The Last Time I Saw You

by Liv Constantine

  She pulled out her driver’s license and handed it over, watching as he snapped a picture with his phone, then motioned for her to go ahead. The door opened before she knocked, and Kate stood in the frame, looking pale and drawn.

  “What’s with all the guys in black?” Blaire asked.

  Kate started to say something, but then shook her head. “Simon hired them. Just in case . . .”

  After Kate shut the door and engaged the deadbolt, she led Blaire from the hallway into the kitchen. Turning to her, she said, “Selby’s here. She came by earlier to check on me.”

  Blaire groaned inwardly. The last person she was in the mood for was Selby. They’d barely acknowledged each other at the funeral luncheon; Selby had sat with her husband, Carter, and not with the women. Now she’d have no choice but to talk to her.

  When they walked into the kitchen, Blaire looked around in appreciation. It was fabulous, like something you would expect to see in a grand Tuscan villa of old. Beautiful terra-cotta flooring that looked so authentic she wondered if it had been brought over from Italy tile by tile. A skylighted cathedral ceiling with its rough-hewn wood beams cast a golden glow over the polished wooden counters and floor-to-ceiling cabinets. The room had the same refined and antique feel as the rest of the house, but with the added flavor of a bit of old Europe.

  Selby was seated at a table that appeared to be a thick slab of wood carved from a single tree, coarse on the edges and elegantly simple. Annabelle was on her lap, and Selby was reading to her. Selby looked up, her expression turning sour.

  “Oh. Hello, Blaire.” Selby scrutinized her with the same disdain she always had, but Blaire didn’t care anymore. She knew she looked good. If she wasn’t quite as thin as she’d been in high school, her time at the gym and careful diet assured she could still rock a pair of jeans. And the hair that had been impossible to tame back then was straight and shiny thanks to the modern miracle known as keratin. Selby’s eyes rested on the round eight-carat diamond ring on Blaire’s left hand.

  Blaire coolly returned the favor, grudgingly acknowledging that the years had been good to Selby. If anything, she was more attractive now than she had been in high school, the soft waves around her face streaked with subtle highlights that softened her features. Selby’s jewelry was exquisite—large pearl earrings, a gold bangle, and a sapphire-and-diamond ring on her hand, which Blaire knew was an heirloom. Carter had shown it to Blaire a million years ago—before he’d acquiesced to his parents’ insistence that he find a “suitable” prospect to settle down with.

  “Hi, Selby. How are you?” Blaire said, turning away from her and pulling a stuffed purple unicorn out of her tote. She held it out to Annabelle. “Annabelle, I’m your mommy’s old friend, Blaire. I thought you might like to meet Sunny.”

  Annabelle flew from Selby’s lap, her arms outstretched, and hugged the stuffed animal to her chest. “Can I keep her?” she asked.

  “Of course. I found her especially for you.”

  Breaking into a wide grin, the little girl squeezed it tighter. Blaire was pleased to see that it was a hit.

  “Where are your manners, Annabelle?” Kate gently scolded. “Say thank you.”

  Annabelle regarded Blaire solemnly for a moment, then murmured a shy “Thank you.”

  “You’re very welcome, Annabelle. Auntie Blaire loves to give presents.”

  Selby looked annoyed. “I didn’t realize you were already on ‘auntie’ terms, Blaire.”

  Couldn’t Selby put aside her pettiness for one day? Blaire thought. Not about to engage, she instead turned to Kate. “You don’t mind if she calls me that, do you?”

  Kate grabbed her hand and squeezed. “Of course not. We were like sisters—are like sisters,” she corrected herself.

  “Remember how we used to pretend that we were sisters when we’d go clubbing in college?” Blaire asked her. “And the fake names. Anastasia and . . .”

  “Cordelia!” Kate finished, laughing.

  Selby rolled her eyes. “Yeah, it was hilarious.”

  Blaire thought back to those years. Despite their completely different coloring, people believed them. They’d spent so much time together that they had begun to sound alike. They’d picked up the cadence and tempo of each other’s speech and even had similar laughs.

  Before she’d met Kate, Blaire had always wondered what it would be like to grow up in a normal family, to have a mother who cooked breakfast for you, made sure you had a healthy lunch for school, was waiting when you got home to help with homework or just ask how your day had gone. Blaire had been only eight when her mother had left, and she had quickly become the center of her father’s universe. By the time she was in fifth grade, she’d learned how to cook better than her mother ever had, and relished making gourmet meals for her father. After a while, Blaire even liked taking care of herself and of him—it made her feel grown up and in control. And then it all changed when Enid Turner came along.

  Enid was a sales rep in her father’s company who suddenly started coming to their house for weekly dinners. Six months later, her father sat Blaire down with a goofy smile on his face and asked, “How would you like to have a new mother?”

  It had taken her only a moment to understand. “If you’re talking about Enid, no thank you.”

  He had taken her hand in his. “You know that I’ve grown quite fond of her.”

  “I guess.”

  He’d gone on, that stupid smile still on his face. “Well, I’ve asked her to marry me.”

  Blaire had shot off the sofa and stood in front of him, tears of fury blurring her vision. “You can’t do this!”

  “I thought you’d be happy. You’ll have a mother.”

  “Happy? Why would I be happy? She’ll never be my mother!” Blaire’s mother, Shaina, had been beautiful and glamorous, with long red hair and sparkling eyes. Sometimes the two of them would play dress-up. Her mother would pretend to be a big star and Blaire her assistant. She’d promised her that one day they would go to Hollywood together, and even though she’d gone on her own, Blaire believed her mother would come back for her once she got settled.

  She looked for a letter or postcard every day. She searched for her mother’s face in movie posters and television shows. Her father kept telling her to forget about Shaina, that she was gone for good. But Blaire couldn’t believe that she would leave her behind forever. Maybe she was just waiting until she made it big before coming back for her. After a year had passed with no word from her mother, Blaire started to worry. Something must have happened to her. She’d begged her father to take her to California to look for her, but he just shook his head, a sad look on his face. He told Blaire that her mother was alive.

  She’d looked at her father in shock. “You know where she is?”

  It took him a moment to answer. “I don’t. I only know that she’s cashing her alimony check every month.”

  Blaire was too young to wonder why he kept paying the bills after they were divorced. Instead, she blamed him, told herself that he was lying and deliberately keeping them apart. Soon her mother would come for her, or if Hollywood wasn’t what she thought it would be, maybe she’d even come home again.

  So when her father told her he’d decided to marry Enid, Blaire had run to her room and locked the door. She’d told him she would refuse to eat, sleep, or talk to him ever again if he went through with it. There was no way insipid Enid Turner was going to move into her house and tell her what to do. No way she was going to take Blaire’s father away from her. How could he even look at Enid after being married to her mother? Shaina was vibrant and exciting. Enid was ordinary and boring. But nonetheless, a month later, they were married in the local Methodist church, with Blaire a grudging witness.

  They quickly converted the den, where Blaire’s friends used to come and watch TV or throw some darts, into a craft room for Enid. Enid painted it pink, and then she hung her “artwork,” a collection of paint-by-numbers dog breeds, all over the walls, while Blai
re’s games and toys went down to the basement.

  The first night after the room conversion, once Enid and her father had fallen asleep, Blaire had crept into her former den. Grabbing a Magic Marker from the dresser, she’d drawn eyeglasses on the cocker spaniel, a mustache on the golden retriever, and a cigar in the mouth of the black lab. Soon, she’d been doubled over with silent laughter, her body shaking as she held it in.

  The next morning, Enid’s cries brought Blaire into the room. Her eyes were red and puffy.

  “Why did you do this?” Enid asked, looking wounded.

  Blaire widened her eyes innocently. “I didn’t. Maybe you sleepwalk.”

  “Of course I don’t. I know you did this. You’ve made it quite clear that you don’t want me here.”

  Blaire stuck her chin out. “I bet you did it, just so you could blame it on me.”

  “Listen to me, Blaire. You may have your father bamboozled, but not me. You don’t have to like me, but I won’t tolerate disrespect or lying. Do you understand?”

  Blaire said nothing, and the two stared at each other. Finally, Enid said. “Go on. Get out of here.”

  Anytime anything happened after that, Enid had blamed Blaire. Her father’s devotion transferred from Blaire to his new wife; he had done nothing to defend his daughter, and it wasn’t long before she hated going home and did anything she could to avoid it. It turned out to be a blessing that they had sent her away—living with Enid for over a year had been more than enough for Blaire. She went home for the summer after eighth grade, but in her second year at Mayfield, Lily had invited Blaire to spend the summer with them at their beach house in Bethany, Delaware. She was sure that her father wouldn’t allow it, but Lily made one phone call and it was all arranged.

  Blaire fell in love with the house the first time she saw it—the cedar-shingle dwelling had white decks and porches that stood out against the dark wood, as did the pure-white trim of the large paned doors and windows. It was so different from the boring colonial she’d grown up in, where the rooms were dull rectangles and all the furniture matched. The beach house was filled with breezy white-walled rooms, and big windows that looked directly at the ocean. Soft floral sofas and chairs were strategically placed so the view could be enjoyed while still sitting in cozy groups. But the most intoxicating things were the sound of the crashing waves and the air that smelled of the sea as it floated through the open windows. She’d never seen such an amazing house.

  Kate had taken her hand and led her upstairs. There were five bedrooms, and Kate’s, a large room next to the master, was painted a pale sea green. French doors led to a small balcony overlooking the beach. All the linens were white––the canopy over the bed, curtains, chair cushions—except for the comforter, which was a bright pink with mermaids embroidered all over it. The walls were decorated with mermaid pictures, and mermaid figurines lined one of the bookshelves. Kate’s name was even spelled out above her bed in sparkling blue sea glass. Kate had everything—two parents who gave her whatever she wanted, including this beach house. Suddenly Blaire couldn’t breathe, the loneliness and emptiness of her life closing in on her like a vise.

  “Your room is great,” she’d managed to say.

  Kate shrugged. “It’s okay. I mean, I’m getting a little old for the mermaids. I’ve been asking my mom to get me a new comforter, but she keeps forgetting.”

  Blaire was stunned. Kate had all this at her fingertips, and she was complaining about a stupid bedspread? Before she could say anything, Kate grabbed her hand.

  “You haven’t seen yours yet.” Kate’s eyes had shone with excitement.

  “Mine?”

  “Come on.” She’d pulled Blaire to the room across from hers and pointed to the name above the bed—it read “Blaire” in glittering sea glass.

  Blaire hadn’t been able to speak, hadn’t known what to think or how to feel. No one had ever done anything so generous and kind for her before.

  “Do you like it? My mother came down last week and took care of it.”

  She’d run over to the window and pushed the curtain aside, a wave of disappointment settling over her. Of course it wouldn’t have an ocean view—it was across from Kate’s room, so it faced the front. She hid her disappointment and gave Kate a forced smile. “I love it.”

  “I’m glad. Course, we’ll probably both sleep in the same room anyhow, so we can talk all night.”

  And she had been right. They’d taken turns in each other’s rooms, lying there in the dark, spilling all their secrets. Blaire hadn’t really needed her own room, but Lily, wise woman that she was, had known that having it would make all the difference to her. Blaire spent every following summer with them at the beach—until the summer of Kate and Simon’s wedding. She wondered if they still had still the beach house, if Kate carried on the tradition with Annabelle.

  Selby stood up and pecked Kate on the cheek.

  “I guess I’ll go now. Remember—whatever you need, I’m here for you.” Selby grabbed her handbag. Blaire recognized the Fendi floral design. The cheerful flowers didn’t suit Selby’s personality at all, Blaire thought. She’d have pegged Selby as more of a Traviata fan, decidedly in black or dark green, holding it over her arm like the Queen.

  “I’ll walk you out,” Kate said. She looked at Blaire. “Do you mind staying with Annabelle a sec?”

  “Love to,” Blaire answered, and then turned to Annabelle. “Would you like me to finish your story?”

  The little girl nodded and handed her The Giving Tree.

  “It’s one of my favorites,” Blaire said. They sat together at the table, and she began to read. Annabelle had one arm around Sunny the unicorn. She was an adorable child, with big brown eyes and a beautiful smile. She had a sweetness to her that reminded Blaire of Lily. What a shame that Lily wouldn’t see her grow up.

  “Auntie Blaire, read!” Annabelle demanded.

  “Sorry, sweetie.”

  Selby came rushing back into the room with a frown on her face. “I don’t know what’s going on, but something is very wrong.”

  “What are you talking about?” Blaire asked as she readjusted Annabelle in her lap.

  “The police came to the door with a package,” Selby said. “They’re with Kate and Simon.” She crossed her arms in front of her. “I’d stay, but I have a massage booked.”

  “You don’t want to miss that,” Blaire said.

  Selby glared at her. “Maybe I should cancel it. I’m Kate’s best friend. She needs me.”

  Why couldn’t Selby give it a rest? They weren’t in high school any longer. Blaire felt herself getting angry but took a deep breath, determined not to say anything she’d regret. She gently twisted a lock of Annabelle’s hair around her finger and continued to stare at Selby, then said in a neutral voice, “I’m here. Go to your appointment. Kate will be fine.”

  Selby’s face turned red. “Why did you come back? Didn’t you cause enough trouble before her wedding?”

  Was she serious? Their friend’s mother had just been murdered, and all she could do was dredge up the past? Blaire let her anger bubble to the surface. Moving Annabelle from her lap, she got up and stood close to Selby, whispering so Annabelle couldn’t hear.

  “What’s the matter with you? Lily is dead, and Kate needs all the support she can get. This isn’t the time for your petty insecurities.”

  Obviously flustered, Selby opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

  “Maybe it’s time for you to go,” Blaire said. “You clearly need to let out some of that tension.”

  Glaring at her, Selby grabbed her purse and stomped away.

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollinsPublishers

  ....................................

  7

  Kate tapped on her husband’s office door, which was slightly ajar. “Simon, the detective needs to speak with us.”

  Simon looked up from his computer and ran a hand through his hair as she walked in with
the detective. “What is it? Have they arrested someone?”

  “No, sir,” Anderson replied from behind Kate. “But a box has been delivered.”

  “From where?” Simon’s tone was impatient. “What’s in it?”

  Anderson entered the study as Kate eyed the package with dread. She put a hand on her belly, the all-too-familiar churning in her stomach making her dizzy. She wanted to run from the room before they even opened it.

  “Please,” Simon said. “Sit down.”

  Anderson set the box squarely on Simon’s desk, and Kate noticed that its packing tape had been sliced through. “I’ve already seen what’s inside. But I want you both to take a look.”

  “Yes, of course,” Simon said, rising out of his seat.

  “Just look, don’t touch it, please,” the detective instructed.

  As he removed the top, Kate let out a gasp, stepping back in revulsion, her hand over her mouth. Three small black birds in a row—pierced by a metal skewer, all with their throats slit.

  “What kind of sick bastard is doing this?” Simon roared, pushing the box toward Detective Anderson.

  “These birds were most likely purchased from a pet store, just as the mice were,” Anderson said. “They’re parakeets, but they’ve been spray-painted black.”

  Kate felt the blood pulsing in her neck and shrank back. Her whole body shook as terror turned to rage, exploding inside her. She looked at Anderson. “Why didn’t you warn us? To deliberately shock us? To see what our reactions would be?” Something else suddenly dawned on her. “Do you think we’re hiding something from you?”

  There was no regret in Anderson’s eyes, only suspicion. “It’s procedure,” he said evenly. “Do you have any idea who might be doing this?”

  “Of course not.”

  He replaced the box lid, took a plastic sleeve from his folder, and handed it to Kate. “This was on top of the birds.” Inside the plastic was a sheet of plain white paper, with the same typeface as the other note.

  Sing a song of sixpence