“Okay, fine,” Mackenzie says, rounding on me. “Let’s solve this. Right now. Before anyone else kicks the bucket.”
We spot Blaire by the champagne fountain, alone, checking her phone with an expression that suggests she’s reading her own obituary.
“Follow me,” I say as Mackenzie and I speed in the blonde’s direction.
Blaire looks up, startled. “Well hello, ladies.” She sheds a toothy smile as she wags her phone at us. “How do you like this?” Her expression darkens. “A little revenge from the great beyond.”
“It’s more than a little unnerving,” I say.
Mackenzie grunts.I’m so over Bizzy’s goody two-shoes routine. Blaire had a motive to kill Brittany, at least. That’s good enough for me. I say we sock it to the witch and haul her away in handcuffs.
“Brittany was going to ruin your engagement,” Mackenzie says, and Blaire’s expression doesn’t change. “She was going to expose Preston at your engagement party—tell everyone he’s four hundred thousand dollars in debt from gambling and only marrying you for your money.”
Blaire blinks at us.
“She had proof,” Mackenzie continues, clearly enjoying this. “Credit reports, casino surveillance footage. She was planning a whole presentation. You killed her to keep her quiet, didn’t you?”
A deep, loud belly laugh comes from the woman. It’s not exactly the reaction I was expecting.
“You think I killed Brittany?”She blinks over at the two of us.
“You had a motive,” Mackenzie is quick to point out.
“So did half this beach.” She sets down her champagne flute. “But I didn’t kill her. You know why?”
“Enlighten us,” Mackenzie says.
“Because killing Brittany doesn’t solve the problem. Preston still owes four hundred grand. The casinos still have his signature on file. Murdering her just adds homicide to the list of disasters I’m managing.” She laughs bitterly. “I was trying to pay her off, not shut her up permanently. I didn’t need to kill her. I was handling it.”
I’m not sure if I believe her.
I didn’t do it.Blaire shrugs with the thought.I didn’t kill Brittany or Tamsin, and no matter how much I say it, I have a feeling these women will never believe me. I’ll admit, whoever did kill Brit timed it perfectly with me in the vicinity. Someone out there is staging this to make me look guilty. And here I thought the toughest thing I’d have to face is dealing with my shiny new fiancé. The mud on my face is so thick I could plant flowers in it.
“Anything else you want to accuse me of?” Blaire asks.
“What about Tamsin?” Mackenzie snaps and I shake my head at her.
“I think we’ve heard enough for now,” I say.
“You want to know something interesting?” Blaire says, and both Mackenzie and I lean in despite ourselves. “The last time I saw Brittany—the day before she died—she said something strange.”
“What’s that?” Mackenzie asks.
“She said, ‘I finally figured out who the real criminals are. And it’s not who anyone thinks.’”
My pulse kicks up. “What did she mean?”
“I don’t know. But she was looking at Sloane when she said it.” Blaire pauses. “She also said, ‘Some people are so good at playing the victim, you never see them coming as the villain.’”
Blaire picks up her champagne and walks off, calling over her shoulder, “Good luck with your investigation, detectives. Try not to accuse anyone else without evidence.”
Mackenzie groans. “Well, that was humiliating.”
But I’m not listening. I’m pulling out my phone, fingers flying across the screen. I scroll through Brittany’s posthumous posts and one catches my eye.
Something about it feels off.
I pull up Google and type in a hunch—three words, that’s all it takes.
