“What’s wrong?” I asked. My clothes stuck to my damp skin as I quickly put them on. The last time Vero had dragged me out of the shower, Zach had covered the walls with poop. “Please tell me Zach’s not finger painting again.”
“Worse. Sylvia’s here.”
“She can’t be here! She was supposed to be on a train back to New York two days ago!” I had already broken the news to her that Nick and I had no intention of signing the TV deal. I reached under my shirt to slap on some deodorant. “She must be holding out for a signature.”
“I don’t think it’s your signature she’s looking for,” Vero said as she towed me down the stairs.
I froze at the sight that awaited me in my kitchen. Mrs. Haggerty and Sylvia sat at my kitchen table, their heads bent together, a pot of tea steaming between them. My stomach lurched as I recognized the spiral notebook in Sylvia’s hands.
“Maggie, this is sensational,” Sylvia said, holding it to her chest. “It’s as riveting asThe Girl on the Train. OrThe Woman in the Window! We’ll call itThe Killer Across the Streetand pitch you as the next Paula Hawkins.” Sylvia practically swooned as she stroked the cover. “The diary format is so unique. It has such a raw,brutallyhonest quality to it. It’s the literary equivalent of reality TV! The whole thing feels like one big dirty secret.” She leaned closer to Mrs. Haggerty and placed a hand on her arm. “You said there are more of them. How many?”
Mrs. Haggerty looked at the ceiling, as if counting in her head. “Oh, they go back about five years or so.”
“Five years!” Sylvia clapped her hands and rubbed them together. “I smell series potential. If you don’t mind, I’d like to take this one with me. You know, feel out a few editors and see if anyone bites.”
“Bites on what?” I asked, piercing Mrs. Haggerty with a hard stare. She looked up at me and smiled as if I hadn’t just caught her breaking her word. She’d promised me she wouldn’t show that diary to anyone so long as Vero and I kept our mouths shut about her friends, and here she was, delivering evidence of my crimes to someone who would love nothing better than to create a behind-the-scenes documentary-drama to follow my already problematic TV series.
Sylvia waved me to the table. “Finlay! You’re just in time! How have you been hiding this extraordinary talent from me all these years? Have you seen Maggie’s diaries? They’re brilliant! I’m going to make this woman the next Gillian Flynn.”
Wonderful.My overbearing agent and my tyrannical neighbor were already on a first-name basis.
“You can’t do anything with that!” I argued. “It’s not even a book, Sylvia!”
“Don’t be so negative. Think of the possibilities!”
“Believe me, I have!” Including all the probable convictions that came with them.
“There could be something really special here,” Sylvia said. “Your first manuscript was the most god-awful thing ever written, Finlay, but look what I made of you.” I didn’t have time to gasp over the insult before she stuffed the diary in her messenger bag.
“This notebook may not be anything yet, but it could be. All the content is already there,” Sylvia said. “Except for those missing pages, of course. Are you sure you can’t find them?” she asked Mrs. Haggerty. “I’m dying to know what happened in October and November. The entries over the summer were real doozies!”
Mrs. Haggerty smiled, catching my eye across the kitchen. “I think I must have spilled tea on those pages. I’m sorry. I don’t really remember much of them.” The look on her face said she knew exactly what she’d written on those missing pages and she knew exactly where they were hiding. But for now, it seemed, we’d both held up our ends of our bargain.
“I’m sure we can come up with something even better,” Sylvia said. “I’m telling you, Finn, it has all the makings of a bestseller—the mystery, the intrigue, the sex! All it needs is the right ghostwriter. Have you two considered partnering? Maybe you could even bring your hot cop in on the deal. I still want both your signatures on that offer, by the way.” She looked at her phone as she rose from her chair. “We have some extra time before my train leaves. Maybe we should stop by the police station and try to change his mind.”
“It’s Sunday. He’s not at work,” I blurted. Anything to keep her from showing up there again.
“That’s even better,” she said, undeterred. “I’ve been itching to see where Nick lives.” She fanned herself as a hot flash came over her, and her décolletage started to sweat. “His bedding is probably very manly. I bet it smells good, too. Grab your keys, Finlay. You can drive me to his place on our way to the station. I can have everything I need in less than ten minutes. And I can get his signature, too.” I felt a little sick as she winked.
The doorbell rang. I peeked through the front curtain. A white Volvo was parked in my driveway. Vero beat me to the front door, staring daggers at Brendan. “You have some explaining to do. Where the hell have you been?”
The weather in Florida had obviously been good. There was a fresh tan line across his forehead, and his nose and cheeks were peeling and pink. He looked at us, abashed. “Maggie didn’t tell you? I took an impromptu vacation. It was her idea. I’ve been under so much stress between her arrest and the campaign announcement, she suggested a cruise might be just what the doctor ordered. It was! I feel like a new man.”
Vero scorched him with a blistering look. I wasn’t feeling so understanding myself.
His face fell. “I’m sorry,” he said earnestly. “I assumed you knew. Maggie said she got the idea from the person who’s been babysitting for you. She called me the night I dropped her off and said she had met the most wonderful young man who had booked a cruise for his grandmother. She said he taught her how to use the internet, and she used it to find a good deal on a last-minute reservation through a vacation company in Florida.
“I told her I didn’t feel right leaving, that it wouldn’t be fair toask you to host her any longer than necessary, but she assured me she had discussed it with you and you had agreed she could stay through the rest of the week.”
I cast a long, hard look at Mrs. Haggerty as she sipped her tea. “She did, did she?”
“What about the repairs to her house?” Vero asked, hands on her hips. “You were supposed to set all that up last week.”
“I did!” he said, as if this was all news to him. “I had all the contractors booked to come out and give her estimates for the repairs. Maggie sent me a voice mail, saying everything was fine and the repairs were being handled. Grandma,” he said, moving past me into the kitchen where his grandmother was avoiding his eyes. “I thought you said I didn’t have any reason to worry.”
“Because there was nothing you needed to be worried about. You’ve been working too hard, and you’ve been under too much stress. All that nonsense about solving the case yourself to prove my innocence… It wasn’t good for you, losing sleep every night reading the news and talking to the police, looking for a way to get me out of jail.” She waved off his concern. “You had enough to worry about without having to be a hero for me. I decided the house could wait until you got back—I had everything under control here. Besides,” she said stubbornly, “if I did move back home, who would handle Zach’s potty training and Delia’s homeschooling? Finlay needed my help. And if I went home to that big old empty house on my own, who would keep my young friend, Cameron, company? I had very important things to do here.”
“I see.” Brendan turned to Vero and me and touched his heart, chagrined. “I’m deeply sorry for the misunderstanding. Thank you for letting her stay. I’m indebted to you both. I hope she wasn’t any trouble.”
