light had changed. Overnight, the hail had turned into snow. Silence had settled in around Stonehaven, as if someone had dropped a blanket over the house. I rose from my bed, shivering in my flimsy nightgown, and unlatched the window sash. Snow was falling, softly, a delicate lace balancing on the pine needles outside my window. Below, the lawn was a featureless wedding quilt, punctuated by frozen ferns. The lake was gray and still. When I breathed, the cold air burned in my lungs.
The stairs felt treacherous under my feet. I was horribly hungover. Downstairs, the kitchen was still a disaster zone, and a text from my housekeeper informed me that she couldn’t get in because of the snow on the roads. I made myself a cup of coffee and went to lie on the couch in the library, pondering my next move.
My phone pinged with a text from Benny: So?? Is it her? Nina?
Didn’t have a chance to ask.
A sharp knock on the back porch made me jump: Michael. I walked to the kitchen and peered out the French doors and was surprised to see Ashley standing there, apparently fully recovered.
I cracked open the door. “You’re feeling better already?”
“Like new,” she said. “Whatever it was, it’s gone.” Her face was back to its normal color and her hair was freshly washed; she looked radiant and healthy and young. She looked better than I felt, which was manifestly unjust. How could she have bounced back so quickly? I should have put more in her drink.
“Food poisoning, you think?”
She shrugged, peering at me from under those long lashes, and I wondered if she suspected something. “Who knows. The body is a mystery sometimes, isn’t it?”
“Well, I’m glad you’re on the mend. We missed you at dinner.” We didn’t, not a bit.
“Michael told me what a nice time you had,” she said. “I’m so sad to have missed it. I hope you’ll offer a do-over.”
I looked over her shoulder, in the direction of the cottage. Would Michael come to me on his own accord? I needed to give him an excuse to return, so I could get him alone. “Tomorrow.”
She smiled. “Look, can I come inside?”
I hesitated. I wasn’t so sure I wanted to be alone with her; I thought of the pistol I’d stuffed under my pillow upstairs. “I’ll just go get dressed.”
“Oh, please don’t bother for my sake! It’s just—there’s something I need to talk to you about.”
A spike of adrenaline: Wait, is she going to confess her real identity to me? I pulled the door open wider and invited her in. Ashley kicked off her boots and stood there by the back door, snow dripping off her jacket. She gazed at the mess of dishes and empty wine bottles. “Wow. You really did have fun last night. How many bottles of wine did you drink after I left? Michael was smashed when he got in. Now I can see why.”
Jealous, then. Well, you should be. “The housekeeper was supposed to come in today but she got snowed in, poor thing. I just haven’t gotten to the dishes yet.” I picked up the wineglass closest to me and moved it over to the sink.
She watched me with a little smile hovering over her lips, as if she knew perfectly well that I was not planning to clean this mess myself. “I’ll send Michael over to help. He made the mess, he should help you clean.”
I shook my head in protest, although secretly I was thinking, Oh yes, please do that, please give us more time alone. My head throbbed, as if someone had taken pliers to my skull and was pulling out pieces of my brain. She didn’t look particularly anxious. Was she going to confess or not? If she did confess, could I still hate her? I plopped down in a chair, pressed a finger on the pulsing vein in my temple, and waited.
Ashley sat down next to me, so close that our knees almost touched. She leaned in conspiratorially and I waited for the words to come: I need to be honest with