Chapter 1 - THE HOUSEWARMINGMy name is Megan Palmer.
I was thirty-six years old when my mother hit me in the head with a baseball bat in the living room of the first house my husband and I had ever owned.
It happened at 7:18 on a Saturday evening.
I know the time because every camera in the house recorded it.
Before that, it had been an ordinary housewarming party.
Too many people.
Too much food.
Children running between rooms despite being told not to.
A playlist Ben had spent an embarrassing amount of time building.
My husband stood near the television in a dark-green button-down, arguing with his college friend about whether our new grill technically counted as a housewarming gift if Ben had purchased it for himself.
Our daughter Lily was three.
Blond curls.
Pink cardigan.
White leggings.
Sticky fingers from frosting.
She had been attached to my hip for most of the party because unfamiliar rooms full of adults made her clingy.
I didn’t mind.
I had waited seven years for her.
She could cling until college if she wanted.
My younger sister Olivia arrived forty minutes late.
Thirty-two.
Blond like our mother.
Beautiful when she wasn’t angry, which lately was less often than either of us liked.
She carried a large cream handbag and a white envelope.
I noticed the envelope because she made sure everyone noticed it.
“Ten thousand dollars,” she told our cousin Madison near the dining table.
Madison was sixteen, holding a plastic cup of red fruit punch.
“Why are you carrying ten thousand dollars around?”
Olivia smiled.
“Because banks close early.”
That answer made no sense.
I was too busy greeting guests to challenge it.
Our mother Diane arrived with her.
Sixty-five.
Gray hair cut neatly above her shoulders.
Elegant navy slacks.
Cream sweater.
Already irritated because our driveway was full and she had been forced to park two houses away.
She kissed Lily.
Barely hugged me.
Then spent fifteen minutes explaining to one of Ben’s coworkers that the neighborhood had been “much nicer before all the new construction.”
The baseball bat sat on a decorative rack near the fireplace.
Ben’s father had given it to him years earlier.
Signed minor-league memorabilia.
Not valuable enough for a museum.
Important enough that Ben had hung it beside an old framed team photograph.
I never once imagined anyone would use it.
At 7:11, Olivia began searching for her white envelope.
At 7:13, she announced loudly:
“It was right here.”
People stopped talking.
I was in the kitchen holding Lily.
“What was?”
“My money.”
“What money?”
“The ten thousand dollars.”
I stared.
“You brought ten thousand dollars in cash to a party?”
“Some cash.”
“What does that mean?”
“Cash and cashier’s checks.”
I shifted Lily higher.
“Okay. Where did you put it?”
“My purse.”
“Then check your purse.”
“I did.”
She had.
Three times apparently.
Then Olivia looked directly at me.
And I saw it before she spoke.
Not confusion.
Decision.
“She took it.”
The room went quiet.
“What?”
Olivia pointed at me.
“She stole my ten thousand dollars!”
Lily tightened her arms around my neck.
I said:
“Are you out of your mind?”
Diane stepped forward.
“Megan.”
“No, Mom. Do not ‘Megan’ me. She just accused me of stealing ten thousand dollars in my own house.”
Olivia’s face reddened.
“You were upstairs.”
“I was putting Lily’s pajamas in her room.”
“You knew where my purse was.”
“So did forty other people.”
Diane said:
“You’ve been complaining about how much this house cost.”
Ben turned from the television.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
I stared at my mother.
“You think I stole from her?”
“I think we should find out what happened before you start shouting.”
“I’m shouting because she accused me of theft.”
Madison raised one hand nervously.
“Um.”
Nobody listened.
“Uncle Ben?”
Ben looked toward her.
Madison pointed at the television.
“You said the security thing records the entry and living room, right?”
Ben stopped.
He had installed the system the week before.
Doorbell.
Driveway.
Living room because the back sliders had no direct exterior camera yet.
He picked up the remote.
Olivia’s face changed.
Only slightly.
Enough.
Ben noticed.
He opened the security app on the television.
Scrolled backward.
The room watched.
7:06.
Olivia near the console table.
White envelope visible.
She looked toward the kitchen.
Then toward the hallway.
She slid the envelope beneath a magazine.
Walked away.
Two minutes later, she returned.
Picked it up.
Opened her cream handbag.
Slipped the envelope inside.
Closed the bag.
Then moved the bag onto a chair.
No Megan.
No mystery.
No theft.
Ben paused the video.
Then pointed at the screen.
“No—Olivia stole it herself.”
Olivia’s face drained.
Nobody spoke.
Diane looked at the screen.
Then at Olivia.
Then at me.
For one second I expected her to ask Olivia why.
Instead her expression changed into something savage.
“You had to put this on the television?”
I stared.
“Mom, I didn’t put anything—”
“You always have to humiliate her.”
“Olivia accused me of stealing.”
“You could have handled it privately!”
“She accused me in front of everyone!”
Diane turned toward the fireplace.
Her hand closed around the baseball bat.
Ben said:
“Diane.”
She tore it from the rack.
My stomach dropped.
“Mom, put that down.”
She crossed the room.
Fast.
Olivia shouted:
“Mom!”
Diane swung.
The bat struck the side of my head above my left ear.
A white flash.
Then sound disappeared.
I staggered.
Warm blood immediately ran across my temple and forehead.
Lily screamed in my arms.
I tightened both arms around her.
Guests recoiled.
Someone knocked over a chair.
Ben shouted my name.
Diane raised the bat again.
This time she was facing me and Lily together.
I backed away.
My heel caught the edge of the rug.
I slammed backward against the wall.
Almost fell.
Didn’t.
I held Lily so tightly she cried against my shoulder.
Then I looked down.
Her face was wet.
Not clear tears.
Red.
Bright-red lines were streaming from both eyes.
My entire body froze.
“Lily...?”
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Madison’s red drink slipped from her hand.
“Oh my God—look at the baby!”
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