Good as Dead(32)

I said a silent apology to Grandma as I signed the consignment contract. If she didn’t want me to sell it, maybe she could gather some of her supernatural friends and make something happen for my husband.

I slid the contract back across the counter, then retracted my shaking hands.

That diamond had been my safety net.

And now I had none.





CHAPTER 17


I wanted to hate her.

But when I was sitting across from her in her Martha Stewart–perfect kitchen, eating scones fresh from her gleaming Bosch oven, and drinking espresso pressed from her top-line Breville, it suddenly became impossible. Because I realized, if my husband were working, I would buy those things, too. Perhaps we have more in common than I’d thought?

“I’m really jealous of your house,” I blurted, because keeping it in was harder than just saying it. “It’s absolutely perfect.” I meant it as a compliment, but when I said it, she looked kind of stressed out.

“It’s too much,” she said. “What do I need with a table for twelve?” she added, indicating the textured, hand-carved, reclaimed barnwood table with matching high-back chairs. Her disdain for her Proven?al-perfect dining set confused me. I would have died for a dining room like hers. Maybe she isn’t much like me after all?

“I’m guessing you moved from a smaller place?” I probed. The Connecticut brick Colonial I grew up in had a table that could seat sixteen. We rarely used it, but my sisters and I still had to dust the chandelier and polish the silver at least twice a year.

She quickly pivoted. “Sorry. I’m just not used to it,” she said, avoiding the question. “Savannah loves it here, I did it for her. So she could go to a good school.” Aha! She had not only moved from a smaller place, but also a lesser neighborhood. I suddenly felt like my husband, collecting facts to find the story. My theory of the rich boyfriend scooping her out of poverty was gaining traction. How else could she possibly have gone from rags to riches in a few short months?

“We moved here for the schools, too,” I said to show some solidarity. “Where was she before?” I asked, being careful to make it about Savannah so she didn’t feel like I was prying into her past.

“Her dad worked at the courthouse in Van Nuys, so we lived near there,” she said. I tried to imagine what a residence in Van Nuys might look like. All I knew was that they had a lot of car dealerships there. I had gone to one when we were shopping for my Lexus. “She was at the local high school,” Holly added. “It was not ideal.”

Her face flickered with sadness, and for a moment I thought she might cry. I suddenly felt terrible. My new neighbor invited me over for homemade scones, and I was grilling her like a two-bit detective. What kind of heartless bitch have I become? I was only picking her life apart because I was unhappy with mine. So she got a new boyfriend who swept her out of poverty to live in a pretty house. Lucky her!

I quickly changed gears. “We should have a dinner party!” I said brightly. “Put that table to good use. I’ll make a big pot of spaghetti, you make the dessert, we can celebrate your beautiful new home.” She seemed unsure so I added, “I’d love for my girls to meet Savannah. Having a babysitter across the street would be a godsend.” I didn’t have much use for a babysitter, since Andy and I never went out. But it was a nice idea in theory.

“You want to do a party here?” Holly asked, and I suddenly realized inviting my whole family over to her house was terribly presumptuous.

I quickly backtracked. “Or we’d be happy to have you both over, that’s probably easier.”

“No,” she said, “I think having a party here would be nice.” And she smiled a little, which made me smile, too.

“We’ll do it together! You don’t have to make everything!” I assured her. I imagined us cooking together in her glorious kitchen. Everything looked so sparklingly new.

As I played the fantasy in my mind, she said something that surprised me. “I’ve never had a friend like you, Libby.” I suddenly felt self-conscious. Was I too pushy? As I wondered what she meant by that, she added, “My old neighbors just kind of kept to themselves, y’know? I figured it would be even more like that here, but you’re like the nicest person I’ve ever met.”

I felt a flash of shame. Just a few short minutes ago I was trying to convince my husband she was a murderer, and here she was calling me nice? I was the opposite of nice, but in that moment, I vowed to rise to her opinion of me.

“You’re the one hosting!” I countered. “But I’ll make my husband do the dishes,” I assured her, then tried to lighten the mood with a joke. “You don’t want him cooking anything, trust me. The hardest recipe he can handle is microwave popcorn, and he still burns half the kernels.” She laughed, and a little snowflake of scone popped out of her mouth.

“Oh! I just spit on you!” she exclaimed, covering her mouth. I waved my hand in the air to assure her I barely noticed.

“I have a four-year-old, I’m used to getting spit on,” I joked. I took a bite of my scone, then relaxed back in my chair.

I had never had a friend like Holly Kendrick either.

And I was intrigued by where our budding friendship might go.





JACK