’s voice is low and calm, like she’s trying to soothe a frightened animal. “Money is a big motivator, isn’t it? It would motivate Donald Camden, I’ll bet. And maybe…” She turns toward Hazel, who looks utterly shell-shocked. “Sorry, but there’s no polite way to say this. Did your grandfather come into a bunch of money twenty-four years ago?”
“Milly, stop it,” Archer says harshly. “You’re taking this too far.”
Hazel wets her lips. “He did, though.”
Archer mumbles something incoherent and starts rooting through the cabinets with new fervor. Milly’s eyes get wide. “Really?” she asks.
“I mean, I wasn’t around, obviously, but my mom told me Granddad had a huge gambling problem when she was in college. It was so bad that they were going to lose the house, and she wouldn’t be able to pay for school, and my grandmother was threatening to divorce him. But then he started winning.” Hazel swallows hard. “She says he won all the time, after that.”
“Huh,” Milly says thoughtfully. “And Theresa would get money too, of course, but maybe there’s more to it with her. Maybe you’re right, Jonah, and she was never the same after her son died. Or maybe it’s like Aubrey said…oh my God.” For the first time in this entire bizarre conversation, panic hits her voice. “Oh no. Aubrey. Aubrey is there.”
“At least she’s not here,” Archer says with a strangled laugh. He finally locates a bottle of vodka and untwists the cap, filling a red Solo cup nearly to the brim. “Here is the bad place.”
“Uncle Archer, no! You don’t get it.” Before Archer can lift his drink, Milly grabs his arm and spins him with all her strength. “Aubrey has a keycard to the gates of Catmint House. She found one when she was there yesterday, and she grabbed it.” My pulse starts racing as fast as Milly’s must be, because I know what she’s thinking. “Aubrey went there, I’m sure of it,” Milly continues, her voice turning desperate as she takes hold of Archer by the shoulders. “She’s at Catmint House right now. Her father’s been telling her all summer that she needs to be more proactive. She wants to confirm what she saw.”
Archer is silent. Milly shakes him by his shoulders once, hard. “Even if you don’t believe anything else I’ve said this morning, please believe this is a bad situation,” she says tightly.
“Jesus.” Archer’s face goes slack. He twists in Milly’s grip to look longingly at his drink, and I half expect him to shoot out an arm and grab it. Instead, he sucks in a breath and turns to Hazel, who’s still frozen in place. “Did you drive here?”
Hazel blinks like a sleepwalker trying to wake up. “Car’s parked next to the curb. It’s a Range Rover.” She digs into her pocket and tosses Archer the keys. He catches them in one hand, then lunges into the living room and out the door.
Archer’s friend Jess had gotten a new dog, and Archer was in love. “I would kill for you, Sammy,” he said in a singsong voice, crouching beside the small terrier on the coarse sand of Cutty Beach. Sammy, ecstatic at the attention, tried to lick his face. “Yes, I would.”
“That seems extreme,” Allison said.
“Well, not, like, a person,” Archer amended, scratching behind Sammy’s ears. “Or another dog, obviously. Or a cat. I would kill a