Page 96 of The Roommate Lie

Can’t think of anything else for that scene, Blythe?

Did I really say that to him? Out loud?

I thought we were on the same page, but Charlie looked stunned when that kiss ended, his face full of regret, and we weren’t on the same page at all. I must’ve seemed so desperate for him to take things as far as he did. So cringeworthy. Given how hard I threw myself at him, I might never leave this guest room again…until I go home on Wednesday morning.

Less than two days. I have to live in this room forless than two days. That seems totally doable—there’s a bathroom in hereand everything—but then the doorbell rings. Muriel’s friendly voice echoes downstairs, and curiosity has always been my biggest weakness.It’s time to face the music.

Charlie is in the dining room with everyone else when I reach them. He looks cuter than he should, his dark hair slightly rumpled and his tattooed arms flexed as he sets Muriel’s heavy canvas bag on the table—being hot and helpful like always. That man is the sweetest possible bad boy; that’s what’s so irresistible about him. Good manners and harmless fun laced with dangerous glances. And that rare mix ticks all my boxes.

I avoid his gaze and keep my focus on Muriel. Her bag is packed to the brim, and she smooths the straps out of the way before glancing up. There’s a rolling pin inside, along with a jumble of ingredients like flour, sugar, and a few pints of fresh strawberries. Before she gets down to business, she grabs something from the bottom of her bag and holds it up.

Cookie’s stuffed bee.

It’s the original one, not the new bee Lydia bought a few days ago. It’s well-loved and well-worn, and Cookie howls in delight as he races over to claim his prize.

After she hands it to him, Muriel gives the rest of us a look. “I found that in my attic last night. When were you going to tell me you were having a ghost squirrel problem?”

I don’t know how to answer that. Mostly because my brain has latched on to the one detail that doesn’t matter.She goes in that haunted attic at night?

Images of cursed baby dolls and the ghost of Old Man Harris dance in my head. Luckily, everyone else is paying attention just fine.

“The ghost squirrel is a raccoon,” Charlie says. “He smells like baby powder, and he’s angry. Very, very angry.”

“A raccoon?” Muriel tilts her head. “Well, I suppose that does explain a few things…”

She ponders that new revelation for a second, then she gets back down to business. “Squirrel, raccoon. Potato, po-tah-toe. The important thing is we should band together to capture our foe. And since I have a whole bed-and-breakfast full of guests to worry about, I think we should do it here.”

Charlie seems skeptical, but a dangerous sparkle gleams in Lydia’s eyes. A dog-mom sparkle. “What did you have in mind?”

Muriel pats her grocery bag and smiles sweetly. But also, somehow, sinisterly. As if she can flip between those two moods on a dime. “Don’t worry, dear. I have just the thing.”

We bake a pie. For a raccoon. Because, apparently, that’s how people catch wild animals in Ponderosa Falls.

Baked goods.

Charlie assures us this isn’t the way it’s actually done. He even tries to call Wild Bill a few times to set us straight, but it keeps going to voicemail. So we stick with what we’ve got: Muriel and pie.

It isn’t just any pie, either. It’s her Top-Secret Triple Strawberry Supreme Pie. A family recipe that’s so coveted, Muriel makes the bottom layer by herself so we won’t know what’s in it, and then she makes us close our eyes several more times along the way.

Once we’re finished, I’m still not sure what’s inside. All I know is it smells incredible, the sweet and slightly tart scent of strawberries filling the entire house. Muriel made this exact pie at her bed-and-breakfast the first time the ghost squirrel showed up, and it’s been haunting her attic on strawberry pie day ever since. Except a few nights ago—when that raccoon was too busy terrorizing us.

Muriel hasn’t seen the ghost squirrel since, but this is our chance to finally catch him and set him free somewhere else. Far away from Cookie’s dog toys and Muriel’s attic.

The only thing weirder than our plan is Charlie’s mood. The way it sinks steadily as the scent of strawberries fills his kitchen. He acts like that smell is personally offensive to him, and I’m sure he’s just loved my strawberry shampoo. And my lip balm.

Turns out, I’ve been accidentally offending this man all week—with smells—and that’s such an Alice thing to do. Offend him by mistake. I’d love to know what else I’ve done wrong without meaning to. I’d like a nice long list, so I can quietly torture myself with it. Because that’s a pretty Alice thing to do too.

When our pie is done, it’s well past nightfall. Cookie is asleep in the guest room, and Muriel orders the rest of us into separate hiding places around the living room, behind couches and chairs. And then we wait. While our perfect strawberry pie sits inside a raccoon trap in the middle of the room that Charlie borrowed from the wildlife center.

“It smells so good,” Tyler whines quietly from behind an armchair. “Are we sure we want to waste an entire pie on a raccoon? Can’t we just cut him a slice?”

“A random slice of pie?” Muriel scoffs. “In an animal trap? He’d never fall for anything that obvious.”

An entire pie in an animal trap is also pretty obvious, but I keep that to myself.

“We’re doing this for Cookie,” Lydia reminds her brother, and he nods. As if protecting his sister’s beloved dachshund is one of the few things in life that makes sense. Even if it involves sacrificing an entire delicious pie.

“Besides,” Lydia whispers. “We made a backup pie just in case—it’s in the fridge. We can eat that one instead.”

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