“It’s anything but absurd. You’re a witness now. At a minimum—”
“I want to see it,” I say. “I want to see the evidence with my prints on it.”
He nods. “I figured as much. Look, not touch, right? It’s sealed up anyway.”
From his desk drawer, he removes a large, sealed, clear plastic bag containing the shopping bag, folded in half, and places it on the desk. Next to it, a smaller bag, also clear, containing the tube of lipstick.
I stand and lean over the desk, keeping my hands at my sides.
The bag isn’t purple and doesn’t sayTrinity. It’s one of my recyclable nylon Treasure Island shopping bags.
The tube of lipstick isn’t the one I took from Luke’s living room. It’s one of mine, one of my favorites, one of the Charlotte Tilbury mattes in my rotation.
I close my eyes, a slow burn through my chest. Trinity. Oh, Trinity.
You.
Fucking.
Bitch.
31
Allison
I leave my meeting with Bruce Ghadiali on shaky legs, squinting in the piercing sunlight.How, I keep asking myself. How, how, how could this have happened? Trinity’s bag, Trinity’s lipstick, becamemybag andmylipstick in the trunk of that Toyota.
I reach the parking lot and get inside the car. I grip the steering wheel like I’m trying to rip it off the dashboard and bellow out a yell, angry and primal, until my voice cracks.
When I’ve gotten that out of my system, my throat aching and head throbbing, I slow my breathing and start thinking. Thehowis not hard to figure: I must have screwed up when I scouted the alley behind Trinity’s fitness studio. There must have been a security camera. Which means a video. A video of me planting the pills in the trunk of Trinity’s car. Trinity caught me red-handed.
And then, under the theory that turnabout is fair play, she swapped out her bag for mine, her lipstick for mine.
But how did she get hold of my lipstick and shopping bag? She would have to know that I use a particular shopping bag that could be easily traceable to me and would have DNA and prints on it. And more to the point, she would’ve had to take the risk of breaking into my house to steal the bag and lipstick.
No. Trinity didn’t act alone. She had help. Only two people would know about the shopping bags I use, would know where to look for them, stashed in the mudroom. Only two people would have access to my home in the first place.
But Luke doesn’t make sense. Why would he willingly allow himself to get arrested and lose his job? He’d be risking everything he ever worked for, cutting off his nose to spite his face. No, no way it was Luke.
That leaves only one person. That person lives in my house.
That person is sleeping with Trinity Casto.
I misread you, Finley. I knew you felt inadequate. I knew you were bitter, resentful. But it’s one thing to get your jollies with another woman to build up your self-esteem. Inexcusable, unforgivable, pathetic—but at least I can understand it.
But this? This is worse than all that. This is turning against me, taking her side over mine. That’s more than unforgivable.
That’s a declaration ofwar.
After April Fools’Day
32
Louise
—Investigation, Day 4—
Louise and Cutty, joined by a team from the technical response unit, stand in the hallway on the eleventh floor of 432 East Erie, a posh building by any standard. Even the hallway screams privilege. Warm, recessed sconces. Plush, slate-toned carpet. Walls painted taupe, trimmed in dark espresso molding. A hint in the air of…
