Nina said, “I don’t know how to tell you this.”

“Tell me,” Dabney said.

Nina said, “Vaughan Oglethorpe is upstairs waiting for you.”

Dabney sipped her coffee. She wasn’t sure why she felt surprised at this news. Vaughan had come to fire her. And why not? She was a tart and a floozy and an embarrassment.

“I guess I’d better go upstairs, then,” Dabney said. “He knows everything?”

“I wish you had called me back,” Nina said. “I nearly came to your house, but I thought you and Agnes deserved privacy.”

“Thank you,” Dabney said.

“Vaughan has the log,” Nina said. “I told you not to sign out. I told you I would cover for you.”

“I didn’t want you to have to lie,” Dabney said. More coffee. The coffee was the only thing that was keeping her from screaming. “You’ve got your ear to the ground. What are people saying?”

“It could be worse,” Nina said. “But you know how people on this island are.”

Yes, Dabney did know how people on this island were—they gossiped mercilessly, they tore people’s reputations apart like sharks with a bleeding seal. Her eyes fluttered closed as she remembered how brutal people had been to Tammy Block when the news about her and Flynn Sheehan hit. Dabney shuddered. She had been responsible for that, or partially. She alone had seen the pink aura around them.

“What have you heard exactly?” Dabney asked.

“That you admitted to being in love with Clendenin. That you’ve been seeing him secretly since he got back to the island. That you’ve been secretly communicating with him for the past twenty-seven years. That you’ve been sending him money in Asia.”

“Not for twenty-seven years!” Dabney said. “Not sending him money in Asia!” But even as she said this, she realized that where gossip was concerned, you didn’t get to make a distinction between what was true and what wasn’t.

“There’s also a rumor that you and Box have an ‘arrangement’ because Box is gay and is having a sexual relationship with the Federal Reserve chairman.”

“You must be kidding me!” Dabney said. “Someone actually said those words? Sexual relationship with the Federal Reserve chairman?”

“Yes,” Nina said. “Theater of the absurd. I don’t know where people come up with this stuff.” She stared into her coffee cup like it was a deep well. “Even weirder—someone heard that you have terminal cancer and you wanted to be back with Clen before you died.”

Oh, God, Dabney thought. She felt dizzy then, dizzy like she might faint, and she focused on her penny loafers, side by side, as steady as the horizon.

“I wish you had called me back,” Nina said. “I would have suggested that you call Vaughan and head it off at the pass. He adores you, Dabney. He’s hard on you, yes, but like a favorite teacher. You could have explained.”

“What is there to explain?” Dabney asked. “The man has known me my entire life. He can hardly have been surprised.”

“I would have burned the log, or dropped it off Old North Wharf,” Nina said. “I might not even have had to do that. Vaughan might have forgiven you the missing hours. After all, the Chamber runs like clockwork, and our coffers are at an all-time high, thanks to you.” Nina put her gold cross into her mouth, then took it out and slid the cross along its chain. “But there was one board member, there’s always one, who wanted your head on a platter.”

“Elizabeth Jennings,” Dabney said.

Nina nodded morosely.

Dabney said, “Well, I’d better go up.”

Vaughan Oglethorpe was sitting in Dabney’s chair with his feet up on Dabney’s desk, which she found offensive. It was her father’s old Dragnet desk, a desk Dabney loved more than any piece of furniture or objet d’art in her home. Vaughan had the log open in his lap; he was paging through it, making notes on a legal pad. When he saw Dabney, he got to his feet.

He was seventy-eight years old, the same age Dabney’s mother would have been. Vaughan and Patty Benson had gone steady one summer; it was all gin and tonics and dinner dances at the Sankaty Beach Club and rides down the Milestone Road in Vaughan’s convertible MG, which was what he drove when he wasn’t driving the hearse for his father. He was the only person Dabney still had contact with who had known her mother well. But Patty had dumped Vaughan, and Dabney suspected he had always hated Dabney a little bit for this reason, despite his outward displays of avuncular affection.

The room smelled of embalming fluid.

She would be cremated, she decided.

“Dabney,” he said. His voice was as heavy and somber as a thundercloud. He had never been replaced as board president, she guessed, because people were afraid of him the way they were afraid of the Grim Reaper.

“Vaughan,” she said. Bright smile. Fresh-faced in her headband and pearls, although she had slept a total of ten hours all week and she was down below a hundred pounds. Maybe he wouldn’t fire her. Maybe just a warning.

“It’s come to my attention that you’ve had personal issues that have kept you from doing your job.” He held up the log. “Since Daffodil Weekend, you’ve missed fourteen full days, and the days you have been present, you’ve been out of the office a total of a hundred and ninety-two hours.”

Could that be right? All those stolen lunches, entire afternoons at the beach with Clen. Days she was legitimately sick in bed. The past four days taking care of Agnes. The stupid lunch at the Yacht Club with Box. Clen Clen Clen. A hundred and ninety-two hours she had missed. She was appalled. She would have fired herself.