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“What?” I snarl.
Von frowns. “Jesus, Caden. Did you go feral in Argentina?”
I’m too prickly, itching for a fight. “Fuck off, Von.”
“Hey,” Daisy says. “Come on now.”
Von narrows her eyes. She’s always been good at reading people. “Did something happen while you were out getting drinks with Dudley Do-Right?”
“No,” I say, realizing too late how false my protest sounds. The kitchen, always so light and airy, feels too small and confined. Without another word, I stalk toward the French doors that lead to the stone terrace, hurrying down the wide steps then skirting the pool and storming out onto the back lawn. I walk straight to my mother’s garden; the minute I pass between the two massive rhododendrons that line the entrance, I crouch down and put my head in my hands. It still smells the same in here—honeysuckle and wildflowers, with the hint of pine. Mom curated this place so carefully. I remember showing it to Isla, as we were sneaking away from the party.
I wish I could see it in the daylight, she’d said. And I’d promised she would.
I promised her so many things that night. And I broke every single one.
I hear the soft padding of feet and smell a fresh citrusy scent as Daisy sits beside me.
“Are you okay?”
My instinct is to tell her to leave me alone, but when I look into her eyes, I see Mom. I sit down hard on the grass and sigh. “No,” I admit.
“Was Von right? Did something happen at the Screw?”
“Yes.” I dig my knuckles into my eyes. “I saw someone I used to…” I shake my head. “I found out something that…” I can’t even form the words.
Daisy clears her throat delicately. “Is this about Isla Davenport getting married?”
My head snaps up. “What?”
“You were with her. That morning. We know she was your, um, alibi.” Daisy flushes, probably a little embarrassed to be talking to her big brother about his personal life.
“Does everyone know?”
Daisy shakes her head. “Just the family. And the police. They were keeping everything tight lipped, making sure there were no leaks to the media. There were reporters everywhere, talking to everyone, trying to ferret out whatever information they could get. Once the sheriff confirmed Isla’s story, they could at least release to the press that you had an ironclad alibi. That was a relief. There were a lot of articles about you in the beginning. Dad was furious.”
I’m stunned. It just didn’t occur to me—rumors, reporters, leaks, lies. My family having to deal with all that plus the grief over losing Mom.
“I’m so sorry, Daisy,” I say quietly.
She gives a half shrug. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”
Guilt forms a knot in my throat.
“So…” She bites her lip. “Did you really like Isla, then?”
I stare at a bee crawling across a Black-eyed Susan. “Yeah,” I say, so softly I don’t know if she hears me.
Daisy plucks a blade of grass and ties it into a knot. “So much is different since that day,” she says. “You aren’t the only Everton who cares about the town, Cade. And once you left, suddenly the two people in the family who cared the most were gone. I tried to step in. That was what Mom would have wanted. She loved Magnolia Bay—I think she loved it more than Everton Estate.”
“She did,” I agree. Mom always taught me the importance of balance, reminding me that Everton needed the town as much as the town needed the winery. Dad acted like the locals should be grateful for all the business we brought, all the tourism that kept the town going. Mom cared about the people.
“I’m doing the best I can,” Daisy says. “Running the tasting room and doing events. Al takes care of PR. But Von has checked out—she’s not part of the estate anymore. And neither is Finn, not that he was ever interested in it much, with his sights set on politics. I’m trying but…” Daisy shakes her head. “I’m not you. Or Mom.”
I feel a sudden rush of gratitude toward my youngest sister. “Thank you, Daisy,” I say. “Really. From where I’m standing, you’re doing a great job. Mom would be so proud of you.” I pause. “I’m proud of you too.”
Daisy flushes but looks pleased. “What else could I have done? This town is part of our family. Right?”
The knot in my throat tightens. “Right,” I say.