They parked in the lot off Cooneymus Road, grabbed their backpacks, and followed a trail into the glacial hollow. Beyond the tawny fields and coastal scrub, the bright-blue Atlantic glittered. Migratory birds, resting on their journey south from the boreal forest, darted around the thicket. A yellow warbler, perched for ten seconds on the silver-tipped branch of a bayberry bush, looked like pure gold.
“I have to tell you something,” Lulu said.
“Do I want to hear it?” Kate asked. “Lately when you say those words to me, we stop speaking.”
“Well, when you put it like that, I’ve changed my mind.”
They kept walking. Kate stared at the five massive wind turbines just offshore, tall and white and gawky in the morning light. A red-tailed hawk circled overhead, a black shadow against the blue sky.
“Go ahead,” Kate said, stopping dead in the middle of the trail.
“You sure?”
“Just get it over with,” Kate said. She felt off balance, scared of what she was about to hear. “Whatever it is, you couldn’t have told me before?”
“I didn’t want to,” Lulu said. “But it’s Beth’s birthday. It has to be now or never.”
She looked pale as she pulled her phone from her back pocket. Head bent, she scrolled through photos.
“Let’s see,” she said, her voice shaking slightly. “October, September, August, July ... okay, here we go.” She glanced into Kate’s eyes. She hesitated, then handed the phone to Kate.
Kate held it and stared at Beth smiling out of the screen. She felt a shiver of normalcy, as if Beth were still alive, could appear at any moment, could be with them enjoying her birthday. Beth had a sly twinkle in her eyes. She stood in her bedroom. She wore an orange sundress, and from the size of her belly, Kate knew the photo couldn’t have been taken long before she died.
“Swipe through,” Lulu said. “There are eight photos and a video. I took them all the same afternoon.”
Next was a shot of a pocketknife in a bone sheath, laid on the bed’s summer-weight white comforter; Beth standing in front ofMoonlighton the wall;Moonlightnow facedown on the bed, Beth holding the knife like a dagger above it; the painting cut from the frame; the pale-red heart drawn on the back; the canvas yellowed with age, its edges unraveling; a selfie of Beth and Lulu grinning at the camera, each holding up a blood-smeared index finger; then a five-second blurry video.
“Proof of love,” Beth said steadily. She reached out to Lulu. The camera shook as Lulu accepted the knife, and the clip stopped.
“What did you do?” Kate asked now, trembling as she looked into Lulu’s eyes.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Lulu asked.
“No,” Kate said.
“She hated him,” Lulu said. “Pete. He’d lied to her for so long, took so much of who she was. She had to show him. That painting was hers. The empty frame was a symbol—that’s all he was, an empty space, and that was all she was leaving him. She wanted him to know there was someone else. The heart was her proof of love—for herself, for Sam, for the baby, for Jed, for us, her blood sisters.”
“Okay,” Kate said, her voice breaking. “Then ... ?”
“I put the knife into my pocket,” Lulu said. “Rolled up the painting and hid it in Beth’s briefcase. Then Beth took a nap. But God, Kate, I did it to her. I caused her death.”
Kate’s mind slipped out of gear, a car rolling backward down a hill. She pictured the knife. It couldn’t be; she couldn’t bear the thoughts and images racing through her mind.
“You’re telling me she died that day?” Kate asked, her voice barely a croak. She took a step closer to Lulu.
“No,” Lulu said. “Not that day.”
“But you were there when she died?” Kate asked.
“What?” Lulu asked. “Are youkidding?”
“Whoever took the painting killed her,” Kate said.
“She stole it herself!” Lulu said. “I just told you—it was a message to Pete. Jesus, Kate! He killed her the day he left to go sailing.”
“How do you know?”
“He had to—it’s the only way it fits. You know it too.”
