JULIE
It feels so strange to be sitting in Maria’s kitchen after everything that’s happened.
April is in jail. In jail. I still can’t wrap my head around that one. When I texted her with that burner phone months ago, I never thought this would be the outcome. Of course, it’s not because of that phone. It’s her own damn fault.
Maria is checking on something in the oven. She looks pretty today. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail. And her eyes look less haunted than they have for the last couple of weeks. You almost can’t see the circles under them anymore.
“Two more minutes,” Maria announces.
“I can’t wait,” I say. Although that’s a lie. The last time I tried Maria’s cookies, they tasted like hockey pucks. I figure I’ll take one bite to be polite.
Maria slides into the seat next to me at the kitchen table. “I still can’t believe you left Keith.”
“It’s the best decision I ever made.” I take a sip of my coffee. “And I’ve got my resume out there. I can’t wait to get back to work.”
“So no regrets?” “Absolutely none.”
Just the opposite. It’s like being free from shackles. And Keith decided to let me stay in the house, so I didn’t even have to move. Although I will eventually. I’ll be as relieved to get rid of our ridiculously extravagant house as I was to get rid of Keith.
“I’ve got to get Sean to go back to work,” Maria says. “He’s so scared to leave me alone after what happened.”
I can’t blame him. But with April in jail, we’re safe. “I think,” I say, “I’m done with men for a while.”
A tiny smile plays on Maria’s lips. “Even that cute detective I saw checking on you the other day?”
Riley did come by yesterday. And the day before that. And so forth. He’s been checking on me regularly since the whole thing happened. He comes in, we chat for a little while, then he leaves. Nothing has happened. Nothing is going to happen—I’m not ready for anything like that now. Not yet. But it’s nice to know a detective is looking out for me.
The timer goes off. Maria leaps up from her seat and pulls the tray of cookies out of the oven. They don’t look too bad. They’re not black like her last batch.
“That looks promising,” I say. “It’s April’s recipe.”
We exchange looks. We have made a pact not to discuss April anymore, but we break the pact on a daily basis. It’s hard not to talk about her. The woman murdered three people. She got her own mother locked up. How could we not talk about that?
I’ve only seen Elliot a couple of times since April was arrested. He looked awful. He mumbled something about going to stay with his parents for a little while, and also he’s selling the house. I can’t blame him. I don’t think he intends to stick by her through this whole thing, but you never know. They do have a child together.
“I wonder how she’s doing in prison,” Maria murmurs. “She hates orange,” I say.
“I’m sure that’s not the worst part about being locked up.”
“You want to hear the crazy part.” I lower my voice. “Riley told me she’s still insisting she didn’t kill Brianna. I mean, it’s not like she’s cooperating. But she confessed to killing Courtney Burns. Why wouldn’t she admit to killing Brianna? What’s the point of lying about it?”
“Well…” Maria sits back down next to me. “Maybe she didn’t kill Brianna.”
“Of course she did! I told you, Brianna said she was following her.
Then an hour later, she was dead.”
“Right.” Maria nods. “But you told me it was a white SUV that was following her. I mean, think about how many white SUVs there are out there. Everyone has one. Even me.”
My eyes meet Maria. It’s true—on a dark night, nobody could tell the difference between Maria’s old, beat-up white car and April’s shiny new SUV. If Maria had been the one following Brianna, she never would have known the difference. In the dark, it would’ve looked exactly the same.
But why would Maria kill Brianna? She had no motive. The only possible reason she could’ve done it is because of the way April threw herself at Sean. Revenge. And a way to get rid of April. But God, nobody is that diabolical.
Are they?
Maria winks at me. “Let’s try the cookies.”
She stands up and grabs a couple of plates from the counter over the sink. She’s humming a little tune to herself. She drops a couple of cookies on a white ceramic plate and slides it across the kitchen table to me.
“Go ahead,” she says. “I promise. They won’t be disgusting.”
I feel her eyes on me as I pick up one of the cookies and take a bite.
It’s delicious.
Just as good as April’s.
