Maura’s eyes go wide as she puts together the pieces. “Oh my. Thank God you’re safe. And where is Ben now, then?”

“He got cut on some rebar and had to go to the hospital. Then it’s off to jail, I hope.” I take a long draw of coffee, mouth puckering as I eye the sugar bowl with regret.

“And can you believe he used you for his alibi?” I add. “Asshole.”

I pull my phone from my clutch, find the battery at 4 percent. There’s a new text from Bronte.

Call me in the morning. Hugs, friend.

I smile to myself. At least I have some friends. We’ll face the shitstorm sure to come together. And, God, I owe Gabriel a massive apology.

My eyes catch on Bronte’s previous message. The one that had stopped my heart.

Ben told Amber’s dad he was with your grandmother. Says Maura confirmed it.

That’s funny. I turn to my grandmother. “Why did you confirm it with the sheriff? Say Ben was with you if he wasn’t?”

“What do you mean?” Maura bats her long lashes in confusion.

There’s a pulse of knowing that I feel in my bones: Fake.

My grandmother is lying.

I’m not safe. This isn’t home.

My phone is at 2 percent now, battery icon blinking an angry red. Still in the text chain from Bronte, I swipe my thumb over H, then E, and am going for the L when the screen goes black.

Cold fear invades my body; I peer over at my grandmother, find her quietly sipping her coffee, simply watching me. Waiting.

My mind races. She lied for Ben. Her intern. Or her protégé? Maura was close in Caroline’s orbit. Second runner-up. Discovered her body. Flirted with Joe. Did more with Joe? He beyond implied as much to me.

The photo from the newspaper archive. Maura worked at the hospital right alongside Grace. I can see her plucking a vial of insulin from a nurse’s cart, slipping it into the pocket of her red-and-white striped apron. Jamming a needle into Caroline’s stomach, waiting for her to go limp before finishing her off with both hands around her neck.

My grandmother, the murderer.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

“Caroline” is all I have to say, scarcely a whisper.

She smiles.

“I’m proud of you, Celia. Whip-smart. Smarter than the rest of these slow fuckers. You figured out not only Benjamin, but me. Fifty-two years, and you’re the first one.” She goes from beaming to a frown. “I cannot believe that fuckboy blew it for me,” she mutters, almost to herself. “But at least it’s you. My darling granddaughter.”