No. This is not from my dead best friend. It can’t be. Sunny’s ghost is haunting me? Me? I look at myself in the mirror. “I’m sorry, Sunny,” I say to my reflection.I loved you, I still love you. I pick up the note again.
Do I feel guilty?
I bang my hands on the bathroom counter. This isn’t Sunny’s note. It’s from somebody alive and not well. I take a deep breath and walk back into the room.
“You know what, I’m going to go check on the others. Jamie may need my help with Roxy because Amelia is no help, as usual,” I say, grabbing my purse. I’m going to try to find out if the driveway is passable, if my car is OK or damaged by the storm. “Ryan, could you stay here, with these two?”
“Of course I could, but I think maybe I should go with you,” he says and walks me to the door. He puts his hand on my shoulder. It should be a comforting gesture, but it’s not, not anymore. But I smile. I need to keep him happy, on my side, until we leave.
“I’ll be right back,” I say and pat his hand.
“Be careful out there. And do not go near the dining room. If you need me, I’ll be right here waiting for you. With Celeste.”
I know he added her name as a warning. I know. Message received, loud and clear. I have one more question I need answered, and unfortunately, the answer is in the living room with one of my sisters.
43
Beth
I find Jamie, Roxy, and Amelia exactly where I left them. Jamie has bandaged Roxy’s arm, and Amelia has found some sort of alcohol that was stashed in a fancy decanter and is busy regaling Roxy with some story or another, while trying to give her a drink.
“It will help with the pain,” Amelia says. Her red hair is wild around her shoulders from the wind, and she looks like a temptress in her slinky navy dress. Her wiles are not working on Roxy, though.
I glance across the room at the body on the piano, thankful I covered him with a sheet. I’m standing next to Jamie, who is kneeling on the ground cleaning up her medical supplies, tucking the unused things away.
“Do you always travel with that?” I ask.
“I do. You never know when an emergency might happen,” she says.
“Where’s Greer?” I ask. He’s the only one who is missing.
“He went to get help. He said he’s tired of being stuck here. He feels trapped, and, well, I don’t think he wants to be around me right now. Maybe not ever again,” Jamie says. “I told him it was too dangerous outside, that trees are down, power lines, too, and who knows if the fire is contained yet. He said he felt safer going to get help than being here.”
“Yes, well, it has been a night of revelations,” I say. And then I drop my voice. The real reason I had to find Jamie and confront her, one last time. “You know, I was thinking it was convenient for Brett to die before he could expose you and your drug use to the group.”
Jamie flinches and closes her medical bag. She doesn’t look up at me.
“Unless it wasn’t an accident. Is there something else you want to tell us?” I ask. This gets Roxy’s and Amelia’s attention, and they are by my side, circling Jamie, like they smell blood in the water.
Jamie shakes her head. “Haven’t there been enough confessions tonight?”
“My God, Jamie, tell us what you did,” Roxy says, waving her bandaged arm around. “What have you got to lose? I mean, Greer seems to still love you, despite what you are. Meanwhile, Ryan hates me. And, well, Amelia here, she’s basically unlovable. And Beth’s not exactly the poster child for happily-ever-after either.”
“Shut up, Roxy,” Amelia says.
I focus on Jamie, my phone light pointed at her face like a searchlight. I’m searching for the truth, and then Celeste and I are getting out of here. “Tell us.”
For a moment I think she’s going to refuse again, but then her body sags and she lets out a long sigh. We have her surrounded. She has no choice.
“He was going to ruin my life. He as much as said so when we were alone, before the pickleball games. He said we better sleep together this weekend, or he would spill the beans,” Jamie said. “He was horrible, and he deserved to die. I injected his Gatorade with potassium chloride; I carry it around in my medical bag. It’s an essential tool to save lives.”
“Um, it had the opposite effect, it seems,” Amelia says, stumbling a little as she tries to stand still. She takes a big sip of whatever it is she’s having now. “He was a rather rotten bastard, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, he was. I know I’m responsible for my own addiction, but he preyed on my vulnerabilities and constantly found ways to push pills on me. He worked hard to keep me addicted all these years.”
She pauses, looking at each of us, I guess hoping we’ll see her, not the addict, the sorority sister. I do see her.
“I hope you know we’re here for you—we are,” I say.
