AS I APPROACH the front door, Jill’s already in the entryway, opening the massive door for me. I’m not sure if I should lean in and hug her, so I don’t. I simply thank her for hearing me out. I trail her to the living room, which is dimly lit, save for the stream of sunlight pouring in through the bank of gleaming windows.

Her eyes are puffy, but other than that, there isn’t a hair out of place. She’s dressed in a white jumper with delicate brown leather sandals. Her hair is glossy and hangs just beneath her shoulders, and she twines her fingers through it as if she’s handling rosary beads.

“Wine?”

I notice that a bottle of red—open and half-empty—is resting on the glass-topped coffee table.

“Yes, thank you. That would be nice.”

She glides into the kitchen to fetch a glass. Returns shortly and pours us each generous amounts. A little wine dribbles down the bottle, and she sops it up with her index finger, licking it.

“I have to tell you, Sophie,” she says, her voice slurring at the edges, “that I’m sorry.”

I have no idea what she’s talking about, but I look up at her expectantly as I sip from my glass.

“I need to apologize for never calling you. Especially after that piece in the paper. And you being under suspicion. I never thought you were responsible for Abby’s death, in any way, for the record. But I guess I was just mad that you knew about Brad and Margot and failed to tell me.” She narrows her eyes at me and I feel my neck burn with shame.

“But I didn’t know, not at first anyway. And shortly after I found out, Abby—”

But she cuts me off. She nods and says, “I get it, and I believe you. I know how Margot could be. And how easy it is to get swept up in all of her bullshit. But I shouldn’t have shunned you.”

I stay silent, unsure of how to respond.

“So, what exactly is it you want to tell me?” She tilts her head to one side, pushing her dark-framed glasses farther up her nose.

I take a healthy gulp of wine and set my glass down on the coffee table. “First of all, I’m not sure if you know this, but Margot was still sleeping with Brad, up until the night before she died.”

Jill grimaces, but doesn’t respond.

“I found out from Jamie. And no, I’m not seeing him, but I had to go to him to try and get some information. Also, Jill, I don’t know if you know this”—my stomach clenches as I get ready to tell her this next part—“but Brad knew that Abby was pregnant.”

Jill gives a tiny shake of her head, as if this is all too much to believe. So before she decides to toss me out, I spill the rest to her—about my theory that Margot was in cahoots with Callie and murdered Abby because she wouldn’t go through with the abortion. How Jamie told me Margot had plans to continue seeing Brad once he was away at college. And how Stacey at the clinic had ID’d Callie and all but ID’d Margot as well.

Jill’s face turns crimson. She pours the rest of her wine down her throat and crosses her arms over her chest. She gazes out the window and releases a pent-up sigh. “You know, this is all too much to take. I just—” She removes her glasses and wipes away a tear. “It’s a lot to hear. A lot to process. I do want to talk some more, though, but can we go out on the lake? Take the boat for a spin?”

Her sapphire-blue eyes are pleading, and even though I’m anxious to head home and talk to Graham, how can I refuse her request?

“Absolutely; of course.”

* * *

—

THE LAKE IS an empty pane of glass reflecting the sinking sun, pink-orange smearing the water’s surface. Jill is deft in the captain’s chair, starting the engine straightaway and backing out of the boat lift. She takes a slow cruise in front of the shore, gliding past one mansion after the next. When we’re a good six houses down from hers, I hear the sound of my cell chiming. My heart leaps; it must be Graham. But when I claw my phone from my bag, I see that it’s a text from Flynn. As I’m reading it, Jill guns the engine and speeds from the shore.

Got CCTV footage back and it wasn’t Margot at the clinic. Sophie, it was Jill.

68

MY BLOOD GOES cold. I’m about to respond when Jill kills the engine, leaving us moored in the middle of the lake. She glares at me, so I slide the phone back into my bag. I can’t risk her seeing Flynn’s message.

“I need you to stop looking into this.”

Sunlight pulses off the lake, hueing everything—the polished surface of the boat, the polished lenses on Jill’s glasses—with a surreal quality. I give Jill a tight smile and struggle to appear confused.

“But you seem to hate Margot more than anyone. Why are you covering for her?” My breathing is constricted and I’m sure the barely masked fear on my face is a dead giveaway.

The wake from our engine clops against the sides of the boat, gently rocking it. I plant my feet on the dark gray turf that lines the floor.

“I do hate Margot. That’s why I held her underwater.”

My head spins, and alarm rises in my chest.

“She didn’t even put up that much of a struggle, but, of course, she was soused as usual.” Jill laughs with a searing scoff. “And that’s also why I tried to frame her for Abby’s murder, but I grabbed the wrong gun.”

The rocking of the boat, the sunlight bouncing off every surface, the crazy words spewing from Jill’s mouth—all of it makes me feel like the world has tilted on its side and is trying violently to shake me off the edge. I stare at Jill, trying to work out if she’s truly as insane as she sounds. If she’s truly capable of everything she just divulged to me.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” she hisses. “The little bitch was standing in my son’s way; I had no choice. Both of them were, actually. Don’t act so goddamned surprised.”

She smooths her hair back, twists the key in the ignition, and guns the engine again, this time, speeding toward the opposite shore, toward Margot’s land. She lowers the lever on the boat, increasing the speed, her forearm muscles flexing as she grasps it.

We’re now traveling so fast that the front of the boat lifts off the water and bangs against the surface of the lake over and over as we speed across. Jill is laser focused on steering, so I carefully creep my hand into my bag and grope around for my phone, keeping my eyes on her as I find it. I glance down and find a second message from Flynn, then look back up at Jill.

En route to the Simmons lake house. Sophie, please confirm your location.

Jill’s still staring straight ahead, guiding the boat. I quickly type to Flynn, letting him know I’m on her boat heading to Margot’s land. My heart is palpitating as I press send, but I manage to do it before Jill cuts her eyes back at me.

The sun is beginning to sink behind the pines as we reach Margot’s shore. Jill eases up on the lever, guiding the nose of the boat to a stump. She tosses a rope around it, anchoring us in place, then turns and stands over me.

Her figure blocks out the sun, casting shadows along the leather seats of the boat.

“I didn’t want to frame you for Abby’s death, Sophie; that wasn’t part of the plan. Believe me, I wanted Margot to go down for it. I really, really did. Bitch has been messing with my son for far. Too. Long.”

Her neck and head shake with rage.

“But I don’t understand. You weren’t even there anymore; you left early that night,” I say, trying to engage her in a more calm and rational manner.

“Yeah, and I was happy to leave early. I was tracking Brad. I watched as Abby stormed out of his Jeep. She stood in front of her house after he left, weeping for a while on the curb. I eased up next to her in my car and told her to get in.”

She sinks down again in the captain’s chair, lets out a huge breath, and keeps on talking, as if in a psychotic trance, her gaze trained toward Margot’s land.

“I drove her out to my lake house and told her we could talk about Brad. She was all upset because he had just tried to dump her. And Brad told her that if she told her parents about the baby, he would refuse to admit it was his. She was all out of sorts, and becoming unmanageable,” Jill says with a look of distaste on her face.

“She kept crying about how she couldn’t give up the baby, and how she would die if she lost Brad. I couldn’t reason with her, and I didn’t know what else to do. She said she was about to tell her parents and the entire school everything. Which would spell certain ruin for my Brad. And I couldn’t have that. Not after everything we’ve worked so hard for.

“I told her to sit tight at the lake house while I went to find Brad. That’s when I went and got the gun. It was so easy; the front door was unlocked and you were the only one there, passed out on the couch. I thought I had the right gun—Margot sometimes uses her daddy’s gun—but I’d forgotten you used it that night,” she says as if it were somehow my fault.