No one was going to suspect me, a woman who had dedicated her life to the Maxwells.
Wouldn’t it look strange to the police that you’d only come around four and a half months ago, yet you became Lola’s best friend practically overnight? You moved from St. Petersburg to Miami just to get closer to her. You visited her house every day, most times when Lola wasn’t even around—and yes, that’s all on tape. Security records everything at the gates.
You slept with her husband, which I could attest to after watching you hump him by the pool on one occasion, and leave his man cave on another, and you got jealous that he still loved her, so you poisoned her with the crushed antidepressants found in your purse.
You didn’t put the pills there. Of course not, but the cops would never know that. They’d just put two and two together. A girl with mental issues shows up on the day the Maxwells die. Pills in your bag with your name on the prescription bottle—the five-hundred-dollar bag Lola gave you, but they’d think you stole. Security cameras perfectly angled with views of the pool and sitting area, watching your every move.
The text message from Lola? She’d been arguing with Dr. Maxwell all day long while also trying to drink her stress away. She’d left her phone on the kitchen counter, and somehow a text was sent in the midst of the chaos.
Lola was getting hostile. Corey was being pathetic and demanding drinks too. Things were getting out of hand, and all the while I had your own pills in my hand. They were already crushed. I’d chopped them up weeks before, waiting for the perfect opportunity to use them.
You’d stopped taking the pills. My investigator confiscated them from your apartment while you were in New York and you never even noticed. It would work. I’d done my research. I knew what I wanted to do, I just needed the supplies to do it—something with your name written all over it.
I mean, it was the perfect plan, don’t you think? It took some time and a lot of patience, but in the end, I’d say it all worked out in my favor.
It was the perfect ruin.
And I bet all this time you thought you were the one doing the ruining, didn’t you? The heartbreaking? The sabotaging?
This was never your plan, Ivy. All of the events that led up to this very moment happened because of me.
You were never the one in control, no matter how sure you were of yourself. I only made you think you were. It was better for you to think you were taking Lola down yourself, ruining her friendships and her marriage and her life. Let you feel powerful, invincible.
You carried out a plan, and though I was worried at first and did feel a little bad, you handled it so much better than I ever could have imagined. I knew you were smart, desperate, and a little bit crazy. All the things one would need you to be in a situation like this. But if you were just a tad bit smarter, you would have left it alone and moved on, like your therapist begged you to do.
Lola and Corey are dead. Everyone thinks you did it.
Meanwhile, because she is gone now, I have ten million dollars in my bank account, and it’s all thanks to you, sweet Ivy.
I am sorry about the situation you’re in now, but you should know that I truly, truly couldn’t have done any of this without you.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
IVY
Breathe . . . breathe . . . breathe.
Count to ten. Breathe. Hum your favorite song. Think of a happy moment.
The water park. Fruity freeze pops. Sticky fingers wrapped around a warm, soft hand . . .
No.
Blood on my hands. A white dress soiled in the same blood. Broken glass on the floor beside the body, a single raspberry next to glass shards.
Not my blood. Not my fault.
Breathing wasn’t going to save me. In fact, I would rather have been doing anything other than breathing.
Apparently, I had killed Lola and Corey Maxwell. The evidence was so stacked against me that not even my court-appointed lawyer believed my story. He gave me a look and told me to accept a plea bargain. Confess to the crimes, do the time, and hope for parole. But I didn’t kill them. I wasn’t going to confess to something I didn’t do!
“For the last time, I didn’t kill them!” I said as Detective Hughes glared at me from across the table. He was a lanky man, with long, skinny fingers and a bald head. His suit hung from his bony shoulders like he’d lost a lot of weight recently and hadn’t gotten around to getting new clothes. “You have to believe me. I didn’t do it!” I was on the verge of tears. I didn’t want to go to prison. That wasn’t me. I never would have done something like this.