Chapter 38
Marmee follows me to her bedroom door, locking it from the inside after I leave.
Our conversation has provided a sense of renewed possibility. My world may be crumbling, but I realize now that domain is nothing more than a house of cards, something flimsy and unsubstantial. I’ve been living in a fantasy, a realm where my crime against Oliver remained hidden.
That’s not possible anymore. Damien knows, and he’s weaponizing that knowledge against me. I must face reality, fight against my circumstances, if I want to stop the truth from coming out. If I can make it through this night, I have a shot at rebuilding my life, this time more solidly than before.
Marmee knows my biggest secret now, and she didn’t demonize me. Ava, too. Oliver’s death was meant to protect. Marmee. Myself. Danielle’s dignity. Future women he could potentially hurt.
But he isn’t the only thing I’ve been lying to myself about.
Tonight proves my decades-long friendships are more fragile than I wanted to admit. We’ve been living in a world where everything appears whole and complete on the surface, ignoring the rot and decay underneath.
Marlowe was the only one who wasn’t fooled by the illusion.
She understood the changing tides of our dynamics, I suspect even before she uncovered the affair.
It’s why she divorced Michael instead of keeping up the charade.
It’s why she wasn’t afraid to end long-held friendships for the sake of what is right.
Constance only pretends to have that kind of inner peace.
For her, witnessing that type of self-acceptance in someone else must feel dangerous.
Threatening. In the end, it may have been Marlowe’s transparency that infuriated Constance enough to push her over the ledge.
Sagging against the wall, I press my palms over my eyes. I’m fighting exhaustion, but the police will be here in less than thirty minutes, and I must confront Damien about the blackmail before they arrive.
I find Constance inside the parlor. Alone. She’s sitting in front of the flickering fireplace, her foot elevated once again on a throw pillow.
“Has Damien come back yet?”
She barely raises her head, whispers out a soft “No.”
“What about Preston?”
She shakes her head, resting her forehead against her forearm. Muffled sobs escape.
My eyes study the front door. The textured glass ripples in the moonlight beyond.
Damien has been gone a long time. Too long.
He left before I went outside to cover Marlowe’s body, and Preston took off after him at my request. What if Preston encountered Damien and now he’s in danger?
If Oliver was willing to kill Danielle to keep his cover, Damien could be just as violent.
Deeming Constance completely useless, I march through the hallway in search of Ava. The door to the Fairy Room remains shut. When I enter the bedroom, she’s sitting on the edge of the bed staring ahead at nothing. She shoots upright when she sees me.
“Are the police here?”
“Not yet.”
She lowers herself back down, defeated. “I just want this night to end.”
“Have you seen Preston?”
“No, and I don’t want to.”
I can only imagine how she’s feeling right now, but in spite of their marital discord, we must work together, at least a little bit longer.
“Look, Damien took off a while ago. Preston went after him, and they still haven’t returned.”
Alarm glints in her eyes, just barely. “What are you saying?”
I crouch in front of her. “We’re running out of time. I need to confront Damien before the police arrive. I can’t risk him telling them about Oliver.”
Ava’s throat quivers like she’s choking down bile. “We still don’t know he’s the one sending the notes.”
“Actually, we do,” I say, pulling the cell out of my pocket. “This is Oliver’s phone. I found it upstairs in Damien’s room.” I pause. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you earlier.”
We both know why. She went running out of the room, life as she knew it completely shattered.
“Look, I know you hate Preston right now. And Constance. But if Damien is as dangerous as Oliver was, Preston could be in trouble. Deep down, I don’t think you want that.”
Her face is a stony mask attempting to conceal any love for Preston that remains.
“You still think Damien pushed Marlowe?”
I nod, my lip quivering. I can’t tell her about Constance’s confession. Not yet. Finding Damien is more important than anything.
She sighs and tilts her head. “What do you want me to do?”
“I’m going to look for Damien and Preston. I need you to sit with Constance—”
“No—”
“Ava, please! I know you hate her right now, but we can’t leave her alone. We don’t need another dead body on our hands,” I say. “Think about the baby.”
She exhales again, closing her eyes. Ava may be a woman scorned, but she still has a heart, a soul.
“I need to figure out what Damien wants from me. Marmee thinks he might want money.”
“You told Marmee what you did?”
“Just now,” I say. “Look, I’m desperate. I’m risking the rest of my life in prison for what I did to Oliver. Confronting Damien is my only hope.”
Begrudgingly, she stands. I follow her as she marches out of the room, down the hallway, and into the parlor. Constance raises her head immediately. Tries to sit up.
“Ava, please, I—”
“Don’t talk to me.” Ava turns her back on Constance and moseys to the bar, where she pours another stiff drink.
“I’m going outside to look for Preston and Damien,” I tell her. “They’ve been gone too long, and I’m worried they could be in danger.” My eyes flick over to Ava. “I want you both to stay here. Together. In case they come back.”
“I don’t understand. Why do you think they’re in danger?”
Ava averts her eyes and glugs her drink. My cheeks flush red. I choose my next words carefully. I can’t explain exactly what Damien is leveraging against me, only that he’s dangerous, a threat.
“Damien hasn’t been honest with us about who he is or why he’s here,” I say. “He’s up to something. I know it.”
“We think he pushed Marlowe,” Ava says, an attempt to support me. Constance shrivels, but at least she’s not asking any more questions.
It strikes me just how many secrets exist in this room. Ava doesn’t know Constance killed Marlowe; Constance doesn’t know I killed Oliver. If we can make it through this night without more bloodshed, it will be a miracle.
That thought disappears just as someone starts pounding against the front door.
“Ava? Tippi?” It’s Preston’s voice, loud and breathless. “Is anyone in there?”
I swing the door open. Preston leans against the house cradling his head. A trickle of blood trails down his cheek.
“My goodness,” Ava says, reaching for him immediately. “What happened?”
“Damien,” he says, stumbling into the parlor. “He attacked me out of nowhere.”
Constance lowers her leg to the floor, making room for him to slump beside her. Ava rushes across the room, retrieving the first aid kit they used earlier in the night. She comes back moments later with alcohol swabs.
“Tell me everything that happened,” I say.
“I went outside looking for him like you asked me,” he says. “It took me forever to find him. When I finally caught up, he was at the pond. I told him to come back to the house. Next thing I know, he’s hitting me over the head.”
“With what?” Constance asks.
“I don’t know. It was dark. Felt like a piece of plywood or a shovel. Why the fuck would he do that?”
“You were right.” Constance looks at me with tears in her eyes. “Damien is dangerous.”
“The plan hasn’t changed,” I say, exhaling. “I’m going to find him.”
“No!” Constance shouts.
At the same time, Ava says, “Are you crazy?”
I lock eyes with her, pleading. “I don’t have a choice.”
“Of course you do,” Preston says. “Wait for the police.”
But that gives Damien too much power. He’s already broken into my apartment. He’s blackmailing me. He attacked Preston. If I don’t talk to him before the police arrive, there’s no telling what he’ll do next, what he’ll say to them.
I reach into the pocket of my jacket and pull out Marmee’s gun. “I still have this.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Preston says. “You can’t go out there alone.”
“He already attacked one of us,” Constance adds.
“I can handle this.” I raise the gun again, staring between Ava and Constance. An injured Preston still fights to catch his breath from the sofa. “Lock the door behind me.”
Ava follows me into the foyer. Her voice is hushed, winded.
“I’m scared,” she says. “What do we do if Damien comes back?”
I rack my brain for answers.
“You were in the parlor earlier when I grabbed the gun, right?” I say. “Did you see where I got it?”
“Yes.”
“There’s a second gun inside the drawer. Use it.”
Ava looks panicked. “How am I supposed to defend us? I’ve never even used a gun.”
“Damien doesn’t know that,” I say. “Grab it for protection. If I don’t find him right away, I’ll come straight back here. I promise.”
Hesitancy flashes through me as I consider it may not be wise leaving three of them alone, a weapon in the room.
Earlier, Ava nearly lunged at Constance, and I had to intervene, but Ava wouldn’t lash out knowing the police could arrive any minute, and Preston should be capable of keeping them apart.
Deep down, I don’t think Damien will return here.
I only told the others to stick together as a precaution.
Damien isn’t after them. He wants me, and it’s time to find out why.