“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.
“Idohate 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 forfar. 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 forgottenyouused it that night,” she says as if it were somehowmyfault.
“And, of course, when it turned out to be your prints,” she sighs, “well, that was collateral damage. And it was unfortunate.” She licks her lips, gives her head a quick shake.
“I wanted to kick myself later for not paying more attention. I wanted to get Margot back so badly for all she had done, sleeping with Brad and everything. When I got back to the lake house, I told Abby that we were going for a boat ride. That Brad was out on the Bankses’ land, drinking beers with Jamie. ThatI had spoken with him and that he told me he didn’t want to break up with her after all, and that we were going to work something out.”
Jill’s eyes finally meet mine, as if she suddenly remembered that I’m here, that she’s talking to a real person. They narrow into slits and she snorts out an ugly laugh.
“And,of course, I knew Margot was still seducing my son, even after Abby’s death. Are you dumb enough to think I wasn’t watching his every move after that? I installed spyware on Brad’s phone, monitoring every text that came through. So when Margot had thenerveto keep banging him, I had to intervene.Again.I intercepted her text—the one she sent Brad the night I drowned her—and that was it for me. The fucking slut. I knew I had to take her down.
“And now, I’m going to have to take care of you, aren’t I? It will look like a suicide. And everyone will believe it. Especially you offing yourself on Margot’s land. Everyone now knows how in love you were with her. It’ssoperfect. And this way, everyone will really believe you killed Abby. And probably Margot as well.”
She clasps her hands together, and a smile creeps across her mannequin-doll face. Blood is thundering in my ears, and my vision swims. I keep hoping that my phone will ding, but so far it’s mute. I think of Jack, curled up in Graham’s arms, having his bedtime story being read to him, and hot tears sting my eyes. I flick them away and when I do, I notice the glint of something silver peeking out from underneath Jill’s seat. A revolver.
Jack. Graham.
