Incensed, Rebecca said in a low, measured voice, “You killed her.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” Sophia aimed straight at Rebecca. “And you, sister, are next!”

“No! Sophia, don’t!”

At that, her attacker gave off a disgusted laugh. “Sophia?” she said and then in a snarky falsetto voice repeated Megan’s desperate request. “No, Sophia, don’t!” Another horrid laugh. “Are you fucking stupid? You really still think I’m Sophia?”

Rebecca didn’t understand, and she was slowly sliding down the hill.

“I’m her damned twin. How about that. Julia. Without the wig and the fat suit.”

What? There were two of them? What was this monster trying to tell her?

“Sophia, she could never pull this off. I probably shouldn’t have brought her into it in the first place.”

“Pulled what off?”

“Oh, you poor pathetic little moron,” Julia said, still aiming straight at Rebecca. “Don’t you get it. Sophia . . . well, no, I’m going to marry James!”

“Marry him?” Rebecca repeated, still stunned and trying to piece it all together.

“Of course.”

“For his money.”

“Why else?” She was shaking her head at how pathetic she thought Rebecca was, how dense. “That’s why I had to get rid of Megan. She was in the way, and then that Charity woman started nosing around, and Willow too, always skulking through the hallways like a damned zombie.”

“You killed them all,” Rebecca said, a lump filling in her throat. “You didn’t have to—”

“Of course I did!” Julia snapped. “Dead women tell no tales. Right?” Again she lined up her shot, the barrel of the gun sighted straight at Rebecca. “You’re looking at the next Mrs. James Cahill.”

“I’m looking at a murdering bitch,” Rebecca said, horrified. She couldn’t let Julia get away with it! But what could she do?

“Where’s Sophia?”

“Here,” Julia said with a knowing smile.

“You killed your own sister?”

“Not yet. But . . .” Julia gave a shrug. Her lips twisted in a malignant, self-satisfied grin that chilled Rebecca to the bone.

“You’re a monster!” she yelled.

“And you’re dead!” With that, Julia fired.

* * *

The sound of a gunshot echoed through the night.

“Fuck!” James pounded the steering wheel with his fist and trod hard on the accelerator.

Wheels spinning, his Explorer tore up the winding lane, its headlights burning bright against the white landscape. James’s heart was in his throat. He was too late.

Who was shooting?

Sophia?

Or was she the victim?

What about the driver of the other car?

The trees went by in a blur as he followed the tracks. What would he find? Who would he find? Was someone injured? Or worse?