“That urban performing art center,” I interrupt. “The one your charity supposedly funded. It doesn’t exist, does it?”
Another gasp from the audience, this one accompanied by several whispered hisses.
“And when Madison confronted you about it,” Ransom adds, his voice steady, “you realized your lifestyle was at risk. Everything you’ve built.”
“FINE!” Val suddenly shrieks, the word exploding from her like a champagne cork. “I had to stab her! My fingerprints were already on that knife!”
The room falls so silent you could hear a sequin drop. Even Boomer seems momentarily speechless as the cameras continue to roll with predatory focus.
I look to Ransom and gasp. I’ll admit, this feels like a tiny betrayal.
“It’s true,” he confirms with an apologetic glance my way. “The knife had Val’s prints. We’ve known for days.”
“But we already knew that,” I point out. “It was the same knife you used in the promotional shoot. Your fingerprints were literally documented in HD during the welcome party.” I turn to Val. “That wasn’t exactly criminal mastermind material.”
I cringe for a moment because clearly, Ransom was baiting her.
“She was going to ruin me,” Val continues, her composure cracking like cheap foundation. “Do you have any idea how expensive it is to maintain this lifestyle once the royalty checks start drying up? The charity was just—creative accounting.”
“She means embezzlement,” Marlie translates from above. “In soap opera terms, that’s basically a parking ticket.”
“But she was poisoned, too,” I say, my voice rising as I turn toward Beth. “And now Lance isn’t feeling well after being with you, Beth. Or should I say... Elizabeth Carmichael?”
Beth’s glass slips from her fingers, shattering against the floor for the second time tonight. The room collectively holds its breath.
“Fine!” Beth wails, her midwestern accent suddenly taking on a harder edge. “I did it! I poisoned her! She was going to expose everything—my past, private things about my marriage to Lance, all of it!”
“Wait, what?” someone in the audience asks, giving voice to the confusion evident on many faces.
“My real nameisElizabeth Carmichael,” Beth explains, her pink dress seeming to deflate along with her facade. “I was married before, to Winston Reed fromHealing Hearts. He died of natural causes.” Her air quotes aroundnatural causesare not subtle.
“By natural causes, she means oleander poisoning,” I clarify for the audience.
She gasps and glowers at me. “It’s not my fault men are so easily manipulated,” Beth continues, leaning into her confession now that the dam has broken. “Lance was supposed to be my retirement plan. Fifty million in the prenup if he died while we were married. But Madison figured it out! She caught me taking oleander from the floral arrangements that night and put two and two together. She threatened to expose me on tonight’s episode!”
“So, you poisoned her first,” Ransom concludes.
“The oleander was already in her system—she’d been snacking on the petals from the welcome party arrangements because she thought they matched her dress,” Beth explains with an eye roll. “I just helped the process along by slipping a few crushed petals in her wine. But then she wouldn’t die! The woman had the staminaof a cockroach! So, I told Val that Madison was going to expose her charity fraud, too.”
“And I took care of it,” Val finishes. “With the knife.”
“So it was a team effort,” Marlie comments dryly. “Now that’s a very modern approach to murder. In my day, villains took pride in doing the job themselves.”
The crowd murmurs in a mixture of horror and disturbingly with understanding nods, as if poisoning husbands and stabbing blackmailers are relatable life challenges.
“I didn’t do it,” Harper’s voice suddenly rings out from the edge of the stage. She steps forward, her black gown making her look like she’s gliding on shadows. “But IwishI had.”
All eyes swivel to her. Even the camera operators seem startled by this new development.
“I had a motive, too,” she continues, her pale face flushing with emotion. “Madison discovered my gallery was selling forgeries. She bought a fake Monet for three million dollars and was going to expose me tonight!” Her voice rises with each word. “But that wasn’t even myrealsecret!”
“There’s more?” Boomer whispers with delight as if Christmas has come early.
“My mother was Lydia Bailey,” Harper continues, tears now streaming down her perfect face. “She was a young actress onThe Bitter and the Beautiful. Dirk Rothschild—Victor Darkmore—got her fired after she refused his advances, and she was pregnant with his child.Me!”
Victor, who has been watching the proceedings with theatrical shock, goes pale beneath his spray tan.
“She disappeared when I was ten,” Harper’s voice breaks. “I married into this world for revenge. I’ve been collecting dirt on all of you! Every scandal, every affair, every illicit prescription!”
