nod. “That’s right. I’m Victoria Sinclair. How are you?”
“I’m good. Thanks.” Samantha gestured toward her daughter. “You ever notice how life can turn on a dime?”
She looked from the little girl to Samantha. “Turn on a dime? I’m sorry, I’m not following.”
“One minute we were all discussing the merits of disposing of that awful woman on account of her rudeness and her insensitivity, and the next, she’s gone.” Samantha’s hands rose into the air. “Poof! The classroom cattiness and the totally ridiculous birthday party pressure is gone just like that.”
“Samantha, that woman is dead.”
“You’re right. And so are my daughter’s tears.”
Nothing like leading the horse to water.
“Your daughter’s tears?” she echoed.
“The tears she cried every single day after school thanks to Penelope’s nastiness.” Samantha’s hands found her hips. “And now that Penelope has been out of school mourning her mother’s death, things are so much better.”
She knew she was staring, could even feel her left nostril flaring in disgust, but she couldn’t help it. It was one thing to be happy your child was fitting in better and quite another thing to gloat about the death that happened in order to make it happen. “Penelope will eventually come back.”
“But now she’ll be on her classmates’ turf.”
“Her classmates’ turf?”
“That’s right. And it’s going to be one ruled by kindness and acceptance. Not nastiness and selective inclusion.”
“Mommy, Mommy, come catch me!”
Samantha held her index finger in Tori’s direction, the gesture polite but dismissive. “Well, I better go. It was nice talking to you.” And with that, the woman was gone, her feet kicking up pieces of shredded tires as she made her way across the playground and over to the swing set.
“Catch any fish on your line?”
She whirled around to find a grinning Margaret Louise at her elbow. “Excuse me?”
“You get anythin’?”
“You might say that.”
Margaret Louise’s eyes rounded. “What?”
“Besides the fact she despised Ashley?” she murmured as her gaze sought and found the back of Samantha Smith. “Well, there’s also the little matter of her being almost giddy about Ashley’s murder.”
“The playground sure is less splintered.”
“Margaret Louise!” She eyed her friend closely. “I realize she wasn’t a nice woman, I saw that with my own two eyes. But please tell me you aren’t glad she’s dead. There is a little girl who’s been hurt by her murder.”
“Ah, don’t mind me. Of course I’m not glad she was murdered. But by the same token it’s hard not to notice the change in the class dynamic now that she’s gone.”
She watched as each child headed home, some pulled away by the promise of a cookie, others guided home by the need to start dinner. Yet still she sat, the warmth of the spring sun rooting her to the same picnic bench she’d claimed as Margaret Louise headed home with Sally.
All of the things she’d wanted to do that afternoon—the book she wanted to read, the play food she wanted to make, the flowers she wanted to plant—paled against the desire to simply sit.
And think.
There was no getting around the fact that Samantha Smith didn’t miss Ashley Lawson. And no getting around what she’d said to Regina Murphy the night of Sally’s party. But was it a hint of things to come? A diabolical plan she intended to execute little more than twelve hours later? Or simply words spoken by a frustrated mom who needed to do nothing more than vent?
“Hey, beautiful. Margaret Louise said I might find you here.”
She swung her head to the right as a smile played its way across her face. “Milo, hi! What are you doing here?”
He opened the gate and stepped inside, his hands pulling her to her feet before he even officially stopped at the bench. “I stopped by your house but you weren’t there. So I started wandering around, hoping I’d catch a glimpse of your car somewhere.” Wrapping his arms around her, he planted a kiss on the top of her head. “When I passed Margaret Louise’s place, she called out, said she’d seen you at the park and that you were looking mighty good.”
Oh, how she loved that woman.
“And?” she teased, stepping back so she could twirl around.
“You look even better than she said.” He caught her hand and pulled her close once again. “I like that skirt on you. It’s real pretty.”
She glanced down at the tiny sprig of lavender flowers that adorned the A-line skirt, the matching lavender shirt hugging her modest curves. “Thanks.”
“No, thank you.” Lifting her face to his, he kissed