Kennedy hesitates, glancing around to see where the others are. Blaire and Sloane are at the bar. Mackenzie is organizing someone’s Uber and letting the entire bar in on the details.
“Everything,” Kennedy continues. “Your clothes, your job, your relationship status. If you had a boyfriend, she’d say you were settling. If you didn’t, she’d say you were desperate.”
“I heard she was an expert at digging up the dirt and holding it as ammo. Ridiculous stuff.” I wave it off like it’s no big deal. “But she had it on everyone, so I guess she had it on you, too.”
Kennedy closes her eyes for a moment. “It sounds like you really knew her. Of course, she found out something about me. Something from my past.”
I lean in slightly, and Kennedy takes it as permission to continue.
“I didn’t finish college,” she whispers before downing the rest of her drink. “I tell people I have a degree from Boston University, but I dropped out sophomore year. Community college, actually.”
The shame on her face is genuine. She’s waiting for me to judge her, to pile on, to confirm every awful thing she thinks about herself.
“Brittany found out somehow,” Kennedy continues. “She was going to tell everyone. She was going to destroy my career unless I paid her.” She rolls her eyes like the blackmail was ridiculous, but there’s a fury in her eyes that says she’s been handing over thousands and watching her life implode.
“How much?”
“Twenty-five hundreda month. For six months.” Her hands are shaking slightly. “I was going broke. I was going to lose my apartment, my business, everything.”
She just confessed to a financial motive for murder. Either she’s innocent or spectacularly drunk.
“I know how that sounds.” Kennedy’s voice rises, and a couple people at the next table glance over. “I know I had a reason to want her gone. But I didn’t kill her! I wouldn’t—I couldn’t?—”
Tears begin to spill and she swipes at them angrily.
“What were you going to do?” I ask. “About the blackmail?”
“I don’t know. Confess, maybe. Come clean. Start over.” She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “I’ve been faking it for nine years. Forged diploma, fake recommendation letters, campaigns I stole from bigger agencies and passed off as mine. My ex Jake wanted to get married. Have kids. I couldn’t say yes when my whole life is a lie. What kind of mother builds a family on plagiarism and fraud?”
The pain in her voice is real. Whatever else Kennedy Mills might be, she’s not a good liar. Which is ironic, considering her entire professional life is built on lies.
Across the bar, Georgie’s teaching the guy in chaps how to do the Macarena. Mom is still dancing with Ella, who’s now trying to grab Mom’s feathered earrings and a tug-of-war has begun. Here’s hoping Mom wins, but something tells me she won’t. My daughter has been known to draw blood before.
“Who else knew about Brittany’s blackmail?” I ask.
Kennedy blinks. “What do you mean?”
“She was blackmailing you. Was she blackmailing anyone else?”
“I don’t know for sure.” Kennedy takes another drink. “But Blaire was really happy when Brittany died.”
“Happy?”
“Not like celebrating. But relieved. She said something weird the other night—said ‘at least some secrets stay buried.’” Kennedy leans forward. “And she had a huge fight with Brittany the week before. I heard them screaming at each other outside Blaire’s engagement party venue.”
I guess Blaire had a motive, too.
“Brittany was threatening to ruin the engagement party,” Kennedy continues. “Show up with evidence of something. I saw her showing Blaire some kind of casino surveillance footage on her phone. I think Blaire’s fiancé Preston has a gambling problem. Or had one. I don’t really know.”
A crash comes from the dance floor, and we both turn that way to see someone has knocked over drinks. Georgie is now coordinating what appears to be a conga line. And one of the waitresses looks resigned to her fate.
“You know who I actually feel bad for?” Kennedy says. “Sloane.”
That gets my attention. “Why Sloane?”
“She and Brittany were actually friends once. Before Brittany went after her business.”
“Her business?”
