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Her face crumples as she nods.

“What happened, Felicity?”

She wipes at her eyes again, smearing her White Rabbit makeup into something better suited for a far scarier costume. “Seven years ago, Belladonna’s son Trevor dated my daughter Emily.”

I wait. And believe me, waiting does not come naturally to me. But I’ve stood across from enough people with secrets to know that silence works better than any question ever could. Nobody can stand an empty pause. In fact, some people might even fill it with the truth just to make it stop. Or at least that’s what I’m hoping.

She’s shivering, Josie, Fish notes, her tail giving one slow flick. And not from the cold.

“He got her hooked on pills,” Felicity says with a faraway look in her eyes. “He hurt her. And when she finally tried to report him—” Felicity’s voice cracks clean in half. “Belladonna made sure no one believed her. She spread rumors that Emily was unstable. A liar. You know the type.”

I nod. I do know the type. It’s the type that keeps lawyers on retainer and a smile ready for every camera in the county. The type that has a very large bank account—sort of like Belladonna Hershey.

“Emily did time for possession.” Felicity sniffs hard. “Trevor walked.” She laughs, and yet there’s nothing warm in it. “Of course he did. His mother made sure of it.”

“And how is Emily now?” I ask.

“Clean. Engaged. Happy.” Felicity gives a sigh of relief. “She rebuilt everything. She had to.” Felicity’s hands tremble as she speaks. “And then Belladonna announced her new book. It was barely fictionalized, she bragged. All about a girl making false accusations against a powerful family’s son. It was Emily’s story, Josie. And it would have ruined her all over again.”

Oh, Fish whispers. This wasn’t about murder.

No, Chip says. This was about survival.

I take a breath. “Felicity, did you kill Belladonna?”

“No!” Her head snaps up. “I mean, not the way you think. It was self-defense, sort of. I swear.”

I inch back. “Then tell me what happened.”

She wraps her arms tighter around herself. “I confronted her that night. During the party. I asked her not to publish the book. I begged her.” Her voice hardens like caramel hitting a cold counter. “She laughed. She said Emily should have thought about consequences before she tried to ruin Trevor’s life. She called my daughter a liar. Again. After everything that poor girl’s been through. Not only did Trevor ruin her life, but Belladonna was determined to as well.”

Her entire body is trembling now, hard enough that her rabbit ears quiver.

“She got angry,” Felicity continues. “She shoved me, and I fell. When I tried to get up, she grabbed one of the metal bars from the fence. It had come loose in her hand. She was going to hit me with it.” Her breath comes in shallow little sips. “I scampered to my feet and grabbed it midair before she could crash it over my skull. We were both holding it, fighting over it. She lunged forward and—” She stops. “I wrenched the bar toward me with my left hand—my strong hand—and she pitched sideways, right temple first, into the broken post.”

The silence stretches long enough for the fog to curl around our ankles. I realize I’m gripping Henrietta with one hand, as if a cursed doll head could offer emotional support. The worst part is, it’s working.

“I didn’t mean for her to die,” Felicity whispers. “I just wanted her to stop. To leave Emily alone.”

She looks at me with glassy eyes. “She attacked me and fell. Josie, it wasn’t even self-defense. It was a sheer accident.” Her voice breaks again. “I didn’t confront her because I wanted to. I confronted her because she wasn’t going to stop ruining Emily’s life. It was just one tragedy after another, and sadly the last one took Belladonna’s life.”

A voice cuts through the fog.

“I heard everything.”

We both spin around, and my heart attempts to exit my body by way of Henrietta.

Dexter steps out of the shadows near the thicket of moss-draped trees. I don’t know how long he’s been standing there, but going by his face, long enough. He shoots me a look that promises a full conversation later about how I beat him to the killer. Again. I shoot one back that says he’s welcome to take a number. And also, she’s not a killer. But if she is, she’s a darn good storyteller.

My eyes widen a notch because that happens to be her profession. However, given the tragic circumstances all the way around, I tend to believe her.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Graves,” he says. “But I need to take you to the station.”

Felicity goes white beneath what’s left of her rabbit makeup. “Please. Please don’t tell anyone. My daughter can’t know. This will destroy her.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Graves,” he repeats. “But I need you to come with me and tell them exactly what you told us. Every word of it.” He steps closer, and there’s nothing hard in his face at all. “The truth is on your side. Let it do its job.”

Hoomans need an awful lot of paperwork to say “it was an accident,” Fish all but growls.