in on Ian’s latest million-dollar idea—a Meetup-style app for video gamers that would also bring you chips and beer—which actually sounds moderately interesting, and their plan to look for an apartment together in the fall, which sounds like a recipe for heartbreak and financial disaster rolled into one, my mind keeps cycling back to Fourth of July weekend. While I’m thrilled to hear that Kaylee is over it, I’m not sure I am.
To clarify, I am 100 percent over Max Adler, not that there was anything to get over in the first place. But Kaylee’s uncharacteristic ability to find her way to Bridgehampton unassisted; her snappy familiarity with the layout of the liquor store; her friend Becca that I could swear we don’t know from Brooklyn; her complete lack of questions about Herron Mills or the Hamptons in general? Maybe I’m overthinking things. Probably I am. But Saturday night’s strange memory, or whatever that was, has stayed with me. I think Kaylee might have been the third girl drinking cocktails at that glassed-in pool … Zoe, Kaylee, and me.
“Do you know a girl named Zoe Spanos?” I interrupt.
“Who?”
“Zoe Spanos. I think we might have partied with her last year, maybe over the summer or winter break?”
“Doesn’t ring a bell. She one of Mike’s friends?”
“No, she’s from here. From Herron Mills,” I clarify.
“Girl, are you on that again?” Kaylee asks. “I told you I’ve never been out there before. Your digs are posh as shit. I think I’d remember.”
“Yeah, I know. I just thought … this Zoe girl, she looks a lot like me. Do you remember anyone like that?”
“A girl who looks just like you? Definitely not.”
“Forget it,” I sigh. My brain has been doing undeniably weird things all summer. What I said to Caden wasn’t a total lie—this job is all-consuming. Save for the not-so-restful break over the Fourth, I haven’t had a day off since I got here. I don’t get weekends. Paisley’s wonderful, and the Bellamys are great employers, but taking care of an eight-year-old is exhausting, and the constant string of workdays combined with too much sun and too many unsolved mysteries is starting to make my head swim.
I hang up with Kaylee, satisfied everything is back to normal between us, and change out of my dinner dress (one of my new ones, with pockets) and back into regular clothes before meeting up with Caden.
I still have a few minutes, so I head into the main house kitchen to poke around for movie snacks. I’m filling a Tupperware from a giant bag of rosemary olive oil popcorn when the Bellamys’ landline rings. It’s a 212 number, someone calling from Manhattan. Maybe Tom. I can hear Emilia upstairs with Paisley, so I pick up the phone.
“Bellamy residence.”
“Yeah, is Tom there?” a male voice asks. He sounds like he’s in a rush.
“He’s in the city during the week,” I supply. “Do you have his cell?”
There’s a pause on the other end. “Is this Emilia?”
“No, this is Anna. The nanny.”
Another pause. “And you’re sure he’s not there? Because he left the office early today.”
“Oh. I … I don’t know. I mean, no, he’s not here.”
The line goes dead.
I file that away under 1,000 percent not my business and pop the lid on the Tupperware.
* * *
When I come out on the other side of the trees between the two estates, I’m not prepared for the complete wreckage of the stable in front of me. I wasn’t expecting to see a brand new stable already erected in its place, but the scene looks basically untouched since the night of the fire. The ground is littered with ashes and charred slats of wood, and the surrounding grass is burned away. The rest of the lawn is still nicely mown, but the gaping, blackened eyesore in the back of the property kind of steals the stage.
“I’m getting a contractor out here next week,” Caden says. “I hope. As you might find unsurprising by now, Mom’s been difficult about the process. She wants her horses back, but the idea of letting multiple people onto the property to work isn’t easy for her. It’s going to take some cajoling.”
“Right.” I look up, and there she is—Meredith Talbot, darkening an upstairs window. She looks none too pleased to see me standing in the backyard with her son. I raise my hand in an apologetic wave.
“She really doesn’t like me,” I say to Caden.
“She doesn’t like new people, full stop. The fact that you look like