31

Paperwork was both the bane of Victoria’s existence and the balm of her day. Mindless, repetitive fill-in-the-blank assignments that were tedious, yes, but also left her feeling accomplished after a lengthy negotiation. Nothing was more satisfying than ticking tasks off a to-do list.

Unfortunately, that same sense of fulfillment did not carry over into her home life, where Warren had insisted that he be the one in charge of bills. They’d had discussions before they got married, fleshing out how they would share money, who would be responsible for which payments. A joint account had been the result, the practical (read: old-fashioned) choice, which now remained password protected by a dead husband. Since supernatural dollars weren’t an acceptable form of currency, Victoria was now forced to go to battle with the utilities company and internet provider, as well as deal with a half dozen other things she hadn’t worried about in over a decade.

She almost wished she were dealing with another text from X. Almost.

As Victoria was placed on hold for the third time in as many hours with the mortgage company, her mood soured. A podcast was rolling in the background, a repeat of My Favorite Murder set in an upstate New York town an hour north of Kent Wood, but she’d missed most of the summary arguing about verified identities and death certificates. She was about to pull the emergency tub of cookie dough from the freezer and eat her lunch by the spoonful.

The staticky drone voice of the customer service rep clicked back into her ear as the doorbell rang.

“Shit,” she hissed under her breath, peeking through the window. Betty Knottier shifted in her highlighter-yellow trainers on the front porch, cradling a gift basket under one arm. “I’m going to have to call you back,” she said, hanging up.

The movement drew Betty’s attention. She peered through the glass with a cheery wave, and Victoria wanted to kick her in the teeth. Why was she so energetic? Why was she here?

Tugging the collar of her hunter-green shirt and rolling her eyes at the mirror above the foyer table (she had to get it out of her system somehow, she thought), Victoria opened the door.

“Hi, Betty.”

“Hi!” she replied, the smile on her face stretching wide enough to hurt. Victoria half expected the skin at the corners of her mouth to crack and bleed. “I’m so glad you’re okay. I knocked a few times and no one answered. I didn’t see you leave this morning, so I was worried.” Betty chuckled like she’d told the funniest joke in the world. “Was about to come barging in like the Kool-Aid Man. Oh yeah!” She thrust the basket forward. “This is for you. Figured you wouldn’t need any more roses.”

She motioned to the sad and wilting bouquets propped against the pillar on the porch. Most of the sympathy cards had folded into soft wads from exposure. Victoria had lost track of the number of well-wishers who’d stopped by unannounced with their casseroles and flowers. Even Jeff from the office had made an appearance after the service, big-toothed and slicked hair, slithering through the reception like the snake that he was, nodding condolences while slipping his business card into waiting hands.

Betty eyed the flowers, making no attempt to hide the crinkle of judgment on her face. The I-would-never-let-this-happen sneer that was exclusive to the suburban elite.

“Yeah, I should take care of those today,” she said, mad at the blush creeping up her neck.

“No judgment on my part,” Betty lied with a hand on her heart. If she’d had a gavel, she would’ve been laying down the sentence already. One year of community service for every offending bloom. No time served for grieving. Betty plucked at the items in the basket as Victoria kept it from tipping in her arms. “Speaking of care, I can’t think of a better opportunity for a little self-pampering.”

Victoria scanned the strategically arranged collection of running leggings, moisture-wicking socks, tanks, and sports bras. She thumbed the spa gift card with the enthusiasm of an enema patient before tempering her expression. Betty Knottier was insufferable, but the sooner she accepted the sponcon swag, the faster she could get rid of her.

“Thank you,” Victoria said. “This is very kind of you, Betty, and I’m sure I’ll make good use of these when I’m feeling up to it. Finding motivation to workout hasn’t been top of my priorities lately. And actually, I’m kind of in the middle of something, so—”

“Actually, sweetie, if you have a minute, I was hoping we could talk.”

Of course, Betty wasn’t going to be dismissed that easily.

“Now’s not really a good time,” Victoria doubled down.

“It won’t take long, I promise. Just a few minutes.”

Oh, she really didn’t want to let Betty in. They’d never been close, even before everything with Warren. She wasn’t a bad person, in the most general sense of the word. A mother and doting wife with a penchant for MLM merch and an unhealthy obsession with social media. Where Teagan had found a niche to monopolize with her gratuitous plastic surgery videos, Betty hashtagged from one campaign to the next, touting skin care and smoothies and dog grooming accessories. She didn’t own a dog.

So, no, she wasn’t a bad person, but they had nothing in common.

Victoria opened the door wider and stepped back. “Come on in.”

Betty entered, craning to look around the room without hiding her interest. “Did you get new sconces? I don’t remember seeing them at the reception. Then again, we were all a little preoccupied that day.”

They weren’t new, but Victoria had moved them from the bedroom when she was searching for X’s camera. One less place to hide a lens. The devil was in the details, but truth was in the bigger picture, and Betty seemed to be in the mood to paint.

“Warren’s mother gave them to me,” she said. “They were his favorite.”

“Warren liked sconces?”

“He liked a lot of things.” Like fraying my sanity, Victoria thought. “I did most of the decorating, but Warren had strong preferences. Wanted to own his spaces, you know?”

“What a comfort that must’ve been. Dave doesn’t care what I do with the house as long as we abide by the rules. That and no roosters. His mother was very country chic in the nineties.”

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

An awkward silence settled in. From the kitchen, the podcaster revealed that the body had been discovered in various parts along the interstate. Duffle bags full of arms and legs. Betty’s horror reminded Victoria that not everyone liked their noon breaks with blood spatter analyses. Great.

“Alexa, stop.” Setting the basket down, Victoria wiped her hands on her jeans. Hopefully Betty wasn’t as big of a gossip as Judy, but she doubted it, and she mentally prepared for the glares she’d get for listening to murder stories when her husband was barely cold in the ground. People still hated on Evelyn Charles around the corner for remarrying after her husband died of a heart attack—and it had been three years.

“Interesting listening choice,” Betty quipped.

Yeah, there was no way Victoria wasn’t going to catch heat for this. “Takes my mind off things.”

“Does it?” You’re full of shit, her tone read.

Victoria cleared her throat. “Coffee?”

“I’m good. Cutting back on caffeine.”

“All right, so what can I do for you?”

“I wanted to see how you were holding up,” Betty said, blunting her enthusiasm with an air of concern. “Woman to woman. We haven’t had much chance to talk.”

“Woman to woman.”

“Precisely,” she agreed, as if Victoria had answered her own unasked question. “Being lonely is hard, especially when you’ve shared a bed with someone every night for years. Shared a life together. I would know. Chelsea’s a junior now and has her own extracurriculars. Friends. At the age when she wants nothing to do with her mother, that’s for damn sure. Dave travels a lot. I know it’s not exactly the same as what you’re going through, but . . .”She shrugged, leaving the thought unfinished.

Lonely? Victoria hadn’t had a chance to breathe since Warren’s body had turned up. The few moments alone had been dominated by the stress of Livingston and X’s games. She couldn’t wait for this to be over so she could spend time by herself.

“I’m okay,” Victoria said.

“I’m sure it helps to keep busy.”

“It does.”

“Warren must’ve left a lot on his plate.”

That was a left turn from nowhere. “Sorry?”

“What with how—suddenly—he was taken from us. And with Livingston unmanned. I mean, I’m sure he told you everything anyway, but his clients must be completely adrift without him, especially the ones with unfinished deals.”

Victoria’s eyebrows knitted together. “It’ll all work out.”

“I didn’t mean that in a negative way. I’m royally screwing this up, aren’t I? Warren’s accounts are none of my business. Forget I said anything. Let me try this again. I wanted to check on you, and I’m glad you’re okay.” She mirrored Victoria’s tone. “I also need the minutes from the last HOA meeting. Do you happen to have the hard copy?”

The sudden shift from Warren’s work to mundane HOA tidying was unnerving. “Yeah, I think they’re upstairs; I’ll go grab them. Just a sec.”

“Great,” Betty smiled. “Can I use your restroom while I wait?”

Victoria couldn’t help herself. “Too many energy drinks?”

Betty’s face sobered. “Hydration is important. Where is it again?”

“Second door on the left.”

Betty thanked her and padded down the hall. The gentle snick of the door was soon replaced by the rush of water. Victoria waited a beat then jogged up the stairs. HOA minutes were typically recorded online; the people of Kent Wood Manor were staunch advocates of climate change reform and wouldn’t dare waste paper. She’d only taken notes at the last meeting to keep from being bored to tears. Having a unified set of rules was one thing; the controversial finish of a decorative railing the Sparrows had installed was not the next great war the board was making it out to be.

She rifled through the stack of papers on her nightstand, tossing an errant receipt into the trash. Her phone buzzed with a notification as she searched through her purse. The memo pad was tucked into the side pocket, half-bent but legible. Stuffing it in the crook of her elbow, Victoria reached for her phone and froze when she saw a new message from X.

DON’T TRUST HER.

Maybe she shouldn’t be putting stock into the texts of a supposed killer, but Victoria heeded X’s warning. Red flags had been waving since Betty knocked, she realized with a calming sort of certainty. Instead of addressing the itching apprehension of how did he know she was here, Victoria embraced the validation.

Hustling downstairs, she found the kitchen empty and silent, shadows of tree branches dancing on the walls. She tiptoed through the foyer and peered down the hall. Listening. The bathroom door stood ajar. She inched forward and pushed it slightly to avoid the squeaky hinge, which proved to be entirely unnecessary.

With her back to Victoria, Betty emerged from Warren’s office, pulling the door shut as quietly as Victoria was trying to do.

“Feeling better?”

Betty screeched. “Shit, you scared me. Yes, sorry. I—”

“What were you doing in Warren’s office?” Victoria asked.

“I—got lost. Are those the minutes?”

“Yup,” Victoria said, handing them over.

Betty snatched them and rushed toward the front door, her yellow sneakers flashing against the neutral accents of Victoria’s home. A trapped animal scampering for escape. “Thank you for these. I know you’re busy, so let me get out of your hair.”

“Already? Sure I can’t interest you in a cup of coffee?”

“I’ve got an appointment,” Betty said. “Next time. We’ll go to Lorenzo’s and properly catch up. I’m sorry for your loss, Victoria. We’re here if you need anything.”

Betty whipped outside and Victoria trailed behind her, like the killer in a scary movie chasing the Final Girl.

Betty Knottier was absolutely not a Final Girl.

“Betty?” she called. It didn’t escape her that a handful of neighbors were watching their interactions.

Betty’s shoulders flung up to her ears, but she turned slowly. Waiting.

“Don’t let me catch you near my home again.”

A rebuttal didn’t come, and Victoria was spared of making a bigger scene than she already had. Betty flushed deep red and scowled, speeding down the path without another word. Victoria’s gaze burned into her back as she retreated, purposely ignoring the inquisitive stares.

Warren’s office appeared undisturbed, tidy and warm. If anything was missing, she couldn’t tell, but she wouldn’t make assumptions.

She had put Betty in her place, but the question remained.

What had she been looking for?