Robert’s hand shook, but the gun stayed pointed at Mia’s chest. Tears had turned his eyes glassy, and a low whine caught in his mouth as his gaze flicked almost helplessly to Lacey’s face. Embarrassment for the man burned hot in Mia’s cheeks.

Lacey had done a number on him.

“See, what a good boy,” Lacey cooed, her pointed nails scraping along his jaw in a facsimile of petting. Goose bumps that had nothing to do with the cold pulled tight on Mia’s arms. “Now you’re going to stay right here, and keep the detective where she is, okay?”

Robert nodded but didn’t try to speak, and Lacey turned her full attention to Mia. She didn’t come closer, though. Instead, she hopped up onto the kitchen counter, just like she had in their interview.

Lacey wasn’t twitchy this time. Her body was held in complete control, and Mia realized just how deep her act went.

The pieces still didn’t all fit yet. But Mia knew that she’d been played.

Monroe hadn’t been the one to tell Cash about the pregnancy that summer. Lacey had. She was the only possibility. It hadn’t been Asher, because Cash went to confront him. And it certainly hadn’t been Mia.

That alone wouldn’t have been enough to set off alarm bells—Lacey could have been protecting her sister, or maybe she hadn’t known whom else to talk to so she went to Cash.

Except . . .

Except that Izzy said Lacey hadn’t known Monroe was pregnant when she’d questioned her. That Lacey hadn’t come right out and said Cash was lying about the baby, but she’d acted nervous.

“Was Monroe pregnant?” Mia asked now, simple curiosity driving the question at this point.

“Sweet Princess Monroe, pregnant at sixteen?” Lacey tipped her head back and laughed, rusted wind chimes. “Can you imagine?”

Mia tried to remember Monroe without all of the suggestions Lacey had planted getting in the way. She’d been funny. Self-deprecating. A little mischievous, but never unkind. At least that’s what Mia had thought before a few days ago.

“God, she was a prissy bitch, and you all worshipped her.” Lacey’s voice was threaded with bitterness, the tang of it metallic against Mia’s taste buds as she breathed it in.

“You killed her,” Mia said, watching for anything. A flicker of emotion. Regret. Grief. Anything.

And yet Lacey’s smile didn’t change. The dreamy quality of it would have Mia questioning Lacey’s sanity if not for the sharpness in her eyes.

“Uh-uh-uh, Detective.” Lacey wagged her finger at Mia. “I’m not a killer. How dare you throw around such slander.”

Mia closed her eyes, trying desperately to remember anything past the sharp slice of razor against skin. There was only darkness.