Follies came up a lot in murder mysteries. People liked to put bodies under or around them. That made sense, because they were pointless bits of architectural extravagance—what you built if you were a rich, grown-ass adult and wanted a playhouse. Why not build a tiny Greek temple out on the lawn? You’d be weird if you didn’t.
This folly was made to look like the front of a temple—four columns and a peaked roof. It had no inside room; it was just a little overhang, a place to stand out of the sun or rain, maybe have tea or a picnic.
“I’ve been reading these witness statements all night,” she said. “I looked at Angela’s notes. She tried to figure out who was where and when. And that’s great, but the point is that from about eleven until two thirty in the morning, pretty much everyone was just somewhere on the grounds, not seen by the others. They pop up here or there, but everyone was out of view except for Sebastian, who was here. He had the keys to the woodshed down his pants. It’s pretty on display, huh. Nowhere to hide.”
Behind them was the pond, which looked to be maybe three feet deep at best and was home to some koi. Stevie watched them glide under the surface.
“The medical examiner looks at the bodies at about two in the afternoon,” she went on. “They estimated that Rosie and Noel died around the same time, between eleven p.m. until four in the morning. So, the murders could have happened at any time during the night and pretty much anyone could have done it.”
She leaned her forehead against a column.
“I’m never going to figure this out,” she said, mostly to herself. Her breath puffed in front of her, a delicate feather of white mist. “It’s impossible. I’ve got a murder mansion, a house full of suspects, a pile of evidence, and nothing.”
She pushed herself away from the column and walked off to look at the sheep in the fields below. They were already complaining to each other, in long, lowing baas. A few deer poked through the trees and sampled the early morning grass. Nate came up beside her. He was about to take another step when she remembered.
“Ha-ha,” she said, clutching his arm.
She pointed down.
“The fuck?” he said, looking down at the sheer, unmarked drop.
“It’s supposed to keep the animals away while preserving the view. They call it a ha-ha.”
“Like that laugh the kid from The Simpsons makes? What is wrong with people?”
“A lot of things,” she replied. She sat down on the ground, letting her legs dangle over the edge. She felt the wet grass soak into the butt of her onesie. It was not designed for this sort of use. Possibly any use. David was asleep upstairs right now. She had so little time left here, but it all seemed so hopeless. Why bother?
Because Angela was out there somewhere.
“Can we talk about something else for one second?” he said, sitting down next to her.
She turned in surprise.
“Well, since we seem to be in the middle of goddamned nowhere with no one around, and I was planning on . . . I figured this trip was a good time, and since we’re out here at dawn for no particular reason . . .”
Nate was struggling with words, squinting at the pale moon above them.
“What?” she prompted.
“Okay,” he said. “You know, like, you and David?”
Stevie cocked her head in confusion.
“You and David,” he said again. “Vi and Janelle. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but that’s not . . . me.”
“What’s not you?”
“Romance,” he said. “Being with someone.”
“I’ve noticed,” she said.
“No,” he said. “I mean . . . ever.”
Stevie turned this over in her mind for a second.
“I’m saying I’m ace,” he said. “Asexual. I always knew, but I only kind of put the words to it in the last few months,” he went on. “You’re the first person I’ve told.”
That Nate was ace wasn’t a surprise, really—but him taking her aside to share something this important was. Stevie found herself unexpectedly choking up. She pretended to shift a hair out of her eye to clear a little tear.
Nate eyed this sign of emotion warily.
“Are you going to tell the others?” she asked.
“Probably soon,” he said. “Janelle will probably crochet me an ace pride scarf or something.”
“Ask her to make you an ace pride drone.”
“She would actually do that, wouldn’t she?”
“And she’d knit a little hat for it,” Stevie said, nodding.
“I’m going to wait until we get back. I can only handle so much of this kind of stuff at once.” He rubbed his eyes sleepily. “We already have a lot going on. But I wanted to tell you while we were here, and this seemed like the right time. I mean, I was up and you got up and we’re out doing something stupid.”
“Wait.” Stevie pivoted toward him sharply. “Does this have anything to do with all this writing you’re suddenly doing? Did coming out help you start writing again?”
“Oh my God,” he said, rubbing his forehead. “Shut up. I’m just writing. I write. I always write.”
“You don’t,” Stevie said, half under her breath. “But whatever.”
Nate inhaled sharply through his nose and Stevie moved quickly to redirect the conversation.
“You know how I feel about you, right?” she said. “Like, if you needed a kidney or something, you should definitely come to me after you’ve asked everyone else you can think of.”
“This is why I decided to tell you first,” he replied. “You’re sort of as close as I get to that stuff. That’s why I keep following you to second locations.”
They exchanged a long look of understanding. Nate, shaggy and lanky and surprisingly strong, the sleeves of his hoodie pulled down over his palms. She couldn’t even remember being a Stevie without a Nate. A silver dawn started to bloom. It was misty—droplets of moisture on everything with a gentle light shining through it. Everything had a magical air, softened, as if reality had been put through a soft-focus filter. It wasn’t daylight yet, but it was coming.
“Okay,” he said, getting up. “We’re done with feelings, right? Let’s go back inside. My ass is freezing.”
As soon as Stevie got up and turned back toward the house, she saw a figure striding across the wide expanse of the front lawn in their direction carrying something in their hands. She felt a jolt of fear, and the sudden desire to push Nate off the edge of the ha-ha to safety. This was it. She had taken him out to this remote place and they were going to die.
Except it was Theo, carrying two steaming mugs. Unlike Stevie and Nate, she was fully dressed for the day—jeans, a sweater, a wool coat, and a matching hat.
“I saw you through my bedroom window,” she said. “I always wake up early. Never have been able to sleep in. I thought you might be cold, so I brought you something to warm you up. Americans generally prefer coffee in the morning, I think? I hope instant is all right.”
This behavior of Theo’s had been recorded in the statements. Theo bringing people tea and water and coffee. Always the doctor, taking care of everyone.