And his eye caught on something else. The lighter, nestled underneath a pile of bloody paper towels by Addy’s leg. He had to accept that nothing he’d done in his entire life had mattered, including trying to save this broken woman.
Not Addy.
He meant Joyce. He meant his wife.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE ADDY
She was only twenty-six years old. She couldn’t die this way, like an animal on the floor of this awful trailer. All because she was lonely and stupid and decided to sleep with a guy who she knew was bad for her anyway.
Addy thought about meeting Laura, just two days ago at Dermot’s apartment. How she’d looked so fragile and young. Like a child, almost. She’d been worried about her, about what all of this would do to such an innocent person.
But Laura hurt people. She hurt Dermot.
Kill, Addy corrected herself. Not hurt. Kill.
Laura killed Dermot.
She’d overheard them talking through the haze of pain shooting from her shoulder through the rest of her body.
And Susan. Susan was a killer too. She killed Trina. She’d almost killed Addy.
Susan wanted Addy to die.
People above her were arguing. A hand grabbed at something by her knee.
Addy wished she’d had more fun with her life. She wished she’d kissed more good boys, and sung more songs and drunk more wine in the evening and coffee in the morning, and had one dear friend who loved her perfectly. She wished she’d never met Dermot Carine. She wished she’d seen the Great Wall of China.
But most of all, as Addy struggled to remain conscious, she wished she’d called her mother back, just to hear her voice one last time.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX JOYCE
So this was how it was going to end? Joyce thought. Listening to this woman babble on and on about her “terrible” life while she died of boredom?
Not a chance in hell.
As if reading her mind, Simon reached down and grabbed the lighter. The roll of paper towels was there beside him.
Now she needed to figure out the timing. If she did everything right, she and Simon could be home in less than an hour.
Alone.
If she did things right, there’d be no graves to dig. Which was ideal, because she’d just had her nails done.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN SUSAN
Tom and I should be together, holding hands on a beach somewhere, Susan thought.
“My husband never holds my hand anymore,” she gave as way of explanation to the four people she held at gunpoint. “He barely kisses me during sex. The most action I get to validate myself is when I call out ‘Thank you!’ to the FedEx delivery guy and he says back, ‘Have a wonderful day!’”
She held her hand up to her forehead, wiping at some unseen hair caught on her face.
“After Dermot told me about the accident, I wasn’t sure what I would do. I was only certain I was going to do something. I kept tabs on Trina. It was easy to see her downward spiral through her Instagram posts. Honestly, the same was true for Dermot. They were both reeling from what happened.”
Susan cut a look at Simon and Joyce, who were next to Addy near the couch. He stared at his hands, too weak to even meet her eyes.
Susan kept talking. Nothing like a loaded gun to hold someone’s attention—something it felt like she hadn’t had for years. It felt good to talk about everything instead of letting it stay jumbled and searing inside her mind.
“I figured out she was crashing weddings. When I saw on Facebook that one of Dermot’s friends from high school was getting married in town, I knew he’d be invited. I also figured Trina would choose that wedding over any of the others in town because the Marriott had a reputation for the better booze. When I floated the idea by Dermot, explaining how I was trying to get back at a high-school bully and really he would be helping to serve justice, he was all too happy to spend a night out on the town, bedding a would-be train wreck. His standards for ethical behavior were really slipping after the accident, although I’d assured him that I was only going to scare Trina. He didn’t know I’d planned to kill her. I was going to make it look like an accident.”
Susan caught her breath. “Anyway, when Trina stumbled home, with plenty of proof Dermot was still safely in his hotel room, I was planning to help her walk off the edge of a bridge or stumble down a flight of stairs. People die every day from stupid mistakes. Right? I mean, just look at the five of us?” Susan knew she was starting to talk a little too fast, but she couldn’t stop now.
“But when Trina came home she wasn’t drunk—or not drunk enough—and I lost my nerve. It was a moment of weakness. Just like when we were at the party all those years ago, and I let Trina take Tom away from me. I never expected Dermot to be the dead one, and for Trina to survive.”
Susan brushed at the phantom hair, this time leaving red marks across her cheek from where her nails scratched the skin. “But I was stronger the second time. I was all ready to have to pick her lock, but that neighbor boy of hers with the weird tics let me in without a question. I’ll tell you—the look on her face when she realized I was hiding in her apartment was priceless. I didn’t say a word. I just choked the breath out of her until she couldn’t do one other thing to hurt me.”
Nobody spoke. Susan started tapping her leg up and down, making a soft rap on the linoleum floor of the kitchen.
“Now the only other piece of the puzzle is Simon,” she explained.
“Then why are you here?” Laura searched Susan’s face. Susan’s mouth twitched up into a half smile. She was getting excited now that it was almost finished.
“I needed Joyce to lure Simon. And Joyce was heading here.” Susan shrugged her shoulders. She turned to Joyce. “I knew you liked that nail salon. I also knew which cafés you preferred. And where you got your hair done. My private investigator offered a bulk package, as you can tell.” Susan gave a short bark of a laugh that ended as abruptly as it started. “It was just a matter of time before we ran into each other, and I gave you my sob story about my dead brother.”
Susan looked back at Laura. “You and Addy are just collateral damage. Sorry about that.”
“You didn’t bring Addy here?” Laura asked.
“Joyce had some thug stow her in the trunk of her car.”
“What?” Laura turned to look at Joyce. It was the first time she’d moved her eyes away from the gun.
Now, Susan told herself. Do it now while she’s not looking.
But before Susan could bring up the courage to kill this innocent girl—she didn’t believe for a second that she killed Dermot; her money was on Joyce for that—Joyce stood up fully and shouted to Simon.
“Now, Simon. Do it now!”
The words echoed in Susan’s head.
There was the scrape of metal against metal. Then a flicker of flame. Something hard and sharp smacked against Susan’s legs, knocking her down. Her head cracked against the floor.
The door to the trailer opened, letting in a shock of cool wind that urged the flames on.
Susan’s head pounded. Something warm dripped down her forehead and she knew it was blood even before she reached up to touch it. She tried to stand up but her eyes wouldn’t focus.
People were leaving the trailer. Smoke began to fill the small set of rooms.
Everything went black for Susan. A moment passed. Then two. Then longer.
