Page 87 of The Game Is Afoot

“AndIrecognized your voice. You were yellingthat wordat their last game. It made Axelveryupset—he’s never heard such profanity.”

So I guess Iamknown for going around and yelling “Shit!” Also, again: What. A. Bitch.

“We weren’t trying to kill him, just so you know. It was an accident.” Hank’s eyes dart to Marigold in the carrier. I don’t think she understands much of what is going on, but maybe he feels guilty, doing this in front of her. Can I use that?

“You put poison in his drinks! Marigold, do you hear that? Poi-son! Poi-son! Mommy and Daddy poi—”

“Shut up!” Florence frantically covers Marigold’s ears. “Shut up! Shut up!”

“Not enough to kill him, though.” Hank rushes to explain, looking between me and Marigold. “Well, it was, all added up. But we didn’t do that on purpose. It was just a miscommunication. We’renotmurderers.”

Florence scoffs. “Cole wasn’t kind to Axel. Were we just supposed toacceptthat? If we’re not our child’s best advocate, then who will be?”

There’s a knock on the door, and I startle in my seat. Is this my chance?

What can theyreallydo if I run? Florence is basically out of commission with Marigold, and I could probably get pastHank. Even if he stops me at the door, it’ll be enough of a commotion—

All of my hope rushes out of me when Hank pulls a knife out of his back pocket. It’s long and sharp, probably used to cut his goddamn prosciutto. “Don’t even think about it,” he whispers.

There’s more knocking. “Ms. Miller? Are you there? My lunch break is only ten more minutes, and Ireallyneed that costume today.”

Mrs. Tennison. Maybe being a room mom fuckup is my saving grace.

But Hank silently shakes his head in warning.

Florence’s eyes bulge, locked on the knife, and her hands are over Marigold’s mouth, who is now furiously hitting back.

“Ms. Miller? I know you’re home. I asked Pearl, and she said you sit at home all day because you don’t have a job.”

Wow, rude. But my savage child could have given me my one fighting chance. Could I hit the knife out of Hank’s hand? Even if he catches me with it, I might be able to get Mrs. Tennison’s attention before I get hurt too much. How bad is a stab wound, really?

But then I hear a loud groan, followed by “Jesus fucking Christ. I’m going to have to go to fucking Spirit Halloween.” Before I can make a decision, footsteps recede from the door, and then there’s the horrible, soul-crushing sound of a car starting and driving away. My one fighting chance is going back to Knoll.

“Hank, wecannotuse that on her.”

“Well, why not? Just take Marigold to the other room, and I’ll take care of it.” He glances at me—theitin question.

“Because, you idiot, it’s going to make a huge mess. Her DNA is going to be all over you and me.” She gestures to hergauzy cream dress and light suede Birkenstocks. “It’ll get tracked into our house. There’s no way to completely get rid of it. That’s how peoplealwaysget caught.”

Hank rolls his eyes. “Then what’s your idea?”

“Poison.” Theduhis unspoken but very loud, and Hank’s nostrils flare. “It’s the most effective, cleanest way. I’m sure they have bleach.” Her eyes dart around the room. “Or maybe antifreeze, in the garage. That would do the job quickly. Because wedohave to pick up Axel in a couple hours, and you know how upset he gets if he can’t find us at the gate.”

What, are they going to force-feed me bleach, allhere comes the airplane? And how she can be so cold, so soulless, to be thinking about picking up her child from the same school where my kid is right now, all the while plotting the most effective way to kill me. I’ve always thought Florence was annoying and a little self-absorbed, but no—she is pure evil.

“Okay, we can put it in her water bottle, then?” He points to the giant metal thing on the table, where I abandoned it days ago, and my first thought is, horrifyingly:Oh, you’re behind on your water goal for the day.

Florence throws her hands up. “Well, she’s not just going to chug it down willingly, now that you’vetoldher.”

“All right, I’m tired of you talking down to me, Flo. I’m just trying to help here!Youmake the decision then! Clearly I’m incapable of making the right one.”

They start bickering again, and it’s definitely not juicy or entertaining anymore, now that they’re bickering about the best way to kill me.

But the water bottle. My eyes are still there. And my second thought is luckily a lot more helpful than the first. That thing is huge, sturdy. I could probably do some damage if I hit one ofthem over the head. But then what about the other one? And Marigold—I don’t want to hurt her or leave her with some traumatizing memories.

God, what am I talking about? Her parents are trying to kill me! If I make it out of this, I’ll pay for her therapy!

There’s a heavy pounding on the door, and we all tense, staring at it. Is Mrs. Tennison back?

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