Page 82 of The Game Is Afoot

“But you do. It’s obvious you do. The looks and the cameras and the microphones and—”

“It’s ’cause you asked her if Beachwood had an HOA!” I interrupt. We really gotta move on here.

“I knew that’s what it was!” Mackenzie snaps and points her finger, her blond ponytail bouncing. “I told Todd you were mad at me for asking you that—I was even going to go over and apologize a few weeks later, but he told me I was being too sensitive. That I would lookcrazyif I went and apologized for something you probably long forgot.” She snorts and a relieved smile spreads across her face. “I didn’t want an HOA. I was making sure therewasn’tone here because the one back at our condo complex was always on a power trip, sending out tickets January second for the Christmas lights or measuring the doormat to make sure it was the right size. I didn’t want to deal with that again.”

Ms. Joyce nods, very reasonably, as if this was a simple misunderstanding and not a grudge that’s lasted over a year. “All right. My mistake, baby.”

I sigh. “Can we get back to—”

Bethany stands up. “I think I’m going to head out—”

“Sit down!” Mackenzie and Ms. Joyce shout together, and Ms. Joyce shuffles over to Mackenzie’s side, like she’s her backup. Or her new bestie. Bethany slowly lowers herself back into her seat.

“Once I realized what she was doing,” Mackenzie continues, “I still didn’t want to believe it. So I asked to meet with her at the park. I showed her everything I found, practically begged her to prove me wrong, but she chose to keep lying. She started crying, and she actually told me her cancer was back!” Mackenzie lets out a short, bitter laugh. “Then, out of nowhere, her nose started bleeding—but she wouldn’t let me call an ambulance. No, she insisted she just needed to rest at my house, that it would stop soon. And at first I felt bad—my friend is sick and I’m making her life harder. But then right here at this table, I saw her take a fucking selfie of her bloody face. For content! To sell this stupid self-care cure-all to even more vulnerable women like me. And that’s when I knew, it’s all been a lie. A greedy lie.”

“Hmmm.” Ms. Joyce shakes her head as she looks down at Bethany. “Well, what do you have to say for yourself?”

Bethany is hunched over in her seat, her arms curled around herself as if she’s freezing. Her big eyes look wild, like a wounded animal about to lash out, and I feel another wave of panic. Are we safe here with her? She looks so unassuming, so innocent, but that’s intentional—I know what she’s actually capable of.

“Iwassick,” she finally says, her voice delicate and small. “What that man did to memademe sick. He was trying to takeaway everything that I’ve built. Take food off my family’s table. He wanted to ruin me. And he—he hadno right!”

Did she just say that? And the worst part is, she actually seems to believe it.

“Just to clarify…” I say, my eyes darting to Mackenzie and Ms. Joyce to make sure they think this is as ridiculous as I do. “You’re saying Cole made you sick because he knew you were faking cancer and was going to tell people the truth.”

“Yes! And it was my truth to share when I was ready! He was trying to take away my agency!” Her shoulders shake, and her eyes, somehow, get even larger, suddenly glossy. “The anxiety…it was overwhelming! Life-encompassing! Never knowing when the shoe was going to drop, when my life would end. I stopped sleeping. I couldn’t keep any food down. That’s why I’ve gotten so—sothin!”

She lets out a sob, and two tears spill from her eyes, trickling into identical lines down her cheek.

Before I can tell her to stop, Ms. Joyce rushes at Bethany and bats something off her lap, like an angry cat. The crystal falls to the ground with a thud, but there’s something else, too—a more hollow clatter. I dip my head under the table and find the culprit at her feet. A bottle of Visine.

My body jolts in understanding. That’s where those tears came from! How in the hell is she so quick with that? But it’s also a chilling confirmation of something else, something much more evil than faking cancer. Shemurderedthe man who figured out her secret, by putting thatpoisonin his drink.

Again, I feel conflicted. Are we safe? I want to get all my questions answered, finally get closure for this mystery that has taken over my life. But the more responsible thing to do here would probably be to call the detectives and let them take over.I know Idon’twant to do that by the resistance that surges through me at just the thought.

Mackenzie and Ms. Joyce are here. Even Polly would probably wake up if someone tried tokillme. She can’t take all of us, all at once. This won’t be like Corinne. I’m not alone this time.

“So you decided to put your little fake tears in his drink. To make sure he kept his mouth shut. Is that what the ‘or else’ meant in the texts you sent to him?”

I hear a sharp intake of breath from either Mackenzie or Ms. Joyce (or maybe just Polly having a bad dream), but I don’t take my eyes off Bethany’s face, which instantly shifts from depressed to defensive. “What—no. I mean, I did send him some texts, but that was the extent of it. It was just cosmic alignment, or maybe divine timing, that his journey of life ended and he was no longer able to share my personal truths.”

I blink at her. Was that a confession?

“I didn’t do anything to him!” she rushes to explain, her face stretched into an incredulous smile. “But I can recognize and accept a gift from the universe in my favor. That’s what happens when you walk in your true purpose every day and actively repel negative energy.” She taps her lips and then murmurs, more to herself, “So someone put Visine in his drink? Huh, I didn’t know that could kill you?”

I…don’t know what to do. If she did do it, she’s clearly not going to admit it easily. And she’s a good liar. That’s how she’s made god knows how much scamming all these women. I look at Ms. Joyce and Mackenzie for some direction here, but they’re just looking back at me, like I’m the one in charge.

“It doesn’t matter if you believe me,” Bethany says, interrupting our silent conversation. “Because the police do.”

My eyes dart back to her. “What?”

“Yeah, they came to see me last night. Detective Berry andDetective…I don’t remember. Something ethnic? We can call them right now—”

“No,” I cut her off. I definitely don’t want to do that now. “Just—what did you tell them?”

“Detective Berry apologized for intruding, right in the middle of Dakota’s bedtime, but the other one had all these questions about my business model and the contract I had with Cole for my new supplements. He was implying the same thing as you. That I would kill someone for—for—money! It hurt!” She scrunches her features up into a dramatic mask of pain, but it’s not as effective with her bottle of Visine out of reach on the floor, so her hands fly up to cover her face. After a few body trembles and heaving sobs, though, she looks between her fingers, like a child peeking out from their hide-and-seek spot.

Ms. Joyce has her hands on her hips with an eyebrow arched, I’m giving her areally?glare, and Mackenzie is telegraphing just how over it she is by scrolling on her phone.

---