"I can't believe she's a killer. How could I have missed it?"
"I mean, I can see how you'd miss it," she said coolly. "Mia hiding it in plain sight like that in her beach glass collection. Besides, no mother wants to think her daughter is capable of such a thing. But she was, Dahlia. And you have to face that."
She held out her hand.
I looked at her hand. The fog deepened, soft and heavy, stifling. "In her beach glass collection. Hiding in plain sight."
She blinked. "Exactly. Which is why you need my help."
There it was. My spine straightened. I stopped trembling. I felt Marcus’s wedding ring, a solid presence against my heart. "I never said it was in her beach glass collection."
The waves rolled far below. Rowan's hand hung between us, palm held up, expectant.
Her mouth opened. Closed. Her eyes flicked tothe rock in my hand, then past me—toward the street, the houses still invisible, wrapped in dense fog. "Sweetheart, you did."
"I didn't."
Her nostrils flared. "You've been awake for days. You're not thinking clearly. Remember last week when you couldn't recall if you locked the door? Or when you thought someone had broken in and moved your things? Grief does that. You're not—" She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "You're not yourself right now. I'd forget things, too, if I were in your shoes."
"I didn't forget anything."
"It's an easy mistake to make."
"I didn't make a mistake."
She smiled that polite, indulgent smile. The kind you make when you humor a child. "Honey, everyone knows Mia collects beach glass and polished stones. You've posted pictures. It isn't a secret."
"I never told you where I found it." I held her gaze. My voice was steel. "You knew exactly where it was. Because you put it there."
ChapterForty-Seven
My words came out calm and detached. Inside, everything had gone quiet. "You framed Mia for murder. I thought it was Alexis, then Peyton, and then Chloe, when she came over and used the bathroom, but it was you."
I imagined Rowan in my house, in Mia's room, placing the rock, tucking it among the smooth stones and colored glass like a viper coiled in a garden. Knowing the arrest warrant was coming, what the police would find.
"It must have been on Friday morning, when Mia and I left for the precinct, because the locksmith came at 11 a.m. You waited until you knew we weren't home."
I recalled how Apollo had behaved strangely, sniffing several spots inside the house, acting agitated and anxious. I thought he was responding to Mia's distress, but it was more than that. Rowan had been inside the house. Visitors always riled him up.
"You had the spare key when Brooke gave it to you before Thanksgiving. You made her think she hadn't remembered correctly when she brought it up that day, but she had. You must have made a copy before you gave it back. That was months ago. Do you make copies of all your friends' keys?"
Rowan stared at me blankly for a tense moment. Then herexpression shifted. Not in panic, not yet. Something softer, wounded. She took a small step back, one hand pressed to her chest. "Dahlia. Sweetheart. Listen to yourself. How can you say such hurtful things? Why would I do any of that?"
But I knew now, without a doubt.
"Mia didn't go back down the bluff to murder a child. And neither did Chloe." I held her gaze. "But you did."
"That's absurd. Why would I possibly want to hurt Leah?"
"To protect Chloe. And yourself."
The air between us felt sharpened, honed to a dangerous edge.
"I care about you," Rowan said. "We all do. That's why I'm trying to help. But you're not thinking clearly right now. You need rest. I hate to say it, but perhaps a clinic, a therapeutic retreat?—"
"You would do anything for your daughter, wouldn't you? Even kill a teenage girl who was still alive, who could tell everyone the truth. Leah found out about Chloe. Leah uncovered who your daughter really is."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
