Chapter 7
ROSE’S POINT OF VIEW
My phone buzzed while I was getting my nails done. Normally, I’d ignore it, Tuesday afternoons are my me–time, after all. But something made me look. Maybe it was intuition. Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was just that delicious feeling I’d had all morning, like something wonderful was about to happen.
The headline made me smear the perfect French manicure Julie had just finished on my right hand.
“LOCAL WOMAN FEARED DEAD AFTER CAR FOUND IN RIVER”
My hands shook as I clicked the link, not caring about the ruined nail polish. There it was, in clean black and white: Camille Elizabeth Lewis, age 25, presumed dead after her car was discovered in the Morton River early Tuesday morning, No body recovered. Search ongoing
“Oh my God,” I whispered, but inside, fireworks were going off. Champagne corks were popping. Every cell in my body wanted to jump up and dance.
“Everything okay, Miss Lewis?” Julie asked, concerned about my trembling hands.
I forced my face into the appropriate expression of shock and grief. “My sister… there’s been an accident. I… I need 10 go
The drive home was torture, having to keep my face properly devastated while my heart soared like a bird finally freed from its cage. I barely made it through my front door before the laughter bubbled up, wild and a little hysterical.
She’d actually done it. My pathetic, clingy little sister had finally done something right. She’d disappeared exactly like I’d arranged, right down to the car in the river. Those gays I hired through three different cutouts had followed my instructions perfectly.
I poured myself a glass of the Cristal I’d been saving for a special occasion. This definitely qualified. Taking my phone and the champagne, I curled up in my favorite window seat, the one with the perfect view of the garden Camille used to love so much
The articles were everywhere now. Local news, social media, even some regional outlets picking up the story. I scrolled through them like love letters, each one sweeter than the last. The photos they’d chosen were perfect, Camille always photographed terribly, looking washed–out and uncertain next to my carefully curated glamour. Even in death, she was my shadow.
“To you, little sister,” I whispered, raising my glass to the empty room. “Thanks for finally getting out of my way.
My phone rang, Stefan, right on cue. I took a deep breath, arranged my voice into something appropriately broken. “Baby?” I let my voice crack. “Did you… did you see?”
“Rose, I’m so sorry.” He sounded genuinely upset, the fool’I’m on my way over. You shouldn’t be alone right
Perfert. Absolutely perfect. “I just can’t believe she’s gone,I said, adding a little sob for effect. “My baby sister..” “We’ll get through this together,” he promised. ended the call and stulled at my reflection in the window Yes, we would get through this together, just as soon as an appropriate mourning period had passed. Six months maybe. Elght at the most Than me for comfort, and I’d finally have everything I’d spent four years carefully arranging.
The house would need to be dark when he arrived. Grief–stricken. I went around drawing curtains, ating the perfect stage set for my performance. The grieving sister, devastated by loss, turning to her sister’s widow for support… it was almost poetic.
My phone buzzed again, Mommy this time. I let it ring twice before answering.
“Rose?” Her voice was thick with tears. “Please tell me it’s not true.”
“Mommy…” I forced a sob. “They found her car… in the river…”
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