Annabelle was still pouting, but she nodded and took Hilda’s hand.

Ten minutes later Blaire was back.

“What did Anderson want to know?” Kate asked.

“He was just verifying my whereabouts the night Lily was killed. I gave him the number of my doorman and the names of my neighbors. He also asked if you and Simon seemed happy.”

Kate raised her eyebrows. She wondered briefly if Blaire had mentioned her feelings about Simon to Anderson.

“I told him we hadn’t been in touch for a while, so I didn’t know. I’m sure he’s just looking at every angle. But what happened before? You looked like you’d just seen a ghost when I came into the hall,” Blaire said gently.

Kate dropped into a chair, worn out by the stress. “I guess Selby left a while ago?”

“Yeah. She didn’t want to be late for her massage. Is everything okay?” The concern was evident in Blaire’s voice.

Kate took a minute to think. Could she tell Blaire what was going on? There’d been a time when she wouldn’t have hesitated. When they were young, Kate had no secrets from her. Before Blaire, Kate’s confidante had been her diary. Bad moods and problems were frowned upon in her home, when she was growing up. Or at least they were kept hidden. Whenever Kate was upset, Lily had always comforted her—at least in Lily’s own way. After a hug and some kind words, she never failed to remind Kate of how incredibly fortunate she was, that she should be thankful for all she had, that complaining or getting upset at her small problems was a sign of ingratitude. When Blaire came along, things had changed. Blaire had told Kate about her absent mother, indifferent father, and hated stepmother. She shared her insecurities and anxieties, and slowly, slowly, Kate opened up too. She had felt like a bird being set free from its cage, grateful to finally have someone tell her it was all right to be sad or angry or however else she felt for as long as she felt. It would be such a relief to confide in her, to let it all out. It took only a few seconds for her to decide to ignore Anderson’s order of secrecy and plunge ahead. “Not a ghost,” she finally said, “but something equally terrifying. A message from the killer.”

Blaire’s eyes widened in surprise. “Lily’s killer contacted you?”

From there, it came out in a rush. The threatening text the night of the funeral, the mice in her bathroom sink.

“And just now he sent three dead blackbirds on a skewer with the nursery rhyme ‘Sing a Song of Sixpence.’”

Blaire stared at her, unblinking, for a moment. “That’s absolutely horrible! What do they think it means?”

Kate shook her head. “They don’t seem to have any idea.”

“Well, what’s the plan?”