“Did you push him?”
“It was an accident. For years, I blamed myself. My rage in that moment was so fierce, I wasn’t stopping to think of repercussions. I wasn’t thinking about your grandfather at all.
“I still can’t forgive myself. Not for how he died, but for not doing anything about his behavior sooner. My husband was a monster who needed to be stopped.”
I’d felt the same way about Oliver, his betrayal against me small in comparison to what he’d done to Danielle. There was blood on his hands, and if I had let him, it could have happened again.
“Did anyone ever know the truth about that night?”
“The police believed he fell,” she says. “Your grandfather’s drinking wasn’t a secret to anyone. There were a dozen people here that very night who could attest to how erratic he was at the party. Mrs. Wilson was the only person who knew everything.”
“Is that the reason you’ve kept her here all these years?”
For the first time in our conversation, she turns stiff, offended by what I’ve said.
“You make it sound like I’m trying to coax her into silence. It was never like that. She was grateful for what happened. I’d defended her. Trust me, she didn’t shed any tears over his death. She told the police the commotion from his fall woke her—the only sober adult in the house—and she found him at the bottom of the stairs.
“Mrs. Wilson and I have a true friendship. An understanding of each other. People are often confused about the power dynamic between us, but I’m more than her employer. If anything, I depend on her more than she does me. That statement has certainly become truer in my old age. It’s rare to find real friendship in your life. One that isn’t conditional.”
Coming into tonight, I’d believed my bond with each of thesewomen was unbreakable. I’d kept them at a distance, too ashamed by my own actions, afraid one misstep or misspoken word would shatter my version of events concerning Oliver into a million pieces. Instead, it was those relationships that were shattered. Marlowe, loyal and sincere as she was, is gone, all thanks to Constance, who has inflicted more pain than I ever knew imaginable. Ava is the only friend I have left, but can I really trust her to keep my secret? Is our bond as unbreakable as the one Marmee describes?
“I understand what you did,” she continues, wrangling back the conversation. “You stood up to your monster, something I never had the strength to do.”
“Why didn’t you tell me how you really felt about Oliver?”
“At first, I thought he was brilliant. Over time, I could tell something was off. I had my doubts about the jewelry. Too many pieces were misplaced. And he spent so much time at the house, even when the construction crews weren’t here.” A sad smile spreads across her face. “But you were so happy. And I wanted to be wrong. I wanted my own jaded history to be coloring what I was feeling instead of seeing him for what he was.”
My throat throbs as I struggle to hold back tears. I’d been torturing myself in the exact same way, creating excuses for his behavior long after the first warning signs made themselves known.
“Did you hear us that night?” I ask. “Is that how you knew something happened?”
“It was the next morning. Something in your eyes had changed. I remember the change in myself, after seeing what happened to your grandfather. There’s regret, but also overwhelming relief. I was able to piece the rest together. Your engagement being called off. Your insistence you needed to rebrand the blog and travel to Europe. I assumed you were trying to get out of town. It’s precisely what one of the leading ladies in one of our favorite film noirs would have done. It’s what I would have done, if I didn’t have a young son to care for.”
“And you didn’t judge me?”
“How could I? If anything, I blamed myself. All these years, I did my best to prepare you, to make you a strong woman. But I also hid thingsfrom you. Like the truth about your grandfather. Maybe if I’d been more honest, you never would have let a man like Oliver take advantage of you. I’m sorry, Tippi.”
I hold her hand. “You don’t need to apologize for anything,” I say. “Every good thing I’ve ever had in my life came from you. If any of it goes away, that’s my fault alone.”
“Then you best do what you can to get away with it,” she says. “I can help you.”
I look into my lap. “It’s not that simple. Someone else knows Oliver is dead.”
“What do you mean?”
“Someone at the party. They’ve been blackmailing me all night. That’s what I was trying to tell you earlier. It started with a birthday card. They left other notes in the library and my bedroom.” I wait. “They have a picture of me disposing of the body.”
Alarm glazes over her eyes. Panic. What I did to Oliver isn’t a mere assumption or secret. Someone has proof and is threatening me with it.
“Where did you do it?”
“They poured cement around the crow fountain that weekend. I put him in there.”
She wears a wicked smile, one I’ve never seen before tonight. “Smart girl.”
“I thought because I disposed of everything here, it would be easier to get away with it. No one would search the property, let alone dig up the fountain, unless they already had mountains of evidence. I was wrong. Someone was here that night and took a picture.”
“How on earth would they get access?”
