“Someone broke into the library. We have to get down there.”
“If you think I’m going to run into the library to stop someone from stealing the
“The robber’s gone. Lasha wants us down there to inventory what’s stolen.” I became more agitated, wringing my hands and pacing. I tired to keep my voice low. I didn’t want to wake Bree up.
“The robber?” Bobby asked in disbelief. “Is it time to circle the wagons?”
“The thief, burglar, perp, whatever you want to call him.”
“Why do you automatically assume the robber’s a man? I think I’ll have to write women’s liberation about you.” Bobby tsked.
“We have to take inventory right away so the police can find the stuff before it goes on the black market.” My story sounded ridiculous to my own ears, but I would wait to tell Bobby the truth after I got him out of the house, after he was safe.
Bobby chortled. “Forget women’s lib. Watch out thriller authors, we have a new espionage writer in town.”
“Come on,” I pleaded, pacing the room.
Bobby mellowed at my sincerity. “If it’s that important . . .”
“It is. It is.”
“Just let me go to the bedroom and change.” He rose from the couch.
“No!”
“India,” he warned.
“I mean, no, you look fine. It’s in the middle of the night and everything, I bet half the people there will be in their pjs.”
“You’re not.”
“Yes, I am.” I lied. “I always sleep in this outfit. It’s very comfortable.”
Bobby became suspicious. “If Lasha wanted me so badly at the library, why didn’t she call me?”
“She thought it would be easier coming from me.”
Bobby wasn’t buying. “Let me call her.” Bobby pulled his tiny cell phone out of his robe pocket.
“No.”
He glared at me. “What the hell is going on?”
I stepped closer to him and he backed away. “Okay, I lied. The library’s fine.” I seized his arm. “But we have to leave your house. Just trust me, please.”
He jerked his arm away from me. “Why?”
“It’s Bree, Bobby.”
“What about her?”
“She’s not who you think she is.”
Bobby glared at me. “You’ve had it in for her since day one.”
“I haven’t. Bobby she—”
“She’s having such a horrible time here, and you’re like everybody else, tearing her down.”
“Who tore her down, Bobby?” I whispered.
He threw up his hands. “Everyone. All she tries to do is help her mother and everyone else. She did everything for Olivia’s wedding.”
“You don’t understand.”
He ignored me. “At least I’m able to help her.”
“Help her how?”
“A loan. It’s the least I can do so she can afford a better nursing home for her mother. Can’t you leave Bree alone? She’s leaving tomorrow to move her mom.”
“Bobby, listen to me. Bree killed Olivia.”
“What? How can you say that?” He shoved me. I collided with the sofa and sat down hard.
“Please, just step outside with me and I’ll tell you everything. Trust—”
“Bobby?” Bree stood in the hallway, outlined by the bathroom’s dim nightlight. She wore one of Bobby’s tweed blazers over her nightgown. She buried her hands deep into the jacket pockets.
Bobby rushed to her side. “India claims you had something to do with Olivia’s death.”
Bree’s right hand flashed out of her pocket. In the low light I saw the unmistakable glimmer of metal.
“Bobby!” I screamed, jumping up from the sofa.
Bree whacked Bobby on the back of the head, and he crumpled onto the carpeted floor. Then she turned the gun on me. It was the same gun that she’d claimed she needed for protection. It was small and fit snugly in her hand, but I didn’t doubt that the danger it presented was real, no matter the size.
Why hadn’t I warned Bobby about the gun? I thought frantically. Why had I made up that crazy story about the robbery at the library? Maybe if I had told the truth right away, Bobby and I would be outside now; we would be safe. But I knew as infatuated as Bobby was with Bree, had I told the truth from the beginning, he wouldn’t have believed me.
I flopped back onto the couch. Bree stepped over Bobby.
I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed, Please, don’t let him be dead. Please, don’t let him be dead.
I opened my eyes and saw Bree pointing the tiny gun at my chest. “Can I check on Bobby, please? If you cared about him at all, you’d at least make sure he’s breathing.”
Bree glanced at Bobby. Her right arm shook, which was little comfort. “Stay there!” Bree stepped over to Bobby and felt his wrist. “He’s fine. He’ll be fine.” Her eyes watered.
I silently agreed. Bobby’s head was made of granite.
Bree stepped in front of me again, her entire body quivering.
I couldn’t help myself. “Were you going to take Bobby’s money and run?”
“No. Bobby gave me a loan. I’ll pay every cent back. I need the money. My mother . . .” She began to cry, but the gun’s aim did not falter.
“What happened?” I asked. I hoped my voice sounded gentle, that it didn’t betray the terror that I felt.
“You’d understand, wouldn’t you?” she whispered to herself. More loudly, “Olivia has . . . had. . . everything. Great looks, great job, great fiancé, great life.”
“Bree, I’ve known Olivia my entire life. I understand,” I soothed. Please, don’t let her shoot me. Please, don’t let her shoot. I’ll be more respectful to my parents. Okay, I’ll
Bree broke into my thoughts. “By the time I started college and met Olivia, my mother had had MS for ten years.” She began to relax as she told the story. “And in my freshman year of college, Mom moved to a nursing home, the best one we could afford with a small inheritance from my grandparents. Olivia was there for me the entire time. She was so supportive.” Tears slipped down her flawless cheeks. “She told me that if I ever needed help, she’d be there.” The gun began to droop in her hand. I watched it fall millimeter by millimeter. Bree noticed the oversight and retrained the gun on my chest.
“After college, Olivia got a job at Kirk’s gym as a physical therapist. Kirk was planning to franchise it when he and Olivia started dating.” She gave a short, bitter laugh. “My mom was worse, and we were running out of money. Mom was awarded disability insurance, but she had worked odd jobs all her life, cleaning, waitressing, serving people like Olivia’s family. She has no pension, no retirement. With my teaching salary, I couldn’t keep her in the nursing home. They were threatening to kick her out. The only place I could barely afford was . . . was . . . not acceptable.”
“You asked Olivia for help,” I whispered.
“Yes. Wouldn’t you? I was desperate. And Olivia said she would. She said that after she and Kirk were married, we’d work out a loan.” Bree paced back and forth on Bobby’s Navajo rug, trampling the pipes and players.
“She backed out of the promise.”
“Of course, she backed out. I’d been her lapdog for weeks, afraid that at any moment she’d change her mind.” Bree mimicked Olivia’s voice, “ ‘Bree, could you be a dear and call the florist for me?’ ‘Bree, honey, could you wait for the delivery man to drop off our washer and dryer on Thursday. He’ll be there between eight and five?’ And ‘Could you spend the week in Ohio with me to prepare for the wedding? I really need your help.’ I did
