Page 61 of Over Her Dead Body

I say, “There might still be.”

Margot studies me for one long second.

The lie is ugly, but it has good bones.

Finally, Margot says, “You embarrassed me.”

“I know.”

“No,” she says. “I’m not sure you do.”

Behind her, through the open doorway, Genevieve reappears at the edge of the room.

Still smiling.

Still perfect.

She lifts one hand.

Not much. Barely enough to summon a waiter.

The staff member turns and locks the staircase door.

The party goes on.

CHAPTER 23

ANONYMOUS

The first report arrives at 7:12 the next morning.

I look for the name at the bottom first.

Habit.

There isn’t one.

For a moment, I simply stare.

Then I laugh.

The man responsible for Lisbon had signed everything. Full name. Date. Time. Location. Neat headings. He had been very careful.

It had not saved him.

Now, apparently, everyone has become shy.

Or smarter.

I go back to the top.

Rich people and their parties, the report begins.

Useless entertainment, mostly. Champagne for people who are already bored. Flowers flown in to die more elegantly than grocery-store flowers. Women in dresses designed to make hunger look intentional. Men discussing collections, foundations, boats, land, how to gain status, how to keep it.

I smile.

The writer might be hiding behind anonymity, but they are not apologizing.