Chapters (57)
- Cover
- About the Author
- Part One
- Claudine
- Zara
- Henry
- Zara
- Zara
- Claudine
- Henry
- Zara
- Claudine
- Henry
- Zara
- Claudine
- Henry
- Part Two
- Claudine
- Henry
- Claudine
- Henry
- Claudine
- Henry
- Part Three
- Zara
- Claudine
- Henry
- Zara
- Claudine
- Zara
- Henry
- Part Four
- Claudine
- Henry
- Claudine
- Henry
- Claudine
- Henry
- Part Five
- Claudine
- Henry
- Henry
- Zara
- Zara
- Claudine
- Henry
- Claudine
- Zara
- Claudine
- Henry
- Claudine
- Henry
- Claudine
- Henry
- Claudine
- Zara
- THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING
A million thoughts flooded through her. She’d whip up some tears and run back into the party. She’d struggle to get the words out. Bartender … slammed me … Henry … tried to stop him … heart attack … grabbed the knife … stabbed him … The investigation would be quick. Unlike the Miller murders, they had witnesses. The party guests. They would believe her. It might take a little while for the house to sell, to escape another blemish of tragedy, but eventually it would. People always forgot. Even though Zara was a lost cause, Claudine would still get notoriety. She’d be known as a fighter, a survivor. Maybe she’d appear on talk shows, get a book deal, go on the lecture circuit. She’d be bigger than ever. She’d have to change the stationery and the sign on the office door. What would she call it? Not Calhoun Realty. Something more ambitious. The Calhoun Agency. That was better. Or maybe the Calhoun Company. The alliteration was a nice touch—
Hit from behind, Claudine dropped to the ground.
Zara stood over her body, breathless. She was holding the cowboy statue she’d hit her with. Already there was a light dusting of snow on Henry who lay by her side. They’d fallen in a V shape, their hands reaching for each other’s but not touching. Pip scurried over and sniffed them. Pomeranians aren’t known to spontaneously howl, but the dog tipped her tiny face up to the sky and let out a sorrowful song.
Zara
Listen, I don’t consider myself a hero, but I know a lot of people do.
I’d been looking for the bartender, to say goodbye. Fine, to slip him my number. That’s the only reason I went out there. From the living room, none of us could see Claudine and Henry and Thomas arguing. The snow was coming down too hard. And you couldn’t hear them, either, thanks to the soundproof triple-paned picture windows Henry had originally installed in the house. Plus there was so much commotion about the extra present and everyone deciding what to do next. People were pretty tipsy. They all started caroling, even gathering around the piano and singing “Deck the Halls.”