60
Teagan flinched like she’d been slapped.
Good.
She should be scared.
“Why would you . . . you’re joking.” A big, relieved grin spread across Teagan’s face. “Wild. Morbid and maybe too soon, but we’ll run with it.”
“I don’t have a sense of humor, remember? What was it you said? I don’t know how to have fun. Why did you kill Warren?”
The smile dropped. “Tor, come on.”
Victoria didn’t waver, the epitome of confidence, which only served to shake Teagan more. Coffee spilled onto the counter as Teagan set her mug down. She hissed as the hot liquid hit her skin and rubbed at the spot before sopping it up with a dish towel.
“Careful,” Victoria said. “You’ve made enough messes as it is.”
A switch flipped, the familiar shaking-off of polite expectations as Teagan’s nostrils flared and color flooded her cheeks.
“That’s rich. Maybe talk to me about messes when you’re not a slob-kabob wearing Warren’s ratty old sweatshirt.” Teagan arched her eyebrow and patted her stomach for emphasis. “Bun in the oven, or packing on the pounds by grief-eating your way through the pantry? I seem to recall you having a soft spot for Oreos.”
Victoria’s face flamed, shame burning low in her gut. They weren’t children anymore, but sisters never lost the ability to provoke each other, regardless of age.
Victoria hummed in response. A few shitty remarks from her sister weren’t going to break her concentration. She had to stay focused. “Now that that’s out of your system, think we can have this conversation like mature adults?”
Teagan flung the dirty dish towel into the sink with a shrug, her tone petulant. “I can control myself if you can.”
She doubted that very much but held her tongue. Teagan reclaimed her coffee and followed Victoria to the living room. They sat at opposite ends of the couch and sipped in silence, the calm before the shitstorm.
How theoretically idyllic.
As peaceful an image as they made, the air was thick and electrified. Victoria maintained eye contact, taking the opportunity to study her sister. Outwardly, her body language was as stoic and poised as Victoria’s. Teagan stared back just as hard, unaffected and confident, but Victoria knew it was an act.
Inwardly, Teagan was reacting like any predator being backed into a corner by a worthy adversary.
“I can’t imagine what you’re feeling right now,” Victoria said, testing the waters.
“Because you don’t have a creative bone in your body.”
“And you do?”
“I’m an artist, Tor. No paint brushes or colored pencils, but at my most basic level, I create beautiful things. I give people a sense of self-worth, like they’re living masterpieces. It’s . . . it’s special. You, on the other hand, destroy everything and everyone in your orbit. A walking, talking black hole.”
“A lot of frilly words for I’m full of shit.”
“You wouldn’t understand. That stick in your ass is the closest you’ll get to out-of-the-box thinking. Warren wasn’t good for you in that respect. Before you met him, you at least had a sense of adventure. Remember that night we snuck out for NSYNC tickets? Four and a half hours in a line downtown without coats in February. Would’ve gotten away with it if the news hadn’t recorded us dancing in the background. Who knew Dad would pick that day to give a shit about local events? I can still hear him shouting from the car when he found us, red as a goddamn tomato. Grounded for weeks but we didn’t care. We didn’t shut down and hide behind rules. After you married Warren, I couldn’t even get you to double dip your chips. He had some vision, but on a small scale. Micro desires when I was aiming for the macros.”
Victoria shook off the monologue, picking out the important notes. “Artistic differences? That’s why you killed him?”
“All right.” Teagan slid her mug onto a coaster and leaned forward, elbows on knees. “This shouldn’t need to be said, but I didn’t kill Warren. That’s crazy.”
“Absolutely.”
“But you don’t believe me.”
“I know the truth,” she replied simply, abandoning her own mug on the table and clasping her hands together primly. Proper lady-in-a-church-pew etiquette.
“And what truth would that be?”
“Maybe we should take a step back for a second,” Teagan said. “You’ve been through something incredibly traumatic tonight, and you’re having trouble processing the loss. Making decisions based on intense experiences never works.”
“Seriously, Teags? Quoting Speed?”
“What? Classic Keanu. Can’t go wrong with Keanu.”
Echoes of her earlier conversation with X came to mind. “Don’t try to change the subject,” Victoria said, shaking off the tangent. “Burnt down house or not, for the first time in months I’m seeing things exactly as I should be.”
“I’d appreciate it if you’d stop speaking in riddles and tell me what’s going on.”
“You killed Warren. Is that straightforward enough?”
“Wow. You’re—you’re serious.” Teagan’s face crumpled into outrage. “You think so little of me? I knew we had a fucked-up relationship, but that’s low, even for you. You honestly think I could kill your husband and act like nothing ever happened? Just continue living my life while you suffer? That I could do that to you?”
“Yes.”
It wasn’t that black and white; life rarely was. But for this conversation, it was warranted.
“Why?”
“Million dollar question.”
“I’d settle for the dollar menu if it means you’ll get to the point sooner.”
She was committed, Victoria thought. Believable. Putting the appropriate gravity into her voice. It might’ve worked on someone else, but not her.
Teagan was good, but Victoria was better.
She shifted on the couch to face Teagan head on, when her gaze landed on the bookshelf in the corner. Spines were organized by color, the titles themselves unimportant. Teagan read widely and criticized harshly, only holding onto books that spoke to her. Victoria had gone through them herself when she’d moved in, arguing over the moralities of both Stephen King and Shakespeare.
It was the box on the bottom shelf that caught her attention. To anyone else, that box wouldn’t look like anything special, nondescript and simple as it was. Victoria, however, would’ve recognized it anywhere.
And just like that, the rest of the pieces fell into place.
“I came home from work tonight after an altercation with Jeff.”
“Jeff Blevins? That tool’s still around?”
“Not for much longer. That’s beside the point,” Victoria said, brushing off the distraction. Jeff was a pain in the ass and had a misogynistic streak a mile long, but he could be dealt with later. “Anyway, X started texting because he saw Meyers questioning me outside my house.”
“Saw how?” Teagan asked carefully.
“Cameras, it turns out. Multiple cameras. He’s been watching for a long time—and he’d been inside my house. The basement was totally trashed; Warren’s things were everywhere.”
Teagan schooled her reaction, but her lip twitched. A slight blink-and-you’ll-miss-it blip of uncontained nerves. “How scary. Clothing strewn about haphazardly? Your worst nightmare.”
“The upstairs was worse,” Victoria said through clenched teeth.
Here, Teagan smiled, sly and mischievous. “Did X rearrange your spice rack? Delete your Netflix queue? Alert the police.”
Victoria went along with the abrupt change in mood. “Staged a bloodbath would probably be a more accurate description, but I didn’t get to check Netflix before I was sent on a fool’s errand.”
“Bloodbath, huh?” Teagan asked, leaning back and hooking an arm over the back of the couch. She was settling in.
Victoria didn’t want that. “Whose blood was it, Teagan?”
She fixed an innocent expression on her face. “How should I know?”
“Because you’re X.”