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On Harlan’s birthday—which of course was also the anniversary of his death—the family held another party.
They held it at the house, which of course was no longer theirhouse; in fact, it was no longer anyone’s house, but belonged to the Harlan Thrombey Trust and was in the process of being converted to a museum and site for writing retreats.
The family’s opinions on this were, predictably, mixed.
“At least we don’t have to picture Marta sleeping in Dad’s old room,” Walt said as he helped Donna out of the car. “That would be too strange for me.”
“I’ve seen the house the Cabreras bought in town,” Donna said, straightening her jacket. “I drove by one day and Marta was out front getting in her car. It’s not as big as you would think she would buy, with all that money. Just a little Cape Cod.”
“Of course she’s frugal, too,” Walt muttered. “And rubbing our faces in it.”
“Careful with your tone, Dad.” Jacob brushed past them both, eyes fixed on his phone. “She’s your boss, you know.”
Marta had offered Walt his old job running the publishing house, at an industry-average salary and reporting directly to her. It was, per objective estimates, a kind and even charitable thing to do, given that Walt was not particularly employable in publishing on the open market, having burned many, many bridges over the years under his father’s supervision. Walt viewed it as another example of face-rubbing.
The family swept up the driveway to the house, ignoring Linda’s car pulling in behind them. Linda, whose divorce was made official a mere two weeks before, had dyed her hair black and taken to wearing aggressive statement jewelry. Today’s necklace consisted of two-inch-tall papier-mache skulls. She had brought the German Shepherds with her, so they could have the run of the grounds for old time’s sake. They had thoroughly made her house in Boston their home, but they always enjoyed a ride in the car and a chance to run.
Richard and Ransom, of course, were not attending; Richard due to no longer being part of the family and Ransom due to being in prison.
Joni also was not attending, as she was on a singles cruise in the Bahamas. Meg came alone, arriving shortly after Linda, and helping her aunt carry several boxes and bags into the house.
Grandnana had been offered the opportunity to attend, but declined to leave her nursing home on the other side of town, which had recently added a hot tub to its amenities. The final attendees at the party were Marta, of course, as Harlan’s heir and keeper of the estate, and Benoit Blanc, at her invitation.
Meg unpacked one of Linda’s boxes, which was entirely full of bottles of wine, on a table set up in the main room. The halo of knives still sat in front of the window, radiating menacing beauty. Linda produced a cake from another of the boxes and placed it on the table with a distinct thump.
“There,” she said flatly. “Wine and cake. Just like Dad would have wanted.”
“This is a lot of wine, Aunt Linda. Do we really need this much?”
“I’ll leave the leftovers with Marta. This place is a charity now, isn’t it? That makes it a tax write-off.”
Meg wasn’t entirely sure that was how that worked, but she didn’t understand taxes, so she started lining up wineglasses in front of the bottles. “Love your hair, by the way.”
“Thank you.” Linda patted the top of her head absently. “It’s my single and ready to mingle look. I can’t be sad about Richard forever.”
Meg couldn’t imagine being sad about Richard at all. “I’m glad you’re getting out there.”
“I’m meeting all kinds of new people. I’m thinking of becoming a sports fan, actually. It seems like a thing that a lot of men I meet care about.”
Meg glanced at her. “What sport?”
“I haven’t decided yet. Basketball or hockey, though, probably. They’re indoors. I’m not going to sit at Patriots games out in the open, like Ransom suggested, that’s just ridiculous.”
“Oh, you’re talking to Ransom?”
“Of course I am, Meg, he’s my son.” Linda swiped a fingerful of icing off the corner of the cake. “He’s doing very well in prison. Working out a lot. He’s getting the very distracting kind of muscles, I told him to stop before he looks like something out of a comic book.”
Meg nodded and wiped her hands on her skirt. “Well. All done here. I’m just gonna… go say hi to Uncle Walt.”
“Tell him to come in here and talk to me. He hasn’t been returning my calls.”
Meg nodded but didn’t go to her uncle at all. She made her way up the stairs to Harlan’s old study, following a hunch. It didn’t steer her wrong; Marta was standing in the middle of the now-empty space, arms wrapped around herself, looking sadly at the place where Harlan had died.
Meg was careful to step heavily as she came down the hall, and Marta half-turned as she came to the door. “Hello,” she said, a cautious smile forming as she saw it was Meg. “I wasn’t sure if you would come.”
“Hey. Of course I did.” Meg hesitated, not sure if they were still on hugging terms, after a year, but Marta opened her arms, thank god.
“It’s so good to see you,” Marta said against Meg’s hair. “How is school? Tell me everything. You’re graduating this semester?”
“It’s good, it’s fine. It’s good to see you too. And yeah, this semester, I only have to pass two of my classes and that won’t be hard.”
“That’s wonderful.” Marta pulled back and smiled. “What will you do next?”
“Oh…” Meg shrugged, suddenly very conscious of her hands and hair and—and everything, as Marta looked her over. “Not sure yet. I guess live with my mom while I figure things out.”
Marta’s eyebrows rose slightly. “How is your mom? I got her RSVP that she isn’t going to be here today.”
“Oh, yeah. She’s fishing for husbands in the Bahamas.” Following attempts to hunt husbands in Aspen and track them through the desert in Taos. “Moving forward with her life, she says.”
“Good for her.” Marta was still smiling, but it was more uncertain. “Well, I’m glad you’re here.”
“Thanks.” Meg glanced over her shoulder, making sure none of the other ghouls had snuck up on them. “You didn’t have to do this, you know. Invite the whole family. None of them have ever been good to you, and you don’t have to keep being nice to them.”
Marta shook her head. “It’s my way of honoring Harlan’s memory. I promise, I wouldn’t have done it if it didn’t feel important to me.”
“Okay.” Meg tucked her hair back behind her ears. “Don’t put up with any shit from them, though, okay? If they’re rude to you, just… I don’t know, kick them out.”
Marta laughed. “I can’t kick your family out of Harlan’s house. That would be terrible.”
“It’s not his house, it’s your house. And if you can’t do it, I will.” Meg grabbed for Marta’s hand, caught it, squeezed it. “You deserve to be treated well.”
Marta’s smile widened, heartbreakingly sweet. “Thank you, Meg.”
It took Meg a long moment to remember to let go of Marta’s hand. She couldn’t help but notice that Marta didn’t rush her.
**
Back downstairs, it was, unsurprisingly, not much of a party.
Linda was grimly downing wine, watching Walt with eyes like daggers. Either she still hadn’t managed to make him talk to her, or he’d said something she didn’t like. Meg didn’t really want to know which.
Donna and Jacob were sitting on the couch, she sipping wine morosely and he staring at his phone. Walt was standing at the window, watching the dogs frisking around the lawn. Meg was sitting next to Benoit near the table with the wine and cake, while Marta stood at the far end of the room, hands empty, watching them all with a blank expression.
Meg realized, after maybe a ten-minute stretch of silence in the room, that it was the same blank look Marta had worn when she was attending their parties as one of the help. That was some bullshit.
She got to her feet and grabbed two glasses of wine from the table, then hurried across the room to Marta’s side. “Here,” she said, handing her a glass. “You need this.”
“Oh, Meg, really, I’m fine.” She didn’t actually refuse the wine, though; in fact, as soon as she finished saying that, she took a deep drink. Meg hid a smile behind her own glass and drank, too.
“I don’t know why I thought it would be any better than this,” Marta said after a moment. “I should’ve known better.”
“They’re being brats. It’s not your fault.”
“I’ve done my best to be good to everyone.” Marta’s voice was defeated, tired. Meg reached out and touched the back of her hand. Marta started, but didn’t pull away.
“Let’s go for a walk,” Meg said quietly. “Just around the grounds. We can leave Benoit in charge of the rest of them. He can make them behave.”
Marta forced a smile, glancing at her. “Are you sure about that?”
“Look.” Meg nodded at where Benoit was approaching Linda, the look on his face very much like a gladiator going into a duel. “He’s volunteering for the job.”
“It wouldn’t be right to abandon a party I’m hosting.”
“Not abandoning. Taking a break.” Meg found her hand again and squeezed it. “Come on. We could both use some air, or one of us is gonna start screaming. Let’s get out of here for a while.”
Marta took a deep breath, gaze darting around the room again. Walt was still staring out the window. Donna and Jacob were motionless on the couch. Linda and Benoit were matching each other barb for barb and drink for drink. Nobody was paying the two women the slightest attention.
Marta nodded and downed the rest of her wine. “All right. Some air would be good. Lead the way.”
**
The dogs followed them on their walk around the grounds, occasionally darting up to sniff at them or lick their hands before running off again. Marta walked slowly, pausing now and then to look at the landscaping or the trees or the sky, and Meg matched her pace.
“Do you think I’ve done what he would have wanted?” Marta asked after a while, and it took Meg a moment to realize that of course she meant Harlan. The person they were all supposed to be thinking about, and that only Marta seemed to actually be thinking about at all.
“You mean with the house? The trust and the museum and everything?”
“That, and keeping Walt on, and not giving your mom more of a stipend, and…” She trailed off with a sigh. “Yeah, like you said. Everything.”
Meg thought about it for a moment, shoving her hands deep into her pockets. “I think,” she said finally, “that he would want you to do what you want, more than what you think he’d want. I mean. He left you the money for a reason. He trusted you with it.”
“What if that was a mistake?” Marta shook her head and sighed again. “Sorry. We’ve been over this before.”
They had, about half a dozen times, in long email threads and over text. Marta’s nerves about being custodian of so much money were understandable, but there were only so many times Meg could point out that she could hire good advisors. “You’re doing great, Marta. I promise.”
“Thanks.” She stopped again, looking down at where a little hillside was eroding into bare dirt. “The groundskeepers were supposed to take care of this. I’ll have to talk to them.”
“See?” Meg smiled at her. “You know what you’re doing.”
Marta blushed a little and leaned back against a tree. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, what do you want for a graduation present?”
“Oh, wow. A fabulous job with the publishing house?” Meg shook her head. “No, I mean, I don’t know. You don’t have to get me anything, Marta. That’s way, way beyond anything you’re obligated to do.”
“I don’t care about obligations. I want to do something nice for you. I was thinking I could send you on a trip. Tell me where you’d like to go, anywhere at all.”
Meg laughed and ducked her head, letting her hair fall forward to hide her face. God, Marta was just… too good. Too nice. “I can just imagine my mom’s face if you did that.”
“It’s not any of her business.” Meg felt Marta’s hand settle on her arm, hesitant at first and then steadier. “I want to do this for you, Meg.”
Meg looked up through her hair at Marta, standing there looking back at her so sweetly, so earnestly, her eyes wide and soft and her lips parted, and she just—she just couldn’t help it, after all this time, this last year and before that, even, as long as she’d known Marta, as long as they’d been smiling a little at each other across the rooms of Harlan’s house.
She closed the space between them, caught Marta’s shoulders in her hands, and kissed her.
At first Marta didn’t do anything, didn’t move, just stood there as still as the trees around them. Oh, shit, Meg thought; she’d misread everything and now she was going to ruin it all, lose Marta’s friendship, all because she acted on impulse like a typical Thrombey instead of using her head.
But then Marta made a little noise, one Meg didn’t even have a word for, and grabbed the front of Meg’s jacket in both hands like she was afraid she might drown if she didn’t. And then she kissed Meg back.
**
When they came back up to the house, Benoit was standing on the porch, feeding the dogs bits of cake from one of Grandnana’s antique plates that stocked Harlan’s, and now Marta’s, cupboards.
“There you two are,” he said, deftly keeping his fingers from being caught between sharp teeth snapping for cake. “Was beginning to wonder if you’d abandoned me here to my fate.”
“We both know you can take care of yourself,” Meg said. “You’re not afraid of them.”
“I am not, but that doesn’t mean I can take a whole afternoon alone with them.” Benoir brushed the last of the crumbs off the plate and raised his eyebrows at them. “So where did you young ladies get off to?”
Marta chokes a little and Meg grins, despite the blush rising in her own face. “Just walked around the grounds,” she says lightly. “It’s a nice day. I’m going to get some more wine, I think, do either of you want some?”
“Water for me,” Marta said.
“Better not to get sloppy,” Benoit agreed, his voice almost too mild. “There are sharks in there, you know.”
Meg shook her head. “They’re not sharks, just my family. Linda and Ransom are the closest to sharks, and he’s not here.”
Ben raised an eyebrow at her. “What about Linda, though?”
“I’m sure she has other things on her mind.” Meg sweeps into the house, just in time to catch Linda yanking a knife out of the halo and waving it at Walt, screeching at the top of her lungs about something that happened in 1988 – as Walt was quick to point out.
Meg grabbed a glass of wine for herself and herded Marta and Benoit to the kitchen, where they each got a mug of water from the tap. The three of them spent the rest of the afternoon safely hidden away, playing Go Fish with a deck of cards Fran had kept on top of the refrigerator and that no one had ever had the heart to move.
**
Benoit left the house shortly after the car service arrived to cart off Linda, who was spectacularly drunk and loudly declared that she wouldn’t be caught dead in an Uber. Walt and his family had left an hour before, due to the verbal abuse heaped on them by Linda. Meg put the unopened wine bottles away, recorked the open ones in the fridge, and put all of the dirty glasses in the sink to be dealt with later. Then she went looking for Marta.
Meg herself wasn’t spectacularly drunk, but only moderately so. She was able to navigate the twisty, noisy staircase and look for Marta in Harlan’s study and old bedroom—no luck in either—and then make her way back down again, checking the various guest bedrooms as she went.
She found Marta in the ground-floor guest room, where Linda and Richard used to stay, lying on top of the bedding with her feet dangling off one side of the bed. “What’s up?” Meg asked, tugging at one of Marta’s feet. “You okay?”
“Tired.” Marta blinked slowly at her. “I didn’t want to get my shoes on the bed, but I’m to tired to take them off, either.”
“I can help with that.” She loosened the laces of Marta’s painfully sensible shoes and let them each drop to the floor with a thump. “There you go. You can get cozy now.”
“I need to have the furniture taken out of these rooms so they can be offices for the museum and Trust staff.” Marta sighed. “But I feel like that would be gutting the house, somehow. I feel bad about it.”
“You can take your time.” Meg felt tired just looking at the way Marta was sprawled out. “Room for me in there?”
“Oh. Of course.” Marta dragged herself possibly three inches to the side, and Meg laughed despite herself. “Not enough?”
“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” She could squeeze in next to Marta, and anyway, being close together was nice. “Should we talk about what we did earlier?”
If she hadn’t been looking, and seen the corner of Marta’s mouth twitch, her blasé response might have hurt Meg’s feelings. “The card game?”
She felt fully justified tickling Marta under the ribs for that. “Guess again.”
Marta squirmed, laughing helplessly. “Right, right. The kissing.” She turned on her side, facing Meg, and raised her eyebrows. “Well, do you want to talk about it? Or do you just want...”
“That one.” Meg moved closer and brought her hand up to cradle Marta’s jaw. “I definitely want the second one.”
Meg knew Harlan Thrombey well enough to know that he would have better things to do after death than hanging around haunting his old house. Which was for the best. Nobody needed their grandfather to watch them hook up with a hot girl for the first time.
**
Marta Cabrera, Chairwoman of the Harlan Thrombey Trust, is pleased to announce that Ms. Meg Thrombey has been appointed as Executive Director of the Harlan Thrombey Museum, and will head its signature program to mentor emerging writers in the field of mystery and true crime.
“I’m so pleased to be staying in this town that my grandfather loved so much,” Ms. Thrombey said. “I'll be diving right in as soon as I get back from a brief working vacation in Italy with Ms. Cabrera, where we will finalize the Trust and Museum's plans for the coming year. I look forward to working closely with Ms. Cabrera for a long, long time.”