"You know what I just had a crazy pregnancy craving for? Your prickly pear lemonade. Now that…" I shake my head like I just can't believe it. "That is some delicious lemonade. Maybe you can serve it at my sprinkle."
"I'd be happy to," Liane responds. The edge to her voice has receded. She sounds like her usual self.
"How long have you been serving it up at the Olive Festival?" I'm arranging snacks on the plate, keeping her in my line of sight. I'm being paranoid. It must be a mothering instinct.
Protect the cub.
"Why don't you ask me the question you're really thinking?"
"Hmm?" I ask, letting my eyebrows cinch in the middle. "What do you mean?" My voice is forced. Even I hear it. There goes my heart again. Hammering my breast bone.
"Mallory." Liane pushes off the island. Steps closer to me, then stops. "Ask me why David Boylan didn't get lemonade the day Simon died. It's written right over there, in your notes."
Alarm bells ring in my head, but I do my best to keep cool. "I hardly think that detail matters."
"You're lying." Liane's voice is calm. Cool. She doesn't take a step closer, because she doesn't need to. I'm boxed in.
"Lemonade doesn't seem like something to lie about," I say, putting on my best unaffected tone. I'm failing. It's impossible. Panic races through me, hot and cold at the same time.
"See the way you're standing right now?"
I glance down at my stomach, my hands stretching protectively over my belly. No matter how unflustered I'm trying to keep my voice, my defensive hands have told a different story.
Liane continues. "That tells me everything I need to know. You would do the same things I've done."
I stare at her, almost serene in that fancy tweed skirt and smart matching jacket.
Unperturbed, she says, "When it comes to protectingmy family, there's nothing I won't do. No limit on the number of times I'll do it."
"You've said that to me before. On the day of the Olive Festival. You said I'll love this baby so much there's nothing I won't do for them."
"Brava," Liane trills. She has a lilt to her voice. As if she's victorious.
What has she won?
"You're very smart, Mallory. Not smarter than me, of course."
The mask Liane has worn every time I've seen her is slipping. The unhinged woman she is on the inside nudges the disguise, yearning to get through.
My phone lays on the far side of the island. I make a casual step right. Barely noticeable. "You must not be very smart if you're here, gloating."
She makes a high-pitched, pinched sound in her throat. "I couldn't help myself. Nobody has come so close to figuring me out. And not just one, but two! Two times I had to protect my family. Never thought somebody would connect them, but here we are."
That brings me up short. Rips my heart from my chest. "Maggie," I sob.
"I didn't know her name. Not until last week when I looked you up on the Internet. But yes,Maggie." She waves her manicured hand, diamond ring glinting in the overhead kitchen light. "It was one of those summer heat waves, and I couldn't take it anymore. I drove my son to Phoenix to go to the water park. Let's just say he madesomeunfortunatechoices in how he treated your sister, and?—"
"What do you mean by that?" I demand, hot anger coursing through me. "What did he do to her?" My stomach turns over, my imagination galloping out ahead of Liane's confession.
"This isn't about what he did, Mallory. I won't discuss my son with you."
A haughty lift of her chin. She looks like she's losing steam, her euphoria over her crimes waning a tiny bit. I have to keep her talking. As agonizing as it is, I need to hear it all.
"So you hurt her?" I ask, my lips curling over my teeth. Rage like I've never felt singes my veins.
Liane shrugs. "She was looking for you to tell you, and well, I couldn't have that."
My fingers itch to wrap around her throat, to do to Liane what she did to Maggie. "You strangled her?"
