61

When Teagan blinked in response, Victoria paced to the window and looked down at the Hudson River. In the dark, the water was little more than an impression of movement. On the opposite bank, a thin line of trees stretched in front of the sparkling lights of the city. For a second, she wished they could forget they’d started this whole conversation.

But Victoria wasn’t running. Teagan wasn’t backing down. They were really doing this—and she’d never felt more alive.

“You think I killed Warren and then created this X persona to . . . what? Why would I do that?” Teagan asked with a hint of amusement. She’d resumed her relaxed posture, not a care in the world. Like they were discussing party favors and not murder. “I’m curious what led you to this conclusion. Walk me through your sleuthing, Nancy Drew.”

“It wasn’t one big thing. A lot didn’t add up. Kept nagging at me. Like a hangnail that keeps getting caught on your shirt until you’re forced to clip it off.”

“And this is you”—Teagan was off the couch and across the room before Victoria could react. She gripped the back of Victoria’s neck and dragged her downward, nails digging into her skin—“clipping it off.”

Victoria hissed at the pain. The few inches difference in height disturbed her balance, but Teagan didn’t let go. Arms at her sides, Victoria gritted her teeth. Teagan squeezed and pressed their foreheads together.

Her eyes sparkled darkly with a newfound intensity, and in the split second before she tightened her hold, her face transformed into a person Victoria didn’t recognize. Someone who wouldn’t hesitate to rip her to shreds at the slightest provocation.

“First cuts, right?” Victoria sneered.

“What if I did do it, Tor?” she asked, exhaling stale coffee and mint.

“Not a matter of what if, as far as I’m concerned, but why.”

“Why.” All at once, Teagan uncurled her fingers and flung Victoria away. “Awfully presumptuous. I’m not the Black Widow of Kent Wood Manor.”

“Because you made everyone think that I did it. The graffiti, the rumors, the edited recording from the Gala—it didn’t take much. If anyone understands how people talk in this town, it’s you.”

“Hypothetically speaking, yeah, it would’ve been incredibly easy. You’re the spouse. You had a lot to gain from Warren’s death. I said it before: the scandal wrote itself. And then you signed on at Livingston before his body was even cold. Threatened Betty, fought with those women at the gym—if I were X, I could’ve narrated this arc in my sleep.”

“Speaking of Betty,” Victoria said, rubbing her neck. She paced to the far corner near the bookshelf. “Why kill her? She was annoying but ultimately harmless.”

“Harmless?” Teagan sprawled on the couch, lazily crossing her legs, an easiness to her that contradicted the tension between them. “I thought you had this figured out, Tor. Why does it feel like I’m filling in the gaps?”

“Do you know why Betty was snooping around?”

“MLM research.”

“Teagan.”

Teagan sat up. “Based on everything you’ve said so far, I think it’s just as likely that you killed Warren and want so badly to believe it was someone else—anyone else—that you’re seeing things that don’t exist. Betty was delivering a sympathy basket.”

“I caught her in Warren’s office.”

“So you say.”

The implication being that no one could verify her story. Betty was dead. Having to justify her actions left Victoria feeling like she was on trial. “X warned me. He said I couldn’t trust her. You know something and aren’t telling me.”

“Oh, yes, the mysterious X. A digital phantom. Untraceable. An anonymous villain hell-bent on destroying you. Convenient, isn’t it? Who better to take the blame than a faceless bad guy? Everybody loves a good versus evil story. The cathartic explosion when the main character is triumphant in the climactic scene. Come on. We both know that you’ve concocted this whole X character as an out. A psychological manifestation of your guilt. Your mind’s way of coping with the horrific things you’ve done.”

“Stop it.”

“With a proven history of sleep issues, a proclivity toward violence, a clear shirking of stereotypical suburban ideals—shit, they wouldn’t even question me, a lowly plastic surgeon, about my diagnosis. They’d respect my medical opinion and chalk it up to mental health issues. Face it, Tor, you’re just another crazy woman in the attic.”

“Stop!” Victoria shrieked, chucking a book across the room. It smashed into the wall with a heavy thud, leaving a dent mark in its wake.

Chest heaving, Victoria fought against the spots clouding her vision.

“You’re safe,” Teagan said, her hands up in a placating gesture. “This is a safe space. I am your sister. We will get through this together.”

“Stop, just stop. No more games,” Victoria said. She massaged her temples, her eyes closed against the turbulent emotions coursing through her. “You disappeared at the Gala. We got our masks and split up, which in hindsight should’ve been impossible. We should’ve ended up in the same place, but I didn’t see you again until the ballroom. Where were you?”

“Dancing. Drinking. Schmoozing—exactly what you’re supposed to do on the Connors’ dime.”

“What about the red room? You couldn’t have known I was going to end up in there; Margaret said that area was blocked off.”

“Unless you did that yourself and are proving my point.” She tapped her chin. “Or you were followed.”

“None of this makes sense, Teagan, why—”

“Could you sit down, please?” Teagan asked. The feral creature who’d grabbed Victoria’s neck minutes ago was gone, the growl replaced by a soothing whisper. “You’re making me nervous, and if we could avoid putting a hole in my wall, that’d be great.”

Victoria wasn’t going to sit down. “You were the executioner. You and Warren plotted together wearing those sick disguises, trying to screw me over.”

“Plotted? Are you hearing yourself?” Teagan asked. “Look, it’s late. Why don’t you get some sleep and we can revisit this in the morning? When was the last time you had pancakes, huh? Fresh blueberries and real maple syrup? I’ll even spring for some bacon. Full fat. No turkeys.”

“I didn’t see you again after we got to the Gala,” Victoria interrupted, talking over Teagan’s breakfast rant. Diversions and distractions.

Teagan unleashed an exasperated sigh. “Whose fault is that? You left early. Remind me again why? Migraine, was it?”

That inflection. The hint that she knew more than she was saying. “When I left is beside the point. I was home all night.”

“Were you? Perhaps we should ask Meyers. Because the last time we talked she told me that even with the snow you could’ve had time to return to the Gala after the driver dropped you off.”

Was that true?

“I’m not doing this, Teagan,” Victoria said, starting to shift her weight from side to side. She needed to burn off some of the excess energy. Adrenaline was great until it overloaded your system. Meyers had raised doubts about the window of opportunity, or lack thereof. Several times. “You didn’t come back for your car.”

“Because I Ubered.”

“And you didn’t answer your phone.”

“It’s not 1998. Rarely do I answer my phone.”

“If it’s that simple, then what were you doing? Who were you with? Give me the name of one person who saw you after the dinner and I’ll drop it here and now.”

“Jesus, Mom, relax.”

“You can’t because there was no one.”

Teagan scoffed. “Please. If I was going to murder my brother-in-law and cut out his eyes, I would’ve made sure that plenty of people saw me before the body was discovered. Only stupid people don’t have alibis.”

Victoria opened her mouth to argue the point further, knowing she was dangling from the hook. The bait was too enticing. Teagan’s gaslighting too reminiscent of Warren’s manipulative tactics.

A knock at the door, however, interrupted them.

Both snapping at the sound, they shut their mouths and looked toward the sound.

Teagan pulled out her phone and cursed under her breath. “Fuck,” she whispered, tiptoeing to meet her and turning the screen so Victoria could see the Ring footage. Detective Meyers stood in front of the door, hands in her pockets, curiously studying her surroundings.

Fuck.

Teagan tossed the phone on the couch and locked eyes with Victoria. Hide, she mouthed. Now.