The Last Time I Saw You. Liv Constantine

she screamed. “Come here. Hurry!”

      In an instant, he was beside her as she continued to stare at the three dead mice, lined up in the sink, their eyes gouged out of their heads. And then she saw the note.

       Three blind mice

       Three blind mice

       See how they run

       See how they run!

       They all ran after a charming life

       He took their eyes with a carving knife

       Did you ever see such a beautiful sight?

       As three dead mice?

       4

      Blaire had played her reunion with Kate over and over in her mind through the years—what she would say to her, how Kate would beg to be her friend again, and the crushed look she’d get when Blaire told her it was too late. It would be Kate’s turn to feel the pain of betrayal, just the way Blaire had felt when Kate kicked her out of her wedding after their terrible argument that morning. And then she’d elevated Selby from a regular bridesmaid to maid of honor in Blaire’s place. The truth was, Kate had never been far from Blaire’s mind over the years—she’d heard news about her through their other friends and seen glimpses of her life in their pictures on Facebook. But since Blaire felt she was the injured party, there had been no way she was going to come crawling back—or so she’d thought. Lily’s murder had changed all that. She’d known that the minute Kate had called. She had to come and pay her respects to Lily. And once she was there, she knew she had to do whatever she could to help them find the killer.

      Now that she’d come back, she saw that not only had she been right about Simon, but that something was very wrong between him and Kate. Blaire had always studied people; it was one of the things that contributed to her success as a writer. The little things told the story—the looks that passed between two people, the choice of a phrase, an unreturned sentiment. From where she’d sat at the funeral luncheon, she’d had a clear view of the two of them, and Blaire had noticed Kate jump like she’d been burned when Simon’s hand reached for hers, snatching it back and putting it in her lap. And then, of course, there had been the brunette in the short skirt.

      She stood by the window and gazed at the Baltimore Harbor, the low December sun shimmering on the water in a dazzling geometric puzzle. When she called to make reservations at the Four Seasons, they’d told her they were fully booked, so close to the Christmas holidays. But as soon as she inquired about the presidential suite and gave them her name, the flat voice on the other end of the phone became animated, promptly apologizing and booking her reservation. She’d come a long way from that young girl who didn’t quite fit in.

      Blaire was still in touch with some of her friends from her school days in Maryland. It had been tough at first—they’d all known each other since kindergarten, and Blaire arrived on the scene in eighth grade. Her father had told her that she should be happy that she’d been accepted to such a wonderful school, that it would open up a whole new world for her. Enid, his new wife, said that she was languishing at her public school, that she would have better opportunities if she went to one of the country’s top prep schools. They tried to make it sound like they were doing it for Blaire, but she knew the truth—that Enid wanted her gone, that she was tired of arguing with Blaire over every little thing. That’s how she found herself going away to Maryland, where she knew absolutely no one, ten hours from her home in New Hampshire. And to add insult to injury, Mayfield insisted she repeat the eighth grade, since she’d missed so much school the year before when she’d had mono. It was ridiculous.

      But once she got to Mayfield, Blaire had to admit that the school grounds were beautiful—grass so green it didn’t look real and Georgian-style buildings dotting the campus, giving it a college feel. And the facilities were amazing. There was a tremendous swimming pool, stables, a state-of-the-art gym, and plush dorm rooms. It was a definite step up. Besides, her house wasn’t hers anymore. Enid’s touch was everywhere, her ridiculous homemade crafts all over the kitchen and living room.

      Her first day at Mayfield, the headmistress had taken her around the campus. A woman of indeterminate age, she wore her hair in a tight bun, but she had a kind face and a soft voice, and Blaire had found herself suddenly wishing she would stay with her.

      The headmistress opened the door to a classroom, and as the teacher welcomed them in, the room had grown silent and all the girls turned, their eyes settling on her. They were in uniforms: white button-down shirts, plaid skirts, white socks, shiny loafers, and navy cardigans. Upon closer inspection, subtle differences emerged—gold or silver post earrings, add-a-bead necklaces, thin gold bangles. Blaire curled her fingers into her hands to hide her chipped pink nail polish. The headmistress had already informed her that only clear polish was acceptable, but said she’d overlook it today.

      As Blaire looked around at all the other girls, she laid eyes on Kate for the first time. Shiny blond hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail. A hint of clear lip gloss on her bow-shaped lips. Blue eyes the color of the Caribbean—or at least the way it looked in pictures. She could tell right away that Kate was the type of girl that everyone liked.

      “Welcome, Blaire.” Pointing to the beautiful girl, the teacher continued. “Go and take a seat next to Kate Michaels.” Kate smiled at Blaire and patted the top of the empty desk next to her.

      Later, at lunch, Kate introduced Blaire to her circle of friends. They’d all followed Kate’s lead and been friendly and warm. Selby was nice enough, but the first thing she said when she introduced herself was “I’m Selby, Kate’s best friend.” Blaire had smiled at her. Not for long, she thought. And it hadn’t been. She and Kate were soon inseparable.

      It took a little longer for the other girls at the school to completely accept her. At first she was naive enough to believe that money was the great equalizer. Her father had made plenty of it, but he earned it selling tires at a dealership he’d founded twenty years before. Back in New Hampshire, they’d been one of the wealthiest families in their town, sponsoring Little League teams and the school backpack program. But here in Baltimore, she wasn’t a big fish anymore. It hadn’t taken her long to understand that there was a difference between old and new money, breeding and upbringing. But Blaire was a quick study; within a few years, no one who met her would have guessed she hadn’t been born into that world.

      Despite the somber reason for her return, she couldn’t deny that it felt good—damn good—to have all of them looking at her differently. She was no longer the nobody from the boondocks who didn’t know what a cotillion was. Thanks to the Megan Mahooney detective series that she’d created with Daniel, she was more famous than she ever could have hoped. She’d always had dreams of becoming a writer, and so she’d majored in English at Columbia and interned every summer for various publishing houses. When she graduated, she was hired as a publicity assistant at one of the major houses—the same one that published Daniel Barrington. With nine best sellers under his belt, he was not only well known but well loved. He’d written twelve thrillers in the serial killer genre. Blaire had read all of them and seen him interviewed on network talk shows. Assigned as Daniel’s publicist’s assistant, she had been delighted to realize how friendly and unassuming he was despite his success. She got to know him better when her boss was out on maternity leave, and she was able to fill in on two of his tour stops.

      Blaire had seized the opportunity and made sure she looked her best that second night in Boston. After the signing, they grabbed a bite to eat around the corner from the bookstore. When Blaire ordered her cheeseburger with provolone, he’d smiled and told her that was the way he liked his burger too. For the next two hours there was never a lull in the conversation. They discovered they were both fans of the dark stories of Poe and Bram Stoker, and Blaire nodded in agreement when he’d said his favorite movie was The Postman Always Rings Twice. They talked about their undergrad years, when they’d immersed