“So this Brad—he was out there that night with you and Margot, and you were okay with it?”
I was going to tell him about Jamie next, but my courage has now evaporated.
“No, I wasn’t okay with it.” The indignant tone I’ve adopted during our recent conversations has crept back into my voice. “That’s why I told you I would stop hanging out with them. Only, Abby went missing and I needed to be there for Jill, who genuinely seems nice. It’s honestly Margot and her shadow, Callie, who are nuts.”
“But why would Margot frameyou? Why would she single you out?”
I don’t tell him that it’s because I became entranced by her and, therefore, was the easiest prey.
“I guess I was the new, dumb girl.”
“And you really think she killed Abby? With Brad’s help? You think they’re capable of that?”
I nod.
“I can’t fucking believe you’ve got yourself tangled up in this mess.”
“Well, I didn’t do it! It’s not like it’s my fault. And nothing’s going to happen to me, Graham. I’m innocent. Don’t panic,” I say, while my own voice rises with panic.
“Well, we need to get a lawyer. Like right now. Sounds like Margot’s dangerousandpowerful. I’ll ask around the office—”
“Are you crazy? I don’t want everyone knowing about this.”
“Okay, okay, I’ll find out quietly. But we need to deal with this. The right way.”
His whole body is now contorted against the side of the door, as if he’s intent upon putting as much space between the two of us as possible.
The urge to tell him about Jamie comes over me again.
“Graham,” I say, my voice trembling. I glance over at him, and the look of concern on his face is so strong that my voice melts in my throat.
“What is it?” His eyes are lasers drilling over my face.
“Nothing. I’m just—I’m sosorry.”
51
Tuesday, April 24, 2018
THE HOLES Idug for the fig trees yesterday are filled with rainwater, a pair of black, blank eyes reflecting back at me. It poured last night and I’m now standing over them, trying to decide what to do with myself. Go to the nursery to buy the trees and actually plant them? Or do what I should be doing and pick up my cell to call the lawyer whom Graham found?
Instead, I stay outside and pace the length of the backyard, eyeing the herb beds for signs of new weeds and scrutinizing the flower garden to see if it’s time to deadhead the roses.
I’m procrastinating and I know I should step inside and get the call over with, but I’m not ready to talk to a lawyer just yet; there’s an irrational part of me that believes this will all go away. That Flynn will call and tell me there’s been some mistake and he’s sorry and I’m off the hook.
But even the most stubborn part of me knows this isn’t true, and even though it’s only ten o’clock in the morning, I’m already coated in sweat, so I cease my pacing and go inside.
I’m in the back bathroom washing my hands and freshening up when I hearthe back door open and slam shut. My heart lurches as I wonder who the hell is in my house. But then I hear Graham’s voice.
“Sophie? Where are you?”
He sounds steamed; I tread down the hall and find him in the dining room. His hair is mussed and his cheeks are mottled red as if he rushed getting over here. He’s clearly in distress.
“What thefuckis this?” He slings a newspaper from under his armpit and thuds it against the dining table.
I step over to the paper and peer at the headline.
TEENAGE SEX TRIANGLE WITH PROMINENT SOCIALITE LINKED TO MURDER OF LOCAL GIRL
