A school bus trundles past me and I roll up my window so I can hear Flynn more clearly. My neck burns at his dismissive tone.

“No, that’s not all. I believe, and actually, Margot now believes, that Callie is the one who murdered Abby.” My voice rises in pitch with each syllable and I take a deep breath to try and steady my tone. “Look, I remembered something. Something important about that night. After I was finished shooting, it was Callie who took the shotgun from me—carefully, I might add—as if she were concerned about removing my prints from it.”

While the words stream from my mouth, I keep waiting to hear that click of recognition from Flynn across the line, but all I hear is the hiss of a sigh being released.

“Sophie, I was going to drop by and pay you a visit later this afternoon actually.”

My stomach curdles with anxiety as he says this. Why would he want to come see me? And god forbid he pays another visit to the house again.

“Well, I’m really glad I called, then, because I’m actually not at home at the moment. I’m staying at the Sunshine Inn.”

Again, an awkward pause I wait for him to fill. He doesn’t.

“Why were you coming by?”

“Callie Jenkins called me first thing this morning, Sophie. And she let me know what happened yesterday.”

What happened yesterday? Was she at the window, spying on me and Margot? Or did she tell Flynn she held me at gunpoint?

“So she told you she pulled a shotgun on me?”

“She explained, Sophie”—he says my name as if he’s talking to a confused child—“that you drove out there and threatened Margot. And yes, she informed me she pulled out a weapon but only because you were raging and she felt Mrs. Banks was in grave danger.”

“But—that’s bullshit, Mike! Yes, I drove out there, yes, I confronted Margot about framing me, but I was nowhere close to being threatening! You know me, you know I’m not even capable of that—”

“Sophie, what I know about you changes. Your story changes so much. And I know that Mrs. Jenkins phoned me first thing this morning to see if I thought a restraining order needs to be issued—”

A wave of nausea rolls over me. I should tell Flynn about the drugging, but I don’t want to get into all of that. I don’t want to have to tell him about what happened next, with me and Margot.

“A restraining order?” My voice squawks out of me.

“Against you coming near Mrs. Banks.”

“I can guarantee you Margot does not want a restraining order put on me.” I can feel her hands all over me again, her lips brushing against mine.

“Have you talked to her about this? Can’t you see that Callie is setting me up here? She’s setting me up to look insane—”

“I haven’t reached Mrs. Banks yet this morning, but I’ll keep trying. And in the meantime, I’m warning you to stay away from her, and also, from Mrs. Jenkins.”

“But—”

“I’m telling you this to help you. You’re in way over your head here, and you’re already in deep water.” A hint of concern leaches into his voice. I can’t decide if it makes me feel worse or better. Worse, I think.

58

IT’S EVENING. SIX o’clock. I’ve been holed up in the room for most of the day. Fretting, sweating, and pacing over the thin beige carpet, checking my cell incessantly for a reply from Margot.

Nothing.

By three I was climbing out of my skin, and against my better judgment, I called her. I know I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t take it any longer, so I clamped the phone to my skull as it rang.

After four rings, it rolled to voice mail. I started to leave a message, but panicked and hung up; with Margot, it’s better to be casual and not too needy.

And I’m trying my best not to overreact, but why hasn’t she responded to my text or called me back?

My hangover hasn’t yet lifted; in fact, it’s gotten worse. A dull, persistent ache throbs behind my eyes, and even an earlier dash to get a cheeseburger and fries has done nothing to quell how ill I feel.

It’s fucking Callie and the roofie she slipped me. If I could find a place in town that makes wheatgrass shots, I’d slam a dozen just to clean my blood, but that doesn’t exist in sleepy Mapleton.

Instead, I uncork the bottle of merlot that I grabbed on the way back to the room from the burger joint. I roll the wine around the glass, inhale its jammy scent before taking a long sip. I dropped nearly forty bucks on it and feel guilty for it, but if I have to live in this dump for now, then I deserve at least something nice once in a while. Especially when I feel this low. But I’m sure Graham would disagree.

Graham. Jack. Fuck. I can’t stand this. And I wish Margot would call me, tell me that she’s going to Flynn to demand that he listen to her about Callie.

After I’ve downed my first glass, my chest relaxes and my headache starts to loosen its grip. I scroll through my phone and hit the Photos icon. Jack’s sun-kissed face fills the screen, and hot tears sting my eyes.

I close out and head over to Messages. Scroll until I land on Graham. And punch out a text before I change my mind.

Can I call you?

Only a few minutes tick by before his reply comes through.

No.

A cry bubbles up in the back of my throat and I sit on the edge of the bed, sobbing for a moment. But then I get pissed. I understand his not wanting me to be around right now, but he can’t keep me from speaking to Jack.

I type back:

I want to talk to Jack.

Fine. But give us five minutes. Finishing dinner.

I’m now crying and smiling at the same time. Five minutes is perfect. Enough time to sprinkle water on my face and pull myself together.

Four minutes later and my cell starts chiming. FaceTime from Graham. I nearly start to cry again but I suck in a deep breath and exhale before accepting the call.

It’s not Graham’s face that greets me, though, it’s Jack’s, his cheeks smeared with what looks like Hershey’s syrup. His eyes dance over the screen, taking in my face and the background of the motel room.

“Mommeeee! Mommeee!” His mouth opens into a wide grin.

“Oh, baby! I miss my Jack-o-licious so much! What did you have for supper?” My hands shake and it’s all I can do to stop the floodgate of tears.

“Grilled cheese samm-ich!” He lifts the crust off his plate and guides it through the air like it’s a toy airplane. “And Dad-eee made me ice cream for dessert!” He shouts the words, and my chest seizes with longing.

“Mommeeee, when are you coming back?” A scared smile plays across his lips.

I suck in a breath, paste on my best grin. “Soon, honey, very soon. I just have a little more work to do.” I can’t help it, the tears start forming and I flick them away, but I know I need to end this call before I dissolve in front of Jack.

“Love you so much, honey!”

“I wuv you, toooooo!” He’s still airplaning his crust around.

“Bye, sweetie!”

“Bye-bye!” He’s waving now and I wave back until I see Graham’s tanned forearm grab the phone and end the call.

I toss my cell on the bed and fall back into the too-soft mattress as a howl rips through me. Ugh. I’ve become a far worse mother than Nikki ever was to me. That was a mistake. And selfish of me. Kids are smart, and I can tell that Jack senses something is up.

I’m not going to do that again.

I’m going to get out of this mess and get back home.

59

Friday, April 27, 2018

IT’S NOON. I know I shouldn’t be doing this—Detective Flynn told me to stay away from her—but I’m parked outside the gates to Margot’s neighborhood. A ruby-colored BMW approaches and I trail behind it, slipping through the gates before they close.

I haven’t heard a peep from Margot. Nothing after my text and phone call yesterday, and nothing at all this morning. I called her again first thing when I woke up. It went straight to voice mail, which made me bristle, made me paranoid that she’s avoiding me on purpose. I hung up without leaving a message.

I slow the car and roll past her house. A lone black Benz is parked in the circular drive out front, but I peg it as Jed’s—a Piney Woods Country Club Golf sticker is plastered on the bumper.

I idle out in front of her mansion for a second, my eyes sweeping through the bare windows that gleam in the sunlight.

No sign of Margot. The leaves on the trees overhead shudder as a gust of wind sweeps through, and I shiver, even though it’s bright and sunny out.

I hear him before I see him. The sound of Jed’s loafers slapping the long drive on the side of the house as he hauls out bags of trash to the curb. His jaw is set and a sweep of dark hair falls across his forehead as he strides down the drive and stuffs the trash bin with bags, slamming the lid shut. He is practically scowling, and when he catches sight of me, he narrows his gaze.

Adrenaline sizzles through me, and even though I’m certain he doesn’t recognize me (we’ve never met in person and my face is currently masked behind a large pair of sunglasses), I press my foot on the accelerator and speed off.

* * *

—