trying to gauge their mood. Hunter had sounded desperate on the phone, but they seemed almost relaxed. Cara in particular seemed less suspicious of her, as she motioned for her to sit. “Have a seat. Someone give her wine.”
Harper perched on a soft cushion that smelled of salt air and shook her head. “No wine, thanks. I’ve got to go back to work soon. Has there been any news?”
The actress gave her a wan smile. “We’re right where we were before—sitting around knowing absolutely nothing. We hoped you could help.”
“Haven’t you heard from the Savannah police?” Harper asked, surprised.
Hunter, who’d been tearing the cellophane from a pack of cigarettes, looked up sharply. “No. Why?”
“They’ve assigned detectives to the case,” she told him. “It’s not just the local cops anymore.”
“Why would do they do that?” Cara kept her voice neutral, but her fingers tightened around her glass.
“The Tybee force is very small,” Harper explained. “They could use the extra hands on this case.”
“But why do they need a detective?” Hunter seemed to have forgotten the pack of cigarettes in his hand. “What do they think’s happened to him?”
“Nothing’s happened to him. He’s fine.” Allegra raised her voice.
“He’s not fine,” Cara snapped. “He’s been gone for days. He hasn’t called. He hasn’t texted. Something happened. And you need to accept that, Legs. We all do.”
“Cara.” Hunter’s voice was soft but meaningful.
She let out a breath. “I’m sorry,” she said, with instant regret. “I keep yelling at you.”
But Allegra, her face red and wounded, kept her eyes on the package of spaghetti in her hands.
They’d clearly spent all day working themselves up until their tempers were at the breaking point. Harper needed to calm them down.
“I know this is hard,” she said, “but you have to be patient. They’re looking everywhere.”
Hunter blinked at her through his glasses. “You still think there’s hope? That he might be out there?”
In truth, Harper did not believe there was much hope, but the three of them were looking at her with so much need she couldn’t say that.
“Of course there’s hope,” she assured them.
Taking this as evidence that she’d been right all along, Allegra leaped up from the floor. “That’s all I’ve been saying. We don’t know for sure that anything bad has happened.” She picked up the grocery bag. “I’m going to make food.” Pointing at Harper, she said, “And you’re having wine whether you like it or not.” She turned to Hunter. “Make her drink wine.”
She disappeared into the house with one hand raised, saying, “Everyone must drink wine!”
In the quiet that followed, Cara and Hunter seemed deflated. Allegra’s determination that everything had to be okay was exhausting them.
After a second Hunter squared his shoulders and reached for the bottle of wine. He filled a glass, holding it out to Harper.
“Everyone must drink wine,” he said.
She took it. One drink wouldn’t hurt.
He raised his glass, his expression somber. “To Xavier. May he come home soon.”
“Yes please,” Cara whispered.
Harper took a sip. The wine was cold and crisp. “That is delicious,” she said, surprised.
Cara gave her a rueful half smile. “Careful. We’ll corrupt you.”
Harper found herself smiling back.
It struck her that sitting in the cool ocean breeze on the beautiful veranda she could easily forget why she was here. It would be so nice to live like this. To have friends like these. To be talented and young. Harper was still only twenty-eight, but she hadn’t felt young in a long time. She wondered if she would have had a life like this if her mother had never been killed—if, instead, she’d lived long enough to worry about gray hair and smile wrinkles around her eyes.
Hunter lit a cigarette and held the pack out to Harper, with an inquiring raised eyebrow. When she declined, he said, “How do you manage to have so few vices?”
“Harper’s a good girl.” Cara sounded amused.
Hunter turned the pack to her and she slid one thin cigarette out, bending forward for a light. He flicked the glittering silver Zippo. The flame danced across her delicate features. Leaning back in her chair, she blew out a plume of white smoke that floated into the moonlight and hung there, ghostlike.
They’d clearly been drinking for quite a while. Harper thought that could work in her favor. “How did things go with Stuart today?” she asked. “Did he talk to the police?”
“Until they hung up on him.” Hunter’s tone was dry. “Because he’s such a dick.”
“The problem with Stuart is he wants to control everything,