IT’S NOON. Iknow I shouldn’t be doing this—Detective Flynn told me to stay away from her—but I’m parked outside the gates to Margot’s neighborhood. A ruby-colored BMW approaches and I trail behind it, slipping through the gates before they close.
I haven’t heard a peep from Margot. Nothing after my text and phone call yesterday, and nothing at all this morning. I called her again first thing when I woke up. It went straight to voice mail, which made me bristle, made me paranoid that she’s avoiding me on purpose. I hung up without leaving a message.
I slow the car and roll past her house. A lone black Benz is parked in the circular drive out front, but I peg it as Jed’s—a Piney Woods Country Club Golf sticker is plastered on the bumper.
I idle out in front of her mansion for a second, my eyes sweeping through the bare windows that gleam in the sunlight.
No sign of Margot. The leaves on the trees overhead shudder as a gust of wind sweeps through, and I shiver, even though it’s bright and sunny out.
I hear him before I see him. The sound of Jed’s loafers slapping the long drive on the side of the house as he hauls out bags of trash to the curb. His jawis set and a sweep of dark hair falls across his forehead as he strides down the drive and stuffs the trash bin with bags, slamming the lid shut. He is practically scowling, and when he catches sight of me, he narrows his gaze.
Adrenaline sizzles through me, and even though I’m certain he doesn’t recognize me (we’ve never met in person and my face is currently masked behind a large pair of sunglasses), I press my foot on the accelerator and speed off.
—
BACK IN THEmotel room, I dig my cell out of my bag and dial Margot again. Straight to voice mail. But this time, I leave a message.
“Margot, it’s me, Sophie. Look, I don’t know what’s going on but you need to call me. You promised you’d help get me out of this. I talked to Detective Flynn and evidently Callie’s trying to set me up even more than she already has. Destroy my life even more than she already has.” Despite trying to keep my voice even, emotion seeps into it and I’m nearing the verge of hysteria as I spit out the next words. “I need you to help me; I need you to call me right away. Please.”
—
NEXT, I SENDher a text.
Just left you a vm. I really need you to call me back. It’s important. XO, S
My cell feels like a dead thing in my hand and I’m sick of clutching it, waiting for her to respond.
I flop back onto the mattress and drift off into a nap.
IT’S EVENING NOW.Well past nine o’clock. I’m sitting on the edge of the motel pool, dragging my calves through the water. My skin is fluorescent whiteagainst the glare of the pool lights, but I’m the only one out here to notice how ghastly they look.
I couldn’t stand to be in the room any longer, holed up like a caged animal, scanning my phone constantly, so I’m parked out here, nearly finished with the remainder of last night’s merlot. I tip the nose of the bottle into my plastic cup, shaking it to get every single drop out.
The warm night air and the sound of chirping crickets would be soothing under any other circumstances, but nothing—neither the wine nor the balmy atmosphere—can calm me down tonight.
I’m losing my mind. Growing more agitated by the minute.
Margot still hasn’t responded. I tried calling her one last time but it went straight to voice mail again and I couldn’t bear to leave another message.
All I can think is that she’s decided she’s not going to help me; she’s had second thoughts about turning on Callie. Callieisher best friend after all, and completely insane and vindictive to boot, so maybe it was foolish of me to ever believe she’d turn on her in the first place.
But what I know is this: I’m currently the main person of interest in Abby’s murder, Callie has stacked the deck against me, and if Margot won’t turn on her, I’m screwed.
My mind is leapfrogging over the varying possibilities, running rampant with different scenarios. The scariest one being this: What if Graham somehow finds out about what I did with Margot? I would most likely lose Jack forever and Graham would never forgive me. What if Calliewasspying at the window watching us, and decides to tell him? What if that was their plan all along?
How could I have been so blindingly stupid?
What if Margot never had any intention of helping me? Maybe she was just trying to “handle” me, as she said to Callie. What if she had sex with me only to fuck me over even more?
Why is she ignoring me?
But surely I’m being nutty. Perhaps she’s just on a bender out at the lake. Maybe she’s even staying out there instead of at home. That would make sense.Especially given the scowl on Jed’s face. I’m sure he wants as little to do with her as Graham does with me.
If I weren’t half-drunk, I’d climb in the Highlander and speed out there right now, Flynn’s orders be damned.
But I can’t risk getting pulled over, so instead, I slam the rest of my wine. Pull my legs from the tepid water and towel them off. Inhale a huge breath of damp night air and tell myself I’m just being paranoid.
When has Margot ever operated under anyone else’s rules?Imay be in a hurry to get all of this settled and behind me, but that doesn’t mean that she is.
