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The room was once Cat’s ex-husband’s home office, but after the divorce, Cat took a sledgehammer to it. Now Fern was sitting in a half-renovated construction zone.
Ned Bennett. Ned Bennett was here. Fern covered her mouth to hold back the scream that was building in her throat. Why?
“Fern!” came Cat’s voice through the earpiece. “Who the hell is that? I thought the final contestant was Audrey Abreo.” Fern tried to think fast. Ned had the email that confirmed that he was a contestant. A driver picked him up at the airport and knew to bring him to the estate.
But Fern had been the one to contact all the contestants, including Audrey Abreo. So why was Ned Bennett here instead? For ten years, she had prayed that she would never have to see him again. It had to have been Cat who invited him. But why? Cat knew full well what Ned had done to Fern, had witnessed it firsthand. She hated Ned almost as much as Fern did.
“Fern,” Cat screeched in her ear. “Who is the new contestant?”
Fern cleared her throat. “It’s Ned Bennett.”
“You invited Ned Bennett to my show?” Cat asked in disbelief. “What the hell? What happened to Audrey?”
“I don’t know, but it wasn’t me,” Fern said in a rush. “I thought it was you.”
There was silence on the other end.
“Cat?” Fern prompted.
When Cat finally spoke, her voice was shot through with steel. “What gives you the right to fuck with me, Fern? After everything I’ve done for you, are you really trying to destroy everything that I’ve built, everything I’ve worked for?”
Tears filled Fern’s eyes. “No, I swear, it wasn’t me. I wouldn’t. What should we do?”
“We?” Cat asked sharply. “We aren’t going to do anything. As usual, I’m going to have to fix everything. First of all, did Ned recognize you?”
“I don’t think so,” Fern said, wiping her eyes. She had to keep it together. As much as Cat liked to claim One Lucky Winner as her own, it was Fern’s show too. Yes, Cat had the money, the contacts, the beautiful home, but it was Fern who had done all the work. “He doesn’t know who I am. He doesn’t remember me.”
“Figures.” Cat gave a derisive laugh. “Bastard. Okay. Get back out there and proceed as if everything is fine. Get through the rest of the night and I’ll come up with something.”
“Cat,” Fern said, “I swear I didn’t invite Ned. I hate him, he ruined my life.”
“Who, then?” Cat snapped. “Because it sure as hell wasn’t me. I gave you the final list of names and you were the one who contacted them, who made all the arrangements.”
Fern had no response. Cat was right. There was no fathomable reason for Cat to invite Ned to be on the show. Fern ran through other possibilities. One of the dozens of contractors who worked to set up the show? No, they wouldn’t have access to Fern’s email account. Fedko and Trevor, who were their behind-the-scenes IT guys? They had set up all the cameras, set up the app that streamed the video to Fern’s phone and to the bank of monitors in Cat’s office. The director, Alfonso Solomon? But that made no sense either. Someone from Cat’s past? Maybe her ex-husband?
“Now get your ass back out there and act like Ned Bennett is the fucking star of the show,” Cat hissed. “I’ll deal with you later.”
Cat disappeared from her ear and Fern was met with blessed silence. Getting unsteadily to her feet, Fern brushed sawdust from her clothing and blinked away the last of her tears.
Resisting the urge to grab a claw hammer resting on a nearby table, Fern opened the door and walked down the corridor toward the waiting contestants. Toward the monster who had nearly raped her. If it weren’t for Cat, he surely would have, maybe worse. She could do this. She had to.
SIX
THE BEST FRIEND
Maire watched as Fern returned. Her eyes were overly bright, and her nose was red. Wherever Fern had gone off to, she was still flustered. It made Maire wonder if Fern was in the bathroom taking a hit of something—cocaine? Adderall? She had no idea what the drug of choice was these days.
Maire couldn’t help noticing Fern’s starstruck reaction to the newest contestant. Not that she could blame her. Maire was stunned herself. Everyone who was obsessed with true crime television knew Ned Bennett, the creator and executive producer of the hit Cold, Hard Truth. It was one of the more salacious true crime news shows and had been on the air for years. The show was chock-full of reenactments, bloody crime scene photos, jailhouse interrogation videos, and tearful interviews with victims’ family and friends.
Ned dropped his iPhone into the lockbox and scanned the great hall appreciatively. He was dressed in jeans and a leather jacket that probably cost more than her entire wardrobe.
“Loved your show,” the senator said, clapping Ned on his back and offering his hand. “Please tell me you have something new for us soon.”
“I’ve got a few things in the works,” Ned said, shaking the senator’s hand. “I hope to share more soon.”
Maire dared a glance at Samuel, who stood off to the side, eyes narrowed.
How could it be a coincidence that Samuel showed up here? It was impossible, wasn’t it? Every nerve beneath her skin shimmered with fear. She just needed to play the game, win the money, and go home to her girls. But still, she needed to find the right moment to pull Samuel aside so they could get their stories straight.
