At the next exit, I veer off the highway and fill up my tank at a truck stop.While the gas is pumping, I text Flynn to let him know I’m headed to Jill’s. I certainly don’t have to, but now that he’s on my side again, or seems to be anyway, I want to keep him in the loop.
Back on the highway, eighteen-wheelers coast by, rattling the Highlander, and after half an hour of gripping the wheel, I’m grateful when I see the turnoff to the lake.
I lower my windows and breathe in the damp, sticky air. Even though it’s only six fifteen and the sun won’t set for another few hours, the skinny lake roads are engulfed by mammoth pines, dimming the sunlight, so that it already feels like dusk.
I curl around the final stretch of road leading to Jill’s and glimpse her white Lexus in the drive. My heart strikes against my ribs, and my hands shake as I kill the engine. I know I have been through a lot, but I can’t imagine what she’s been going through as well. To learn that Brad had indeed been screwing Margot, to have to deal with the pressures of the police suspecting Brad for Abby’s murder—I’m sure she wants to crack as much as Ido.
67
AS I APPROACHthe 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. Ineverthought 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 andcrosses 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 ISan 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 wasJill.
68
MY BLOOD GOEScold. 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.
