Page 62 of The Game Is Afoot

Nothing. Not really.

I close my eyes right now and try to picture it, her crouching over that Capri-Sun, dropping Visineandsodium nitrate into the tiny hole, withno onenoticing. I can’t see it. It feels too impossible. But who else would it be? And if she’s willing to do something so morally reprehensible as lying about cancer, then it’s not too many more steps to think she could murder, too. Right?

God, I need more. I know these hunches and theories are not enough.

I sit down on the couch next to a snoozing Polly and open up her profile again on my phone.

How can I get more? It’s not like I can just send her a DM demanding the truth. Or find her at pickup today and casually ask, “Hey girl, so what was going on with your eyebrows?”

But shehaswanted to talk to me when she thought I was a potential girlboss recruit, so that’s my best chance here. I know that lady won’t turn down a dollar.

I scroll down to the bottom of her latest post, all about how she’s joined the board of the goddamn Beachwood Business Association.

I feel so empowered in my mission and grateful that I’ll get to help even more women in my beloved community reach their true self-care potentials. The Balanced With Bethany family is growing bigger and stronger every day!

Want to join us? Comment “FAMILY” below to schedule one of my extremely limited one-on-one in-person sessions! I can’t wait to meet you

I ignore the sour taste that rises in the back of my throat and comment “family.” Seconds later, I get an automated DM with a calendar to sign up for one of the sessions during her office hours at a coffee shop on Flower Street in a few days. If I didn’t need this for my own personal benefit, I’d be concerned about her lack of precautions when it comes to internet safety.

“And now we wait.”

It takes me a second to realize I heard those words rather than thought them, and then another few seconds to place the voice. Ms. Joyce. Is Ms. Joyce in my house?

No, Polly is still snoring next to me on the couch, and that definitely wouldn’t be the case if an old lady (or a baby) snuck in here.

“Now, wait a minute, is this dang red light a good thing or a bad thing?” Ms. Joyce’s voice calls out again from the side of the house. Pearl’s room. Ah, okay. I’ve been through this before.

“These things really aren’t for kids,” I mutter to myself as I find the walkie-talkies under Pearl’s bed. She must have turned them back on. I think I might just hide these things in my room for now and hope she forgets about them.

“Why can I only hear myself and not Mavis’s little friend?”

Wait—why am I in it? And my little friend? My mouth drops as I start to put it together. I’m across the street, banging on her door, in record time.

I can hear her muttering to herself as she shuffles to the door, and when she opens it, she fixes me with a face that makes me feel like a child looking up at her again, even though I’ve got almost a foot on her now.

“Baby, now why are you knocking on my door like you the police? Are you trying to send me to an early grave? I mean, really.” She sighs. “I’d have a right to haunt you.”

I’m about to launch into an apology, but then my eyes catchon the small black device in her right hand. It has a speaker on the front next to a tiny red light, and there’s an antenna extended on the side. It’s the reason I could hear her through Pearl’s walkie-talkies, the reason I came over here in the first place.

“What’s that, Ms. Joyce?” I ask, gesturing to the device with my chin. IthinkI clock a flicker of sheepishness on her face, but it’s gone so fast I can’t be sure. She crosses her arms and holds her head up high.

“Oh, this?” she says, examining it with an expression of wonder, like it just appeared in her hand at that exact moment. “It’s part of the new security system Corey helped me to set up. But he left me to finish this part. Talking ’boutethics. Hmmph.” She sucks her teeth and shakes a finger at me. “You need to have a talk with him. Because I didn’t appreciate the little high horse speech that man of yours gave me. As ifI—his elder—would ever do anything unethical.”

I shake my head. “Ms. Joyce, you know Corey is not my man. And what do you meanunethical?” Though I think I’m starting to have a pretty good idea, with what I overheard in my house…

Ms. Joyce waves me away, while simultaneously stepping back to invite me into the entryway.

“They’re just some listening devices to go along with the cameras Corey helped me set up—becausethosewere okay, apparently. He really moves that line, let me tell you. Probably just wanted to go home, and that’s why he left me to set these up on my own.” She holds the thing up again and I notice a small dial and a toggle button. “I can’t get them to play me anything, even though the dang red light is on. I don’t know why they make the instructions so small. Even with my readers, I could hardly make them out.”

“Listening devices? Why do you need listening devices?” Idon’t knowhowshe did it, but she must have somehow turned the signal around, so they were broadcasting instead of listening? Maybe that’s how Pearl’s walkie-talkies picked her up—they were on the same channel? But if she has the responder, that means there are—what…bugs somewhere? Was her voice playing out on those, too? “Where did you set these up? Who were you trying to listen to?”

“I needed listening devices because the audio on those cameras wasn’t crisp enough for me. You know my hearing isn’t what it once was.”

“Okay, but what about my other questions?”

I don’t need to wait for her to meander her way around to the answer, though, because Mackenzie walks up the front path in a lime-green sports bra and matching leggings. She’s holding up something tiny and black, and I squint as she gets closer. Is that a…microphone?

Oh my god.

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