Cordelia’s face twisted.
“Shut up.”
“You moved her body.”
“Shut up!”
“You told Malcolm she ran away.”
“SHUT UP!”
“And Everett spent thirty years looking.”
Cordelia screamed, “BECAUSE I BURIED HER TOO DEEP FOR HIM TO FIND!”
The words tore through the night.
No one breathed.
No one moved.
Flynn released his mother.
He stepped backward like she had become something poisonous.
Cordelia’s eyes widened.
She covered her mouth.
Too late.
Far beyond the garden, red and blue lights appeared between the trees.
Police cars.
Phoebe had called them before we arrived.
Not for murder.
For assault.
For financial evidence.
For destruction of protected land.
But now everything had changed.
Cordelia looked toward the approaching lights.
Then at me.
Then at Flynn.
“Help me.”
Flynn stared at her.
“Did you kill her?”
“It was an accident.”
“Did you kill Sloan’s grandmother?”
Cordelia began crying.
“It wasn’t supposed to happen.”
