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Daisy
My grandmother diedof kidney failure. The result of—surprise, surprise—untreated diabetes. She’d had a myriad of issues, including heart trouble, but it was her kidneys that finally shut down, despite treatment.
Dr. Hoover had been her physician to the end. He admitted—grudgingly—that Celeste had been the best thing to happen to my gran. Sure, she wasn’t trained as a nurse, and she got frustrated with Maeve, confessing that to Dr. Hoover. But none of her nursing mistakes were dangerous, and her frustration had been with my grandmother’s stubbornness, refusing to take medications, refusing to help herself. The same frustrations Dr. Hoover had shared.
So no, Celeste did not kill my grandmother. She didn’t even help nature take her sooner. If anything, she kept her alive beyond what Dr. Hoover had expected.
As for the medications in Celeste’s cabinet, they’re ones he prescribed for her—an antidepressant and a sleep aid.
I remember the night of the poker game. Switching drinks with Tom. His behavior afterward, unsteady and exhausted. Had Celeste slipped a sleeping pill into “my” drink? Making sure I’d be out cold that night while she murdered Liam?
I’ve been at our meeting spot for an hour now, and there’s no sign of Tom. I pick up his cell to... call him? It’s a testament to my mental state that I sit there with his phone in hand, thinking, Maybe I could text? Or email? Yeah, none of those options are working while I’m in possession of his sole mode of electronic contact.
I walk to his place and pop into the store, where Glory is serving a customer.
“If you’re looking for another cinnamon bun, they’re all gone,” she says. “I can offer you this nice pack of jerky instead.”
I smile. “Thanks, but no. I’m just wondering whether you’ve seen Tom this morning.”
“Only long enough to say hi. Everything okay?”
“Something’s come up, and I need to talk to him, but he left me his phone. He didn’t get an emergency call, did he?”
“Emergency?” She stops unboxing jerky.
“A mechanical emergency?”
She relaxes and picks up the sticker gun. “Nope, nothing like that’s come in.”
I thank her and walk outside, where I look up and down each side of the crossroads. Then my feet start moving, carrying me toward my grandmother’s house.
Celeste
I want to leap up from the table. Grab the edge and throw it on Tom, coffee splashing, mugs shattering. A move I’ve seen on film so many times, but one that I suspect rarely choreographs quite that way. I’d probably fumble the table, slip on the linoleum and land on my ass.
So I tamp down the rage and panic, look Tom in the eye and say, “I guess this means we aren’t going to screw.”
I expect a sneering laugh. No, I can’t actually see Tom sneering. Not gloating, either. He’ll just laugh and shake his head, and let me know that was never on the table.
Instead, he lifts one shoulder and says, “Depends on you, really.”
You bastard. You set yourself up as the nice guy. The small-town boy to Liam’s rich asshole, and guess what? You’re just as bad as he was.
Tom leans over the table, muscular forearms resting on it, hands clasped as if in prayer. “If you think this is where I toss you out on your ass, fake-Celeste, you are misunderstanding the situation. If you think this is where I back you into a wall and rage at you for hurting my girl, you are also misunderstanding. CeCe and I were friends once. But that was a long time ago, and I’m interested in more than a girl who’ll sip sodas with me and kiss me behind the barn. Interested in more than a woman who’ll let me do pretty much anything I want to her because she’s in over her head and needs a big strong man to shield her from the wicked witch.”
Rage fills me. So much rage. All of it for Daisy. I clamp it down and manage to say, “What are you talking about?”
“You killed Liam. I don’t blame you. I found Maeve’s diary, and she said Liam was the one who brought you to her. Maeve knew you were a fake, by the way, but she let you stay on because she felt sorry for you.”
I whip back with the sting of that.
He continues, “She had a soft spot for you. But you finally fought back. Killed your captor, and now you’re framing CeCe, and I want to help you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do, but whatever.”
“All Daisy needs to do is turn herself over to the police. Admit who she is.”
