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“Too bad it can’t be champagne!” a voice trilled. Mrs.
Chamberlain appeared from the dining room and placed a hand on Charlotte’s shoulder. “If you girls skipped that party and hung out here for the night, I’d crack open a bottle of Veuve Clicquot for you. But I can’t have you drinking and driving!”
“That’s okay, Mom,” Charlotte said, looking a little embarrassed. If there were a Real Housewives of Tucson, Charlotte’s mom would be a shoo-in for a cast member.
She looked ten years younger than her age—which Charlotte claimed was the result of monthly Botox injections and hours spent on the ell iptical machine—and she wore outfits far more fashionable than most of the kids at Holl ier.
She was currently cloaked in a tight black dress that showed off her surgically enhanced cle**age. She also, it seemed to Emma, was dying to be Charlotte’s best friend instead of her mother. It was a far cry from foster mothers who only spoke to their foster kids when they were yelling at them or needed them to lie to the social workers so they’d get their monthly checks.
“Well, I’m thrilled you could make it for dinner,” Mrs.
Chamberlain went on, leading the girls into the dining room.
There were five seats at the table, and each place had a place card in front of it, as though they were at a wedding.
Emma was next to Charlotte and across from Madeline.
When Mrs. Chamberlain ducked into the kitchen to get everyone drinking glasses, Emma leaned forward. “Where are the Twitter Twins?” She’d suddenly noticed a lack of texting taking place at the table.
Laurel glanced briefly at Madeline and Charlotte, then shrugged. “Didn’t you hear? They’re at the hair salon. I swear, getting invited to their first super-secret house party as real Lying Game members is totally going to their heads.”
Charlotte studied the place cards, then looked up at her mother, who’d just returned to the dining room. “Don’t we need another glass for Dad?”
A strained look passed over Mrs. Chamberlain’s face.
“He’s not coming,” she said quickly. “He got stuck at work.”
“Again?” An edge sharpened Charlotte’s voice.
“Will you get the bottle of Sancerre for me please, Charlotte?” Mrs. Chamberlain suggested tensely. A long pause ensued. Emma recalled how she’d seen Mr.
Chamberlain at Sabino Canyon the day she arrived in Tucson, when he was supposed to be out of town. Perhaps he was hiding something—and perhaps Charlotte and her mother had their suspicions about what it was.
Charlotte yanked a pinkish-colored bottle from a wine fridge that was built into a cabinet next to the sink, clapped a bottle opener over the cork, and poured a glass for her mother. She then lifted her own glass of Perrier by the stem and held it high in the air. Mrs. Chamberlain, Madeline, Emma, and Laurel followed suit.
“To a fabulous dinner party,” Mrs. Chamberlain said.
The five of them clinked glasses and took sips.
Cornelia, the personal chef, who had stiff gray hair and a round, pie-like face, carried in a roast, red potatoes, a big chopped salad, and warm garlic bread.
“So tell me about this party you girls planned,” Mrs.
Chamberlain said after taking a delicate bite of meat.
“Where is it again?”
“Uh, a country club across town,” Charlotte lied smoothly. It wasn’t as if they were going to tell Mrs.
Chamberlain they were going to a foreclosed house.
“It’s going to be sick,” Madeline said. “Everyone from Holl ier is going to be there.”
“We invited people from a couple of the prep schools, too,” Charlotte added.
“What she means is, we invited guys from the prep schools.” Laurel adjusted a feather barrette in her hair.
Charlotte gave her a playful punch. “You better be grateful we’re letting you come.” Emma looked back and forth at them, amazed they were talking about this in front of Mrs. Chamberlain—
weren’t parents supposed to frown at the idea of parties?
But Charlotte’s mom was smiling and nodding like she thought it was all great.
I remembered being so jealous of Charlotte’s mom, wishing that my mom was more like her. But watching from afar, seeing how sweet my mom was with Emma, I wondered. Did Char’s mom give her advice in the middle of the night, or just beauty tips and pointers on plastic surgery? It made me realize once more how much I’d taken my mom for granted.
Sutton’s iPhone vibrated in Emma’s lap. She pulled it out of her clutch and gazed at the screen under the table.
ANY CHANCE YOU CAN PICK ME UP? asked a text from Ethan.
MY CAR WON’T START.
Emma’s nerves buzzed. This was really happening.
They were really going to a party … together. SURE THING, she wrote back. BE THERE IN AN HOUR. She hit send.
“Who are you writing to, Sutton?” Laurel asked, peering at Emma across the table.
Emma clenched her fists in her lap. “That’s for me to know and you to find out,” she said breezily. The girls would know soon enough when she and Ethan arrived at the party; she didn’t need it to dominate the dinner discussion now.
As the meal progressed, Mrs. Chamberlain regaled them with some of her favorite high school memories, many of which involved becoming Homecoming Queen two years in a row. After the girls carried their plates to the sink and got dishes out for dessert, Emma excused herself to the powder room in the hall. Just as her hand grazed the doorknob, she noticed a glowing greenish light down the hall, right near the foyer. The Chamberlains’ alarm system.
