Page 7 of WASP

Lynn looked at her in confusion. “What is it?”

“There.” Max tilted her head in the direction of the crosswalk. “It’s Annie, the girl from the golf course this morning.” She squinted to make sure, but there was no mistaking that brassy blond and those legs. “Dillinger, I think that’s what she said her last name is,” she said, trying to recall the details of their earlier conversation, which were a little fuzzy considering how much time she had spent cataloging every shade of blue in Annie’s eyes.

“Dillinger?” Lynn asked quickly.

“Yeah, I think so. You know them?”

“Actually, yes. I know the mother at least. I babysat her years and years ago—back when she was an Avery, not Dillinger… But you know…small towns,” she said, her voice trailing off.

Max watched Annie approach the little teal building housing Spoon Me before she disappeared inside. “So was my read correct?”

“What?”

“Republican?”

“Yes. I believe the family has long-standing Republican ties,” Lynn confirmed as they approached Max’s car.

Max rummaged in her pocket, retrieving the key ring that housed her car key, apartment keys, an assortment of work-related keys, and her mother’s military dog tags.

“God, I do love it when I’m right.” She beamed, wiggling her keys. “That’s definitely going to be a no for me then. See, this is why I keep you around. You know everyone and everything.”

“I don’t, but I’m glad I can provide a service to you,” Lynn quipped quietly, climbing into the passenger seat.

Max grinned, sliding into the driver’s seat. “Being my best friend is a challenging task, but someone’s gotta do it.”

THREE

ANNIE

I was born to lie beneath a woman.

Annie grinned, staring up at her bedroom ceiling, examining the intricate collage of magazine cut-outs—a relic of her high school self, preserved in time. No wonder her parents weren’t that surprised when she, at fifteen, had confidently announced to the family over dinner that she was a lesbian and had kissed Kayla Jacobs to make sure. Every single photo in this collage was a testament to that truth. Movie stars, pop singers, athletes, and models. Not a single man in sight.

Her mother’s voice cut through the morning silence. “Anne Elizabeth, you better be awake. We are leaving for church in ten minutes.”

“I’m almost ready,” Annie lied, throwing back the covers, scrambling across the room to the closet, beginning the haphazard search for something to wear.

“It sounds like you just got up. You promised me you would be ready on time.”

“I’ve been up, and I will be ready,” Annie called, sliding on a pair of nice jeans one leg at a time while reaching for an olive green knit turtleneck from the shelf in her closet.

“Nine minutes. I will leave without you if you are not ready.”

Annie rolled her eyes, running her fingers through her fine strands of hair, expertly slicking them back into an elegant twist held in place with pearl adorned hair pins Caroline had given her their last Christmas together. She fucking hated Caroline—even that felt like an understatement—but the pins she would always love.

She reached for a serum bottle, dabbing her cheeks with the required amount. A quick time check told her she still had six minutes. Lipstick next. She swiped the tube over her lips before touching the tiniest amount to the rounds of her cheeks, distributing it with the pads of her fingers. Eyebrow gel to keep the girls in place—they unfortunately had a habit of doing what they wanted— and the tiniest bit of tinted mascara.

Annie examined her reflection in the mirror, deciding her outfit needed a belt. She rummaged through the stack of precariously placed cardboard boxes, the ones that should have been unpacked already in the Washington, D.C. townhouse with Caroline, searching for the Prada belt she had managed to snag in an eBay auction.

One last look in the mirror before it was down the back stairs, hopping the final two as she and her siblings had always done as kids.

“Look at that,” Annie huffed with a smile, moving towards the mudroom to grab her brown-heeled boots to finish off her outfit. “Three minutes to spare. Enough time for us to get coffee on the way.”

Her mother, Colleen Dillenger, tapped her perfectly manicured nails against the counter, glaring at her with piercing blue eyes and the same look Annie had been on the receiving end of for most of her childhood. “You are a piece of work, you know that?” she said fondly.

“I do,” Annie said, her cheeky smile still in place. “You’ve told me enough times.” She straightened, running her hands over the front of her jeans, smoothing away any hint of a wrinkle.

Her mother’s gaze traced up the length of her body. “Is that what you’re wearing?” she asked, her question dripping with judgment.