And so, she’d behave monstrously.
She burst back out into the bedroom and changed out of her pajamas, fell to cramming a few of her belongings into an old dance bag. Molly and Judd circled her as she went, restless and wary.
In the cluttered mess of her vanity, she found a familiar tangle of white gold. She lifted it for inspection, the flat medallion spinning before her. A winged angel stood in profile, wielding a sword. She’d stolen it from Thomas’s room the day she’d kissed him. She hadn’t meant to—it was only that she’d left in such a panic. She hadn’t even remembered she’d slipped it on until long after she’d fled. By then, she’d been far too humiliated to give it back.
She ran her thumb over the words etched into the border.
St. Michael Protect Us.
On a whim, she slid the chain over her head. The medallion sat cold and heavy against her chest. When it was done, she sat out on her balcony and watched the sun go down. The sky was so flush with color it looked as ripe as a berry. Slowly, the color drained to a velvet dark. The humidity broke, and the air held a crispness that signified the approach of fall. Already, the first of the maple leaves had fallen to the driveway, curling in on themselves like dark, dying buds.
Downstairs, the house went slowly quiet.
Vivienne had several things working to her advantage. For one, Philip never ended the day without a nightcap. If he was stressed—which he usually was—he ended the day with two. Similarly, her mother never went to bed without an Ambien and several glasses of ice-cold Riesling.
They’d be dead asleep in no time, which meant neither of them would notice when she slipped into Philip’s office.
It was full dark by the time she finally headed downstairs. The dogs followed like two silent wraiths, flanking her around each corner. Her mother was in her room, door locked, lights out. Philip was in the sitting room, an empty tumbler balanced on his stomach, his chin touching his chest. Dozing, but only just.
She’d have to be quiet.
Fortunately, she’d become very, very good at being quiet.
She slipped sideways into the office, thankful for the moonlight that filtered in at the window. She wouldn’t risk a lamp. Setting her bag on the floor, she took a seat at his desk and felt beneath the wood until her fingers snagged on a well-hidden button. A tiny compartment kicked open just above the topmost drawer.
She slid out the papers Philip kept inside, knowing already what she’d find. Bracing herself. Several sealed coroner’s reports sat in a chronological stack. Philip’s marks. Her kills.
If the reporter was right, they’d all have had the same toxins in their blood when they died.
If he was right, there was evidence. Maybe enough for a case.
Her stomach sank at the abundance of names—some she knew, most she didn’t. All of them had been friendly enough. They called herdoll. They gave her sweets. They taught her how to bait a hook, how to watch the scanner for fish.
And in turn, she sang for them.
Pretty as a bird.
The last two names in the stack struck her cold. Mikhail Popov, fished out of the sound. Bryce Donahue, dead on arrival. She stuffed the papers into her bag and shut the drawer. She left the way she came. Quietly.
At the front door, she stood on the threshold and stared up at the night sky. It glittered above her like a dome, stars diamond bright. Tightening her grip on the leashes, she stepped out into the driveway. Immediately, Molly and Judd darted toward the grass to relieve themselves. She stood still and waited for the pain to hit—for the dull ache of disobedience, the fracturing feel of insubordination.
Nothing happened. Philip told her she wasn’t to leave unaccompanied.
He hadn’t considered the dogs.
•••
For all their hours and hours of expensive training, Molly and Judd were terrible walkers. They tugged her along on their leashes, darting at every rabbit and leaf and shadow. Overhead, the sky became swallowed up by the streetlamp glow. No cars went past. It was mercifully quiet.
Hadley Appelbaum lived at the opposite end of the gated development, in a handsome brick house with white trim and black shutters. The sprinklers were on, and Vivienne let the dogs pull her through the spray, shivering in the cool kiss of water on her skin. By the time she knocked at the front door, she was soaked to the bone.
A light clicked on overhead and Hadley pried open the door, already dressed down for the night in a silk robe and curlers.
“Oh,” she said. “I thought you were the pizza guy.”
Can I come in?Vivienne signed.I need to give your dad something.
“I don’t know,” said Hadley, eyeing Molly and Judd. “My mom will flip if I let the dogs in the house.”
