“Fine,” Kate said. “But once you have the evidence, he’s gone. I don’t care how far back our families go.”

Blaire cleared her throat. “I think Gordon is a creep, but I don’t see what he would gain by killing Lily. Besides, if he’s obsessed with Kate, why would he want to hurt her? It seems more likely he’d go after Simon.”

Anderson gave her an appraising look. “You don’t know what kind of sick logic people have. Just stay away from him. Both of you.”

Blaire wanted to bring up Simon, but she knew it wasn’t the time. She chose her words carefully. “What about Sabrina? She’s an old family friend of Simon’s, right, Kate?” She looked at Kate. “She’s made it clear you’re not her favorite person.”

Color rose to Kate’s face, and Blaire couldn’t tell if she was embarrassed or angry. “I don’t know,” Kate began. “I mean . . .” No one spoke as the implication filled the air. Kate turned to look at Anderson. “I’ve told you a little about her. Again, I’m not sure why she’d go after my mother.” She fidgeted in her chair before she spoke again. “I’m wondering . . .” She stopped, and Anderson gave her a questioning look.

“There was a car accident the summer of my junior year in college. We’d been at a party.” Kate hung her head. “My boyfriend was killed.” She looked up at Anderson. “Anyway, I’ve felt like his parents always blamed me. They came to Mother’s funeral. I was surprised they were there. They live a couple hours away now, in Pennsylvania. Do you think they could have something to do with this, that they might want revenge?”

“You said this happened when you were in college?”

“Yes.”

“That was what? Fifteen or more years ago?”

Kate nodded.

“It’s highly unlikely someone would wait so long to exact punishment, but if you give me their names, I’ll check it out. I’ll let you know if I think you have cause for concern.” He stared back at Kate, his expression inscrutable. “I’m glad you told me about them, because you never know.”

A chill went through Blaire.

“That’s the problem. I’m beginning to trust no one and think everyone is possibly the murderer,” Kate said, clearly exasperated and exhausted.

Anderson nodded slowly. “Everyone is.”

13

After Anderson left, Kate tossed and turned, finally falling asleep a little past midnight. Even the Valium wasn’t helping. And then the dream came back. She was driving up, up, up to a steep bridge that became almost vertical, her nausea growing the higher the car went. Then she reached the top, and the car perched precariously, tipping back and forth until it was propelled forward and she was plummeting, faster and faster, toward the hard pavement.