When Lena and Harriet came closer, Annie pushed a phone into Lena’s palm.
“I’m going to kill Abe Pagano,” she said.
Miss Marple would report it without hesitation. Same with Inspector Gamache, but justice looks a little different off the page.
I’ve gotten as far as tracing the numbers on my phone. 9–1–1.
Hello? I’d like to report a murder.
When I imagine the flash of police lights reflecting against darkened houses, my stomach twists in objection.
But when I think about letting the foothills absorb the secret, that doesn’t sit right either.
I don’t know what to do.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
“Why aren’t you dressed for the party yet?”
Abe stood in the doorway to Jen’s bedroom. He’d changed into khaki pants and a polo shirt and had slicked back his hair, pulled it into a tiny ponytail. His unworn loafers, bought early last year in anticipation of bar mitzvah invitations that had never materialized, reflected the overhead light. They were at least a size too small.
“Because we’re not going.”
“You need to get out of bed.” Abe walked stiff-legged—the shoes must be killing him, but he did not complain—into Jen’s closet. She could hear the hangers squeaking over the rod.
“This is pretty.” He emerged with a bloodred, in-your-face silk sundress with a voluminous flounce around her feet. She’d had it for years but never worn it because every time she tried it on, she thought nope.
“Totally inappropriate,” Jen said. “Why do you even want to go?”
Nan’s gentle, concerned voice. Do you think Abe has plans to hurt his friend?
“The points,” Abe said matter-of-factly. “I wrote my apology note to Laurel, and Dad said that’s fifty points. I get another fifty when I hand it to her. I don’t have to be her friend, but he explained to me that I can’t get stuck in the usual cycle. I have to break free.”
Jen searched his face. Feel free to chime in, gut.
He held up the dress, gave the hanger a shake. Neutral it was not. At the thought of showing up in that dress, Jen started to laugh the hyenic laugh of a madwoman.
Abe smiled. “What?”
Jen’s phone chimed with an incoming text.
She reached into her pocket and glanced at the screen.
“Deb Gallegos,” she said aloud.
“What does she say?”
Jen was sure it was nothing good.
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
Deb returned to the Moroccan Fantasy area with three champagne flutes balanced in her hands. She carefully handed one to Priya and the other to Annie.
“Cheers,” she said.
“Cheers!” Priya sang.
DJ Lightning was playing something wordless and beat-driven. Most of the party guests had moved from the food tent to the dance floor, which was now aglow with the neon sticks.
“I want to dance,” Deb said. “Would Sierra be mortified? She never used to be embarrassed by me, but I sense it coming.”
Annie ignored her. “Jen should have said something to us about Abe’s diagnosis, right?”
“Yes.” Deb nodded.
“Poor Jen,” Priya said.
“Not poor Jen. Jen is asleep at the wheel.”
Annie caught them exchange a look.
“What,” she said.
“Try and have fun,” Deb said gently. “You’ve been obsessing about this for hours. What can you do about it tonight?”
It wasn’t their children who’d been animated and riddled with bullet holes, Annie supposed.
“I’d like to dance,” Priya said tentatively.
Where was Janine? Janine would be right next to Annie, spitting bullets.
“Abe’s the vandal, right?” Annie said. “We can agree?”
“Lena.” Deb reached her arms overhead to flag down Lena. “Annie needs you.” She and Priya linked arms and ran to the dance floor with the speed of escaping convicts.
“Laurel’s made such bad choices,” Annie said when Lena sat down. “Giving your garden key to Haley, becoming friends with a sociopath. I’ve watched her so closely, and I had no idea.”
“It’s nothing incurable,” Lena said. “Nothing permanent.”
“What does that mean?”
“Lena.” Mike rushed over. “There’s a starry-night situation with the glow sticks in the flower garden.”
“A what?”
He grimaced. “You better come with me.”
“I’ll be right back,” Lena said apologetically. Annie watched in frustration as they left her alone in the tent. She needed to harness someone else into this feeling.