off, embarrassed on multiple fronts. Romeo Moretti was checking her out on Twitter and Instagram. Maybe his interest was more personal than professional. It was hard to tell at this point, but she had to admit that no matter what his agenda was — she really liked hearing him say the word ‘rendezvous.’
Kit went to the meeting separately from her mother so that she could sneak off to Provincetown Pancakes afterward without arousing suspicion. Besides, Heloise never walked anywhere. Why walk when you had a driver at your disposal?
By the time Kit arrived at the historic Weston Inn in Liberty Square, her mother was already holding court. Easy to do when you were the leader of the pack.
“Katherine, darling, you found us,” her mother called, extending the hand unburdened by a cocktail.
“It’s the Weston Inn, not the lost city of Atlantis.”
Heloise laughed, a deep, throaty laugh that was infectious to the two people flanking her. Kit recognized one of the women, but couldn’t remember her name.
“Katherine, you remember Cecilia Musgrove,” Heloise said, nodding to her left, “and this exquisite young woman on my right is Rebecca Tilton. Her father, John, usually attends but the poor dear has been unwell.” She cast a sympathetic look in Rebecca’s direction.
“Musgrove,” Kit repeated. “Is your daughter Francie?”
Cecelia’s thin lips stretched into a smile that showed off her pearl white, perfectly rectangular teeth.
“Why, yes. Francie is my youngest. Have you met her?”
“She’s in my class at Westdale.”
“Indeed,” Cecelia replied and made no further comment.
Kit wondered how often Cecelia engaged in meaningful conversation with her daughter. She suspected not very often at all. Kit sensed that Cecelia Musgrove was the type of woman too busy with charity events and a social calendar to pay any attention to a menial distraction like a spare child. Looking at her now, the only part of Cecelia that reminded Kit of Francie was the blond hair, and Kit suspected that only Francie’s was authentic.
“Then you must know my sister, too,” Rebecca interjected. “Charlotte and Francie are inseparable.”
Kit’s face lit up. “Of course, Charlotte Tilton. I didn’t realize they were both members here.”
“Francie is not a member,” Cecelia scoffed. “You’ve been away too long, Katherine. Membership is only offered to the eldest.”
Rebecca’s gaze dropped to her black Stuart Weitzman heels, clearly uncomfortable with the old-fashioned prejudice. With that attitude, it was surprising that they’d found it prudent to open membership to women. It seemed to Kit that descendants should just be grateful that they made it this far, rather than erecting barriers within their own group.
“Rebecca, would you be so kind as to show my daughter where the drinks are located?” Heloise asked sweetly. “Her hand looks sad and lonely.”
“A hand is not a hand without a drink to hold,” Kit quoted. One of her mother’s many nonsensical expressions.
Rebecca looped her arm through Kit’s and guided her to the back of the room where the bar was located. “We heard about your unfortunate discovery,” Rebecca said in a low voice.
“The police seem to be keeping it pretty quiet,” Kit remarked. “How did you find out?”
Rebecca glanced nervously behind them. “Francie overheard Cecilia Musgrove speaking to Chief Riley and told Charlotte. Charlotte told Father and me.”
“I wondered how they knew,” Kit said. “Why was Chief Riley speaking to Cecelia about it?”
Rebecca shrugged. “I couldn’t say. Cecelia is awfully powerful, you know. Not quite your mother’s level, mind you, but not much escapes her notice.”
“I got your vodka tonic right here,” a shrill voice said.
Kit spun around to find herself face-to-face with the male version of herself. “Crispin,” she said happily, throwing her arms his neck. Even though they were first cousins, people had often
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