We brought Daddy’s gun; it doesn’t kick as hard. Promise.

It all suddenly became clear to me. Margot. That bitch. She framed me. She must have. It had been her plan all along. Her text to me: I want you, to stay, the kiss we shared during spin the bottle, her insistence that I not leave, that I use that particular gun, all of it was premeditated.

By the time Flynn wheeled the cruiser into his dedicated parking spot, I was shaking with rage and bursting at the seams to tell him everything.

And that’s exactly what I do.

I retell him every moment of that night, only leaving out the part about playing spin the bottle and the fact that Jamie and I were together.

I tell him about the gun and how Margot had prompted me to use it. He advises, though, that while there were other prints on the gun, it was my prints and mine alone that were lifted from the trigger. I then tell him about Margot’s text to Brad: Get rid of her. I tell him all I know about their relationship, and even about catching them having sex on the boat dock. Each revelation feels like a tiny stab, like I’m digging a knife deeper into Margot’s back. It feels good. My hands are shaking but I’m filled with the righteousness of someone setting the record straight.

The whole time I’m talking, Flynn listens, nods, and scribbles notes on a pad while the tape recorder whirs between us.

But one thing I notice as I spill everything to him is that his face doesn’t register surprise. It registers the same look of exasperation I saw back at my house. And when I finish, he pauses the recording and stands.

“I’m going to get more coffee. Refill?”

I hand him my paper cup and he exits the room.

I felt puffed up and strong from telling him everything, but now I feel small and deflated, and even though I can’t see behind the pane of glass that lines the wall opposite from where I’m sitting, I can imagine Wanda’s eyes boring into me from the other side.

Flynn returns, sets my coffee down on the table, and plops into the chair directly in front of me. When his eyes meet mine, they’re hard, drained of their usual warmth and care.

My stomach clenches.

He just sits and stares at me, as if waiting me out, only dropping his gaze to blow a curl of steam off his coffee.

“Well?” I venture.

He sighs and folds his arms across his chest. “Sophie, I need to let you know that Mrs. Banks, um, Margot, came into the station this morning of her own volition. With her lawyer.”

My stomach clenches even tighter. Margot remains one step ahead of me.

“And she preemptively confessed to us all about her relationship with Brad. She told me everything.” He pauses and lets the word everything dangle between us.

I have no idea what everything means, but based on the sense of dread that washes over me, I’m assuming he is referring to Jamie.

Not only has she framed me for Abby’s murder, she set me up to lie to the police.

“Before we go any further, I’ll remind you that this is a criminal investigation. A murder investigation.” Flynn reaches forward, punches the pause button, and the tape begins whirring again.

“Now, let’s go back to Friday night. We are most interested in the hours between midnight and four a.m.” His face darkens as he says the rest. “That time frame where you claim to have been passed out.”

My mouth is dry as chalk, so I take a small sip of coffee.

“I was passed out.” My hands tremble, so I drop them to my sides, jam them under my legs, which are pumping. I can’t seem to still my body.

Flynn turns the pages in his notepad. “And it says here that you told us, when we first questioned you, that you left the Bankses’ lake house just before three a.m.? Is that correct?”

“Yes, yes it is.”

“And you went straight home and showered, waking your husband? Can he verify the time?”

My throat constricts at the word husband. Oh, Graham.

“Yes. But I didn’t head straight home.”

Flynn’s eyebrows shoot up in pricked attention.

“I—I went to the jogging trail near my house and ran for a few miles.” Even though I’m telling the truth, my face grows warm, and I feel as though I’m lying. It’s the same feeling of having a cop trail behind your car and you start to believe you’re doing something illegal.

I take a deep breath, steady myself.

“Why is this important?”

Flynn’s mouth turns into a sour line. “Another thing I need to let you know is this: The results of the autopsy came back, and the coroner is placing the time of death between the hours of midnight and four.”

This is so much worse than I could’ve imagined. So much worse. I feel like someone has knocked me across the chest with a bat and the wind is kicked out of me. The coffee burns my stomach, makes me sweat. What the fuck. But I was passed out, and then I was on the trail, and then I was at home.

“That’s what I keep telling you!” My voice has turned sharp but I can’t help it. “Margot has framed me. Don’t you see? She and Brad must have killed Abby after I passed out, knowing full well that I wouldn’t have an alibi. By the way, what’s her alibi?”

“Mrs. Banks was with Brad just after midnight at an all-night diner on the outskirts of town. They stayed there for a few hours, drinking beer and eating breakfast. Arguing some. We have an eyewitness to back it up. And after that, Margot was home with her husband.”

I stare into Flynn’s eyes. Any trace of camaraderie we had before has now vanished. He thinks I’m lying; he thinks I’m guilty.

“Look, Sophie,” he says with a puff of irritation, “you’re still hiding things from me. And this is getting old.”

Jamie. Now is the time to come clean about Jamie.

And I do. I tell him that we kissed, that we played spin the bottle, that I made a huge mistake and left at three a.m. to go home to my family. Flynn lets me know that Margot already told him about my fling with Jamie.

“You have to believe me. I’m being set up.” My voice is a strangled cry.

“I want to, I really do, but you lied to me.”

“Only because Margot asked me to. And threatened me. Not in actual words but she implied she’d tell my husband about Jamie if I didn’t tell the police that she and I were together Friday night.”

This stops Flynn in his tracks for a second, but only for a second.

“Sophie, you’re still not telling me everything.”

I guess he wants me to tell him that I shot Abby, but I didn’t.

“What do you mean?”

“From what I understand, you’re quite obsessed with Margot.” He flicks his eyes on mine. I feel my cheeks burn; I can’t hide my expression if I wanted to.

“Where did you get that from? Who told you that?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Margot. It had to be. Unless my fixation is more apparent than I thought. But no, no one else would know except maybe Callie, who was clocking my every move.

Flynn’s voice snaps me out of my reverie. “And you were the only one present at the scene. And it’s your prints on the weapon.”

I drop my gaze to my lap. This is so fucked up. I feel like I’m trapped in a giant ball of yarn and every time I try to escape I just get more tangled up.

“But—”

“So what I think happened is this: Maybe you thought you were doing something Margot would’ve wanted you to do.” His coffee cup is empty and he flips it upside down with a twist of his hand. He drums his fingers on the bottom of the overturned cup, waiting for my response.

My mind casts back to that night, searching, thinking. You were the only one present at the scene. No, no I wasn’t. The image of Callie wrenching open the front door and asking for Margot floods back into my brain again.

I straighten in my chair, meet Flynn’s direct stare. “I know how this all looks, and you’re right, there’s something I left out. Something important. When I was blacked out, I heard a loud noise that jolted me awake. A pounding at the door. It was Callie, looking for Margot, and she seemed frantic.”

Flynn narrows his eyes at me. Shakes his head. “Mrs. Jenkins returned home just after nine o’clock, where she remained all night with her husband.”

“That’s not true! She was there!”

“You’re reaching, Sophie, you really are. And before you point the finger at Jamie, he was home with his parents just after midnight. Look, even with all this evidence, I still don’t have enough to arrest you. But I have to advise you that you’re our main person of interest at this point.”

My skin grows cold. My posture slumps from the adrenaline draining from my body. I’m numb. I can’t do anything other than stare at the table.

“You’re free to go now,” Flynn says with a dismissive flick of his hand. “But you shouldn’t even think of leaving town.”

I push my chair back and stand. Turn and head to the door. As I clasp down on the metal handle to open it, Flynn fires a parting shot at me.

“And, Sophie, I would highly recommend you get a lawyer.”

50

I’M PARKED OUTSIDE of Graham’s office. I need to tell him what’s going on and I don’t want to wait until tonight.

I texted him a few minutes ago.