“I don’t know. Mrs. Wilson had mentioned something about the gate being repaired,” I say. “Someone could have entered the grounds undetected.”
“The same night you decided to kill Oliver?”
A nervous thought flips through my mind, the same one I had the night of the break-in. Could it really be a coincidence? Maybe my earlier assumption about Damien was correct. If he was working alongside Oliver, he could have been with him at the house that night. Olivercould have invited him to help steal the jewels, and in return, he witnessed a murder cover-up. Dread sprouts from my shoulders and neck.
“When I went through Damien’s emails, he was in contact with someone named Doc about the jewels. Damien is adoctor. He’s been acting suspicious all night, and I’m pretty sure he’s wearing Oliver’s Rolex. Earlier, I went through his room and found Oliver’s phone. Both the phone and the watch were stolen from my apartment, so I think he might have been the person behind the burglary, too. I’m starting to wonder if he only dated Marlowe to get close to me. I even thought he pushed her.” I pause. “Clearly, I was wrong about that.”
Marmee squeezes my hand in encouragement. “What can we do now?”
“I need to confront him before the police arrive. There must be a reason he hasn’t already contacted them.”
“He’s probably after money.”
“You think it’s that simple?”
“Most things in life are.”
I recall my earlier epiphany about motives. Passion. Pride. Greed. Constance murdered Marlowe in a heated frenzy. I killed Oliver to reclaim my worth, protect anyone else he’d risk hurting. Maybe Damien’s intent is that primitive. Marmee’s estate is worth millions, and he wants a cut of it.
“Paying him off might be the simple solution, but it doesn’t help me long term. I don’t trust him.”
Marmee sighs, her hand gripping and releasing the crown of her cane. “Let’s get through tonight. If he is after money, pay him whatever he wants,” she says. “Tomorrow is a problem for another day.”
And yet, I can’t live forever looking over my shoulder, waiting for Damien to drop his next demand. What options does that leave me? Either acquiesce to his wants the rest of my life, or eliminate the problem. Can I really commit a second murder to cover up the first one? Am I even considering it?
And then there’s Ava. She’s my best friend, but can I really trust her to keep a secret of this magnitude?
“You’ll get through this, Tippi,” she says. “If there’s one thing I did right, it’s raise a strong woman. You’re a fighter. Always have been.”
Her words resonate within the deep crevasse of my soul. We’re both women making the best of our situations. Oliver and Constance are different. They’re killers, concerned only for themselves and their own desires.
Marmee and I are fighters, protecting those that we love.
I embrace her tightly, gratitude glimmering in my eyes. “Thank you for everything.”
“I’m always here, my dear,” she says. “But hurry. You don’t have much timeleft.”
ActIII
38
Marmee follows me toher bedroom door, locking it from the inside after I leave.
Our conversation has provided a sense of renewed possibility. My world may be crumbling, but I realize now that domain is nothing more than a house of cards, something flimsy and unsubstantial. I’ve been living in a fantasy, a realm where my crime against Oliver remained hidden.
That’s not possible anymore. Damien knows, and he’s weaponizing that knowledge against me. I must face reality, fight against my circumstances, if I want to stop the truth from coming out. If I can make it through this night, I have a shot at rebuilding my life, this time more solidly than before.
Marmee knows my biggest secret now, and she didn’t demonize me. Ava, too. Oliver’s death was meant to protect. Marmee. Myself. Danielle’s dignity. Future women he could potentially hurt.
But he isn’t the only thing I’ve been lying to myself about.
Tonight proves my decades-long friendships are more fragile than I wanted to admit. We’ve been living in a world where everything appearswhole and complete on the surface, ignoring the rot and decay underneath.
Marlowe was the only one who wasn’t fooled by the illusion. She understood the changing tides of our dynamics, I suspect even before she uncovered the affair. It’s why she divorced Michael instead of keeping up the charade. It’s why she wasn’t afraid to end long-held friendships for the sake of what is right. Constance only pretends to have that kind of inner peace. For her, witnessing that type of self-acceptance in someone else must feel dangerous. Threatening. In the end, it may have been Marlowe’s transparency that infuriated Constance enough to push her over the ledge.
Sagging against the wall, I press my palms over my eyes. I’m fighting exhaustion, but the police will be here in less than thirty minutes, and I must confront Damien about the blackmail before they arrive.
I find Constance inside the parlor. Alone. She’s sitting in front of the flickering fireplace, her foot elevated once again on a throw pillow.
