"I admire that about you, Dahlia. I don't think I could tackle anything on my own."
"Sure, you could. You're stronger than you think. You realize something has to be done, and you find a way to do it."
A wave surged higher than the last and broke at our feet. I sidestepped the water and glanced at our daughters, still with their heads down, speaking in low urgent voices.
"We're coming on Sunday," I said to change the subject. "What can I bring for food?"
She brightened. "Could you do your brownies? The sea salt ones? They're amazing."
They were out of a box, just add eggs and butter, but I matched her smile. "I'll make a double batch."
Rowan waved at the girls. "Chloe! We're going to head back. Say goodbye, okay?"
Chloe and Mia jogged back toward us, brushing sand off their jeans. "Thank you for talking to me," Chloe said to Mia. "It really helps."
Mia managed a tentative smile. "Yeah."
"See you Sunday," Rowan said. "Text if you need anything before then."
They headed for the stairs. As soon as they hit the first step, Chloe's hand went to her phone. I watched them disappear up the stairs.
Was Rowan genuinely interested in our well-being, or did she have an ulterior motive in mind when she and Chloe followed us down to the beach?
I hated how paranoid I felt, as if I couldn't trust any of my friends, not Rowan, Whitney, Brooke, or even Camille. Everyone seemed to be hiding something, concealing their true motives.
We climbed the stairs back up from the beach. My calves burned. Apollo pulled ahead, eagerly sniffing every single step. It felt like someone was watching us, even now. I shivered and glanced up toward the top of the bluff, but there was nothing but trees, bushes, and grass.
At home, I unlocked the front door with the new key. Mia headed upstairs to take a shower, and I went into the laundry room to finish the load of linens I'd started that morning.
The dryer hummed, then beeped. I opened the door. Warm air puffed out. Inside, a tangle of towels, sheets, and?—
Mia's sloth slippers.
I pulled them out. The soft pink fleece was clean and dry. The embroidered cartoon sloth faces stared up at me.
My stomach dropped. The damp, sandy slippers I'd found in herovernight bag. The ones that suggested she'd gone to the beach that night, despite her claim that she hadn't.
"Mia!" My voice came out sharp. " Come down here, now!"
Footsteps on the stairs. A moment later, Mia appeared in the doorway, still in her sweatshirt and jeans. Her face went white when she saw what I was holding.
"These had sand in them. From Friday night."
Her jaw tightened. "They were dirty. I washed them."
"You could have destroyed potential evidence."
"It's not evidence!" Her voice pitched higher. "I told you, anyone could've used those slippers. They were by the patio door. It wasn't me! I told you that."
I stared at her. "When did you put these in the laundry?"
"This morning, right after you put the load in. Before we left."
Before the second interview with the police.
"Why?"
"Because! Because I'm scared, okay? Because everything I do, everything I say, those detectives twist it. They make it sound like I'm guilty. But those slippers—" She sucked in a breath. "They made me look like I'm lying when I'm not. You thought so, too."
