I rush outside in search of Constance. She stands in front of the fountain, as though in a trance, watching as water ripples out of the crows’ mouths into the pool below.
“Constance?”
“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.” She sounds weak, on the verge of losing consciousness. I step toward her, helping her sit on the cement ledge before she falls.
“I know you didn’t.”
“I mean before tonight. The affair. The baby. I kept hoping for a different outcome. I thought I could make things right.”
It strikes me how much this response sounds like the one Ava gave Preston when we were inside Marmee’s closet. Both women saw theharsh reality of their situations, but they tried to blink it away. When life is falling apart, it’s natural to cling to what’s left, hold on for dear life.
“I really thought Preston was my way out. My happy ending,” she says, caressing her stomach. “I didn’t even care about what I was doing to Ava. He talked about how girls like her always land on their feet. And I believed him. I couldn’t stand the way Marlowe treated me after she found out. She was so ashamed of me, and that shame mirrored what I was feeling inside.”
I try to empathize with everything Constance is saying, understand why she fell in love with a man like Preston, convinced herself that Ava losing him wouldn’t be as monumental as herself gaining him.
But I’ll never condone what she did to Marlowe. I can’t forgive that.
In the distance, I hear sirens. Finally, the police have arrived.
Constance drifts her hand through the water, soothing herself. “It really is a beautiful night. Let me enjoy it a little bit longer.”
The sirens whine louder, the alternating noise echoing through the trees. When I reenter the house, Ava remains in the foyer, crouched beside Preston.
I gasp when I see them, and she springs to her feet.
Before she can speak, another voice interrupts.
“Tippi?” It’s Marmee, standing at the top of the staircase. “What’s happened now?”
44
Marmee scans the familiarentryway, appraising every detail. The shattered mirror littering the foyer. The open door leading outside. Preston lying motionless on the floor. Ava kneeling beside him, her shawl covered in blood.
“My goodness,” she says, almost breathless.
“The police are almost here,” I say. “I heard sirens approaching. We don’t have much time.”
Ava stands, wiping her tear-stained cheeks with a bloody hand. She looks at Marmee. “You shouldn’t see any of this.”
“I heard gunshots,” she says. “If you’re going to have to explain everything to the police, you might as well start with me.”
“Preston was working with Oliver to steal your jewelry.” My eyes clench shut, head shaking in disbelief. “He was the person blackmailing me this whole time.”
“He needed his own money so he could divorce me,” Ava says. “Constance thought he was doing everything to be with her. When she learned he was only out for himself, she shot him.”
“What a mess.” Marmee shakes her head. “Where is Constance now?”
“Outside waiting for the police.” I look at Ava to gauge her reaction. “She admitted to killing Marlowe, too.”
“And the boy who came with Marlowe?” Marmee asks.
“Damien,” I say. “He’s by the pond. He wasn’t involved with any of this.”
“Does Constance know about Oliver?” Ava asks.
I shake my head. “Marmee does. And you and Preston.”
My eyes fall to the floor, taking in the horrible sight of his blood-soaked body.
