Page 67 of I'm Not Done with You Yet

“It’s a retirement home that Thalia’s been paying because her aunt lives there. And her aunt said the bill is paid every month, so if it’s not in here, that means she has a different credit card.” As soon as I say it, it sounds so obvious. Of course she wouldn’t have used the family credit card to buy the stuff she was using to kill one of them.

To kill one of them. God, the thought is still so shocking, a jagged shard through my brain. Then I recall the stack of papers I’d taken from Aunt Claudette’s room.

I rip open my purse and rummage through it.

“What’re you doing?” Ani says, but I ignore her, digging until I locate the right envelope. I tear it open and look at the bill. It’s for a credit card belonging to Claudette Clovis. My heart sinks, but still I scan the list of purchases anyway, because maybe...

And there it is.

A purchase from Burn Fast for $72. I Google “Burn Fast” and find a weight-loss site whose number one product is “Pure Caffeine Powder.” The description reads: “Pharmaceutical-grade pure caffeine anhydrous powder! Watch as the fat literally melts from your waistline! Each teaspoon of our caffeine powder has the equivalent of 28 cups of coffee!”

“I found it,” I whisper.

Ani’s eyes widen, and I feel the blood roar in my ears. We may be new to Thalia’s game, but somehow, I think we’ve managed to stumble on her only weakness.

30

Thalia

It will take less than a day for the autopsy to be done, because apparently, money gets you expedited service even in death. I watch helplessly as Ani orders the autopsy to be done, requesting a full blood work including—and this is key—the amount of alcohol or caffeine in his system. My fists clench and unclench, as though longing for her neck to be in their grasp, and still I cannot say a word; I can only stand on the sidelines and nod, pretending to agree with this farce. What will they find? The only thing in my favor is the fact that I don’t have any caffeine powder on me, not in New York, at least. Because, god damn it, I hadn’t planned on killing him here. So if they do a search, I will be clean. I remind myself of this fact over and over, caressing it in my mind, my own little mental talisman.

But now I need to make my move. I need to figure out what Ani knows and what Ani has done and outmaneuver her. The house phone rings and I hurry to pick it up, leaving Mama and Papa sobbing quietly in the living room with their reptiliandaughter. It’s the lobby receptionist, telling me I have a guest. The last thing I want is a guest. I snap, “Well? Who is it?”

“Jane.”

Jane. My sad, pathetic, little clinger-on. My god, Jane. Have some self-fucking-respect. I just framed you for murder and yet still you come, begging me for attention. “Jane?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t want any visitors. Do your job, get rid of her, or I’ll lodge a complaint.”

“Of course,” she says hurriedly. “I’m so sorry to bother you, ma’am.”

I hang up the phone and turn around, only to run into Ani. Jesus. She moves as silently as the snake she is. She narrows her eyes at me. “Everything okay?”

“No, everything’s not okay, my husband’s dead.” I brush past her and stalk off. Moments later, I hear the elevator ding and I breathe out. Good. Ani’s left the apartment. I need time to think. Fortunately, Mama and Papa have retired to the master bedroom, so I don’t have to deal with them. I go into my room and start pacing again. I need to—what do I need to do? I need to go through Ani’s belongings, see if I can find anything incriminating. Yes. Hope flutters in my chest, a lonely butterfly. At her heart, Ani’s a dumb bitch, she’s careless, she—

No. I can’t afford to think like that anymore. She’s outplayed me. I can’t keep underestimating her. I take a deep breath and walk out of my room. For a few moments, I listen hard, but aside from the muffled sobs coming out of the master bedroom, there’s no sound in the apartment. No clue where Ani went, no idea when she’ll be back. I need to do this fast.

For the first time, I’m grateful for the suffocating tightness of Ivan’s family, for the fact that we’re all sharing an apartment eventhough they could easily have bought a separate one for Ani. Ani’s room is slightly smaller than the one Ivan and I shared. I go inside and leave the door open just a crack, so that I’ll be able to hear the elevator’s ding when Ani comes back. I move fast, letting my instincts take over. I open drawers, dig my hands into mounds of lacy underwear, search under her bed and her chaise longue. I go into her bathroom and rummage through all the cabinets. I read all of the labels on the bottles she has, and I hate how unsure I feel. Is this bottle of pills really Advil? Or has she switched it with something else? What should I take? And even if I were to take any of it, what would I do with it? In the end, I leave them all alone. I figure if any of them were incriminating, she wouldn’t have left them in her medicine cabinet like that. I go back to the walk-in closet, and this time, I search harder. I dip into every shoe, grimacing at the thought that I’m putting my hands where Ani puts her disgusting feet. I open up her Louis Vuitton luggage one by one, searching the inner linings, then I move on to her handbags. There are over a dozen of them. The more I search, the angrier I become. I’m breathing hard, panting like an animal, so unlike myself. I can’t stand it, the thought that I’m being outsmarted by someone like Ani.

I’m so absorbed by my search that I fail to hear the elevator’s ding. I fail to hear the footsteps padding down the hallway, the sound of Mama and Papa’s door opening. There must have been a hushed conversation, but I miss that too. And suddenly, the door to Ani’s room bursts open, and I am caught with my hands buried in a Gucci bag. Ani and Mama and Papa stand before me, their faces a mix of horror and shock and disgust.

Explanations crowd my head. “I was just—”

Ani holds up her phone, a look of triumph on her face. I can’t quite see what’s on the screen, but based on that smug smile ofhers, I know it’s nothing good. “You’re a murderer,” she says, simply. Just like that,you’re a murderer.

I snort. “What?” I glance at Mama and Papa, who are still staring at me like they can’t quite comprehend what they’re seeing. “This is—you’re crazy. Mama, don’t believe anything she says—”

“Don’t talk to my mother,” Ani snaps. “This is your credit card bill. Your secret credit card bill.”

I forget how to breathe. “What are you talking about?”

“Your aunt? Claudette Clovis? I know you registered a credit card under her name and used it to buy caffeine powder, which you used to poison my brother.”

Aunt Claudette? Did the bitch betray me?

“And,” Ani continues, her eyes glinting madly, “I just got the call from the coroner’s office. My brother died of cardiac arrest, triggered by caffeine overdose.”

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