Return to Summerhouse (The Summerhouse 2)

“We cut cards for them,” Zoë said.

Amy looked at Faith questioningly and she nodded. “You’ll be happy to know that you won the new room, which has an en suite bathroom. Zoë and I share a bath.”

Amy hardly had time to look about the house at the mix of antiques and used furniture. It was all lovely but looked a bit worn. She got the idea that the house had had some hard use in

the last few years. For a moment she had a vision that some kind of therapy went on in the house. Was this a sort of rehab house where they’d be awakened at four A.M. and made to go hiking?

“This is fine,” Amy said when Faith opened the door to a pretty little room done in rose-patterned chintz. It was exactly to Amy’s taste and she hoped it would help her survive the next few days.

Turning, she looked at Faith. “I think I can manage now.” The woman had her salt-and-pepper hair pulled into a bun low on the back of her neck, and she wore a flowered cotton dress with a little white collar. She looked sweet and lovely. Amy wondered if she was a mass murderer.

“Sure,” Faith said slowly. “Let us know if you need anything. We thought we’d have dinner together. About six?”

“I have a bit of a headache so I might stay in,” Amy said.

Faith couldn’t cover the frown that passed across her face, but then she smiled. “Sure. If I don’t see you any more, have a good night.”

“I don’t like her,” Zoë said. “I mean, I really and truly don’t like her.”

She and Faith were at a local seafood restaurant. Before them were plates full of clams and lobster, and to one side were huge sheets of glass that allowed them to see the beautiful Maine coastline. A wooden pier ran out into the sea.

They were an incongruous pair. Zoë, with her shiny black hair, gobbed-on makeup, and her layer of black clothes ranging from leather to lace near her throat, made people do double takes. Faith drew no attention from anyone. She was shorter, rounder, and had a bend to her back that made a person think she’d spent her life bent over—which she had.

“I don’t think you should judge her so harshly,” Faith said. “Jeanne said that all three of us had been through a trauma and she thought we’d be good for one another.”

“Speaking of that,” Zoë said, as she dipped a piece of lobster in warm drawn butter, “what is your trauma?”

Faith smiled in a way that let Zoë know she wasn’t telling anything. “We agreed to wait until we were all together, then we’d talk.”

“But Little Miss Perfect said she’d never even met Jeanne.”

“When did she say that?”

“When I opened the door to her. She was standing there holding the doormat, and she looked at me as if I were an insect she wanted to squash.”

“Aren’t you glad I talked you into taking out the nose ring?”

“Not really,” Zoë said. “If I’d known the third prisoner was going to be a judgmental, uptight little snot, I would have had a dozen more piercings.”

“I really don’t think you should make judgments before you get to know her.”

“Why not?” Zoë asked, taking a deep drink of her soda. “She made lots of judgments about me. I could pretty much read her mind. In fact, I could read her life.”

“Come on,” Faith said, frowning. “You’re not being fair. No one can read another person’s life.”

“Okay,” Zoë said, wiping her hands on a napkin. “Let me tell about you.” She didn’t wait for Faith to answer. “You grew up in a small town, loved by everyone, went to church all the time, had adoring parents—What?” She broke off because Faith had started to laugh.

“I think you should clean your crystal ball. You could not be further from the truth.”

“So how am I wrong?”

Faith started to speak, then smiled. “No you don’t. I’m not telling my story until all three of us are together.”

“Do you think that Miss Perfect is going to come out of her room in the next few days? No way. She’s going to stay in there until she thinks it’s safe to leave, then she’ll go back to her loving family, who will protect her from whatever nastiness she thinks has happened to her.”

“Maybe Jeanne should have sent you to a camp where they teach courtesy,” Faith said, glaring. “We don’t know what happened in Amy’s life and I don’t think you should set yourself up as judge and jury. How would you like it if you were judged by how you look?”

“But I am. And so are you. We all are.”