Chapter 8

Ginny raised her right arm. She placed her palm flat against the rough wooden planks of the wall, right beside Coretta's ear. She leaned in, her body caging Coretta completely against the splintered wood.

Ginny tilted her head. Her dark, bottomless eyes bored into Coretta's, stripping away every layer of fake poise, digging straight down to the raw, ugly terror squirming underneath.

Her lips parted. She didn't yell. She didn't threaten. She spoke in a whisper so soft it barely stirred the dust motes floating in the stale air.

"Aspirin."

The single word hung between them like a live grenade.

Coretta's pupils blew so wide the brown of her irises nearly vanished. Every drop of blood drained from her face, leaving her skin a sickly, waxen gray. Her fingers went nerveless. The neon-green dress slithered from her grasp and pooled on the filthy floor.

Coretta's entire body began to shake. Her knees knocked audibly. Her teeth chattered. She stared at Ginny as though she were staring at a ghost that had clawed its way straight out of hell.

Behind them, Iris took a hesitant step forward. "Miss Coretta...?" the maid whispered, her voice trembling-and instantly froze, pressing her spine hard against the doorframe when Ginny flicked a single, razor-sharp warning glance in her direction.

"What..." Coretta stammered, her voice a pathetic, reedy squeak. "What are you talking about?"

Ginny held the stare for three more brutal seconds, letting the terror marinate deep in Coretta's bones.

Then she pushed off the wall. She took a large, casual step backward, shattering the suffocating tension in an instant. The cold, predatory mask vanished from her face. She tilted her head and offered a sweet, innocent smile.

"Nothing," Ginny said brightly. "You just look a little pale, sister. Like you have a headache. I thought maybe you needed some medicine."

Coretta swallowed so hard her throat clicked. A thick, greasy sheen of cold sweat glazed her forehead. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a jackhammer on overdrive.

Aspirin.

It was the exact medication Coretta had been secretly grinding into fine powder and mixing into Anjanette's daily vitamin capsules for months. A severe, life-threatening trigger for Anjanette's asthma. A slow, quiet, untraceable murder. And this trailer-park trash knew.

Coretta couldn't breathe. The attic walls seemed to warp and close in, squeezing the oxygen from the air. She lunged sideways, shoving Iris so brutally that the maid crashed against the doorframe with a yelp. Coretta bolted for the door, her designer heels clattering wildly against the wooden floorboards. She practically hurled herself down the narrow staircase, Iris scrambling in blind confusion at her heels.

Ginny stood in the center of the room, listening to the frantic, ungraceful footsteps fade into silence. A low, cold scoff escaped her lips.

She looked down at the heap of neon-green sequins on the floor. She bent, picked the dress up with two fingers as though it were contaminated, and walked to the small plastic trash can in the corner. She dropped it in.

She crossed to the heavy wooden door, pushed it shut, and slid the rusty iron deadbolt into place with a solid, final clack.

Three floors below, Coretta burst into her vast, lavishly decorated bedroom. She slammed the heavy double doors and hit the electronic lock with a shaking, frantic finger. She ran across the plush white carpet, chest heaving, and threw herself into the velvet chair before her vanity mirror.

Her hands shook so violently she nearly missed the keypad. She punched in the four-digit code. The bottom drawer clicked open. She shoved past velvet jewelry boxes and snatched a small, unmarked white plastic bottle.

She gripped it so hard the plastic dented. She pushed herself out of the chair, stumbled into her en-suite marble bathroom, and slammed the toilet lid up. She unscrewed the cap. Dozens of small white pills splashed into the water.

Coretta hit the silver flush handle and stood there, gripping the cold marble sink, watching the water churn and swirl. She didn't look away until every single pill was sucked down into the pipes.

She raised her head and stared at her reflection in the massive gilded mirror. Her hair was a wreck. Her mascara had smeared into dark hollows under her wild eyes. She looked terrified. She looked unhinged.

Coretta's hands curled into white-knuckled fists. Her manicured nails bit into her palms. The terror curdling in her chest began to transform, hardening into a hot, toxic, all-consuming rage.

Ginny knew. Coretta didn't understand how, but she knew.

The country girl couldn't be allowed to exist. She had to be obliterated. Tomorrow night, at the banquet, Coretta would make absolutely certain Ginny was ruined beyond any possible repair.