“Venable knew Annabeth bought a pregnancy test the morning that she died. He assumed it was for his daughter. But then I saw the grocery list. I couldn’t eat a thing for a month or so when I first got pregnant. I wasn’t throwing up or anything, but nothing tasted good, you know?”
Fern ignored the question.
“Then one day, my friend Maggie Bishop dropped by with this amazing pasta. It had short rib meat and parmesan.”
“This story have a point?” Fern asked.
“When I saw Annabeth’s grocery list, I remembered the story Maggie Bishop told me that day, about her neighbor who got pregnant at forty-nine. The woman had a grandchild who would be older than the new baby. Can you imagine?”
Charlotte moved to the edge of the bed. “That’s when it occurred to me that maybe Annabeth was the one who was pregnant. And that maybe after learning such shocking news, she might not know how to tell her husband. She might want to talk to her best friend about it because there was one other thing on that grocery list that made me think you were coming over. Dog treats.”
Fern looked up with such anger, such desolation that Finn had to stop himself from stepping in to shield Charlotte.
“I didn’t kill her,” she said simply.
“But you know what happened,” Charlotte finished the thought.
“She stole my life,” Fern said simply.
Neither Charlotte nor Finn spoke. Fern expelled a weary sigh. “I had Venable first, you know. I was prettier, smarter, more popular, but for some reason, Venable wanted her. We’d go to the lake or the mall or the movies, and I’d catch him staring at her. Well, I wasn’t about to play second fiddle, not to her.” She pushed herself higher on the bed and continued, “So I threw over Venable and married someone richer and better looking.”
Her eyes glazed, lost in a sad memory. “Hollis gave me everything I ever wanted, except the one thing I wanted most of all.”
“A child,” Charlotte provided.
“He was in an accident as a boy, fell from a tree onto a fence post. Damaged his misters. Didn’t bother sharing that fact until after we were married. It wouldn’t have mattered, I guess.” Fern picked up a child’s juice box from the nightstand and moved the straw to her lips with an unsteady hand. “You know, one year, we filled out all the paperwork to adopt. Hollis came home from work that night with a diamond necklace. Said his parents didn’t approve of adoption. Told us to keep trying even though they knew he had no swimmers.”
“So you became a dog person.” Charlotte reached over and scratched the panting dog with a sweater that said “Bruce” across the back.
Fern’s lips curled in a bitter smile. “I named them names I would have called my children. The first dog I got I named Hollis, junior.”
“That had to sting,” Finn said.
“It was meant to.” She patted the space next to her, but neither dog moved. “Meanwhile, Annabeth was pushing out babies like it was an Olympic sport. Five girls in eight years. They barely had two nickels to rub together, but Annabeth always focused on the donut; I could only ever see the hole. I didn’t actively resent her. We were friends. Good friends. But that bitterness? It settles deep.”
Finn understood.
“That day? The day she died? I stopped by to check on some things for our thirtieth high school reunion. It was a good day. Her girls were all grown and out of the house. It felt like we were all in the same place for once. I walked in, and Annabeth was sitting at the kitchen table with the goofiest look on her face.”
“She was pregnant.” Charlotte surmised.
“She was forty-eight years old!” Fern all but shouted. “Their youngest, Clementine, was pregnant. Annabeth had four grandchildren!” The old woman fell back, winded from the outburst.
“What happened?” Finn asked.
“I didn’t kill her if that’s what you’re asking. But I had a hand in it.” Fern smoothed the covers at her chest. “She went down to the cellar to get some canned peaches for a pie. When she got to the top of the stairs, I screamed at her. I don’t even remember what I said; it just all came pouring out. She stepped back. I reached for her. I tried to help her, but she was already falling. I caught the chain of her locket as she fell.”
“Why’d you take it?” Charlotte’s voice was a whisper.
Fern merely lifted a bony shoulder. “The clasp broke. I panicked, thought it would look suspicious. Hollis was running for mayor. I didn’t want a scandal. I figured Venable would assume she lost it, or one of the cops stole it. But that obstinate bull wouldn’t let it go.”
Finn stepped to Charlotte’s side. “Where’s the locket, Fern?”
“I’ll give it to you, but you’ve got to do something for me.”
“You’re in no position to bargain,” Finn replied.
“You’re wrong about that, buddy boy. I’m dyin’, and I’m completely fine goin’ to my grave with that hideous piece of jewelry forever hidden away.” She picked up the remote and pointed it at the TV.