The small-town girl comment stings more than it should, probably because there’s truth in it. I did grow up here. I do run an inn. And yeah, I’m definitely judging them.
Maybe I’m the monster.
“Did you know Brittany well?” I ask, trying to steer us back on track. She already said they weren’t close, but there has to be a way into this conversation that makes a modicum of sense.
Blaire’s face hardens. Just like that, the warmth evaporates like it was never there.
“I guess I knew her well enough.”Thank goodness she won’truin everything that has to do with my wedding. Talk about your small mercies.
And there it is. The relief. The gratitude that someone’s dead and gone and no longer a problem. Spoken like a true killer, or at least thought like one.
“She had a gift for finding people’s vulnerabilities,” Blaire continues, and now her voice has that brittle, dangerous quality. “Not everyone is as secure in their position as others. Some of us have reputations to maintain.”Some of us have secrets that would destroy everything if they got out.
I give a little gasp without meaning it. I can’t help it. That was a juicy tidbit.
I glance down at Sherlock, who’s sniffing the deck like he’s trying to find evidence, while Biscuit Gravy sits perfectly still, watching Blaire with an intensity that says he’s taking mental notes.
This lady talks pretty, but she doesn’t mean it,Biscuit Gravy observes.Don’t fall for it, Bizzy. I don’t trust her.
“I heard you two were arguing,” I say, keeping my tone casual. “At the party. Near the beach.”
Blaire stiffens. “Who told you that? Mackenzie?”That little snitch.
“Does it matter?”
“I suppose not.” She finishes her champagne in one long swallow and tosses the glass over the edge.
Wow, I’m pretty sure that’s against the boat’s policy, but something tells me Blaire isn’t too bothered by a little marine littering.
“Brittany had opinions about my engagement party.” She sighs. “Unsolicited opinions about who should and shouldn’t be invited. About who belongedin certain social circles.”She was going to destroy me. Expose Preston. Humiliate us in front of everyone who matters. She was such a jerk-bag. I’m so glad she’s gone. I should throw a parade.
“That must have been frustrating,” I muse with all the sarcasm I could muster.
“Frustrating?” Blaire laughs, and it’s not a nice sound. “I guess that’s one word for it.”
“Where were you?” I ask. “When it happened?”
Her hand tightens on the railing. “I was inside. Freshening up. The humidity was atrocious, and my makeup was melting. You really should do something about the weather system on your property.”
My weather system? If I could control that, I would rule the world. Or in the least, coastal Maine. And you could bet your britches it would only snow for three days out of the year. Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, and maybe Valentine’s Day if I’m in the frozen mood.
“So you were alone?” I ask.
“Yes, I was alone.” She meets my eyes, and there’s a steely resolve in them now. All the softness in her is gone. “Is that a problem?”As in no witnesses. Of course, there weren’t any witnesses. Why would there be?
“Just asking.”
“Well, don’t.” She turns back to the water. “I was fixing my face, and when I came back out, everyone was screaming about a body on the sand. That’s all I know regarding Brittany’s death.”I went for a walk. To clear my head after the argument. I needed air. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
Her thoughts are scrambling now, adjusting, creating a narrative that works. She’s changing her story in real time, and I’m not sure if she even realizes she’s doing it.
“Someone found a designer handbag near the dunes,” I say, watching her face. “Pale yellow. It actually matches your dress. And it looked expensive.”
“Of course, it’s expensive,” she hisses, then slaps her hand to her lips.
Blaire goes pale, which is impressive given the amount of bronzer she’s probably wearing.
“That’s mine.” The words come out too fast. “I must have dropped it. When I was walking. After I freshened up. I went for a walk to clear my head.”Talk about strongarming the truth out of me. I’d better ditch this conversation before I’m moved to throw myself in the water.
