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“It really, really hurts.”

“You’re being a big baby about a tiny pin. It’s not like it’s stuck halfway into your flesh.”

“It feels like it is!”

“You know I don’t like it when you exaggerate. My sweet dolls don’t complain and fidget all the time. You’re as cute as they are, why can’t you be like them?”

“I’m not a doll,” I whispered. I said it so quietly, it might have been inside my head and not coming from my mouth at all. She did not like it when I reminded her that I was a live person. I didn’t know why she forgot that. When I wasn’t in the chair, I was allowed to talk and sniffle and twirl my hair around my finger. It was so confusing. I didn’t know if she really thought I was a doll, or she was just pretending. Or she only said that to make me sit still.

“I’m not a doll,” I said, louder this time.

Her head twitched, but she didn’t look up.

I also knew the pins weren’t hidden inside my dress from when she was sewing it. They came from somewhere else. I wanted her to notice that, but she didn’t.

FIFTY-TWO

SAMANTHA

Now

Patrick had gone upstairs after the baseball game ended. The sun had just gone down, leaving the sky a luscious dark blue. Emily and Keith were still in their room. Keith had come down to make more drinks, but he didn’t speak to me.

I went to the kitchen, poured half a glass of white wine, and went out to the back deck. I turned the chair to face toward the lake, even though I couldn’t see it from where I sat. The lights inside Linda’s house drew my attention to them—two women who weren’t used to outsiders or neighbors, who had lived most of their lives with only each other to lean on.

I heard Patrick’s voice in the back of my mind—One of them killed that guy.

Why was he so sure? Had Jordan said something while he was helping her give the rabbits a proper burial? Something he hadn’t told me?

Maybe she was so distraught over the rabbits, she slipped and said something about seeing Todd’s body, or something that implied she’d been in our pool area.

Jordan barely spoke, even when asked a direct question. It was hard to imagine her talking too much and saying something she hadn’t meant to.

I took a sip of wine and closed my eyes. If somehow, someone could find out what Jordan knew, or what she’d done, it would fix everything. Maybe if I asked Linda the right questions, it would upset her enough that she’d provide some insight. If Jordan had killed him, Linda might know because she watched Jordan like a hawk.

It would have been impossible for Jordan to move Todd’s body by herself. What if Linda had helped? It was the only explanation for a missing body. Maybe that was why Jordan was so strange—she’d killed a man and the guilt was destroying her mind.

If we found his body, we could report it. Once the sheriff questioned Jordan, if she broke down and told the truth, no one would be interested in me or Patrick. Jordan might refuse to answer our questions, but trained law enforcement officers were supposed to be good at it. They had ways, even if they weren’t always above-board, of persuading people to talk, eliciting secrets. They took classes in those techniques, they role-played and developed game plans which they perfected over time.

I felt the air shift around me. I turned suddenly. Beside me stood a shadowy figure, backlit by a single outdoor light. A small cry burst out of my mouth.

I squinted, trying to make out who it was—a woman. Then, my eyes adjusted to the glare behind her. Jordan.

Glancing toward the house, I wrapped my arms around me, as if that would keep me safe. Had Emily and Keith heard me cry out? Patrick? My cry sounded weak and strained, so probably not.

Jordan dragged a chair to where I was sitting, placing it so close that when she sat down, her knees touched the arm of my chair. I wanted to shift away from her, but the lounge chair was impossible to move while sitting on it.

Was I alone in the dark with a killer? Now that she was here, even though her closeness was disturbing, she didn’t look threatening. I couldn’t imagine her attacking me right here on our back deck. Although Todd had likely been murdered on the patio just below where we sat. Was she a killer? She was definitely strange, but that didn’t mean she was capable of murder. And she’d been incredibly oversensitive about those rabbits. Although some people love animals and hate humans, so there was that.

If my subconscious truly believed that she might kill me, wouldn’t my gut be forcing me out of the chair, screaming? If I ran into the house and locked the doors, I might lose this perfect chance to find out about Todd’s missing body. I might learn the truth about her, about everything.

“You scared me,” I said.

“That’s the sign of a guilty conscience.”

“What is?”

“Startling easily.”