Even Margo, sopping mess that she now appears, could pull herself together in an instant. Even her grief is a power move. She can afford to act insane. She can relish it, indulge it, throw money at it for as long as she wants.
My housekeeper doesn’t understand these people. I should expose her, but she can expose me. If Margo finds out I lied about Bean on top of everything else, she will end me.
So I smile a genuine smile and tell her, “Margo’s so lucky to have you!” Margo just grunts, because she doesn’t like me to smile for any reason. “If you’ll both excuse me, I have to check in on the party preparations.” I start toward the house.
“I sent them home,” Margo croaks.
I stop in my tracks. “But . . .” I swing to face her. “You’re going to ruin everything! I want it to be chaos! We can’t be worried about statues and artwork and crap!”
“I don’t care about any of it.” Margo flicks her jewel-weighted wrist. “I want it all destroyed. I’m leaving this place.”
“You can take your things with you,” I point out.
“No. You heard Viola.” Margo squeezes her hand encouragingly. I scan the blood and chicken bones scattered across the marble. I realize what Margo loves about her: chaos. But chaos under her control. If someone can take Bean from her, then Margo will go one better: She’ll take everything from herself. “This house is cursed. I don’t want any of it.” Margo sniffs. “Maybe a sacrifice will bring my darling Bean back.”
“I don’t think destroying priceless artwork is going to bring a dog back from the dead.”
“Maybe not.” Margo pats Viola’s hand. “But it won’t hurt. We’ll call it a wake.”
I huff. “It’s supposed to be Graham’s birthday party. You’re going to ruin it with all this death.” I wave my hands at the blood on the ground.
“Don’t worry about your silly party—as if I’ll be attending! I’m in mourning.” She gestures to her nightgown. “I’m going to stay in my rooms. Bomb the place, for all I care! You have no idea what it’s like! You’ve never lost a dog!”
“Bean was a good dog,” I allow.
“The best!” she hisses. This may not be a bad thing after all. Let Margo stay in her room. We can have the run of the house. Graham will like the party better with all the artwork hanging, all the statues up. It will only make it more fun if the damage is real, the destruction irreversible.
“If that’s what you want.”
She pulls my housekeeper closer. “I want my darling Bean back. That’s the only thing I want.” She drops her head on my housekeeper’s shoulder. “Life is so unfair.”
LYLA
I am asleep when the sound of someone attacking the door infiltrates my dreams. They’re kicking it, scratching it, clawing at it. My first dream-soaked thought is that it’s Elvira, risen from the dead, trying to get back in. Then it’s Demi. Then it’s Margo. Then I’m awake, and it’s Graham.
I throw the covers off, swing my legs over the side of the bed, hurry toward the door. The banging gets louder. The wood moans in protest. My eyes drift to the side table, the gun in the silver tray. I remind myself he’s my husband. I don’t need a gun.
I unlock the door, open it to find Graham ready to hammer it with his fist. Even in the weak outdoor light, I can see his hands are dark and pulpy. Tomorrow, they’ll be bruised.
His suit is torn. He reeks of cigarettes. I’m not surprised the boys got him drunk, even though they promised to take it easy. The party is tomorrow. He’s going to ruin it. Everyone is falling apart. First Margo, now Graham. The fountain glitters behind him, reminding me of what my housekeeper said. What if we really are cursed? But that’s silly. It’s like I said to Demi: Money is fate. We have money; we have fate.
He blinks at me, then speaks with a fat tongue. “Why is the door locked?”
“Why do you think?” I keep my voice even.
Graham kicks the stoop for no apparent reason. “Don’t be a bitch, darling.”
“We need to fix the gate.” If he thinks I’m a bitch, I might as well get a jab in.
“I’m never fixing the gate!” He raises a fist victoriously.
“Why not?”
“Because, darling, somebody broke it.” He calls me “darling” in excess when he’s drunk. “I’m daring them to come back. Break my house, kill my mother’s dog . . . Ha! I dare you to come back!” he shouts at the empty street.