“Oh god.” Theresa’s face crumpled. I was surprised how upset she seemed. Had we just killed the professor-mentor image she’d held of Greg Hendricks all these years? Big deal.

I closed my eyes as if mustering up the words. “Jackie was obviously upset. Her husband was sleeping with their babysitter—”

Theresa flinched again.

“—and she lost her senses.”

Pia took a drag, knocking her ash into the fire, playing her part, too. “She was never a stable woman entirely, and this cracked it all open.”

“Jackie was terrible to Daphne at the end. Mean to her. Berated her.” I may have been embellishing a bit there, but what did it matter now? I had to give Theresa a secret, something that would make her feel included so she would feel loyal to us. So she would stay away from Maggie. “It took its toll on Daphne. We feel, in some ways, responsible. Perhaps if we could’ve stepped in earlier, or supported Daphne more, she wouldn’t have...done what she did.”

In the distance, a car’s engine roared. Tires skidded and squealed.

Theresa tucked her hair behind her ears. “So you think Jackie drove Daphne to jump?”

“Shh.” Bettina hissed sharply, gesturing out into the dark woods. Alice actually had tears in her eyes. She was always the better actress than Jackie. We all were.

“You can see why we don’t want reporters”—here I flashed quote marks—“poking into all this.”

Would Theresa understand? I hoped I hadn’t overestimated her desire to be one of us, to be a good mother and a good friend.

I pushed on. “This is why we don’t want Maggie meddling. God forbid she digs up something. Think what it would do to Ellen. To our community.” As I leaned in toward her, I could feel the heat of the fire on my leg. “Theresa, you have to keep this secret. It’s just better for everyone if Maggie’s story goes away.”

Halloween, Present Day

HALLOWEEN, PRESENT DAY

THIRTY-SIX

Kendra

The fox costume may have been risqué, but I rocked it.

Paul was making coffee in the kitchen. He was still wearing his flannel pajama pants, working the Keurig while reading the newspaper. On the counter sat piles of items to donate. One of his unemployment projects was to organize and clean out our basement, and he’d been going at it full-steam for the past week. My husband, somewhat useful again.

I stood in the doorway, tall. Shoulders back, chin out, hands on hips, waiting for him to turn around and notice me.

When he did, he did a double take.

I smiled coyly. “What do you think?” I gestured to my costume, a fitted orange jumpsuit with white fur for the belly and knee-high boots.