When we walked into my new room, I was so excited that I couldn’t even care about Mrs. Dartmouth. It wasn’t as nice as my room at home, obviously, but it was really pretty and so cozy and had twin beds so I could have a friend spend the night—if any of my friends’ moms would let them spend the night at the mommune, that is. Which I kind of doubted. I was only a kid, and even I had heard that Julie and Grace were Alice’s murder accomplices, that they’d plotted to kill her husband so they could all live at the big beach house together.

“Darling,” Alice said, “your mom and I grabbed your things from the hotel before we picked you up. Let’s get your clothes in the washing machine—including that uniform you have on. You can borrow something of mine.”

Three days ago, I wouldn’t have had a choice. But, as annoying as staying with my grandparents was, they did get us stocked up on clothes. Well, in a minimal way, at least. I thought of my closet down the street overflowing with beautiful dresses and cute shoes and my favorite jeans, and let out a little sigh. I missed them. But Mom kept reassuring me that we would get them back soon.

I didn’t answer, which Alice must have taken as a yes because she said, “Let’s go to my room and get you two something to put on. I’m about to throw a load in right now.”

“Oh,” Mom stuttered, “no, don’t worry. You don’t have to do our laundry. We can do it.”

Alice patted her hand. “It’s not your week to do laundry.”

A question formed on Mom’s face.

“We’ll get you all up to speed over the next few days.”

There was a tap at the door, and Julie, now in sweats instead of that pool-water-drenched suit, leaned against the doorway. “I just wanted to clear the air,” she said.

“Iris, let’s go get that dress,” Alice said.

Julie shook her head. “No, Iris needs to hear this too.”

Mom crossed her arms.

Julie pointed vaguely toward the front of the house. “Out there, I’m a reporter. In here, we’re friends, co-moms, a weird little family. Anything you say in here about Bill or your life or anything is forgotten.”

Mom looked skeptical.

“I promise you, Charlotte,” Julie said. “You too, Iris. I have a very firm separation between my work and my life.”

Mom looked at Alice, who nodded encouragingly.

Mom bit her lip then said, “Okay. Well, I appreciate your saying that. Because this obviously wouldn’t work if someone writing about my life was living it alongside me.”

Julie nodded. “Obviously not.”

“You can trust her,” Alice said.

“I would like to discuss a few things with you,” Mom said to Julie.