“I don’t believe in coincidences,” she says with certainty. “It was like God was delivering you into my hands. I had the whole summer to get everything into place. I was ready when you moved in.”
A shudder runs through me as reality sinks in. “There’s no ambulance coming, is there?” The words come out in a whisper.
“Oh, Allie. Or maybe I should call you Lexi? I told you not to hire Dustin,” she says. “I told you to leave him out of this, so this is really your fault.”
I brush the hair off Dustin’s forehead and stare into his vacant eyes.
“Breathe,” I tell him.
“Bludgeoned with your poker.” Daisy kicks the monogrammed fire poker away from us. “I think it’s pretty obvious what people will believe.”
“You can’t think you’re going to get away with this.” I stand, sizing her up. Daisy has at least thirty pounds on me. I’ll have to push past her to get to the back door. Once outside, I’ll run to Heather’s, to Leah’s, to anyone’s.
“Would you like some wine, Allie?” She walks to the fridge and takes out a bottle. “I know you love your Matua.”
She begins emptying it into the sink. I don’t know what she’s up to, and I do not wait to find out. I run toward the back door and yank it open. Freedom. I gulp in the cool air.
Then a shooting pain rockets up my arm as she yanks me back. I am struggling to free myself from her grip when a hot stab, like that of a wasp, pricks me in the back of my arm. I shriek and spin around to see her holding a hypodermic needle.
Daisy retreats a few steps, smiling.
“I’m going to the police,” I mutter. But even as the words come out of my mouth, my knees begin to buckle. I sway, catching the doorframe for support.
“Are you?” she asks. “I figure with the amount of liquid Ambien you have in your system, you’re not going anywhere.”
Daisy jerks me back inside and slams the door shut.
“Liquid Ambien,” I repeat in a hoarse whisper.
“Just like on International Night,” she says. “So easy, you and your wine, your champagne. It will work a lot faster this time, of course, being intravenous. Now, the kitchen isn’t a good place to commit suicide. Not what I have in mind at all.”
55
“No.” The word is heavy in my mouth. With great effort, I stand up straight. I can see Heather’s kitchen window through my back door. If I can get outside, if I can get to Heather’s, I’ll be okay. I reach for the handle on the back door, but Daisy grabs my wrist.
“Oh no, wrong direction.” She spins me around so she is behind me, and I am facing the kitchen. I am about to protest when she jabs something hard into my lower back. I don’t have to look over my shoulder to know she is holding a small handgun, but I do.
“Let’s go upstairs, shall we?”
The Ambien slows me down, making it difficult to walk. We stumble through the kitchen and dining room. In the foyer, a surge of vigor courses through me, and I lunge at the wall where the light switches are, managing to flip them on and then off.
“Sending out a code to the neighbors?” Daisy yanks me onto the stairs. “That’s one of the things Paul and I really loved about the Westport house—the privacy. Not like the Eastbrook neighborhood, right?” I pause on the landing, breathing hard. “Everyone up in your business. You can’t take a poop in this neighborhood without someone asking you how it turned out.” She giggles at her own joke. Her cheer makes my skin crawl.
“Of course, no one in this neighborhood will care what happens to you. And when you are found having OD’d on Ambien, well, will anyone really be surprised?”
My thoughts are muddy and confused, but I need to come up with a plan, and fast. We continue up the stairs until we are in the master bathroom. My knees buckle, and I drop to the cold, tiled floor. She’s a blur in front of me, but I must stay conscious. I must keep her talking.
“You were pregnant,” I say, rolling the words out over my fat tongue.
Daisy winces. “Rory. That was his name. Rory.”
She bends down and pulls my shoes and socks off my feet.
“Rory,” I say.
“Yes. Rory.” She is pulling off my pants but pauses. “I lost him when I was more than seven months along. Paul had been fired from Overton, but you know all about that. We had to find him a new job, on top of moving out of our house. Those are two of the biggest stressors in life, did you know that?” She looks at me, unblinking, as if she expects an answer, and when she doesn’t get one, she kicks one of my legs. I can barely feel it. I wonder if I can muster the strength to tackle her and knock that gun out of her hand.
“Another woman might have acted differently. Divorced Paul. But I loved him so much.” Her voice breaks. “I did what I had to do for my family. Rory needed a father.”
She stands up and leans over the tub. Soon I hear the rushing sound of water pouring out of the spigot.
“When you told me Mark and Cole would be gone for the whole weekend, it felt a little too soon for all this. But once Dustin started sniffing around, I had no choice but to act. I got worried, but when I found out he sent you over to Susan’s, that was priceless. I knew hopping on her Wi-Fi would be a hoot.” She turns back to me and beams. “This is good. Once you’re unconscious, I’ll post your suicide note. I’ve already written it—you accept responsibility for everything. Maybe I’ll post it on Facebook, or maybe I’ll just leave it in your email drafts. I wish you could see
