“You’ll find your post-divorce thing,” I said. “And it will be amazing. Thank you for tonight. For everything.”
Layna tossed the bag of popcorn onto the coffee table and rose to her feet. “Not to be weird, but I just put a listing for a new best friend on Facebook Marketplace. Any chance you wanna apply?”
“Expect my application by morning,” I said.
Layna gave me a hug and slipped out into the night.
I checked on the twins, who were both conked out. Next, knowing I wouldn’t be able to sleep myself, I went to the kitchen to call Miranda Carson, who’d given me her number before I left her place. “Did I wake you up?” I said, putting on the kettle.
“I’m feeding Tater Tot,” she whispered.
“Is your husband there?” I sniffed the air of the kitchen, but luckily could pick up no lingering Eau de Anal Glands or Bouquet of Burnt Racoon.
“Chauncey’s downstairs.”
“What kind of name is Chauncey?” I said.
“East Coast. Old money. He can’t help it. Don’t judge.”
“Oh, I’m judging,” I said.
“He’s watchingAlone: Frozen.”
“I love that show! Did the hot girl eat all that seal fat yet?” I tossed a chamomile tea bag into my mom’s vintage Boynton mug that read:Don’t Let the Turkeys Get You Down.
“Tilly, those creeps. They keep driving by my house. Like slowly. My home security alarm’s on, but I’m totally freaked.”
“Does Chauncey know?”
“I haven’t told him anything,” she hissed. “About any of this! This whole thing, it’s like a nuclear leak. I need to keep it contained. I can’t let it contaminate the groundwater of my life.”
“Okay, okay. Good,” I said. But I was freaking out too. If Ralphie and Errol were still cruising by Miranda’s, they were still in Boise, still looking for me.
“If those guys grab me, I’m giving you up,” Miranda said. “I’ll tell them your name, where you live, everything.”
“Jesus, Miranda,” I said.
“I’m sorry. I’m not made to endure torture. And I have to protect Tater.”
“That’s fair,” I said. “But what about protecting my kids?”
“I’m really, really scared, Tilly.”
“Me too,” I said. I took a deep breath. Tried to sound strong. “But I do have some good news. You didn’t kill him.”
I heard something clatter to the floor. “What?”
“Connor. He died of a massive Botox overdose. You didn’t kill him.”
A gasp sounded, followed by a little whump.
“Are you okay?” I said.
“I’m... I’m on the floor,” Miranda said. “Literally. How do you know? Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” I said. “I got a friend to run a toxicology report. He must’ve been starting to OD on Botox when you saw him. That’s why he was wheezing.”
Miranda let out a sob. “Thank god, thank god, thank god,” she said.
