She pours soda, takes the bottles of whiskey, and dumps them in. My gaze lands on the nearest bookshelf, where a thick photo album rests between hardback spy thrillers. Whose grandma reads spy thrillers? I peer at her, wondering what exactly she did with her spare time when she was younger. I pull the photo album out, flip through it to see black-and-white images of Gran at nineteen, twenty. Images of my own father as a baby in her arms.
Gran shoves a glass in my hand. “Bottoms up!” She takes adeep sip. “Ahhh, refreshing. You know what we need? Pretzels. Say, where are my great-grand girls? I miss those ladies.”
“Gran—” I hesitate, then press forward. “I need help. I got an assignment that I’m—I’m not sure if the bad guy is really bad.”
“Oh, that is concerning.” She sets her glass down, smooths her shirt—navy blue. Like me, she always wears clothing she could spill something on and not stain. I’d say it’s for the massive quantities of coffee, but let’s be honest, black hides blood too. Gran reaches out, takes the photo album with hands that shake ever so slightly. “Have you looked him in the eye?” she asks.
For a moment, she looks at me—reallylooks at me, the intelligence and calculating steely blue gaze of my grandmother.
“Looked him in the eye?”
“It’s a dead giveaway. Worked for me every time.”
I’m left breathless.
“What do you mean it worked for you?”
She opens the book, settles on the edge of her hospital bed. “You meet someone, you look them in the eye. You know!” She gives a big flouncy shrug. “Now, let’s look at this properly, shall we? Booze and memories, what’s better?”
“It’s Brian,” I finally say, lowering my voice to a whisper. “They want me to kill Brian.”
Gran frowns. “Isn’t he a good husband?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Oooh, look at this.” Gran slides a photo out from behind an image of her with Grandpa. She stands with a man who is definitelynotmy grandfather, his arm draped loosely over her shoulders, both of them wearing impish grins, like they’ve been very naughty. It’s black-and-white, and Gran looks about twenty-five. By then, she was definitely married to Grandpa. And she lived in Texas already and told my father more than once she’d nevertraveled outside the United States. But the Eiffel Tower can clearly be seen in the background.
“Who is that you’re standing with?” I ask.
Gran chuckles. “Oh, just…” She flutters a hand like it doesn’t matter, but the secretive smile on her face tells a different story.
“You were in Paris?” I try another angle.
That smile widens. She opens her mouth, and I’m sure she’s about to tell me a secret—that she went to Paris and met a man, or that when she was supposedly visiting her sister in Arkansas, she was traveling abroad to do bad things, things likeIdo, but if Gran did them, too, surely they’re not so bad.
But instead, her brow furrows and she looks up at me, eyes wide. “Wait, who are you?”
Chapter Twenty-Five
All day Thursday, I feelas though I’ve forgotten something. I find myself double-checking that I’ve unplugged my hair straightener, that I’ve let Bear back inside from the backyard, and that I’ve locked the front door. I finally decide it must be that while I’ve decided Ishouldkill Brian, I’ve yet to make a move, to plan out exactly how to do it. Or maybe I’m stalling. Maybe I keep hoping I’ll find a reasonnotto. That there’s a simple explanation for everything.
But even coming to this conclusion, I still have the peculiar sensation something isn’t quite right.
Girls to school? Check.
PTA meeting to prep for? It’s on my calendar.
Pharmacist to kill? In the works.
I spend the day following Brian at a distance—first to a downtown office, then to lunch with other men in business suits, and finally back to the office. A seemingly innocuous, normal day. There was no sign of the woman, no sign of a town car with driver, and Brian texted like everything was normal.
At home, the house is eerily silent, the girls at a playdate atGraham’s with their cousins. We don’t need anything, but I go to the grocery store to keep busy. Only the pitter-patter of Bear’s paws over hardwood greets me, and once I’ve given her a pat and filled her food bowl, she’s content to sit on the couch and watch as I put juice in the fridge, bread on the counter, bananas in the fruit bowl. When everything’s in its place, I lean back against the counter and sigh.
My phone vibrates with a text the second I’ve finished, keeping me from relaxing for even a moment. I retrieve the reusable grocery bags, shift them to one side, and pick the phone up.
Brian:I have a feeling you’re missing something.
I frown at the message. His wording makes my jaw stiffen, my body go rigid.
