Page 63 of She Doesn't Have a Clue
“That’s not true,” Spencer declared, glancing at Kennedy. “Right, Ken?”
“Oh, Spencey,” Kennedy said, patting his arm like she was consoling a grieving relative at a funeral. “We’ll talk later, honey.”
“Oh,” Spencer muttered, looking deflated as he glanced sullenly at Kate. “You never complained.”
“I never knew better,” Kate said, her gaze automatically flicking to Jake, who couldn’t have looked more pleased with the whole outing.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Spencer said. “At my wedding?”
“Yes, Spencer,” Kate said heatedly. “Atyourwedding. Tosomeone else! You don’t get to be self-righteous about this!”
“She admits it,” Juliette said, crossing her arms. “She’s jealous about the wedding and only came this weekend to get rid of Kennedy.”
“Juliette, we’ve been over this,” Kennedy said, giving a hasty smile. “That was all a big misunderstanding. Kate would never hurt me.”
“Exactly!” Kate said with a nervous little laugh. “I’m not jealous, and I definitely wasn’t the one who poisoned Kennedy!”
“So you admit Kennedy was poisoned?” Juliette pressed.
“You’re twisting my words—”
“Your exact words were ‘I’m not the one who poisoned Kennedy,’ how am I twisting that?”
She needed Loretta, her strength and confidence. What would Loretta say?
“You’re acting awfully guilty for someone so loudly proclaiming their innocence,” Loretta said. “Pointing fingers at everybody so nobody points one back at you, huh?”
Right, Juliette was still a suspect here.
“I saw you, sneaking around with Veeta last night—”
“Now you admit you were spying on people, too?” Juliette charged. “Is that what you’re here to do this weekend? Stick your nose where it doesn’t belong?”
“What? No! I wasn’t spying—”
“She’s a scab, too!” Serena declared. “Kate doesn’t support the working author!”
Kate rolled her eyes, exasperated. “Serena, that’s not—”
“I caught her creeping around the family pool room, too,” Richie said, looking far too gleeful about his part in the accusation makings.
This wasrapidlygetting out of hand. What would Loretta do? Grab Abraham’s alarm app and force everyone into silence? Make a Molotov cocktail out of a vodka bottle and escape in the disarray? Kate’s Loretta connection was short-circuiting, visions of her heroine jumping out of burning buildings and fighting wedding guests flicking through her head like broken film. And interspersed between it all was a very real vision of Rebecca Hempstead, her skin so cold and rubbery, her expression frozen in grim surprise. Kate pressed her hands to the sides of her head, wishing for one moment of silence.
“Admit it!” someone shouted—probably Juliette. “Admit you tried to kill her!”
“I didn’t kill her!” Kate exclaimed, exasperated. “I didn’t kill Rebecca Hempstead!”
Chapter Thirty-One
If Kate had considered Cassidy finding the necklace to be a harbinger of chaos, her own accidental declaration was the eye of the storm. The whole room dropped into a dead silence, severely undercut by the howling of the wind outside the broken window and the dull, wet flapping of the makeshift curtains against the wooden frame. All eyes turned on her, bright and accusing. “What did you say?” Kennedy asked in confusion, the first to break the spell.
“Did you say Auntie R is dead?” Cassidy asked.
“Didyoukill her?” Richie asked, looking almost impressed with her.
“I just said I didn’t! I only found her body!”
“Wait, she reallyisdead?” Kennedy said, before bursting into tears. The sound of her sobbing broke the spell in the room, and suddenly the accusations were flying. Someone called Kate a murderer, someone else accused her of stealing their diamond tennis bracelet at the rehearsal dinner, and a deep voice in the back called for a pitchfork, of all things. This was rapidly getting out of hand.