Page 2 of Wicked Games

“Who? The old lady or the dog?”

“The dog.”

“What’s her name?”

“Ummm. Fuck. Ummm. I knew it, then I didn’t. Winnie.”

“Awesome,” I say, glad she could finally spit it out. “What about you?”

She blinks. “Me? I don’t have a dog.”

“No. The other side of you.”

“Oh, sorry. Ummm, yeah. I think it’s empty. I haven’t seen anyone around, but I’ve only been here for a week.”

“Are you alone?” I wince. I know how that sounded, and I say, “Sorry. None of my business.”

Thankfully, she doesn’t seem bothered by it. I don’t need her scared of me, though the last thing I would do is hurt her.

“Yeah, I am. No big deal.”

“Good. I mean, okay.” I have all the information I need. Except, I want to know why she was crying, if it has anything to do with her being here by herself, and why she didn’t even try to hide the fact that she was. Crying, I mean. “You’ll leave me alone, yeah?”

She lifts a shoulder. “I don’t have any reason to talk to you.”

“Let’s keep it that way. Nice to meet you, Avery McKay.”

She scoffs and turns back toward the water.

I stride across the brilliant green grass that will be my responsibility to mow for the next two and a half months, my sights set on that bottle of champagne.

Find someone to talk to, Violet said.

Fuck.

The last person I need to talk to is a little mouse who has her own shit-ton of problems if the tears on her cheeks were anything to go by.

Don’t need it. Don’t want it.

I pop the cork.

CHAPTER TWO

Avery

Smooth, Avery, I tell myself, watching him hurry into his house and shut the patio doors. Real eloquent. You sure impressed him.

Christ.

That’s what they say about writers though, right? I can write the most beautiful prose and win awards, but I can’t speak two coherent sentences to save my life.

Ah, well. He’ll probably hide all summer, trying to survive his little boy’s death. I couldn’t imagine bringing a life into this world and then having it taken away from me such a short time later. Five years old.

I glance quickly at his house again, but there’s nothing to see. The cove our houses sit on is quiet, and the water, cattails, and clouds reflect on the gleaming glass of the French doors. I walk across the grass to my own house, a rental, like Seth’s, apparently, though he has enough money to buy a house that he planned to live in for only the summer. Billionaire, but he learned fast that money can’t buy happiness. I bet he’d give all his money away to have his son back.

My cell phone vibrates against my butt, and as I go inside, I pull it out of my pocket. My brother-in-law’s name glows on the screen. Can he still be my brother-in-law when my sister’s dead? Maybe until he marries someone else. If he ever does.

“Hey, Bill, how are you doing?”