Kate shrugged. “It’s okay. I mean, I’m getting a little old for the mermaids. I’ve been asking my mom to get me a new comforter, but she keeps forgetting.”
Blaire was stunned. Kate had all this at her fingertips, and she was complaining about a stupid bedspread? Before she could say anything, Kate grabbed her hand.
“You haven’t seen yours yet.” Kate’s eyes had shone with excitement.
“Mine?”
“Come on.” She’d pulled Blaire to the room across from hers and pointed to the name above the bed—it read “Blaire” in glittering sea glass.
Blaire hadn’t been able to speak, hadn’t known what to think or how to feel. No one had ever done anything so generous and kind for her before.
“Do you like it? My mother came down last week and took care of it.”
She’d run over to the window and pushed the curtain aside, a wave of disappointment settling over her. Of course it wouldn’t have an ocean view—it was across from Kate’s room, so it faced the front. She hid her disappointment and gave Kate a forced smile. “I love it.”
“I’m glad. Course, we’ll probably both sleep in the same room anyhow, so we can talk all night.”
And she had been right. They’d taken turns in each other’s rooms, lying there in the dark, spilling all their secrets. Blaire hadn’t really needed her own room, but Lily, wise woman that she was, had known that having it would make all the difference to her. Blaire spent every following summer with them at the beach—until the summer of Kate and Simon’s wedding. She wondered if they still had the beach house, if Kate carried on the tradition with Annabelle.
Selby stood up and pecked Kate on the cheek.
“I guess I’ll go now. Remember—whatever you need, I’m here for you.” Selby grabbed her handbag. Blaire recognized the Fendi floral design. The cheerful flowers didn’t suit Selby’s personality at all, Blaire thought. She’d have pegged Selby as more of a Traviata fan, decidedly in black or dark green, holding it over her arm like the Queen.
“I’ll walk you out,” Kate said. She looked at Blaire. “Do you mind staying with Annabelle a sec?”
“Love to,” Blaire answered, and then turned to Annabelle. “Would you like me to finish your story?”
The little girl nodded and handed her The Giving Tree.
“It’s one of my favorites,” Blaire said. They sat together at the table, and she began to read. Annabelle had one arm around Sunny the unicorn. She was an adorable child, with big brown eyes and a beautiful smile. She had a sweetness to her that reminded Blaire of Lily. What a shame that Lily wouldn’t see her grow up.
“Auntie Blaire, read!” Annabelle demanded.
“Sorry, sweetie.”
Selby came rushing back into the room with a frown on her face. “I don’t know what’s going on, but something is very wrong.”
“What are you talking about?” Blaire asked as she readjusted Annabelle in her lap.
“The police came to the door with a package,” Selby said. “They’re with Kate and Simon.” She crossed her arms in front of her. “I’d stay, but I have a massage booked.”
“You don’t want to miss that,” Blaire said.
Selby glared at her. “Maybe I should cancel it. I’m Kate’s best friend. She needs me.”
Why couldn’t Selby give it a rest? They weren’t in high school any longer. Blaire felt herself getting angry but took a deep breath, determined not to say anything she’d regret. She gently twisted a lock of Annabelle’s hair around her finger and continued to stare at Selby, then said in a neutral voice, “I’m here. Go to your appointment. Kate will be fine.”
Selby’s face turned red. “Why did you come back? Didn’t you cause enough trouble before her wedding?”
Was she serious? Their friend’s mother had just been murdered, and all she could do was dredge up the past? Blaire let her anger bubble to the surface. Moving Annabelle from her lap, she got up and stood close to Selby, whispering so Annabelle couldn’t hear.
“What’s the matter with you? Lily is dead, and Kate needs all the support she can get. This isn’t the time for your petty insecurities.”
Obviously flustered, Selby opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
“Maybe it’s time for you to go,” Blaire said. “You clearly need to let out some of that tension.”
Glaring at her, Selby grabbed her purse and stomped away.
7
Kate tapped on her husband’s office door, which was slightly ajar. “Simon, the detective needs to speak with us.”
Simon looked up from his computer and ran a hand through his hair as she walked in with the detective. “What is it? Have they arrested someone?”
“No, sir,” Anderson replied from behind Kate. “But a box has been delivered.”
“From where?” Simon’s tone was impatient. “What’s in it?”
Anderson entered the study as Kate eyed the package with dread. She put a hand on her belly, the all-too-familiar churning in her stomach making her dizzy. She wanted to run from the room before they even opened it.
“Please,” Simon said. “Sit down.”
Anderson set the box squarely on Simon’s desk, and Kate noticed that its packing tape had been sliced through. “I’ve already seen what’s inside. But I want you both to take a look.”
“Yes, of course,” Simon said, rising out of his seat.
“Just look, don’t touch it, please,” the detective instructed.
As he removed the top, Kate let out a gasp, stepping back in revulsion, her hand over her mouth. Three small black birds in a row—pierced by a metal skewer, all with their throats slit.
“What kind of sick bastard is doing this?” Simon roared, pushing the box toward Detective Anderson.
“These birds were most likely purchased from a pet store, just as the mice were,” Anderson said. “They’re parakeets, but they’ve been spray-painted black.”
Kate felt the blood pulsing in her neck and shrank back. Her whole body shook as terror turned to rage, exploding inside her. She looked at Anderson. “Why didn’t you warn us? To deliberately shock us? To see what our reactions would be?” Something else suddenly dawned on her. “Do you think we’re hiding something from you?”
There was no regret in Anderson’s eyes, only suspicion. “It’s procedure,” he said evenly. “Do you have any idea who might be doing this?”
“Of course not.”
He replaced the box lid, took a plastic sleeve from his folder, and handed it to Kate. “This was on top of the birds.” Inside the plastic was a sheet of plain white paper, with the same typeface as the other note.
Sing a song of sixpence
a pocket full of rye
3 little blackbirds
simply had to die
When the box is opened
The birds no longer sing
Wasn’t that a pretty gift
For someone to bring?
“These morbid nursery rhymes,” Kate whispered. She handed it to Simon, the words reverberating in her mind in a singsong. She doubled over, a wave of dizziness making her lean on the desk in front of her.