“Did you just arrive, Colin?” Annie said. “There’s lots of great food under the tent—”
“Do you mind if I sit down?” Colin said. “There’s something I need to show you.”
“Me?” Annie said. How could there be more anything tonight?
“I went back and forth about whether to say something,” Colin said, “but really you need to know.”
As the dread pooled in Annie’s stomach, he crouched down between all three of them.
“Here,” he said. “It’s on my phone.”
* * *
Lena pressed her back against the side of the house. There were so many damn people at this party.
All of these years of shouldering a burden for which someone else—Annie—had been partially to blame.
She wanted to call Rachel, or was the news too bittersweet to share?
A man in a Hawaiian print shirt approached, shouted something at her. Lena put on her hostess smile.
“What’s that?” she said.
“Can you believe these people?” he shouted. His breath smelled of garlic.
“Which people?”
“These people.” He hiked his IPA bottle over his head, used it to draw a sloshy circle. “They have a five-car garage that’s almost empty. Five cars!”
“For you.” Harriet Nessel appeared next to the man. She pushed a small white box at Lena. “My daughter-in-law gave them to me for Mother’s Day.”
Lena peeled open the top. Tiny little soaps in the shape of birds in cardboard nests. Only one was empty. The moment was hazy with déjà vu—they’d had this exact exchange before, Lena and Harriet.
But then the man pushed between them.
“Their garage,” he said, “is basically an airplane hangar!”
“Find some coffee,” Harriet suggested in a curt tone, and with a surprisingly strong arm, propelled Lena out of the tent.
“It’s a wonderful party, dear,” Harriet said conspiratorially, “but next time maybe don’t invite so many strangers.” She pointed a finger toward the Moroccan Fantasy area. “I wonder what they’re talking about?”
A handful of women from book club stood in a tight cluster. Deb Gallegos clutched her heavy silver choker. Priya had her arms around Annie’s shoulders.
“Something juicy,” Harriet said. “Should we go see?”
When Lena and Harriet came closer, Annie pushed a phone into Lena’s palm.
“I’m going to kill Abe Pagano,” she said.
Miss Marple would report it without hesitation. Same with Inspector Gamache, but justice looks a little different off the page.
I’ve gotten as far as tracing the numbers on my phone. 9–1–1.
Hello? I’d like to report a murder.
When I imagine the flash of police lights reflecting against darkened houses, my stomach twists in objection.
But when I think about letting the foothills absorb the secret, that doesn’t sit right either.
I don’t know what to do.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
“Why aren’t you dressed for the party yet?”
Abe stood in the doorway to Jen’s bedroom. He’d changed into khaki pants and a polo shirt and had slicked back his hair, pulled it into a tiny ponytail. His unworn loafers, bought early last year in anticipation of bar mitzvah invitations that had never materialized, reflected the overhead light. They were at least a size too small.
“Because we’re not going.”
“You need to get out of bed.” Abe walked stiff-legged—the shoes must be killing him, but he did not complain—into Jen’s closet. She could hear the hangers squeaking over the rod.
“This is pretty.” He emerged with a bloodred, in-your-face silk sundress with a voluminous flounce around her feet. She’d had it for years but never worn it because every time she tried it on, she thought nope.
“Totally inappropriate,” Jen said. “Why do you even want to go?”
Nan’s gentle, concerned voice. Do you think Abe has plans to hurt his friend?
“The points,” Abe said matter-of-factly. “I wrote my apology note to Laurel, and Dad said that’s fifty points. I get another fifty when I hand it to her. I don’t have to be her friend, but he explained to me that I can’t get stuck in the usual cycle. I have to break free.”
Jen searched his face. Feel free to chime in, gut.
He held up the dress, gave the hanger a shake. Neutral it was not. At the thought of showing up in that dress, Jen started to laugh the hyenic laugh of a madwoman.
Abe smiled. “What?”
Jen’s phone chimed with an incoming text.
She reached into her pocket and glanced at the screen.
“Deb Gallegos,” she said aloud.
“What does she say?”
Jen was sure it was nothing good.
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
Deb returned to the Moroccan Fantasy area with three champagne flutes balanced in her hands. She carefully handed one to Priya and the other to Annie.
“Cheers,” she said.
“Cheers!” Priya sang.
DJ Lightning was playing something wordless and beat-driven. Most of the party guests had moved from the food tent to the dance floor, which was now aglow with the neon sticks.
“I want to dance,” Deb said. “Would Sierra be mortified? She never used to be embarrassed by me, but I sense it coming.”
Annie ignored her. “Jen should have said something to us about Abe’s diagnosis, right?”
“Yes.” Deb nodded.
“Poor Jen,” Priya said.
“Not poor Jen. Jen is asleep at the wheel.”
Annie caught them exchange a look.
“What,” she said.
“Try and have fun,” Deb said gently. “You’ve been obsessing about this for hours. What can you do about it tonight?”
It wasn’t their children who’d been animated and riddled with bullet holes, Annie supposed.
“I’d like to dance,” Priya said tentatively.
Where was Janine? Janine would be right next to Annie, spitting bullets.
“Abe’s the vandal, right?” Annie said. “We can agree?”
“Lena.” Deb reached her arms overhead to flag down Lena. “Annie needs you.” She and Priya linked arms and ran to the dance floor with the speed of escaping convicts.
“Laurel’s made such bad choices,” Annie said when Lena sat down. “Giving your garden key to Haley, becoming friends with a sociopath. I’ve watched her so closely, and I had no idea.”
“It’s nothing incurable,” Lena said. “Nothing permanent.”
“What does that mean?”
“Lena.” Mike rushed over. “There’s a starry-night situation with the glow sticks in the flower garden.”
“A what?”
He grimaced. “You better come with me.”
“I’ll be right back,” Lena said apologetically. Annie watched in frustration as they left her alone in the tent. She needed to harness someone else into this feeling.
Where on earth was Janine?
* * *
“Starry, starry night,” the group of boys chanted in unison.
Lena watched as one of them broke open the glow stick he was holding and spattered its fluorescence all over her hyacinths.
The group cheered and began the chant anew.
“Starry, starry night! Starry starry night! Starry starry night.”
More glow sticks were broken open and spattered on the lawn, Mike Perley’s pants, the low-hanging tree branches.
Lena reached, grabbed a child by the collar. A round face turned toward her. She recognized the impish grin and spiky eyelashes of one of Janine’s twins.
“Where is your mother?”
He tried to wiggle away, but she caught him by the arm, repeated the question through gritted teeth.
“Where is your mother?”
He shrugged and pointed to the patio.
Janine wore ripped jeans and a Mickey Mouse T-shirt and h
er hair had been stuffed into a baseball cap.
Lena wasn’t trying to be fussy, but everyone else, even the stranger in the Hawaiian shirt, had made a little effort to look nice.
Janine’s hand was gripped around her daughter’s arm, and she was pulling the girl roughly through the path between the tables.
Lena frowned.
They were grim-faced and hunched, like they were walking through a storm.
* * *
“I updated my apology note to Laurel,” Abe said. “To include making the video.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Jen said from her bed. It was dark outside now, and she was never, ever leaving.
Deb’s text said Annie had seen Abe’s video and was pretty upset. She’d ended it with a frowny-face emoji.
How did they even see it, Jen kept asking Abe and Paul. The thought of them all up there, gossiping about her son. Jen rested a pillow over her face and decided she could stay here forever.
“Here,” Abe said. She heard the heavy paper of his note hit her bedside table. She lifted the pillow.
The Laurel Apology, Take Two, “I’m Sorry I Murdered You in a Video Game” Edition. Abe had selected very tasteful stationery: an ivory notecard with a gold border, the most expensive in the Paganos’ collection.
“We’re like hours late now,” he said. “I can hear the party.”
“You can?”
“Listen,” Abe commanded.
Jen tilted her head. There was the hint of a thrumming bass in the background.
“I made the note more honest,” Abe said. “It might be too honest, you tell me.”
Oh boy.
“Read my note. I’ll accept feedback.”
“Fine.” She folded open the paper.
Sorry for not understanding, yes, strong start.
… The video was unkind … True enough, if a bit mildly put.
… When you hurt me …
Nothing after that made any sense.
Jen backtracked to the beginning, tried to read it more slowly. In her hands, the note card shook.
“Abe,” she said, “are you sure this is what happened?”
“Yes.”
She regarded him, from crooked part to those skinny shoulders, which jerked in anticipation. Did I do okay?
What cold comfort that she could read his face after all.
She had to go find Annie.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
“There you are!” Annie had never been so happy to see Janine, even if she was dressed for a field trip to the recycling plant. “I didn’t know you even owned ripped jeans. I have news, Janine. Big news.”
Annie leaned down to Katie. “Sweetie, go join the twins and everyone else on the dance floor.”
But Katie didn’t move. Janine flattened her palms around the girl’s shoulders, gave them an authoritative squeeze.
Katie reached into her pocket and took out a note, which she unfolded. It reminded Annie of an awards show: I’d like to thank the Academy.
But Katie’s speech didn’t start that way.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Perley,” she began, and her voice was noticeably gruff for a thirteen-year-old, “for breaking your front window.”
* * *
“Did you hear?” Harriet Nessel grabbed Lena’s shoulder rather harshly.
“Did I hear what?” Lena wondered whether Harriet was aware that the back of her floral shift had been splashed with the contents of a glow stick. It was as splotchy and phosphorescent as Lena’s flower beds.
Even unflappable Hilde was ruffled. She was at the DJ booth, her shirt untucked and her arms gesturing wildly, imploring DJ Lightning to do something, anything to compel the kids to the dance floor.
“The vandal,” Harriet said, “is Katie Neff.”
“Janine’s Katie?”
“She did all of it! She just cornered Tabitha Donaldson to apologize for the snowman.”
“Oh my, but why—”
“Everyone, back on the floor. Back on the floor!” DJ Lightning chanted. “It’s time to do the Hose!”
“The Hose?” Harriet said. “Is that an actual dance?”
She did not stick around for an answer but beelined to the table closest to them. “Did you hear,” Lena heard her announce, “the vandal is Katie Neff! Janine’s girl.”
The Hose was an actual dance, Lena decided, and a popular one, based on the way the kids streamed to the dance floor. Laurel Perley walked toward the DJ booth, perhaps to request something else?
It occurred to Lena that she’d barely seen Laurel all night.
Rachel’s sister.
It was impossible now not to see Rachel in Laurel’s long strides across the lawn. When they hurried, their torsos tilted forward in the exact same way.
Where was Laurel off to? Not the DJ booth. With a furtive glance over her shoulder, she passed it, headed straight toward the back gate.
Had it just been this morning that Lena had seen Laurel jog up the hill and slink away?
A girl with a secret.
* * *
Jen walked quickly up the dark street to Lena’s house. The flounce of her dress kept catching in her slippery kitten heels, tripping her. Impatiently, she yanked up the front.
“Clap your hands,” shouted a DJ’s amplified voice over the music. “Wiggle like a hose. Now slide back. Do the hose.”
When she reached the path to the party, Jen hesitated. It really did look lovely.
The dance floor was full, and illuminated by rows of twinkly lights. There was a giant tent with tables of food and an insanely over-the-top lounge area with stuffed couches and poufs and Moroccan rugs and Jen was about to barrel into all of it like a grenade.
There was Annie, in the lounge area with Janine. Jen took a breath and stepped onto the lawn. A caterer immediately shoved a cake plate in Jen’s hand and chirped, “Homemade caramel filling.”
“No thank you.”
Harriet appeared to her right, linked an elbow through Jen’s arm. “Did you hear? Katie Neff is the vandal.”
“Really?” Jen stopped.
“Janine found photos, selfies of Katie in the vandalism act, can you believe it, like trophies? I really did not see this coming and I hope she gets help. That’s quite the dress, dear. Va-voom! Oh! Excuse me, Athena doesn’t know yet.”
So the vandal wasn’t Abe.
Jen’s knees buckled. She steadied herself against the back of a chair, and then straightened up.
It had never been Abe.
She wished she had never asked him. How must that feel, to have your own mother doubting you, assuming the worst?
Still, she felt lighter as she walked toward Annie’s table, until she got there and everyone stopped talking.
(Because there was still the matter of Abe’s video.)
(And worse than that, the note.)
Annie turned toward Jen. She was dressed in full-on glamour, in a floor-length flowy silk thing with a geometric pattern. Her face was pale and unmade.
It was awful, the dismissive look Annie flicked at Jen.
“Jen,” Janine said. “Katie has an apology for you too after she finishes Mrs. Perley’s.”
Katie looked down at the paper in front of her.
“It was my problem,” she read. “It had nothing to do with you.” She glanced up at Annie. “It did a little. I was jealous of Laurel. Why does she get a party? She’s not even related to Mrs. Meeker.”
“Stick to the script,” Janine said.
“But I know now,” Katie read, “that it was an unhealthy way to express my anger. Although—”
Katie put down the note again, blinked behind her glasses. “It felt great to break things.”
“It did not,” Janine said with a sense of outrage.
“You didn’t hurt anyone, Katie,” Annie said with a resigned shrug. Pointedly, she said, “It’s not like you stabbed anyone.”
“Who stabbed someone?” Katie said, and from her tone, it was clear the idea intrigued her.
<
br /> “Annie.” Jen held out the note card. “This is from Abe.”
“An apology note?” Annie said. She clasped her hands to her chest. “What a well-mannered community we all are. What wonderfully raised children. My daughter was going through something this year, and your son saw that and took advantage and you gave no warning, Jen. No warning that he might hurt our children, just for sport.”
“Please, just read it.” Jen placed it on the table in front of Annie.
“Should Katie and I leave you two?” Janine asked.
“Please.” Jen nodded.
“Stay,” Annie said. Her voice was commanding enough that no one dared to move as she opened Abe’s note card.
“‘Dear Laurel,’” she read in a hauntingly mocking voice. “‘I am so sorry about the video game. It was unkind’”—eyebrow raise—”‘and I would never really hurt you. I know it was wrong, though, and you’re not worth it anyway.’
“This is great stuff, Jen,” Annie said. “You must be so proud.”
“Don’t read it aloud,” Jen said.
“Are you worried, Jen, that people will find out your big secret? That your son is a sociopath?” Annie said. She lifted the note and cleared her throat. “‘You guys hurt me by going off together, even if Colin’s your boyfriend’—”
Annie stopped and frowned.
“This can’t be true.”
Jen shifted nervously.
“Katie,” Janine said in a chirp. “Let’s go find Mrs. Meeker and apologize to her.”
Jen watched Annie’s face turn ashen as she read the rest.
… even if Colin’s your boyfriend.
I thought we were all friends together, which is why I yelled when you two started locking me out of the room and why I was hurt when you guys went places on the weekends and didn’t invite me.
What I’m supposed to do is not focus on that but on the good parts, like how Colin helped me with the music for my video game.
I regret calling you both bad people and throwing your special keychain. I’m sorry it broke.
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