Free The Pact by Jennifer Sturman Page A

a senior and already the ultimate in dashing sophistication. He presented such a seamlessly polished face to the world that it was hard to imagine any sort of emotional neediness. Emma had always been a soft touch—sophomore year she’d brought home the meanest stray cat in existence, who promptly shredded the upholstery on the sofa in our common room and gave lie to the assumption that any cat can be litter trained. She only agreed to give him up when she’d placed him with a family in Cambridge. Perhaps emotional neediness was the quality that drew Emma to Richard, the trait that kept her with him long after he stopped making her happy. Richard was the human equivalent of the mean stray cat, albeit better groomed.
    But somehow I knew that wasn’t the answer, the secret to her motivations. I wondered what the real answer was, and if it had been connected in any way to the end Richard had met.
    That was an unsettling idea.
     
    I heard the slap of tennis shoes descending the front stairs, and the sound dragged me back to the present with a guilty jolt. I hadn’t meant to spend so much time on a psychological retrospective of Richard Mallory. Sean entered the room at a brisk pace, and his burly, familiar form was a welcome distraction. He’d changed out of his pajamas into a pair of khakis and a faded polo shirt. His simple presence was reassuring, not only because of the sheer bulk of it but because his character was so solid and dependable. If a WASP could be a mensch, then Sean won that title hands down.
    Jane was lucky enough to meet Sean early our freshman year, when he was a junior. They were both on the sailing team, which was a haven for hard-core outdoorsy-variety New Englanders. Sean was one of the cocaptains of the Varsity team, and Jane, a former medalist in sailing at the Junior Olympics, was the rare freshman to bypass JV altogether to take a place in the first boat. The two of them were well matched, with the clean bone structure, long healthy limbs, and sun-streaked hair that were the most common by-products of generations of WASP in-breeding. They also shared the same easygoing, down-to-earth way of navigating the world. They dated almost continuously throughout college, and their wedding on the Cape the summer after we graduated felt inevitable, from the blond-haired flower girl to the white tent that shielded the guests from the cool winds blowing off the Atlantic. It was hard to believe that they had been married for more than ten years, especially when the rest of us had so steadfastly maintained our single states. At least, all of us except Emma.
    “Hey, there, Rach,” he said, his trademark grin diminished in deference to the morning’s events. He crossed the room to join me by the piano and put a large comforting hand on my shoulder. “How are you doing? You got quite a wakeup this morning, didn’t you?”
    It had been so hectic that it hadn’t occurred to me that I was, in fact, a bit shell-shocked at having awakened to discover a body, but I decided not to think too carefully about that. There would be plenty of time to process it all later; figuring out how Richard had died would have to take precedence for the time being. “I’m okay,” I said. “A little freaked out, but I’ll get over it. More importantly, how’s Emma?”
    “I’m not sure. Jesus. I’ve never seen anybody faint dead away like that. I took her upstairs and then Mrs. Furlong shooed me off. Jane and Luisa and Hil are up there, too, so she’s in capable hands. I thought I’d come back down to see if I could help out with anything.”
    “Matthew’s out by the pool dealing with the police,” I offered. “I’m sure he’d appreciate a little moral support.”
    “Right,” said Sean. “I’ll go see what I can do.” He started toward the door.
    It occurred to me then that he might be able to shed some light on things. “Hey, Sean,” I called out, “wait a second.”
    “What is it? Is everything all