The woman tugged at the knit fabric of her pants. “Why would you keep something this vicious around?”

Bree descended to teen-speak. “Uh, like for the blackberries?”

Renshaw snorted, then cursed again and sucked a scratch on the back of her hand.

Bree knew her from Fat Island, a show she hated but that Scott had loved. He’d taken pleasure in the way Temple tormented the contestants, boasted about his own fitness, and drooled over the vapid, bikini-clad psychiatrist who supposedly counseled them. “That is one hot shrink,” he’d said more than once. “If you had tits like hers, I’d be a happy man.”

Instead of telling him that if he had a shred of decency, she’d be a happy woman, she’d nursed her hurt in silence.

Finally free of the brambles, Temple gazed past Bree toward the cottage. “I’m looking for a friend.”

Bree was immediately on guard. “Friend?”

“Black hair. Tattoos. Chubby thighs.”

Temple could only be talking about Lucy—although Lucy had great legs—but Bree wasn’t giving out any information. “Chubby thighs?”

Temple climbed through the weeds toward the cottage, not waiting for an invitation. “A lot of women carry weight there. It’s so unnecessary.”

Bree followed her, both put off by her high-handed manner and curious. As Temple reached the yard, she took in the hives and the ripening tomatoes in the garden. She wore no makeup to hide the hollows under her eyes, and her hair, long and lustrous on-screen, was pulled into a haphazard ponytail. The muscles and tendons in her upper torso were too gristly for Bree’s taste, and her tight-fitting workout clothes clung to an unnaturally rippled abdomen. She looked better on television.

Temple examined the scratch on her hand. “She left a note at the house saying she was coming here. I have to talk to her.”

Lucy had mentioned a friend who was staying at the house, but she hadn’t offered any details, and Bree had forgotten about it. She’d certainly never imagined Lucy’s friend was Temple Renshaw.

Temple looked her square in the eye. “Is she around?”

Bree wasn’t good at standing up to assertive people, but she didn’t know whether Lucy wanted to see this woman or not. “There’s nobody here now but me.”

Temple shoved back a lock of dark hair that had escaped her ponytail. “Fine. I’ll wait.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

Temple ignored her. She crossed the yard and dropped down on the back step—the same place where Bree used to spend so much time.

Bree couldn’t throw her off the property physically, so she shrugged and echoed Toby. “Whatever.”