When they reached their house that night, Celeste simply went to bed in blissful ignorance, remembering nothing but their delightful family walk on a cool evening. Harrison, after putting the wriggling baby into a crib where another had died just a few hours before, walked slowly up to the third-floor ballroom and into the turret. He closed the door and, satisfied that none of the household help would hear him, he sunk to his knees, finally allowing the unimaginable horror of what he had seen and done to wash over his body like a wave. He cried out with a primal sound of such desperation, need, and futility that his very being, every cell in his body, threatened to burst apart with the force of it.
Harrison did not know that at the very same moment, Jess Stewart had come home to an empty house. He would spend hours looking for his missing wife that night and the next day, knocking on Harrison’s door, running all over town in an increasing state of panic, sending cables to her parents and his, talking to everyone they knew and finally to the police. Jess Stewart would make the very same sound alone in his bedroom as the sun went down on the first day without his wife, taking his hope and will to live with it.
Harrison also did not know that Jess, who was consumed with guilt about his brief, ill-advised, alcohol-fueled affair with Sally Reade, at first suspected that his wife had left him because of it. He imagined that, in his absence, Sally had come to Addie with proof of the affair. But as the days passed and Addie was still nowhere to be found, Jess became more and more frantic that something terrible had happened to her. Was Sally involved? That woman, despite all the fun and life in her, was unstable. He confessed his affair to the police—in retrospect, not the smartest move—in the hopes that they would look to Sally Reade for answers. They did, briefly. When her father and her best friend confirmed that she was in Europe for a short vacation, the police looked instead in one direction for Addie’s killer. Directly at Jess Stewart.
Harrison hadn’t intended to implicate Jess in this mess, though he did nothing to stop it. He knew about his friend’s affair with Sally Reade and despised him for it. How could he possibly cheat on Addie? He deserved to lose his wife and child—just not that way. Harrison was simply consumed with covering up his wife’s crime. When the investigation began to focus on Jess, Harrison had to choose. He chose his wife, or more exactly, the life he had carefully cultivated.
Harrison didn’t count on, and indeed, did not know, that Celeste was beginning to remember things about that night. Snippets came back to her, a voice here, a scene there, as though she were remembering a dream. She became convinced that one of them, either she or Harrison, had killed Addie. She was not so unlike her husband, because she, too, chose to cover up what she suspected. So she called upon one of the dockworkers who had always provided similar “services” for her father, a man she could trust to do her bidding, and paid for his testimony implicating Jess Stewart. Not that Celeste had anything particular against Jess. But it wouldn’t do to have Harrison go to jail. Let alone herself. They had a baby to care for. They were the richest couple in town. The largest employer. She would not betray her father’s memory, erase all his hard work and sacrifice, with that kind of scandal. No. Jess had to take the blame for this. It was the only way.
During the trial, Jess Stewart became so despondent that his lawyer didn’t dare put him on the stand. He did not know what became of his wife, he did not know how she died or who had killed her. He did not know that his baby was the gurgling, cooing bundle in Celeste’s arms every day at the trial. He only knew that Addie and the baby were gone, his life was gone, his reason for living was gone. He felt that he was the cause of it all. In some sort of morality play of retribution for wrongdoing, his ill-fated affair, his betrayal of his best friend and soul mate, had somehow set this in motion, causing Addie and the baby to simply disappear, to vanish into the fog, taken away from an undeserving husband, never to be seen again.
When Marcus Cassatt confronted him on the courthouse steps, Jess was relieved to see the man and his gun. He turned his chest toward his murderer so Addie’s father could get a clear shot, and he smiled. One moment after his body hit the ground, he was in Addie’s arms.
“I will right this for you, my love,” she whispered to him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Kate opened her eyes with a start. She sat up and reached around to her back—and exhaled. It had seemed so real that she wasn’t quite sure if she, herself, had been stabbed.
She threw back the covers and jumped out of bed, pushed her feet into slippers, grabbed her robe, and tied it around her as she ran down the main staircase toward the dining room.
Not seeing her cousin at his usual breakfast table, she called out for him. “Simon!”
He emerged from the kitchen with a pot of French-press coffee and two cups. “Kate, my God, what—” But she held a hand up, stopping his words.
“I know what happened,” she said as the two of them sat down at a table and Simon poured.
Kate took a deep breath and began to talk. She told him all about the dream—Addie’s death, Celeste’s insane, terrifying voice, Harrison’s panic, the final push out into the lake, a dead woman holding a dead baby that wasn’t even her own, locked together in a watery grave.
“Addie was our great-grandmother,” Simon whispered. “And Jess Stewart was our great-grandfather.”
“He was innocent,” Kate said, her voice trembling. “He was an innocent man, framed for his wife’s murder.”
“Why would Harrison do such a thing?” Simon asked. “He framed his best friend. Or, at the very least, stood by and watched him go down for a murder he knew the guy didn’t commit. I can’t believe it.”
“I know, it’s pretty low,” Kate said. “I guess in the end, his wife and family and business and reputation were too much to lose.”
“So, what did Harrison do?”
“To me, it seemed as though he panicked. Even if Addie and the baby had washed up the very next day, there would be no evidence whatsoever tying him or Celeste to their deaths.”
“It’s all so pointless,” Simon mused. “Addie’s husband wasn’t guilty of anything but having an affair. They got away with it. What a nightmare. You know, our family will go insane when they hear about this,” Simon went on. “Will they even believe us?”
“I know one way,” Kate said, softly. “If we really want to see this thing through to its bitter conclusion, we should test our DNA with Addie’s. By now, the police have probably figured out that the baby isn’t hers. Nick didn’t mention anything about it, but I was still a suspect until recently.”
Simon was staring out toward the water. “That’s one hell of a reason for Addie to come back from the dead,” he said. “To set things right. To make sure people—her people at least—knew what really happened.”
“And who they—we—really are,” Kate said, hoping that was all there was to it. But the knot in her stomach told her there might be more to come.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
After she and Simon ate breakfast, Kate retreated to her room to shower and change. When she came downstairs again, she found Nick sitting with Simon in the living room, a fresh pot of coffee and two cups between them.