Page 85 of The Game Is Afoot

“I wasn’t reckless!” Florence shouts back as I make my way to Pearl’s room. “I was careful. I know the correct amount to use now. And we don’t know that Principal Smith knows. That message just said he wanted me to come in and talk about Axel’s part. Maybe Mr. Forest realized the error of his ways. Maybe he wants toapologize.”

That makes my steps slow. SoFlorencewas the other parent complaining about her kid’s part. I guess that makes sense. Shedoesthink he is a precious gift to the world. But then…does that mean…

“Itoldyou to stop doing the eye drop thing! You don’t know how people will react. It’s not always diarrhea. Remember that time with his piano teacher? She was out for a week, Flo!”

“Well, she should have moved Axel on to the next level then! It hurt his spirit, having to stay in the red book when he wanted to move on to the purple book. You know how much he loves purple.”

Eye drops. They’re talking about eye drops. Like the eye drops that were put in Coach Cole’s drink. My heart starts to race as I put together what this could mean. Florence didn’t like the part Mr. Forest gave Axel—or, oh my god,hecould’ve had the solo that Trisha blackmailed Mr. Forest into giving to Anabella. So Florence…gave him diarrhea with eye drops? Did she do the same with Cole?

“And this is why we need to work on our communication, like I said,” she continues. My legs feel shaky with anticipation, and I drop down on the floor with the walkie-talkies next to Pearl’s bed. “I didn’t know you were putting thatstuffin a Capri-Sun and handing it to him. That was so risky—he never ate the kids’ snacks! Which you wouldknowif you everhelpedme with anything.”

Stuff in the Capri-Sun? They found sodium nitrite in the Capri-Sun…

“See, this is what I’m talking about,” Hank snaps back. “You’re always trying to make me the bad guy. And Idohelp! I go to every one of these games, just like you—that’show I knew to put some in his energy drink, too!”

Florence gasps. “You didn’t tell me that. Oh my god, Hank! How much did you give him? And you’re blamingme?”

“It was just a small amount. That can’t be what did it, though. It’s just salt, basically. They sell the stuff at Erewhon! I got a few crystals in my mouth when I was tasting that first batch of prosciutto, and it didn’t do nothing to me.” My arms start shaking now, too.Sodium nitriteis used for curing meats—that’s about the only thing my chemistry-challenged brain remembers from Google and Dom. And Hank cures meats! They brought those bougie homemade charcuteries boxes as snack for the first game. How did I not think of this before?

“I thought it would only make him a little bloated and like…dry him out? I don’t know. Just mess him up a little, so I could step in and coach our kid the right way for the day. That guy didn’t respect our kid’s potential. He treated Axel like he was weak.”

“I know,” Florence says sweetly, as if that was a totally understandable reason toput poison in the’ soccer coach’s drinks! Who are these people? I don’t know them at all.

“I didn’t plan to hurt him either. But when he said that thing about Axel being in his own little world—it just made my blood boil! I had to do something. Because how—how…howdarehe! Axel is a gift to this world!” I was mostly joking before but there it is, completely serious. “It was only a few drops. And those energy drinks are probablywaymore toxic than the eye drops! I didn’t know he would…he would die.” Her voicebreaks, and she lets out a keening sound. I hear the rustling of fabric. Are they hugging?

“I know, baby. I know. Come here.”

And yeah, they are definitely hugging. And kissing, too, it seems from the sharp, wet sound also coming through.

God, I want to throw up. But there’s no time for that. They’re literally confessing to murder, and through some bonkers twist of fate it’s being broadcasted from their 19.564-month-old’s baby monitor to my daughter’s cursed walkie-talkies. I don’t believe in any of that woo-woo shit Bethany was spewing, but the universeisdoing something for me here and I need to take advantage of it. I’m going to record them so I can show Detective De La Rosa. Otherwise it’ll just be my word against theirs.

“Neitherof us were the bad guy here,” Florence says. “It wasn’t murder. It was an accident! An honest mistake!”

I reach my shaky hands into my pocket for my phone and open up the camera app.

“Somehow, I don’t think the police are going to see it that way,” Hank says, with a chilling laugh.“Sorry, Officer! I didn’t realize my wife also put something in his energy drink. Whoops! Next time we’ll make sure we do our things on different days, so he doesn’tdie.”

I start the video with my right hand, holding up the walkie-talkie with my left. But my hands are unsteady, every one of my nerve endings feels like it’s pulsing, and I must somehow push a button, because there’s a loud, jarring beep.

I let out a grunt of frustration. “This damn thing.”

Someone hisses, and then there’s a moment of eerie, terrifying silence. Finally Hank whispers, “Did that come from the monitor?”

“It did. Oh my god. It’s on.”

“Shit. Shit shit shit.” I fumble with my phone and the stupid,cursed walkie-talkie, dropping them both in the process—but not before pushing the button again.

“Who was that? Iknowthat voice.”

I frantically turn the things off, for real this time, and I can barely hear my thoughts over the pounding in my ears. Can they trace me? No, of course they can’t! They’re fucking walkie-talkies! My chest tightens and the edges of my vision blur. But there’s no way they could realize who I am just from that. It’s not like I’m known for going around and yelling, “Shit!” I’m good. This is fine. I am fine.

Okay, but what am I going todo? I’ve figured this out and now I need to be smart here. I can’t go barreling over to their house to confront them, like I did with Corinne. So I’ll do what I should have done then: Call the police. Let them take over. I don’t need to be the star here. I just need to make sure Florence and Hank are caught.

When I call the station and ask for Detective De La Rosa, and the operator asks if it’s an emergency, I say no. It technically is this time, I guess, but I need to be put through to someone who knows what’s going on, who can actually help me. I regret that choice more and more, though, as the minutes on hold tick by, minutes Hank and Florence could be spending figuring out it was my voice they heard.

Finally, the line clicks. “Ms. Miller.”

My body freezes. That’s not Detective De La Rosa. But I can’t be picky.

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