Page 18 of The Roommate Lie

Alice presses her lips together before saying more. Like she’s a little embarrassed to admit this next part. “When I came out here to visit my ex, I was kind of hoping I’d be able to get some writing done too.”

She says that like she was considering harvesting kidneys while she was in town. As if “getting some writing done” is a felony. And Mrs. Web sure makes it sound like one.

“You were going to write? On your anniversary trip?”

Alice blushes. “When we planned my visit, my ex said he might still have to work while I was in town. I figured I could write while he was gone. I was going to pretend I was on a writing retreat.”

“He wasn’t going to take off work for your anniversary?”

We’re really going to need a muzzle for Delilah Web. Or maybe we should toss her another Gold Rush cupcake to keep her quiet. Because her last comment devastates Alice. As if being upset about Jason’s schedule had never occurred to her, but now she’s uncovered a brand-new betrayal to feel bad about.

I hate seeing her that upset, and I glance at Edna for help. For some more of her glorious crowd control. But she’s too busy whispering with her friends. My favorite feathered trio is up to something, and that’s never a good sign.

The fact that Edna won’t stop staring at me makes it worse. She keeps stealing glances in my direction, and even when she knows I’m onto her, she doesn’t stop. Edna and I are in the cozy mystery book club together too, and she morphs into an amateur sleuth before my eyes. Deducing her heart out.

Yet she’s not the first bird to strike. That’s what her minions are for.

Chapter Ten

CHARLIE

Dottie swoops in first. My favorite cheerful assassin.

“Well,” she says sweetly as she glances at Alice. “I think you should still do the retreat you had planned.”

Henrietta nods, pausing mid crochet, her gold-rimmed glasses perched on the end of her nose. “That way you can work on your book like you wanted. Really give it the attention it deserves. If your ticket is nonrefundable, you might as well. No sense letting all that money go to waste.”

Two Old Birds chiming in back-to-back?This isn’t a coincidence. It’s a setup.

Don’t get me wrong. I know Edna and her accomplices aren’t actually a gang or our very own small-town mafia. They’re just three friends who’ve gotten meaner with age, like a fine angry wine. But at times like this, they’re close enough.

Edna leans back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest like the quilting bee mob boss she is, and a literal chill runs down my spine. “I mean, if Charlie has enough space for a night, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you staying for longer. Right, Charlie?”

I don’t know what they’re up to, but I know it’s a trap—I should say no. Shutting this down should be automatic.Why haven’t I said no?

Glancing at those birds for clarity doesn’t help. I still can’t figure out what they’re up to, and just looking at them makes me feel like I’m stuck in an old cartoon. The kind where an angel and a devil appear on your shoulders when it’s time to make a big decision. Except the Old Birds are all devils, it’s past their bedtime, and they polished off two cupcakes apiece before they even sat down for book club.

I’m doomed.

My gaze shifts to Old Faithful, the one reliable angel in the room who’s always ready to help me make a good decision. But Lydia is practically giddy with excitement. Nobody loves the books of Anne Livingston more than she does. Hosting her favorite author for over a week while she works on her next book is a dream come true.

I’m double doomed.

“Well, I do have the extra space…”

A gasp echoes through The BookSlinger. A few of the women in our circle think this is a wonderful idea, but most of them wouldn’t trust me with their compost bin, let alone their most beloved author. This is what I get for living out my wayward youth in a small town. Bygones are never bygone.

For the most part, those reactions around me make sense. I’m not an idiot. I know who my enemies are, even if I keep hoping they’ll turn into friends. But my next-door neighbor, Muriel, looks the most upset of all, and that one hurts.

We check in with each other almost every day. I rake her leaves in the fall, and she brought me cookies for Christmas. I thought Muriel was on my side; I thought we were good.

Before I can mourn the loss of an ally—one who makes excellent snickerdoodles—she leans toward me. Her chair is allthe way on the other side of the circle, but she holds my gaze like we’re inches apart. As if this conversation is just between the two of us, her expression grave.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” She drops her voice to a whisper. “We don’t know her. She could be dangerous.”

Muriel doesn’t hate me?

She’s looking out for me, and I’m so honored she thinks Alice is the threat—not me—I almost miss her warning. “Dangerous?”

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