Page 87 of Don't Trust Her

Jane is on the floor, surrounded by a pool of blood.

ChapterForty-Nine

Chaos ensues all around me, and I’m still trying to comprehend that my twin sister is dead. There’s no way she survived with so much blood loss.

Will anyone believe I’m me?

I don’t know where Peter put the knife he took from me. The police now have us separated and they’ve already asked me a million questions. I keep telling them the same thing over and over, but these are the same people who thought I was losing my mind because of everything that happened at the preschool.

None of this looks good for me. The woman I’ve been claiming is taking over my life is now dead in the kitchen. I’m going to be the easiest person to pin the killing on.

I can only hope Peter figured out that I’m me. In all the confusion, I don’t know what he’s thinking.

The only good thing in all of this is that the kids are okay. Dakota and Lydia were hiding in another part of the house. From the sounds of it, she used the security system to call for the police. The other kids are all at sleepovers with their friends, where they’re supposed to be.

“Ma’am?” An officer’s voice pulls me from my thoughts.

“What?”

“You were telling us about how you discovered you have a twin sister?”

I let out a deep breath and continue telling them about finding the results on the genetic testing site after hearing from my mom that I was actually adopted. She’ll back up my story. She’s my mom.

Unless people think I’m lying dead in the next room. My sister and I have—had—the same DNA.

The questioning seems to go on forever. I expect to see the sun rising, but it’s still dark outside. And inside. Whatever caused the power to go out still hasn’t been fixed. Not that it’s a priority with a dead body in the kitchen.

My stomach lurches at the thought. I hate how this ended. If Jane had made different choices, we could have been friends and she’d still be alive. But she didn’t, and here we are.

Another cop comes into the room and motions for the one questioning me.

She turns to me. “Don’t move.”

Where would I go?

The officer goes and whispers to the other one. They both look my way.

This can’t be good. I’m probably going to jail. In front of all my neighbors. I’m sure they’re all gathered outside. Why wouldn’t they be when there have to be multiple police cars outside, all with their lights still flashing, coloring the walls inside.

After what feels like forever, the officer returns to me. “Your husband claims that your twin attacked the two of you, and that he killed her to protect you. Is that true?”

Her words suck the breath from my lungs. Peter’s taking responsibility, and he’s saying that I’m me.

He didn’t doubt me.

“Mrs. London?”

I clear my throat. Hopefully this isn’t a trick on their part. “Yes, that’s what happened.”

“Why didn’t you say that from the beginning?”

Good question. I struggle again to find my voice. “Everything happened so fast. I’m still in shock about being adopted and having a twin. Now she’s dead.” My voice cracks. “She tried to kill me. My own flesh and blood.”

“We’ll need to go over your statement. Can you do that here, or would it be easier to come down to the station?”

“Why would that be easier?”

“Because there’s no power.”

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