Total pages in book: 173
Estimated words: 163802 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 819(@200wpm)___ 655(@250wpm)___ 546(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163802 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 819(@200wpm)___ 655(@250wpm)___ 546(@300wpm)
He blew back, brows disappearing into his hairline. Pretty sure no one had ever said that to him before.
“Get off of her!” I threw myself at the officers holding Courtney, and found myself being thrown right back.
My obstruction caught and twisted my arm around my back, putting me in a screaming hold. “Calm down, Mrs. Kim,” Davis ordered. “Don’t get yourself arrested right along with her.”
“Why is she being arrested?” I demanded. “What the hell’s going on?”
“She’s under arrest for the murder of your mother,” Kaplan said. “Ha-eun Kim.”
I dismissed that as soon as he said it. “Bullshit.”
“It’s not bullshit. She had every reason to want your mother dead... because of you.”
“Who?” I whipped around looking for someone else, but Kaplan was definitely looking at me. “Me?”
“Yes, you,” Balogun put in. “Years ago, when you ran into your friend in Paris and then told your mother all about your fun little weekend girls’ trip, your mother turned around and told Ms. Thorne’s parents all about it. It was because of your mother that your friend was disinherited.”
I rocked back, jaw hanging. “That’s insane! I’ve never been to—” I sliced off the sentence, sense rushing in and holding back my tongue.
Of course I’d never been to Paris, but the real Soo Min had. I had the photos of her in front of the Eiffel Tower to prove it.
What does this mean? Did cruel fate intervene and make Sue cross paths with Courtney when she was living in Paris, but pretending to be away at college? Was it really because of my sister and mother that Courtney’s parents hit the nuclear button and cut her off?
“N-no,” I croaked, tossing my head. “I don’t care what happened eight years ago. Courtney would never hurt anyone, let alone my own mother.”
“Exactly,” my best friend cried. “This is nonsense. You’ve got it all wrong!”
“Do we?” Balogun drawled. “Because my officers are certain that you went upstairs shortly before nine thirty and you didn’t come back down for a full half an hour. And you were packing a hell of a motive on the walk up. You went from an only child set to inherit millions to a broke and struggling single mom living in a one-bedroom shoebox above a bakery.”
“Hey!” Courtney lunged at her, almost tearing her restrained arms from her sockets. “Don’t you dare talk about my life that way! I love my daughter, my home, and my business. Plus, I made up with my parents years ago. I told them that I didn’t want their money. I just wanted us to be a family again for Taylor’s sake. If anything, Mrs. Kim did me a favor!”
“But that’s not true, is it, Ms. Thorne?”
Courtney and I whipped around at the new voice. Officer Andrews—a short, thin woman who looked like she was swimming in her uniform even though it was her size—pushed past a pale-faced Mr. Stevens, and a phone-high-and-recording-everything Chic Ghost. “Around the same time last year, I was called to your bakery by Madame Kim herself,” she said. “You threw her out of your shop—screaming, yelling, and pelting her with cupcakes. Half the street heard you shout that she was a miserable bitch that took everything from you.” Gasps sounded behind her. Our ghoulish, gossipy audience loved every minute of it. “You didn’t think she did you a favor then. No,” she stated, eyes hard. “You still held a grudge about the money.”
“But I didn’t,” Courtney half screamed. “It wasn’t the money I was upset about losing! I was mad because she—because she drove away—” Eyes filling, Courtney cut herself off, and looked at me.
The truth hit me like a brick to the head. Because of me. Courtney freaked out on my mom because she drove her best friend away, leaving her with absolutely no one on her side when her life imploded.
But she can’t say that here. Because how can she explain that she was angry with Omma for driving me away when “I” have been living in Lantana for over five years.
“This doesn’t make any sense,” Courtney cried, straining in their grip. “I didn’t do anything!”
“If you didn’t do anything, why was this”—Balogun snapped her fingers and an evidence bag was placed in her hand—“found in your overnight bag?”
I went slack in Davis’s grip.
For the benefit of me, Courtney, the officers, Mr. Stevens, and all the gawkers, she held up the bloodstained evidence bag, and the long, serrated blade nestled within. “The murder weapon,” she announced—as if there could be any doubt.
“If that was in my bag, you put it there,” Courtney screamed. “Because I sure as fuck didn’t! I’m the one who gave you permission to search my things. Why would I have done that if there was a bloody fucking knife in it?”
“Ms. Thorne—”
“They’re framing me.” Courtney whipped around, beseeching the cameras. “Help me, please! They’re trying to frame me for murder!”