“Tinsley is the other half of the planning committee,” Mara sang, ushering all of us forward with a painted-on smile. “She decided to drive up early instead of flying; I told Rosalee, but I guess I forgot to mention it to the rest of you.”

Before anyone could say more, the door to the Leblanc-Landry mansion creaked open, allowing us to enter. There was no one waiting on the other side.

Chapter Seven

Bri

The sister-in-law

The house was stunning, with its classic and otherworldly design and its dark gothic interior. Honestly, I was impressed by all of it—Rosalee’s friend, Mara, had great taste, and had proven to be more outgoing and headstrong than my soon-to-be sister-in-law.

Even Mom looked impressed, and she had been decidedly tight-lipped since her faux pas at arrival, making fun of Rosalee’s ghoulish cousin in the window. In Mom’s defense, Tinsley did look like a ghost up there—like that creepy Carol Anne girl from Poltergeist, with her blank face and hand so desperately pressed to the glass…

Locking the door to my own personal bedroom suite, I was relieved to finally be away from the others, if only for a short while. Dinner will be served at seven, the hostess Delfina had announced within moments of our arrival, like a creepy, robotic butler from the Victorian ages.

I had just under half an hour to unpack, unwind, and mentally prepare myself for the weekend ahead.

As much as the house intrigued me, I was itching to get away from it, to find my way to Bourbon Street and order a mixed cocktail or two.

For now, I settled on a glass of water from the ensuite bathroom. Then I splashed my face and rubbed my eyes with a fluffy white towel. Looking at my own reflection in the dull yellow light of the vanity mirror, I could barely recognize myself. But that’s how it always was these days—twenty-one became twenty-five, and the next thing I knew I was celebrating my thirty-fifth birthday.

My eyes were puffy from the flight, and from lack of sleep the night before. My shoulders were stiff—stiffer than usual. The twist of my mouth I recognized from when I was desperate for a drink, or I needed my medication.

Back in the bedroom, I unloaded my suitcase, grateful when I found my prescription bottle for my anti-anxiety meds. I popped one, then popped an extra, swallowing the pills whole without water. Although I knew they took a while to take effect, the results felt immediate—my shoulders relaxed, and it seemed like I could breathe a little more easily. The last thing I needed was a drink; my doctor had warned me that mixing pills and alcohol was dangerous and potentially fatal. But, surely, a couple pills and a few glasses of wine never killed nobody…