CHAPTER 29

Finally, Murder Unplugged was covering the emails. They had dedicated an entire episode to the two they had received so far, and the comment section was getting flooded with opinions. Gabrielle thought it was something they should ignore, but Rachel was already "coordinating with law enforcement" to get to the bottom of it. I listened to their discussions with a smile, amused at how far off they were. This episode was already blowing up and feeding traffic to their full breakdown of the Folcrum Party.

My cell rang when I was driving down the 210, heading into Daisy-Villa. The call was from a Los Angeles area code, and I pressed the button on my steering wheel to answer it.

"Hello?"

"May I speak to Mrs. Wultz, please?"

"Speaking."

"This is Tina Anthow, the director of Tom Pullic Academy. I'm calling about Sophie's upcoming registration. We met at the orientation."

Ugh. A horrible decision by Grant, one that we both agreed was a mistake. The two-week-long private soccer camp would run into Sophie's fall schedule, and the instruction was extremely expensive ... more than we could justify for an instructor who was good but not great. I'd looked into the contract, but their noncancellation policy was ironclad, and they already had our 50 percent deposit in hand.

The silence had stretched too long, and the woman spoke again. "Mrs. Wultz? Are you there?"

I could hang up, but that wouldn't make this problem go away. An idea emerged, and I jumped on it before it disappeared. "I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice cracking. "Sophie died last weekend. I thought—I thought my assistant would have called you by now."

The woman gasped. "What? Oh my gosh. I—I'm so, so sorry to hear that."

"It was a car accident. On the way back from soccer practice, actually. I—" I inhaled loudly. "I'm sorry. I can't. I can't speak about it without crying. Is there a way to cancel the camp?"

"Oh, of course. I'll handle that right away. Let me get an exception and refund your deposit. Again, Mrs. Wultz, I'm so sorry. Is there anywhere we can send flowers?"

"No, but thank you. Please just handle the cancellation and remove her record from your system. We're trying to stop any future mailings or calls ... it's just too painful."

The woman tripped over herself apologizing, then finally hung up. Pleased, I lifted my Starbucks cup out of the cup holder and took a sip, enjoying the hot hazelnut blend and savoring the reaction I had just gotten.

It was a small taste of what was to come, an amuse-bouche of the upcoming meal. Once the party had occurred, the floodgates would open and I would be swarmed with condolences and pity. They'd probably name a park after Sophie. I imagined myself at the dedication, a black veil on, voice shaking. I would need to give a speech, thanking everyone and sharing a fond memory.

I would bask in it. Enjoy every moment—all with an anguished look of sorrow on my face. I'd already started practicing my demeanor, the lines of my televised interviews, the quotes I would give—ones that would go viral.

I smiled at the thought.