Wordle by Wordle Archive: Part 2

The story so far, continued...

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Here, you will find every installment of Wordle by Wordle, a Wordle-of-the-Day serialized novel that updates daily.

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Day 130 (Thursday, May 9, 2024): Wordle #1055 – JERKY

Chapter 13.

The interrogation room isn’t what I expected.

For starters, there’s no two-way mirror, which is strangely disappointing. If I’m going to be charged with murder, the setting should at least be cinematic. But no, I’m stuck in a spartan, windowless room with a tiny desk, stiff plastic chairs, and empty walls—all in shades of gloomy blue-gray. It could pass for a waiting room in the world’s most depressing dentist’s office.

It’s small, too. Made all the smaller by Palumbo’s looming presence.

He’s been stuck to me like a lamprey ever since we left my apartment, from Mirandizing through processing, peppering me with questions at every step.

After spending the last few hours together, I can’t help but notice that whenever Palumbo isn’t talking, he’s doing something with his mouth. Chewing, usually, on whatever he can get his hands on. The gum had been replaced by beef jerky, then sunflower seeds, then a plastic coffee stirrer.

Now, he’s gnawing on a hank of red licorice, leaning so far back in his chair that its front legs are reared up off the floor.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” I sigh. “Some stop-and-frisk quota to meet or something?”

Palumbo’s chair clomps forward onto the commercial carpet, and I think maybe I’ve surprised him by speaking. I don’t know exactly how much time has passed—there’s no clock on the bare wall—but I do know it’s been a while since I last said anything.

Day 131 (Friday, May 10, 2024): Wordle #1056 – MEDIA

Despite how keen Palumbo has been to get me talking, he doesn’t respond to my gibe.

He leans his elbows on his knees and bends forward, hands interlocked, assessing me. His already obscenely unbuttoned shirt yawns open even more, revealing a swath of bare chest, and I look away quickly—disgusted by how not disgusted I am.

Palumbo smirks that stupid smirk of his and slouches back into his chair, clearly pleased with himself. What he thinks he’s accomplished, I’m not sure, but I do feel like I’ve lost, somehow.

He tears off another bite of red licorice, chomping on it with his mouth wide open, and pulls his cell phone from his pocket.

I guess he’s done playing mind games for now because he turns his attention to his phone. Minutes go by as Palumbo idly browses with one hand, his thumb swiping up every few seconds, his dark eyes dulled by that vacant look that can only mean he’s scrolling through social media.

“Sorry, am I boring you?” I ask, honestly a little offended that Twitter is apparently more interesting than interrogating me, a suspected murderer.

Palumbo looks up from his phone, one eyebrow arched.

“Yeah, you are. But if you want to start talking—”

He’s interrupted by a knock on the door.

Day 132 (Saturday, May 11, 2024): Wordle #1057 – TIDAL

“Perfect timing,” Palumbo drawls, and I can’t tell whether he’s being sarcastic, seeming at once exasperated by and grateful for the intrusion. He rolls to his feet and opens the door barely wide enough for me to make out yet another officer on the other side. “What is it?”

“Sir, her lawyer’s here.”

I had felt oddly nonplussed—numb, really—since arriving at the police station, but now a tidal wave of relief washes over me. Help has finally arrived. I hope.

“Send her in,” Palumbo says and opens the door all the way. He wolfs down the remainder of the licorice and then wipes his hands on his pants. To himself, he mumbles, “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Half a minute passes before I hear brisk footsteps clipping down the hallway, then a small, slim woman appears at the door.

“Counselor. I’m Detective Craig Palumbo—”

“Yes, we’ve met before,” the woman says, brushing right past him and into the room. She practically ducks under Palumbo’s extended hand, shorter than him by more than a foot. “Now if you’ll excuse us, detective. I’d like some time alone with my client.”

Her voice is soft but certain. She’s not asking for permission.

“Be my guest,” Palumbo says, giving his permission anyway. He offers a slight bow and twirls his hand in an obeisant flourish as he backs out of the room. With a parting sneer in my direction, he closes the door.

Day 133 (Sunday, May 12, 2024): Wordle #1058 – OUTER

“What a prick,” the woman mutters. I like her already. “I’m Aparna Venkat.”

She jabs her hand toward me, fingers tight together like a spade.

“Cecilia Cale. Nice to meet you,” I say and take her hand. She offers one firm shake before motioning for me to sit back down. I take a seat across from her at the tiny desk. “Miss Venkat—”

“Just Aparna, please,” she says, preoccupied with unpacking her laptop bag.

She empties everything, from its large outer pouch to the tiniest inner pockets, knolling the contents onto the table with a precision that would make Todd McLellan proud. A laptop, an iPad, pens, pencils, notebooks in three different sizes…

“Aparna, thank you for accepting my case.”

“You can thank Kevin,” Aparna says matter-of-factly.

Oh, I will. He’ll never let me live it down.

Everyone in Kevin’s orbit seems to be a wunderkind of one expertise or another—myself excluded, but the gravity of Roy’s friendship with him had been strong enough to pull me in, too.

I’d remembered Kevin bragging about a friend he’d made during his undergrad years at Stanford, a pre-law student who’d gone on to become a powerhouse defense attorney. A courtroom superstar who took on—and won—some of the most high-profile murder cases in recent California history.

So, Kevin had been my “one phone call.” Though, even without the lawyer connection, he was the only person I could have reached out to. What with Roy dead and Bree, well…

Day 134 (Monday, May 13, 2024): Wordle #1059 – CUMIN

Aparna finishes her arrangement, adjusting the pen nearest her by a millimeter, and then leans back into her chair, arms crossed. She quickly appraises me but betrays nothing in her expression.

She’s a little intimidating herself, but I suppose that’s what I want in a lawyer. Her pointed chin and sleek bob give her a severe, no-nonsense look that’s underscored by her business-chic ensemble—a cumin-colored silk blouse under a dark navy blazer with matching trousers. All very expensive. Another sign of a good lawyer… I think.

Beyond her appearance, she radiates a calm confidence, which calms me down too. Until she speaks again.

“Your mugshot’s all over the internet already. I’d bet my right ovary Palumbo leaked it,” Aparna tsks, sucking her teeth. “I really wish you hadn’t worn that.”

I look down at my t-shirt with its faded “The Killers” logo. My cardigan covers up the “s” to an… unfortunate effect.

“Well, I wish I hadn’t been wrongfully accused of murdering my ex-husband. But here we are.”

Day 135 (Tuesday, May 14, 2024): Wordle #1060 – AMASS

“So, you’re saying you’re innocent?” Aparna doesn’t sound skeptical, exactly, but she doesn’t sound like she quite believes me, either.

“I’m not just saying it, I am innocent,” I insist. “And I know who really killed Roy.”

“Okay, as your attorney, my first piece of advice is don’t talk like O.J. Simpson,” Aparna says and smiles briefly—a tight, crooked grin that’s strangely disarming. It’s gone so quickly that I wonder whether I imagined it.

“But I’m not a murderer.” I feel it bears repeating. “Bree killed Roy, not me. She even confessed to it.”

“Bree…” Aparna cracks open a large notebook and starts thumbing through the many pages of notes she has already amassed. “Bree Olsen-Liu, the wife?”

“That’s right. Bree and I are… were friends,” I say, stumbling over the word. “I suspected she was lying to me from the start. On the day Roy went missing, she—"

“Wait, let’s back up a little. I need to get to know you, my client, not Bree.” Aparna flips to a fresh page. “You’re a private investigator, is that right?”

“Yes, for about two years now,” I reply, anxious to get back to the case itself, to get this all over with.

“Okay. Tell me about your relationship with Roy. When you got married, how many years you were together, that sort of thing.”

Day 136 (Wednesday, May 15, 2024): Wordle #1061 – PINCH

I don’t answer right away. I want to push back, to protest that our marriage isn’t relevant, to steer the conversation back in Bree’s direction.

But I know that my relationship with Roy is more than relevant to the charges leveled against me—it’s the crux. With no hard evidence before today, Palumbo must have built his case around my supposed motive to kill Roy…

I sigh.

“Well, I met Roy about nine years ago. It’s a funny story, actually. I was trying to find parking at San Pedro Square Market when—"

“I don’t need to hear the whole meet-cute.” Aparna stops scribbling notes to pinch the bridge of her nose. “Just dates are fine for now.”

“Okay…” I bristle a little. It’s one of my favorite stories, and yeah, it’s a pretty good meet-cute.

I had been driving in circles for minutes, my windows rolled down, searching for any empty spot, when I pulled up alongside another car at a stoplight. Roy’s car. His windows were down, too, and he was singing along to “The Mariner’s Revenge Song.” Just like I was, at that very same moment. It wasn’t on the radio, either.

Our eyes met, we both croaked out a few “oh, ohs”—several seconds off from each other, off-tune, but that didn’t matter—and then pulled into two miraculously empty parking spots, side by side. We shared a pitcher of margaritas at the market and…

“We dated for a little over a year before getting married, were together for five, and then got divorced three years ago.”

Just the facts, ma’am.

Day 137 (Thursday, May 16, 2024): Wordle #1062 – STALL

Aparna nods to show she’s listening, but she doesn’t look up from what she’s writing in her notebook.

“Was the decision to divorce mutual?”

I stall, ashamed to answer, even after all these years.

“Um, no, Roy wanted the divorce.”

When I don’t elaborate, Aparna glances up from her notes with an expression that seems to say, “And??”

“I’m a recovering alcoholic.” I pause, clear my throat. “I’m almost two years sober now, but I… wasn’t, back then.”

Aparna gives me a dispassionate look that’s more unreadable than Infinite Jest before she returns to her notebook. I find myself feeling oddly grateful for such an opaque reaction—it’s certainly better than the looks of pity or patronization I’m more used to.

“What was your relationship like after the divorce? Any hard feelings?”

Roy certainly didn’t harbor any hard feelings. He was a true believer in “forgive and forget”—always the bigger person. My feelings? Well, they took a while to soften up.

“I was resentful at first, I’ll admit, for a few months at least.” The cleaving sadness I still feel to this day is another story, but I don’t say that. “Roy was always very supportive of my recovery, and we got along well enough these last couple of years.”

Day 138 (Friday, May 17, 2024): Wordle #1063 – TUTOR

“So you kept in touch?”

“Well, it was impossible to avoid each other, what with Roy marrying Bree…” I suppose I could have avoided them both, but honestly, I didn’t want to.

“And when was the last time you saw Roy?”

I’m a little surprised that I have to think about it. For the first year following our divorce, whenever I would see him, I would replay our interaction over and over in my head. Analyzing every word and every movement, searching for the smallest sign that he still cared about me in the same way.

Even when he was dating Bree, I would hold onto any time we bumped into each other. Tucking away a mental image of what he had been wearing that day, how he styled his hair.

I guess I just hadn’t thought about him much these past few months, before I knew we’d never cross paths again…

“The last time I saw him? It must have been at Bree’s birthday party in July. I don’t remember the exact date.”

But I do remember now, seeing Roy.

I had been stuck in an interminable debate between Bree’s French tutor and her life coach, something about dream interpretation. I would nod or hmm politely, but I’m sure my eyes were more glazed over than a Krispy Kreme.

Roy spotted me, and saved me, feigning that he needed my help with the charcuterie boards.

Day 139 (Saturday, May 18, 2024): Wordle #1064 – BRINY

“After that party, did you contact Roy again? Text, phone call, email…”

“Um, no, I don’t think so.”

I’m still processing the fact that my very last conversation with Roy had been about which cheese was superior, whether the cornichons were too briny…

“To your knowledge, were you a beneficiary to any of Roy’s assets at the time of his death?”

This snaps me out of our chat over some stupid charcuterie board and back to the present.

“What? No, why? Why would I be? We’ve been divorced for years.” I realize I sound too flustered, too defensive, but the question had taken me by surprise. “Is that what Palumbo’s saying? That I killed Roy for his money—?"

Aparna makes a “keep it down” gesture with her free hand.

“Palumbo will try to establish motive as either money or jealousy, or both,” Aparna says bluntly. “We need to anticipate his arguments to build the best defense.”

“No, we can prove that I’m innocent with evidence against Bree! She’s the one who did it!” I’m through with dancing around the truth of the matter, and I don’t bother to lower my voice, despite Aparna’s increasingly animated hand gestures.

“That’s not really how this all works—”

“Don’t you hear what I’m saying? Bree killed Roy and now she’s trying to frame me!”

Day 140 (Sunday, May 19, 2024): Wordle #1065 – HITCH

Maybe she’s just humoring me, but Aparna gives in.

“Okay, let’s hear it,” she sighs and dutifully puts her pen to paper.

So, I tell her everything. From Bree’s affair with Austin Early to the ill-fated fight that led to Roy’s death to the attempted cover-up. Maybe I’m deluding myself, but I think Aparna’s interest piques as I spell out the details. She leans forward in her seat, her eyebrows shooting up every so often.

I move on to my confrontation with Bree yesterday, when she confessed everything.

“I even got Bree’s confession on tape… kind of. She didn’t know I was recording her, and the audio quality’s not so great.”

That’s an understatement. It had been so windy at Dolores Park that the resulting audio had sounded no clearer than an untuned TV, our voices only occasionally legible—barely. And then my phone had shut off shortly after getting into Bree’s Tesla. Stupid battery-draining audio app.

“Doesn’t matter, the recording would have been inadmissible in court anyway,” Aparna says, waving away my best piece of evidence.

My stomach knots at her reaction—she should be thrilled about a confession that absolves her client, right?—and then it hitches even tighter at the mention of court.

Even though I’ve been stewing in a police station for the past several hours, I haven’t allowed myself to think about what happens next. Not even for a second. Going to trial—to jail—is too inconceivable for me to grasp right now.

Day 141 (Monday, May 20, 2024): Wordle #1066 – NICER

So, I push the thought right back out of my mind.

“Well, the ‘evidence’ against me shouldn’t be admissible either,” I argue, really emphasizing the air quotes. “Bree planted all that stuff in my apartment when she came over on the twenty-second, the day Roy’s body was found.”

On the way to the police station, I had put all the pieces together, and I didn’t like what I saw.

That huge, heavy purse Bree had lugged into my apartment—she’d brought it with her into the bathroom, too. She’d unloaded Roy’s phone and such from her purse, then squirreled the items away in the sink cabinet. I have no doubt of this.

But being right doesn’t make up for being betrayed.

I could almost forgive Bree if she had decided to frame me after I’d confronted her at Dolores Park. It would have at least been understandable—a defense mechanism—like that time Lola nipped at me when I accidentally stepped on her tail.

But no, Bree has been setting me up from the start. She planned this. And god knows she’s good at planning shit.

Aparna must see how miserable I am because she suddenly adopts a nicer tone.

“Don’t worry, I’ve won even more hopeless cases than yours.”

Okay, that’s about as reassuring as a student driver sticker on an Uber.

I open my mouth to say as much but there’s a curt knock at the door.

Day 142 (Tuesday, May 21, 2024): Wordle #1067 – DINGO

Palumbo slides into the room before either of us can object.

“I think that’s more than enough time to get your story straight,” Palumbo says, bored and impatient. He’s chewing on a toothpick pinned between his teeth, and its point jerks up and down as he speaks. “Are you ready to talk now?”

Aparna doesn’t so much as look in his direction. To me, she says,

“You can exercise your right to remain silent at any time, and you should. The less you say, the better. Don’t let him rile you up, don’t take the bait, don’t bother with rhetorical questions. And if you absolutely shouldn’t say anything, I’ll let you know,” Aparna rattles off her orders. “When in doubt, just shut the fuck up. Got it?”

I manage to nod. If her goal had been to scare me into silence, she succeeded.

Palumbo picks up the only remaining chair in the room, positions it close to me so that I’m completely in his line of sight, and then slouches into its seat. Nowhere to hide.

“Look, we all know you’re about as innocent as ‘a dingo took my baby’ lady, but there are still some questions I’d like to ask you,” Palumbo says brusquely.

“Well, actually, that woman was totally absolved of any crime, so…”

Aparna shoots me a look so murderous, Palumbo ought to be interrogating her.

Day 143 (Wednesday, May 22, 2024): Wordle #1068 – EXALT

Palumbo’s not bothered by my interjection, though. If anything, he looks pleased.

Probably because I’ve just demonstrated that I’m: (a) not immune to goading, (b) terrible at following my attorney’s advice, and (c) even worse at keeping my mouth shut.

He grins around his toothpick, his dark eyes gleaming with anticipation. He must be imagining how his fellow police officers will exalt him when he puts me behind bars. Or maybe he’s relishing the cat-and-mouse of it all. Maybe both.

Day 144 (Thursday, May 23, 2024): Wordle #1069 – SWISH

“Cecilia,” Palumbo purrs, and I cringe. Somehow, hearing my given name from his mustachioed lips is a thousand times worse than “Cece.”  He continues. “When was the last time you claim you saw Mr. Liu?”

Okay, that’s an easy one. We just went over this…

“Both my client and Mr. Liu were present at Mrs. Olsen-Liu’s birthday party in July,” Aparna answers before I can. The pages of her notebook swish as she flips through them with crisp efficiency. “Miss Cale doesn’t recall the exact date, however—”

“Thank you,” Palumbo butts in, sounding not at all like he means it. He hasn’t taken his eyes off me for a second, not even when Aparna was speaking. “Was this party at the Lius’ home?”

“No, Bree rented out a bar near Union Square. Novela.”

Their old apartment would have been too tiny to host so many guests, and they had probably been in the middle of moving to their new place in Pacific Heights, besides. Not that Bree ever needed an excuse to splash out.

“Did you contact Mr. Liu in any other way since then?” Palumbo produces his own small spiral notebook from somewhere and jots down a couple of words like he’s attacking the paper. His pen cap is more chewed up than a dog toy.

“No, not that I recall.”

“Not that you recall?” He repeats my words with an air of surprise, of disbelief, and leans forward intently.

“Not that I recall,” I recite firmly, even though his reaction has me doubting myself. Aparna nods her head in approval.

See? I can follow basic instructions… sometimes.

Day 145 (Friday, May 24, 2024): Wordle #1070 – GLIDE

“So, you’re saying you didn’t phone Mr. Liu recently?” Palumbo asks, still with feigned disbelief.

“Not that I recall,” I say again, a little shakily. I didn’t, did I?

Aparna seems thrown off-balance by the question, too. There’s a stutter in her pen’s smooth glide across the notebook—she puts it down and raises her eyebrows at me quizzically. I shake my head.

“You didn’t call him every day, for a week, before his death?”

Now Aparna’s shaking her head at me. Her sharp bob slaps across her cheeks with each vigorous side-to-side.

“Um, I am exercising my right to remain silent.” My voice rises pathetically, like I’m asking a question.

Even though I’m certain I didn’t do any such thing, I’m too wary to deny Palumbo’s accusation about the phone calls.

He’s laying a trap. I don’t know what sort of trap, but I do know I’ll need to tread carefully if I don’t want to wind up the coyote to his roadrunner.

Day 146 (Saturday, May 25, 2024): Wordle #1071 – TITAN

“That’s odd,” Palumbo says and leans in even closer. “Because I was told you called Mr. Liu incessantly in the days leading up to his death.”

Told by Bree, no doubt. Before I can defend myself, or possibly dig myself deeper, Aparna jumps in.

“Well, you are now in possession of Miss Cale’s cell phone and, allegedly, Mr. Liu’s phone. I’m sure you have a warrant to review their contents—no need to badger my client with questions you can answer yourself,” Aparna says sniffily.

My spirits had been sinking faster than the Titanic, but Aparna’s cool riposte buoys me a bit.  

Day 147 (Sunday, May 26, 2024): Wordle #1072 – BEVEL

Palumbo deigns to glance at Aparna for a moment—a quick look of game recognizing game—before he returns to me.

“I was also told that, during these calls, you made threats against the victim.”

My elbow slips off the beveled edge of the table in my surprise.

“You tried to extort money from Mr. Liu… Money you claimed you were ‘owed’ when he made it big shortly after your divorce.”

I actually laugh—an abrupt, incredulous snort—it’s just too ridiculous.

“You think this is funny?” Palumbo asks with a seriousness that only underscores the absurdity of his words.

“I’m exercising my right to remain silent,” I say around a humorless chuckle.

Aparna gives me another clipped yet approving nod, and only after scowling at my not-so-silent laughter.

Day 148 (Monday, May 27, 2024): Wordle #1073 – SKIER

“Maybe you don’t remember these phone calls because you were…” Palumbo mimes taking a deep swig from a bottle.

“Detective, I suggest you pursue a different line of questioning,” Aparna warns, her voice steely. “And may I also suggest that you actually ask questions instead of making baseless insinuations?”

Palumbo puts his hands up in surrender, but that smirk returns to his face.

“Of course, counselor. I have plenty of other leads to follow.” He takes the toothpick from his lips, pinching it between his fingers and pointing it at me. “Cecilia, have you been to the Lius’ residence on California Street in Pacific Heights?”

“Yes, twice.” The less I say, the better, Aparna had advised me.

“When and what for?” Palumbo flips to an earlier page in his notebook.

“On October twenty-first. Bree, uh, Mrs. Olsen-Liu told me she was worried about her husband’s disappearance and asked me over for emotional support.” I want to deploy some strategic air quotes, but Aparna might just bite my head off. “And then again on October twenty-third, the day after Roy’s body was found. I brought her a few meals.”

“Mrs. Olsen-Liu says you were only at her house with her once: on the twenty-third.”

“Well, that’s not true—”

“If she only invited you over on October twenty-third, then how do you explain our forensics team finding your fingerprints all over their home the day before?” Palumbo jabs his finger at something he’s written in his notebook, like that proves anything.

“Like I said, I—"

Palumbo and Aparna both jockey to interject. Their loud, overriding voices stop mine surer than a tree meeting a skier.

Day 149 (Tuesday, May 28, 2024): Wordle #1074 – MINUS

“You confronted Mr. Liu at his home, didn’t you? Then you convinced him to go to Golden Gate Park where you murdered him—”

“This is nothing more than conjecture and hearsay. My client doesn’t have to answer—"

I sit back and let them have at it, content to stay out of the crossfire. It’s almost entertaining, actually, minus the fact that they’re arguing over whether or not I’m a murderer.

After another minute of verbal sparring, they finally come to an impasse, both staring at each other with silent hostility. I haven’t felt a room this tense since that one Thanksgiving dinner with my extended family…

Palumbo breaks the stare-down first. He pushes his hair away from his face with an annoyed huff before slumping back against his seat, arms crossed. Aparna seems pleased by the small victory, but I see her eye twitch ever so slightly.

“Well, detective. Unless you have a specific, fact-based question to ask my client, I believe this interview is at an end.”

Palumbo doesn’t respond right away. His dark eyes shuttle between us, and a cold, joyless grin slowly splits across his face.

When he opens his mouth to say something, a phone rings.

Day 150 (Wednesday, May 29, 2024): Wordle #1075 – PAPAL

Palumbo looks ready to dress down Aparna before he realizes it’s his phone that’s ringing. Its screen lights up the front pocket of his sports coat.

He plucks out the phone and leans forward on his knees to read it. With a pensive look, he quickly declines the call and the screen goes dark, but not before I can see who was calling:

Austin Early.

Austin Early? Palumbo and Austin know each other? What’s going on here?!

My thoughts tumble over one another like lotto balls, and I’ve got a losing ticket.

So, Austin is definitely in on the murder too. Or the coverup, at least. He must have told Bree about his connection in the police department, and then—

Palumbo sighs theatrically, interrupting my jumbled thoughts.

“Well, since Her Holiness has decreed that we’re done here, I guess I’ll be on my way,” Palumbo says with sarcastic deference. He mumbles another papal quip to himself—something about Aparna being Pope Hard-Ass the Second?—and then repockets his cell phone. “It’s fine, I have better things to do anyway.”

Palumbo doesn’t seem in any hurry to leave, however. He lazily unfolds himself out of the chair, stretches, brushes off his slacks.

I don’t want him in earshot, but this might be my last chance to speak with Aparna. I rise from my own chair and rush over to her, bending in so close across the table that my lips nearly touch her ear.

“Aparna! Palumbo knows Austin Early—the guy Bree was having an affair with,” I whisper urgently. “Austin was the one who called Palumbo just now.”

“What? Why would they—” Aparna whispers back.

“Bree, Austin, Palumbo… They’re all working together to set me up,” I hiss. The force of my breath stirs her dark hair. “You have to look into this, please!”

Day 151 (Thursday, May 30, 2024): Wordle #1076 – GUMMY

Aparna looks at me searchingly, like she’s trying to decide whether I’m a paranoid conspiracy theorist or actually onto something. Finally, she gives me a terse, decisive nod.

“Thank you,” I mouth to her as I straighten up and step away from the table.

When I glance back toward Palumbo, he’s staring at me with a mixture of curiosity and impatience.

“Care to share with the class?” He asks, eyebrows raised. Through some sleight of hand, the toothpick he’d been twiddling is now an open packet of gummy bears. He tosses a lime green one into his mouth and chomps down on it with a loud squelch. “No? I didn’t think so.”

Palumbo shrugs like it’s all the same to him, pops another gummy bear, and then moves to open the door.

“Officers!” He calls down the hall, “Come over here and escort these ladies away.”

He’s about to leave himself, but he stops short—halfway out the door—as though he has suddenly remembered something.

“Oh, just one more thing…” Palumbo turns back to me with mock confusion. “How do you explain the victim’s missing belongings in your apartment?”

Day 152 (Friday, May 31, 2024): Wordle #1077 – CHAOS

I really shouldn’t say anything.

Speaking up now would be more ill-advised than wearing a banana suit in a monkey house, but at least I can go down fighting.

“Bree did it. All of it,” I say, locking eyes with Palumbo. “She murdered Roy, she planted the evidence, and now she’s trying to frame me.”

I’d expected the room to erupt into chaos again—Aparna scolding me, Palumbo angling for a confession—but it falls quiet instead. The wall vent wheezes out a low hum. Aparna sighs and shakes her head almost imperceptibly. Palumbo…

Palumbo’s gaze goes so cold that I almost shiver. The contempt he’s always shown for me is still palpable, yet there’s something else in his look that I can’t quite put my finger on. It’s less shark-like than before, more prey than predator—wary, alert, on the lookout for danger.

Whatever it is, it disappears, and that fierce gleam returns to his eyes.

“If I had a nickel for every suspect who says they’ve been framed…” Palumbo chuckles as he backs out of the room. He smiles his Cheshire Cat smile, a pink gummy bear pinned between his teeth. “See you later, Cecilia.”

The door closes behind Palumbo with a heavy, ominous thud.

Day 153 (Saturday, June 1, 2024): Wordle #1078 – BASIN

Chapter 14.

“You really didn’t have to give me a ride,” I say to Kevin for probably the hundredth time. “You’ve already done so much for me, I can’t even—"

“Hey, the way I figure it, after paying Aparna’s retainer and your bail, what’s one little car ride?”

My heart inside-outs at the mention of bail, and I feel like I’m going to be sick with embarrassment. Or maybe it’s just carsickness—another reason I wish Kevin hadn’t picked me up after my arraignment: he drives like a maniac.

As if to prove the point, Kevin darts his McLaren between two semis and I’m pretty sure I throw up in my mouth a little bit. Besides his lead foot, he has a terrible sense of direction, too. A sign for India Basin whizzes by and I strongly suspect he’s taken a wrong turn on his way out of the City.

“But yeah, you do owe me. Big time,” Kevin says flippantly, flashing me a teasing grin. “Maybe you can donate a kidney to me or something? Your firstborn?”

I suppose the least I can do is humor him when he’s just posted my bail to the tune of one million dollars.

God, I might just throw up for real.

“I’ll pay you back after I sell my story rights to HBO,” I joke wanly.

Day 154 (Sunday, June 2, 2024): Wordle #1079 – BRAVO

“Seriously though, you can pay me back by catching Bree,” Kevin says, well, seriously. “You can prove she did it, right?”

“Not yet, but that’s the plan.” My plan, anyway.

Aparna keeps insisting that the best defense will be to cast doubt on my guilt, not to prove Bree’s. Maybe I should listen to her—she hasn’t steered me wrong so far, and she really pulled a rabbit out of her hat by convincing the judge to set bail.

“Thanks again, by the way, for hiring Aparna to represent my case,” I say, cringing a little at how inadequate “thanks” sounds. “She’s, like, a literal superhero.”

“I know, right? Bravo, Aparna!” Kevin takes his hands from the wheel to perform a slow clap. “Bra-vo.”

“Um, hands at ten and two—”

Kevin jerks the car back into its lane as casually as if he’s playing Frogger.

“Shit, man, I still can’t believe Aparna sweet-talked the judge into letting you go. And on a first-degree murder charge too!” He whistles admiringly.

“Well, there’s still the trial.” First-degree murder... I push the thought aside. “And I doubt the judge expected me to make bail. If it weren’t for you—”

“If it weren’t for Roy, I’d never be the CFO of a multi-billion-dollar crypto company,” Kevin jumps in firmly, but his voice softens as he goes on. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Cecilia, but I’m doing all this for Roy, you know?”

“Yeah, I know what you mean…”

“And to fuck over Bree!” He laughs.

Day 155 (Monday, June 3, 2024): Wordle #1080 – STARK

I don’t laugh with him.

Not because of the gravity of the situation, but because—unbelievably—my first instinct is to stand up for Bree. I guess it will take more than a few days to untrain myself, especially after more than two decades of friendship.

If only it were as easy as unfriending her on Facebook…

“So, what makes you so sure I’m not the killer, anyway?” I snark, attempting to match Kevin’s mood, and to distract myself from my clusterfuck of a friendship.

“You? Are you kidding?” Kevin laughs even harder. “You wouldn’t even let me step on a cockroach that one time, remember?”

I don’t remember, actually, but it sounds like something I would do.

“Well, thanks, for believing in me,” I say, honestly a little touched. “Hey, you could be my character witness!”

“Yeah right,” Kevin snorts. He shakes his head to himself, then falls quiet.

I should be relieved that he’s paying more attention to the road than to chatting, but the stark silence makes me uneasy. The last thing I want right now is time alone with my thoughts—thoughts about the court case, Palumbo, the evidence planted in my apartment, Bree, Palumbo again, prison…

“Mind if I put on some music?” I start tapping at the media display before Kevin can answer.

Day 156 (Tuesday, June 4, 2024): Wordle #1081 – GROOM

I select the first Spotify playlist that comes up and we listen for a few minutes, but it’s not nearly the diversion I’d hoped for.

So, I ask Kevin about Roin—Roy’s company—and how they’re managing without their founder. Kevin says the board wants to groom him to become the new CEO. I offer my congratulations, even though he doesn’t seem too happy about the idea, convinced he’ll never be able to replace Roy.

He quickly changes the subject, asks how Chicken and Waffles are doing. I think they’re fine. I’d asked Aparna to have my neighbor look in on them, and I’ve only been gone for about a day. No doubt they’ll act like I’ve abandoned them for weeks, though.

Suddenly, I’m not so bothered by Kevin’s breakneck driving. If anything, I wish he’d go full Fast and Furious—I can’t wait to get home, take a shower, and cuddle my stupid orange cats.

We make small talk the rest of the way to my apartment building, but as we turn into the parking lot, any excitement I’d felt for being home bursts like a soap bubble.

Several news trucks huddle around the entrance to my apartment, teeming with reporters and their bulbous microphones, camera operators, lookie-loos… All waiting for me.

Day 157 (Wednesday, June 5, 2024): Wordle #1082 – ORGAN

“Shit…” Kevin mutters and presses on the brakes. “Do you think they saw us?”

Before he can even finish the sentence, one of the reporters does a double-take and points frantically in our direction. Dozens more turn their heads toward us, in unison, then begin to break away. Like a horde of zombies ravenous for human organs, they scramble over one another in their frenzy to reach us.

“Um, yeah, I think they saw us,” I groan.

“Shit shit shit, what should I do? I can turn around… or run them over?”

“No,” I sigh, though the thought is tempting. “I’ll have to face them eventually. Might as well get it over with.”

Or get used to it. Somehow, I have a feeling this won’t be the last time I’m swarmed by a mass of reporters. Yay.

“Do you want me to come with you? I could come with you,” Kevin offers weakly.

I know he would make good on it if I accepted, but his body language is begging me not to. He pulls the brim of his snapback low over his eyes and takes off his glasses in some futile attempt to go incognito, shrinking down in his seat.

“No, I’ll be alright, thanks.” I undo my seatbelt and cobble together a smile. “Thanks for everything, Kevin.”

“Of course. Hang in there, yeah?”

I nod, and with a shaky breath, I open the door.

Day 158 (Thursday, June 6, 2024): Wordle #1083 – ETHER

The reporters descend upon me like seagulls on a french fry.

“Miss Cale, you pled ‘not guilty’ to the charge of first-degree murder, but—”

“How do you feel about your upcoming trial?”

“Were you jealous of your ex-husband and his new wife? Is that why you—”

Aparna should be proud of me: I’m not saying a word. Not even “no comment” or a well-deserved “fuck off.” I’m too overwhelmed to string a sentence together, anyway.

Microphones are shoved under my nose, huge camera lenses in my face, jostling bodies try to corral and corner me. Besides the reporters, a gaggle of onlookers have their cell phones trained on the scene, holding their devices high above their heads for a better view, shouting, recording everything.

From what Aparna and Kevin had told me, I knew that gossip about the case was in the ether, but I hadn’t expected the full paparazzi treatment.

Only after a few well-aimed elbows am I able to squirm my way out of the crowd and make a break for the stairs leading to my second-floor apartment.

The mob at least has the decency to back off as I fumble my key into the lock, but their barrage of questions and accusations doesn’t stop even after I slam the door shut behind me.

Day 159 (Friday, June 7, 2024): Wordle #1084 – MELON

I’ve only been away from home for a day and change, but between everything that happened at the police station and courthouse, it seems like ages have gone by.

My apartment still has that comforting familiarity, but it’s not quite how I remember it—like I’m visiting a friend’s house after they’ve rearranged the furniture, or returning home from a long vacation.

I notice, as though for the first time, a small crack in the wall near the window, the soft melon scent of an unlit candle on the bookshelf, a photo I took of Times Square hanging slightly askew… Maybe it’s always been that way, or maybe Palumbo and his crew jostled it.

I shudder a little. It’s not just my apartment that feels different. Everything is… off now.

Except for Chicken and Waffles. Sure enough, they come scampering out of my bedroom, mewling pathetically to be fed.

“Oh, I missed you guys! I’m so sorry I was gone.” I scoop them both into a big hug—even though they hate it—and deposit them by their food bowls. Still smattered with kibble, I might add.

As I refill their food and water, I hear a knock at the door, a cajoling request for me to come out and talk. Don’t I want to tell my side of the story?, they wonder.

What I want is for the case against me to be dismissed and my name cleared and Bree brought to justice and—and just five goddamn minutes to myself.

Day 160 (Saturday, June 8, 2024): Wordle #1085 – HENCE

I settle for ignoring the person at the door and stomping my way to the bathroom.

The sink cabinet is still flung open, gawping at me. I slam it shut, trying to ignore that, too. And the bottle of Jack Daniel’s perched on the corner of the countertop…

I shake myself out of it, strip off my clothes in record time, and jump into the shower before the water has even remotely warmed up.

Ever since the moment I met Palumbo, I swear I could feel his sleazy aura sticking to me like snail slime, hence the urgency to scrub myself clean. That and the fact that I’d been shuffled from dingy room to dingy room for the last day with little more than a squirt of hand sanitizer to freshen up.

But as badly as I want to waste the next three hours on an everything shower, I have more important things to do.

Still dripping, wearing a bathrobe with a towel wrapped around my head, I root through the graveyard of outdated electronics piled in the corner of my closet. Finally, triumphantly, I unearth a cracked but workable iPad and its charging cable.

See? It wasn’t dumb to hang onto all that old stuff. You never know when your usual cell phone and laptop will be confiscated in connection with a murder case, after all.

The iPad may be woefully obsolete, but it’s good enough for me to poke around online.

Day 161 (Sunday, June 9, 2024): Wordle #1086 – CROWD

I emerge from the closet and shut myself in the bedroom—as far away from the crowd of reporters as I can get—yet I still hear the occasional doorbell and calls for me to show myself. I sigh, booting up the iPad.

If I thought I’d be able to evade the media furor by going online, I was dead wrong.  

My mugshot is everywhere. I stare into the camera wide-eyed and bewildered, my mouth slightly open, like a mounted bass. That dang t-shirt emblazons “The Killer” across my chest, and my hair is so poofy, it escapes out the side of the photograph. Looking good, Cecilia.

I’m trending on Twitter and TikTok. I have my own hashtag. I’ve been dubbed the “Crypto Killer.”

Which, doesn’t quite make sense to me, but whatever…

I remind myself that I should be Googling Palumbo, not me. Also, ew.

Day 162 (Monday, June 10, 2024): Wordle #1087 – MANGA

Palumbo, I soon learn, keeps a low profile online. That, and there are way more Craig Palumbos than I would have guessed.

I spend a good hour sifting through various social media platforms with no luck. I thought I had hit on his Facebook profile for a moment, but there were no photos of the user to confirm—only an astonishing number of posts of big-eyed, pink-haired manga characters. I suppose Palumbo could be a secret weeb, but he doesn’t seem the type.

Maybe I can work backward from Austin Early’s Instagram account—I’m hoping to find the connection between them, after all.

If I can show that Palumbo is friendly with Austin—and Bree, by extension—that could be reason enough to bar him from aiding the prosecution, or even get the charges against me dismissed?

No, that’s probably too much to hope for… But I might find something to leverage against Palumbo or to manipulate him into implicating Bree. Though, I’d rather stub my toe on a coffee table every day for the rest of my life than speak to Palumbo again.

I put a pin in Palumbo and quickly navigate over to Austin’s Instagram page, only to find… nothing.

He deleted it. All of it. Every last selfie, fitspo pic, and thirst trap—gone. Smart.

I sigh and consider taking a nap, but I can’t let them win that easily.

Day 163 (Tuesday, June 11, 2024): Wordle #1088 – SWUNG

I can’t think of where to look next though, either. Do police officers have their own social network I don’t know about? ThinBluesky or something?

With relief, I remember that I haven’t checked LinkedIn yet. I guess I really could use a nap if I’m slipping this much…

I spend a few minutes setting up a fake profile for a fake police officer in Palumbo’s precinct, and then—

“Bingo.”

In Palumbo’s profile pic, his hair is cropped short and he’s wearing a respectable suit and tie—no mustache, either—but I’d recognize that smug expression anywhere.

Somewhat peppier now, I start scrolling through his connected profiles.

“Douglas Early?”

I pause on a photo of an older man with silver-white hair, gruff and a little weathered, but still undeniably handsome. Like salad-dressing-era Paul Newman. If someone had told me this man was Austin Early’s father I’d believe it.

Suddenly, my thoughts are swung back to my conversation with Austin at his yoga studio. He’d said that before he was a yoga instructor…

“I had been a police officer for a while, like my dad…”

I click on the profile.

Douglas Early: San Francisco Chief of Police.

I do a tentative fist pump. With this lead, I’m able to follow the breadcrumbs to Douglas Early’s Facebook profile and verify that he is, in fact, Austin Early’s father.

So, Palumbo and Austin definitely know each other. Maybe they met at the police academy and became friends then, or maybe Palumbo worked under Douglas Early who introduced him to his son. Either way, there’s no question that Palumbo, Austin, and Bree can all pull strings with the Chief of Police.

“Well, shit.”

Day 164 (Wednesday, June 12, 2024): Wordle #1089 – DETER

Chapter 15.

“You made it!” I greet Aparna—grateful, surprised, and congratulatory all at the same time—cracking open my apartment door just wide enough to let her inside.

“Of course I did.”

Aparna pulls a face at me doubting her, apparently not a jot deterred by the swarm of reporters still clamoring outside. They’re calling her name now, too, bombarding her with questions that she steadfastly ignores. I quickly shut the door behind her, though she seems in no hurry herself.

Even in more casual clothes, Aparna looks the part of the ever-consummate professional. Leather laptop bag in hand, skirt and button-up as neat as a pin, not a hair out of place. As unruffled as ever.

“Please, have a seat.” I motion toward the couch. “Would you like a cup of coffee? I’ve just made some.”

“No, thank you.” Aparna eyes the rumpled afghan draped over the back of my couch, tugging it straight before she settles herself on the far edge of the cushion. Like before, she begins to meticulously unpack and arrange the contents of her bag on the coffee table. “So, do you want the bad news or the other bad news first?”

Day 165 (Thursday, June 13, 2024): Wordle #1090 – ANGST

“Uh, are those my only options?” My hand shakes and I accidentally pour some coffee over the side of my mug.

“Forensics came back on the items found in your apartment,” Aparna barrels ahead like she didn’t even hear me. “The blood on the cardigan was a positive match for Roy’s DNA.”

“Well, I figured as much,” I say, trying to soften the blow to myself. Trying not to slip into a mire of angst. “Why else would Bree plant it?”

Aparna gives me an exasperated look as if to say, “Not this again.” She doesn’t prohibit me from talking about Bree, though. Probably because she knows it’s a losing battle.

I hastily blot up the coffee and situate myself in a chair opposite Aparna. There’s barely enough room for me to squeeze a coaster onto the table between all her stuff.

“So, what’s the other news?” I ask grudgingly.

“Roy listed you as a contingent beneficiary in his will.”

“What?!” I choke on my coffee. I swear she waited for me to take a sip. “W-what does that mean?”

“Roy’s mother and Bree are named as primary beneficiaries, but if they were deceased or disclaimed their inheritance, then his assets would have passed on to you,” Aparna intones, consulting her notes.

“But, why…?”

Why would Roy do that for me? A feeling of tender gratitude warms my chest. Or maybe it’s the coffee I’d sputtered onto myself.

“The prosecution will try to construe this as motive: You stood to benefit from Roy’s death.”

“How? I would’ve had to murder Bree and Sue, too. At the same time!” I scoff.

Day 166 (Friday, June 14, 2024): Wordle #1091 – VAULT

“Well, my sources tell me that the prosecution plans to paint you as…” Aparna hesitates. I’ve never seen her do that before, which worries me. Then her face softens into an almost apologetic expression, which worries me even more. “They will say that you’re irrational, reckless.”

“That I’m an alcoholic?” I guess, but I’m pretty sure I’m right.

Aparna nods, tight-lipped.

We’re saved from the awkward silence by Chicken and Waffles. They burst out from my bedroom, chase each other around the coffee table, and then vault on top of it in a flurry of orange fur. Aparna is none too pleased by their artistic rearrangement of her notebooks, but I’m amused.

“So, is there any not-so-bad news?” I ask, shooing the cats away.

“As of yet, nothing incriminating has been found on your phone. There’s no evidence that you called Roy in the days leading up to his death—at least, not from your cell phone.”

“That’s good, right?” It sounds good to me, but Aparna looks unimpressed. “Is there anything else I can do, to help the case?”

“Not unless you can magically produce an alibi,” Aparna sighs. “You’re sure no one can vouch for your whereabouts on October nineteenth and twentieth?”

“Like I said, I went to Trader Joe’s on the twentieth, but that’s it. Sorry.”

Working from home, in my pajamas, far away from any other humans is the best perk of being an online sleuth. But if I’d known that constant socializing was the only way to avoid a murder rap, well… I still would’ve taken my chances.

Day 167 (Saturday, June 15, 2024): Wordle #1092 – PROUD

Aparna lets out another long sigh. She seems discouraged, but I have my own news for her—good news. Kinda.

“Hey, do you remember when we were at the police station and Palumbo got a call from Austin Early? Bree’s lover?” Aparna blinks at me once, slowly. I guess I’ll take that as my cue to continue. “Well, it turns out they definitely know each other. Here, I can show—”

“I know.” Aparna stops me with a hand up. “I promised I’d look into it, didn’t I?”

I don’t remember any promise, only the most reluctant of nods, but still, I’m grateful she listened to me.

“And?”

“You’re right. Palumbo and Early are close friends, they have been for years. But—"

“But what? Isn’t that a conflict of interest or something? Palumbo has a clear bias against me, to protect his friend, and he’s the lead investigator. We could get the case dismissed or—”

“There’s no proof that Austin Early and Bree Olsen-Liu were having an affair,” Aparna says pointedly. “If Early can’t be connected to the case, then neither can Palumbo.”

I pause. I’m not proud to admit that this thought hadn’t even crossed my mind.

To me, the connection between Bree and Austin is more obvious than the Earth being round. But it’s also true that I don’t have any evidence of their affair. Some detective I am.

But, wait a second…

Day 168 (Sunday, June 16, 2024): Wordle #1093 – GRIND

“I do have proof! Bree admitted to the whole affair when she confessed everything to me, and I recorded it on my phone.”

“I thought you said the audio quality was too poor to make out anything.” Aparna sounds doubtful, yet she leans forward in her seat.

“Well, yeah, I did say that…” I admit sheepishly. “But bits of it might be usable? Maybe?”

Much to my surprise, Aparna seems to actually be thinking it over. She furrows her brow, grinds her teeth together, then comes to a decision.

“Like I said before, that recording is completely inadmissible in court. But I suppose there’s not much harm in reviewing it,” Aparna concedes. “I’ll put a paralegal on it.”

“You will? Thanks, Aparna.”

She only sniffs in response and jots down a note.

Not that I don’t trust the paralegal to do their job, but I decide I’ll review the audio again myself. The file had been uploaded to cloud storage before my phone was taken, so I still have access to it, luckily.

It’ll probably come to nothing, but having a plan of action at least makes me feel a little brighter.

Aparna, on the other hand, looks as dour as ever. Maybe even more so.

Day 169 (Monday, June 17, 2024): Wordle #1094 – PRIOR

“So, how’s the case looking?” I prod. “I mean, what are my chances?”

“We’ve only just started discovery, and the trial is still months away. Plenty of time to build a strong defense.”

She almost sounds optimistic, but I’m not buying it. She pitches her voice unnaturally high and won’t look up from whatever she’s writing in her notebook, avoiding meeting my eyes.

“That bad, huh?”

“No, not that bad,” Aparna snaps, but I get the impression she’s just protecting her pride. She flips her hair out of her face so she can pin me with her gaze. “We just have to convince one juror that you’re innocent—”

She jabs a finger toward the sky.

“Just one—that’s all.”

The more she goes on, the more I think her little pep talk is for her, not me.

“Look, I got the NorCal Cannibal acquitted, and that creep was guilty as fuck. This should be a cakewalk.”

“Um, right…”

I want to believe her, I really do, but I don’t know how many miracles one person can pull off. Maybe Aparna used up all her good luck on her prior victories… or built up a lot of bad karma.

“Cecilia, you trust me, right?” Aparna says firmly, sensing my misgivings. “And I’m telling you, you can trust the system.”

Well, that clinches it—time to take matters into my own hands.

Day 170 (Tuesday, June 18, 2024): Wordle #1095 – COVER

Chapter 16.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Kevin deadpans.

“What do you mean?” I mumble around a mouthful of pork bun.

“You never treat me to dim sum unless you want something.”

“T-that’s not true.” I cough. A shrimp dumpling slips out of my chopsticks and plops onto my plate. I shovel over a couple more from the serving platter to try to cover for myself—I totally meant to do that. “I just wanted to thank you, for everything you’ve done for me.”

“Uh-huh,” Kevin says, dubious, but he lets it slide.

Am I that obvious?

Okay, yeah, so I did ask him out to lunch with ulterior motives. But at least he gets free dim sum out of it.

It’s been over a week since I last saw Kevin, and in that time, I’ve done nothing but stew on the case. Before today, I hadn’t even left my apartment—not even when the reporters and TikTokers got bored and wandered off—I was too absorbed in my plan. I bought a corkboard and everything.

“Do you want some duck?” I rotate the Lazy Susan in Kevin’s direction. Maybe if I coax him into a food coma, he’ll be more amenable.  

Day 171 (Wednesday, June 19, 2024): Wordle #1096 – TERSE

Half an hour and several more rounds of dishes later, I make my move.

“Oh! So, I was wondering if you could do me a little favor, actually,” I say casually, like I’ve just now thought of it. Like it wasn’t my intention all along.

“Shit, I knew it,” Kevin says with a terse sigh. He rocks back in his chair and crosses his arms. “Alright, out with it.”

“I need you to talk with Bree, in person—”

“What? Come on, Cecilia, no way!” Kevin blusters. “I’d pay another million dollars before I’d ever see her again.”

“Wait, just let me finish,” I say, lowering my voice so that Kevin has to lean in to hear me. “I need someone to get Bree out of her house so that I can sneak in.”

I knew that would hook him. His eyes go wide with interest behind his glasses, like he’s just spotted a new pair of Air Jordans.

“Sneak in?” He whispers conspiratorially over the plate of egg tarts. “Why? What’s your plan?”

“There has to be some evidence there. Something the police missed, or covered up.”

The truth is, I don’t know exactly what to search for or what I hope to find. But I’ll know it when I see it, I think…

Kevin looks about as unsure as I feel.

“I don’t know, man. Bree never liked me in the first place, and she probably hates me now that I’ve bailed you out.” He shakes his head. “She’s not gonna want to talk to me.”

Day 172 (Thursday, June 20, 2024): Wordle #1097 – SCENT

“It doesn’t really matter whether she wants to talk to you or not—say you have to speak with her about Roin. Make her feel important, like the company needs her input at a shareholder meeting or something.”

“That could work…” Kevin’s nodding now, holding his chin.

“It will work! You’re good at bullshitting.”

I mean it as a compliment, and Kevin accepts it with a grin, but he doesn’t agree to the plan right away. He snatches up a piece of BBQ pork, its sticky, savory scent wafting across the table, and chews on it thoughtfully for a minute.

“So—” He swallows. “I’d just have to meet Bree for coffee or something? That’s it?”

“Well, I’d need your spare key to get into their house, too. You have one, right?”

If he doesn’t, then my entire scheme is hosed, but I assume he must. Roy shared just about everything with Kevin.

“Yeah, I do, but… I don’t know, Cecilia. This sounds like a bad idea,” Kevin waffles. “You would be in a lot of trouble if you got caught, right?”

That’s for sure. I’d be violating the crap out of my bail conditions: no contact with Bree, no matter how indirect. Not to mention the whole trespassing thing. Go directly to jail, do not pass GO, do not collect $200.

But what I say is—

Day 173 (Friday, June 21, 2024): Wordle #1098 – PAINT

“If you help me, I won’t get caught.”

I know I’m being manipulative, and I feel especially guilty considering how Kevin has already stuck his neck out for me, but I don’t see any other option.

“I don’t know…” He hems and haws some more, unusually indecisive. As difficult as it is for me to restrain myself, I decide not to push.

Kevin reaches slowly for another piece of pork, so I help myself to an egg tart.

I’m about to take a bite when I feel a prickly sensation tripping along the back of my neck, like someone’s watching me. Hushed giggling comes from somewhere over my shoulder, and when I turn to look, the laughter escalates into melodramatic gasps.

Sure enough, there’s a table of young, well-dressed women, all of them with their phones trained brazenly on me.

I wonder how social media will paint the scene as something scandalous…

“Crypto Killer Cozies up to Victim’s BFF.” Or maybe, “Crypto Killer Murders Ex—and Dim Sum.”

Day 174 (Saturday, June 22, 2024): Wordle #1099 – EDICT

“Oh, jeez!” I turn my back on my unwanted audience, covering my face with my hand as best I can. “I knew we should’ve gone somewhere less popular…”

“Don’t let them bother you,” Kevin says to me encouragingly. To them, he barks, “Hey! Fuck off.”

The young women ignore his edict, some still giggling, some narrating to their phones.

“Sorry, we can leave—”

“No no no, you have every right to be here. And I haven’t had dessert yet.” Kevin smirks.

He’s putting on a brave face, but I can tell he’d rather disappear. He hunches over his plate and practically inhales two sesame balls, eager to get the check and get out of here.

I feel another swell of gratitude for Kevin, for sticking by me, but I also sense an opening.

“Kevin, I’ll never be able to freely show my face in public unless I can clear my name. And the only way I can do that is by exposing Bree as the real killer.”

“Cecilia—”

“You said you wanted to fuck over Bree, didn’t you?”

Kevin makes a face like he wants to argue, but he closes his mouth with an unhappy grimace.

“Look, I promise I won’t ask you for another favor ever again, okay?”

I know I’ve won when Kevin throws his napkin down on the table in defeat.

“Okay, fine. I’ll do it,” he groans. “But you owe me free dim sum for life.”

Day 175 (Sunday, June 23, 2024): Wordle #1100 – BUGLE

Chapter 17.

Spying on Bree’s house would be a lot easier if I had a car to hide in. Instead, I’ve been pacing back and forth along the opposite sidewalk for the last half hour—hoodie up, eyes down, sunglasses on—looking more suspicious than an unknown number calling about a car warranty.

Bree should’ve left by now if she was going to meet Kevin at Sightglass Coffee in time.

I pull out my new phone and check the clock. Actually, she should’ve left fifteen minutes ago. But I’m not surprised that she’s running late, as usual. That, or she’s ghosting Kevin…

Just when I really start to worry that Bree has changed her mind, the garage door slides up and out rolls her white Tesla.

I duck my head, trying to catch a glimpse of Bree without her seeing me. Not that she’s paying much attention to her surroundings—she zips in front of an oncoming car and doesn’t even tap the brakes when the other driver bugles their horn at her.

She’s around the corner and out of sight in an instant, but from what I could see, she looked the same as ever: hair neat and styled, French tips on the wheel, cat-eye sunglasses glinting in the afternoon light.

I’m disappointed but I can’t quite say why. The vindictive part of me had hoped she would look as disheveled and nervy as I am, while another part of me had missed her and wanted to spend more than just that fleeting moment together, even from afar.

Don’t forget, she’s trying to put you away for murder, I remind myself as I make my way across the street.

Day 176 (Monday, June 24, 2024): Wordle #1101 – DOLLY

A few doors down from Bree’s home, I stop to remove my backpack and pull out a few items: A package about the size of a tissue box, an N95 mask, and a bright blue Amazon Delivery vest.

After putting on the mask and vest, adjusting my sunglasses, and cinching my hoodie tight around my face, I reshoulder the backpack and approach Bree’s door. Quickly now, I sprint up the steps and cover the doorbell camera with the package, slipping a thick piece of Amazon-branded packaging tape between the box and pressing it over the lens.

If Bree reviews the video later, she should only see a nondescript delivery person who drops off a package and accidentally bumps it into the camera.

Is it odd that a piece of tape would somehow come off and perfectly cover the security camera? Yeah, sure. Will Bree also find it strange when she receives an Amazon delivery she never ordered? Probably. But the packaging is convincing, if I do say so myself, and I doubt she’ll question it much when she opens up a box of Clinique Pink Honey—her go-to lip gloss.

Yep, I’m feeling pretty confident in my scheme as I put down the box and take Kevin’s spare key out of my pocket. As long as I cover my tracks inside, Bree should have no reason to be suspicious. She’ll never even know anyone was there… fingers crossed.

I slip the key into the lock and then slip inside the home myself, hurriedly securing the door behind me.

I hear Lola before I see her—her tiny nails tip-tapping against the floor. She rounds the corner and skitters to a dead stop when she sees me, letting out a surprised bark that’s muffled by the plush dolly clamped between her teeth.

Day 177 (Tuesday, June 25, 2024): Wordle #1102 – SAVOR

“Hi, Lola,” I croon to her sweetly, but she’s not having it.

Lola drops the doll and begins to really bark in earnest. Sharp, loud yips that trail off into trilling howls, like she’s savoring the sound of her own voice as it reverberates through the entryway.

“Shhh, Lola, stop! It’s okay, it’s just me.”

I pull down the hood and mask, pocketing my sunglasses, but I’m not confident she’ll recognize me. Even if she does, she might just go on barking anyway—I’ve seen her bark at her own shadow, more than once.

To my surprise, and relief, Lola stops. She lets out one last half-hearted “woof” before tentatively wagging her tail.

“Good girl,” I say, and I mean it for maybe the very first time. “Okay… now what?”

It’s been several weeks since Roy was murdered, so Bree has had more than enough time to dispose of or cover up any incriminating evidence. Still, I think I should check out the scene of the crime. That’s like Murder Investigation 101, right?

I make my way up the stairs toward the second floor, careful not to disturb anything, with Lola following curiously at my heels.

Day 178 (Wednesday, June 26, 2024): Wordle #1103 – KNEAD

Just as I expected, the torn-up flooring has been completely replaced. A plain of gleaming wheat-blonde hardwood now stretches from the landing, across Bree’s open office, and out of sight down the hallway. It looks nice.

I sigh and get on my hands and knees to inspect the floor anyway, not at all confident that I’ll find anything. I peer between the planks and along the baseboards, searching for any smudge or splotch that seems even remotely out of place. Lola “assists” by weaving between my legs and licking my nose.

Nothing.

I couldn’t have been crawling around for more than a few minutes, but my spine pops like a bag of Jolly Time when I stand up. I knead my lower back as I look around the room, wondering where to investigate next, and when I got so old…

My gaze lands on Bree’s desk. There, her laptop sits nestled between neat stacks of notebooks in every color of the rainbow, a stand-up calendar with gilt floral illustrations, and a pencil cup bursting with a bouquet of brightly colored pens.

My hand—gloved, just in case—goes to her daily planner first.

I flip back to the week of October 19, when Roy was killed. Not that I expect Bree would have written “murder Roy” or “move body to Golden Gate Park” in her to-do list, but, well, I don’t know…

Maybe she was careless enough to write down Austin’s name somewhere or some kind of simple code I can crack.

Day 179 (Thursday, June 27, 2024): Wordle #1104 – ORDER

Salon appt - 11:30

Order flowers

Dog groomer - 9:00

All in curly cursive, all color-coded, nothing suspicious.

I carefully peruse the last few weeks until I catch up to today: Meet Kevin @ Sightglass - 2:00, accompanied by an angry frowny face.

I put down the planner and go back to square one, my eyes roaming across Bree’s desk.

A pastel pink notepad beside her laptop looks recently used—slightly out of alignment, not stacked with the other notepads—but the top page is blank. The remnants of a torn-off page stick out like jagged teeth along the top binding.

Anxious excitement bubbles up in me as I grab a nearby pencil and start rubbing its graphite tip back and forth across the empty page in broad strokes.

I’ve always wanted to do this!

Letters begin to materialize, ghosts of the words that Bree had written on the missing sheet of paper, impressed onto the page below. I scribble a little faster. Against the backdrop of silvery smudges, the negative image of a message appears:

• almond milk

• blueberries

• chocolate hummus

• la croix

• green juice…

It’s a grocery list. Just a stupid grocery list.

Day 180 (Friday, June 28, 2024): Wordle #1105 – DROVE

I sigh and crumple up the useless piece of paper, shoving it into my backpack as I contemplate where to look next.

My eyes keep returning to Bree’s MacBook. It’s probably impossible for me to crack, but it’s also too tantalizing for me to ignore, like trying the door handle to an exclusive airport lounge. Because why not?

I flip open the laptop and am immediately blocked by a lock screen. No surprise there.

What does surprise me is Bree’s wallpaper. The image is slightly fuzzed out behind the login window, but I recognize the photograph from a road trip Bree and I took years ago when we drove down the PCH all the way to San Diego:

We’re at the Madonna Inn, both seated in tufted leather barstools in bubblegum pink, our elbows perched on an equally pink leather bar top. Surrounding us is a forest of silk flowers, a magenta carpet blooming with garish rosettes, and wooden pillars carved into twisting grapevines. We look young. We’re smiling.

It’s a nice photo, to be sure, but I’m baffled as to why Bree would have a picture of me as her wallpaper. Is she feeling remorseful? Nostalgic? Or is she just gloating?

I suppose I can mull over Bree’s frankly psycho behavior later, maybe when I’m not in the middle of committing a crime…

Dialed back in, I click on the password field. The cursor blinks at me tauntingly.

Day 181 (Saturday, June 29, 2024): Wordle #1106 – ZEBRA

Bree might not be the most tech-savvy person in the Bay, but she’s still a Millennial—she knows better than to have her password be “password” or to write it down on a Post-it note right next to her computer.

I flip through a few nearby notebooks and peer under her laptop anyway, but I come up empty.

Without much confidence, I experimentally type in the numbers for Bree’s birthday. Wrong. Roy’s birthday. Also wrong. If only I knew Lola’s “Gotcha Day,” as Bree is fond of saying.

In one final, fruitless attempt, I type out “12345” and hit the return button. Wrong again.

“Well, damn...” Now I’m really at a loss for what to do next. “Maybe I should just go home.”

I was only thinking aloud to myself, but Lola barks as if in answer. I straighten up from the laptop and turn to face her.

“What is it, Lola?” Did Timmy fall down the well?

She’s standing in front of Bree’s collection of ceramic animals, staring at me with her beady, black eyes, yipping. Her tail wags hesitantly when I take a step toward her.

“Do you want some pets? Is that it?”

The closer I get, the more enthusiastically Lola wags her tail, until she’s practically hopping from foot to foot in anticipation. I give Bree’s ceramic zoo a cursory glance before I reach down to pat Lola.

There’s the hedgehog planter I gave to Bree as a housewarming gift. The succulents haven’t shriveled up and died yet, surprisingly.

Next to the hedgehog is a little ceramic cow, a rainbow-striped zebra, and—

“Froufrou?”

Day 182 (Sunday, June 30, 2024): Wordle #1107 – BUDDY

The ceramic standard poodle is just how I remember her: about sixteen inches tall, pastel pink bow, nose pointed toward the sky in a haughty sniff.

“But, Bree said that Froufrou broke during the move, that she couldn’t even glue her back together…”

I wonder whether she replaced the original Froufrou with an identical one. She certainly loved that dang poodle enough to scour the internet for a replica, or even to have a new one made.

But as I lean in for a closer look, I recognize a telltale fleck of black glaze on the dog’s front left paw—it’s unquestionably the same Froufrou. I should know, I had to share a dorm room with the ceramic pooch for a year.

But then why would Bree say Froufrou was broken?

It’s possible that Froufrou had suffered only a slight crack or chip and Bree had overreacted about it being unfixable. She does tend to create drama like that, after all.

I carefully pick up Froufrou, turning her every which way, inspecting the smooth white ceramic for any signs of damage. Lola jumps at my leg, whining.

“Not now, buddy,” I admonish Lola when she nearly makes me drop Froufrou and break her for real.

Day 183 (Monday, July 1, 2024): Wordle #1108 – ADAGE

I don’t see anything amiss. No chips, no blemishes, no cracks. Not even any dust. Froufrou, at least, is alive and in one piece.

So, Bree definitely lied to me about Froufrou… but why? Because it must have something to do with Roy’s murder, right? But what exactly?

Maybe I’m making a mountain out of an anthill, or however that old adage goes, but I can’t shake the feeling that this is somehow important. Crucial, even.

I set Froufrou down just as I found her and pull out my cell phone to take a few photos.

The screen lights up with a barrage of notifications. Five text messages and three missed calls, all from Kevin. My phone, apparently, in silent mode.

Shakily, I scroll through the texts:

Bree got pissed off and left. You’d better get out of there

Hello??

I’m calling you

Fuck

GET OUT OF THERE NOW!!!

Day 184 (Tuesday, July 2, 2024): Wordle #1109 – INLAY

My eyes flick to when the messages were first sent: fifteen minutes ago. Bree will be back any second now.

“Shit!”

I spare only a moment to take a couple of pics of Froufrou, my heart pounding, before I fly back down the stairs. Lola scampers after me.

I reach the front door in record time, tugging on my mask and hoodie as I go, but just as my fingers touch the handle, I freeze.

Bree could be pulling up at this very instant and see me run out the door. Or she could still be minutes away and this is my best and only chance to not get caught.

I’m suddenly paralyzed in a way I’ve never felt before. My vision narrows to a pinprick. I can’t tear my eyes away from the heavy, closed door before me—its striped metal inlay suddenly looks very much like prison bars. A locked cage that I can’t escape from. I think I might be hyperventilating.

Just when I’m certain I’m going to pass out, the rattle of the garage door sliding open unpauses me. Frantic, I press my eye to the peephole and see Bree’s Tesla turning into the short driveway.

This is it.

As soon as the car disappears inside the garage, I open the door and slip outside. My shaking fingers fumble the key out of my pocket and it clatters loudly against the landing. I curse, snatch up the key, and shove it into the lock in a flurry of panic.

The moment the bolt slides into place, I hear Lola barking excitedly. Bree’s muffled voice filters through the closed door.

“Hello, Lola, my baby!”

Breathless, I flee down the stairs and speedwalk away, grinning with triumph.

Day 185 (Wednesday, July 3, 2024): Wordle #1110 – THIGH

Chapter 18.

Is that guy staring at me?

A grocery clerk who’s stacking oranges into a pyramid misses his mark by a few inches, the fruit slipping from his lax fingers. He doesn’t notice when the orange thuds against the floor and begins to roll away, either, still gawking in my direction.

Yep, he’s definitely staring at me…

With nothing for a disguise, I turn away and try to shrink down into my turtleneck like, well, a turtle. I refuse to wear a wig again—even though I’ve never been terribly fond of my now notorious red hair—but I suppose the hoodie and sunglasses weren’t so bad, if not my style.

I can’t help but smile to myself as I’m reminded of the caper I pulled off at Bree’s place. A week has passed with Bree none the wiser, and in that time, I’ve started to piece together—

“Oh, excuse me.” My hand bumps into someone else’s, reaching for the same package of marked-down chicken thighs.

“Well, if it isn’t Cecilia Cale,” a familiar voice drawls, smug and superior.

I groan, wishing for once that it was a reporter. Heck, I’d even take another Kick streamer. Anyone but—

“Palumbo.”

I yank the chicken out of his hand and toss it into my basket before wheeling to face him.

Day 186 (Thursday, July 4, 2024): Wordle #1111 – DEBUT

He’s wearing a casual V-neck and jeans instead of that cheesy 70s-inspired getup from before, but his condescending smirk is just the same.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Palumbo says like we’re old friends.

“Yeah.” I roll my eyes. “What are the odds?”

It’s no accident that Palumbo ran into me here. I’ve been a regular at this store for years, he’s a detective, he’d have no trouble figuring out my routine. Besides, he lives in the City and would have little reason to be here unless it was to see to me. Yeah, there’s no way his debut appearance at this particular Smart & Final is a coincidence—but he must really think I’m an idiot to pretend it is.

Annoyed, I pivot on my heel and make my way toward the bread aisle. If Palumbo has something he wants to say to me, he can do it while I’m shopping.

“So, have you heard the news?” Palumbo asks conversationally, leaning in way too close over my shoulder as I inspect a loaf of brioche.

“What news?” I try to sound disinterested, but I’m curious. And nervous. Considering he manufactured this meeting just to tell me, it can’t be good news.

Day 187 (Friday, July 5, 2024): Wordle #1112 – CRUSH

“Well, it’s nothing official yet. Just rumors, really.” Palumbo pauses, waiting for me to take the bait. When I don’t bite right away, he shrugs, like it’s no skin off his nose. “I thought your lawyer would have told you.”

“What news?” I growl. I realize I’m crushing the bread in my grip like it’s Palumbo’s neck and force myself to relax. I drop the mangled loaf into my basket with a resigned sigh.

“I have it on good authority that your trial will start sooner than expected. A lot sooner.”

“What?” I accidentally whack Palumbo in the stomach with my basket as I whirl to face him, but I can’t say that I’m sorry. Serves him right for standing so close. “Why?”

Palumbo’s teeth peek out from under his mustache, grinning. He’s caught my attention and he knows it.

“There are petitions going around to recall the district attorney. He needs a big case—a big win—to take the heat off, and fast.”

As he talks, I walk away, torn between hoping he’ll say more or leave me alone. Palumbo follows close behind, undeterred.

“I hear the prosecution is filing a motion to move the court date as we speak.”

“So what? My innocence won’t change whether the trial happens tomorrow or ten years from now,” I say nonchalantly, checking the “best by” date on a bag of tortilla chips so that I don’t have to meet his eyes. Terrible poker face. “The sooner I can clear my name, the better.”

Day 188 (Saturday, July 6, 2024): Wordle #1113 – SCOFF

My performance is about as convincing as a YouTuber apology video.

We both know that the prosecution wouldn’t move the trial forward if they weren’t confident of a win. Their case against me must be stronger than I thought…

That, or they don’t need a strong case because the trial is already rigged in their favor. The Chief of Police and the DA both have reason to put me away—who knows what kinds of strings they can pull?

I gulp. Palumbo just keeps on smiling, like the cat that ate the canary. He grabs a bag of peanuts off the shelf, opens it, and pops a handful into his mouth, right then and there.

“Anyway, I thought you should know, so that you can enjoy all… this.” Palumbo gestures expansively at the open aisles around us. “While it lasts.”

“Enjoy what? Grocery shopping?” I scoff weakly. Not my best rejoinder, I’ll admit, but I’m too distracted by the looming possibility of an imminent trial.

I thought I had way more time to prove Bree’s guilt and get the charges against me dismissed. But now I might only have weeks? Days? I simply can’t let the case make it to trial, unless I want to spend the rest of my life behind bars…

Palumbo’s still chewing on the peanuts when he opens his mouth to gloat some more, but he’s cut off by my phone ringing.

I try to hide the screen from him as I pull my cell phone out of my pocket, but his height allows him to see who’s calling at the same moment I do: Aparna.

“Ooh, you’d better get that,” Palumbo tuts. With a parting smirk, he turns his back on me and waves over his shoulder as he ambles away. “See you in court.”

I’m itching to hear what Aparna has to say, but I wait until Palumbo is well out of earshot before I answer the phone.

“Hello?”

“Cecilia, I have some bad news…”

And I have to prove Bree guilty of murder—fast.

Day 189 (Sunday, July 7, 2024): Wordle #1114 – CANON

Chapter 19.

“Thanks again, Stevie,” I say as I try to find a comfortable position on the folding chair she has set out for me. My butt is falling asleep already. “I owe you one.”

“Are you kidding me? If you’re able to pull this off, I’ll owe you my right arm.” Her lips quirk into a sardonic smile. “Tell you what, I’ll set you up with your own podcast if you want.”

“Uh, no thanks.”

“Smart move.”

Whenever she talks, Stevie pushes her long black hair away from her face and then smooths it back down, over and over again. Even such a small tic tells me she must be anxious—she’s usually more chill than Snoop Dogg.

Then again, what do I know? I haven’t seen Stevie in years. Not since we worked together at Spotify and would hang out for drinks after most days at the office. She had reached out to me since then, but I hadn’t reached back, too ashamed of how sloppy I’d been, wanting to put everything about that time behind me.

It’s a wonder she replied to my text instead of leaving me on read like I deserve…

“So, you’ll be watching the livestream from in here—"

“Here” is a cramped, stuffy supply closet in the far corner of a recording studio. I can’t extend my arms without bumping into the shelves crowding me in on all sides, packed with overflowing crates of audio equipment: lav mics, pop filters, every acronym of cable from XLR to TRS, tiny Canon microphones with fuzzy windscreens like baby rabbits…

Stevie plops down a laptop on the wobbly card table in front of me.

“I’ll be in the next room over with the others, so try not to make too much noise. And put these on.” Stevie hands me a chonky pair of headphones and plugs them into the laptop. “Wait until I text you the go-ahead, and then come into the other room. Like we talked about.”

Day 190 (Monday, July 8, 2024): Wordle #1115 – SHAPE

“Roger that,” I say and give Stevie a thumbs-up—a thing I never say or do. God, I must be more nervous than I realized.

It’s fine. It’s not like the next couple of hours will shape the rest of my life or anything…

“Okay, you got everything you need? We don’t go live for another thirty minutes, so text me if you have to use the bathroom or whatever and I’ll sneak you out.”

“Wow, you really are a producer,” I laugh shakily. “No, I’m good for now, thanks.”

“Cool.” Stevie brushes off her jeans as she scooches toward the door. There, she pauses. She gives me a briefly serious look, worrying at her bottom lip before swinging into an easy smile. “You got this.”

She says it so confidently—with finger guns and everything—that I almost believe her.

I smile back half-heartedly, and only until Stevie closes the door behind her, leaving me alone in the supply closet.

Day 191 (Tuesday, July 9, 2024): Wordle #1116 – BLARE

With nothing else to do but wait, I settle in and turn the laptop toward me.

Stevie had already opened the browser to the upcoming YouTube livestream. Tens of thousands of people are tuned in, waiting for the live podcast to start, happily killing time with casual back-and-forth in the chat.

I put on the headphones but immediately yank them off again when the show’s theme music blares into my eardrums loud enough to burst. Miffed, I hold down the volume button until the bar is little more than a sliver before cautiously settling the headphones back over my ears. The ditty may not be deafening anymore, but it’s still painfully insipid.

Even worse is the podcast’s logo taking up the “Starting Soon” screen:

“I Heart Homicide”—written in cutesy bubble letters—surrounds a pink cartoon heart stabbed through with a cartoon knife. Below it, the show’s tagline: “A true crime podcast for the girlies.”

I don’t think I’ve encountered anything this tasteless since the last time I had COVID.

“What am I doing...” I sigh to myself, once again doubting the wisdom of my plan.

I let my focus wander to the chat window. It’s less a conversation and more an exchange of shibboleths among superfans. Quotes and catchphrases from the show, inside jokes, parasocial comments about the hosts…

My eyes start to glaze over when I read, “Hey, Homicide Hotties!” for what must be the hundredth time.

Day 192 (Wednesday, July 10, 2024): Wordle #1117 – GAUNT

The time passes quickly, and I snap to attention when the music fades out and the waiting screen transitions to a video feed of two women sitting beside each other on a velvet couch. The number of viewers rockets upwards. We’re live.

“Hellooo, Homicide Hotties!” The woman upstage of the camera squeals.

She may as well have stepped out of an episode of Mad Men. Her sandy brown hair is coifed into a round bob with side-swept bangs, and she fills out a sleeveless green shift dress topped by a white Peter Pan collar. Bright and bubbly, she beams into the camera, her teeth blazingly white.

“Welcome to a very special live episode of I Heart Homicide! I’m your host, Virginia Hardwick.”

“And I’m your other host, Kaitlyn Kilmartin,” the other woman intones, verging on bored.

Her expression is notably closed off—her lips pursed under her high, gaunt cheekbones. She’s wearing a silky black blouse with black cigarette pants and a husky voice to match. Her hair is raven black, too. The raincloud to her sunny cohost.

“Oh my gosh! You guys! I wasn’t kidding when I said we have a very special episode lined up for you,” Virginia effuses, clutching at her microphone excitedly. “I’m sure you’ve all been following the case of the Crypto Killer?”

The chat explodes with comments.

“Well, joining us here in studio today is none other than Bree Olsen-Liu!”

Day 193 (Thursday, July 11, 2024): Wordle #1118 – CAMEO

The video switches to a second camera, now framing Bree where she sits opposite the two hosts.

“Thank you for having me,” Bree says demurely, lowering her eyes.

She’s trying to play the role of bereaved wife—serious and subdued—but I can tell she’s secretly thrilled. Maybe it’s the studio lighting, but her eyes seem to sparkle, and her lips keep wanting to break into a smile.

Bree almost always puts her most fashionable foot forward, but she truly went all out today. Her hair, makeup, and nails all appear to be professionally done, and her dusty pink crochet-lace dress is luxe, to say the least. Black Widow Barbie.

She looks chic, yet self-conscious, fiddling with her gold necklace. The camera doesn’t pick up the details, but I recognize Bree’s “good luck charm”—a custom cameo pendant of Lola on a blush background. She only wears it when she’s feeling nervous about a “big day.”

Good. She should be nervous.

“Bree, we are so lucky to have you as a guest,” Virginia coos to Bree.

A torrent of agreement spews from the audience.

“And we’re lucky to have such an incredible producer,” Kaitlyn interjects. She gestures to somewhere off camera, presumably at Stevie, and mimes a golf clap. “Shout-out to Stevie for making all this happen.”

From what I gather, Stevie is something of a fan favorite herself, though she seldom shows her face, offering instead the occasional quip or wry comment from behind the scenes. Like the Wizard of Oz of podcasting.

The chat window fills with heart emojis and proclamations of, “We love you, Stevie!”

Day 194 (Friday, July 12, 2024): Wordle #1119 – JIFFY

I can’t argue with the sentiment.

Stevie has expertly orchestrated everything so far, and in a jiffy, too. When I told her the show had to air before the start of the trial, she practically made it happen overnight.

But I’m most lucky that Bree agreed to come on the podcast in the first place. My entire plan would’ve been dead on arrival if she had declined, though I was fairly certain she would accept Stevie’s invitation. She’s crazy about I Heart Homicide—it’s her favorite podcast, after all.

“I can’t believe I’m actually here! I Heart Homicide is my favorite podcast,” Bree says, like she’s read my mind. She has apparently lost her inner battle to maintain a somber demeanor, now smiling giddily at Virginia and Kaitlyn. “I just love you guys!”

“Aw, and we love our Homicide Hotties,” Virginia says. Patronizingly, I think, but Bree only smiles wider, flattered.

The video shifts to yet another view—how many cameras do they have?—to encompass all three women sitting in the studio. The space could pass for some quirky aunt’s basement den, with its warm wood-paneled walls, colorful tasseled rug, mid-century floor lamps, and many shelves stuffed with vintage knick-knacks.

I wonder if Bree has clocked the empty armchair beside hers, the two water glasses on the side table between them, the extra microphone on an expectantly outstretched boom…

Day 195 (Saturday, July 13, 2024): Wordle #1120 – ENACT

“Bree, why don’t you introduce yourself to the audience,” Kaitlyn insists, completely over the pleasantries. “Tell us a bit about yourself and how you’re connected to the Crypto Killer.”

“Like we don’t already know!” Virginia laughs.

“Um, well, my name is Bree Olsen-Liu. I am… was married to Roy Liu,” Bree says haltingly, once again enacting the role of model widow. This time, she fidgets with her engagement ring, twisting it on her finger so that the Burj Khalifa-sized diamond catches the light. “Roy was murdered by Cecilia Cale, my best friend.”

Virginia gasps dramatically and the chat all but implodes at the revelation. Like they didn’t already know.

“Oh my god, Bree, we are so sorry for your loss,” Virginia says. She pouts out her bottom lip in an exaggerated show of sympathy. “And you are so brave for coming on our show to share your story with us.”

“Thank you, Virginia. But I’m not brave. I just hope that, by telling my story, I can help other women recognize toxic friendships in their own lives and cut them out. Before it’s too late,” Bree says gravely.

Virginia nods, leaning forward like she would pat Bree on the knee or give her a hug if she could reach her. I roll my eyes.

“So, let’s get into it then,” Kaitlyn prompts Bree. I think I saw her roll her eyes, too. “Tell us everything, starting with how you met Roy.”

Day 196 (Sunday, July 14, 2024): Wordle #1121 – VIDEO

“Well, actually, I met Roy through Cecilia. She and I became friends in college—”

“You were roommates freshman year, right?” Virginia pipes up, eager to show her knowledge.

“Yes, that’s right. And we were best friends ever since then. She introduced me to Roy when they started dating ten years ago.”

Nine years ago.

“But I don’t remember exactly when I first met him…”

I do. I had soft-launched Roy as my boyfriend when I asked Bree if I could bring a plus-one to her birthday bowl-o-rama at Lucky Strike. She was impressed by him, and his hook, I could tell. But what she said was, “He’s cute, I guess.”

“It’s not like it was love at first sight or anything! I mean, he was dating my best friend, you know?” Bree laughs a little, trying to wave off even a whiff of impropriety on her part. “I didn’t think about Roy like that at all until after they were divorced.”

I almost can’t believe how quickly she glosses over my entire marriage to Roy, like it never even happened. But also, I get it—best not to let the viewers linger on the timeline and get ideas about homewrecking or cheating. Bree is supposed to be the victim here, after all.

“Do you remember the moment when you did start to think about Roy ‘like that’?” Virginia asks, hoping for a storybook romance to really woo the audience, I’m sure.

Bree goes quiet, thoughtful. The video switches back to the camera view of just her.

Day 197 (Monday, July 15, 2024): Wordle #1122 – SWOON

“Yes, of course I remember,” Bree says with a private smile, despite the cameras. “I was walking my dog, Lola, in Golden Gate Park when she slipped her leash and ran off. I was so worried—I went chasing after her, yelling and screaming like a maniac.”

Bree laughs and Virginia laughs politely along with her.

“Roy was there, too, jogging. He picked Lola right up and brought her back to me. He was so heroic, like a knight in shining armor.”

Huh. She never told me that before.

Bree reaches for some Kleenex on the side table and prettily dabs at the single tear trembling in the corner of her eye.

I wonder whether she’s faking it, putting on a show for the audience. But she has that wistful, faraway look in her eyes that she gets whenever she watches Pride & Prejudice, still swooning at the memory of how Roy had saved her precious Lola. It’s the most Bree-like I’ve seen her in a while.

Maybe she never told me about their meet-again-cute because she was trying to protect my feelings. Sparing me the details of their love story after mine had exploded like a SpaceX rocket. Maybe Bree really was my friend, once…

“Anyway!” Bree brings herself back to the moment, smiling at Virginia. “After that, we dated for a few months, and then we got married a little over two years ago. Lola was our ring bearer.”

Day 198 (Tuesday, July 16, 2024): Wordle #1123 – DECOY

“Oh my gosh, that is just too adorable,” Virginia sighs dreamily, clasping her hands over her heart. “How romantic.”

Bree smiles and accepts the compliment.

“But sadly, as we all know, you and Roy didn’t get your happily ever after,” Kaitlyn says, not unkindly, but clearly trying to move the story along. “Could you tell us more about what led up to Roy’s tragic death? Did you suspect that Cecilia was plotting to murder your husband?”

I lean forward in my seat and punch up the volume a few bars.

Yes, do tell.

“Well, Cecilia started acting… I hate to say it, but she started acting crazy a few days before the murder.” Bree frowns. “She was calling Roy non-stop, even in the middle of the night, demanding that he pay her money she was ‘owed.’”

That lie again.

“And what did she mean by that?” Kaitlyn asks.

“Roy founded a cryptocurrency company that, well, it made a lot of money. But that was a long time after he and Cecilia got divorced, so he didn’t owe her anything—”

“Oh! It’s like that case in Florida, from episode two-hundred-something,” Virginia says excitedly. “That lady who murdered her ex-husband when he won the Powerball and they fought over alimony. She fed his body to the gators!”

As she’s talking, Virginia points to a nearby shelf of knick-knacks. Specifically, to a little plastic alligator with a lotto ticket clamped in its mouth, sitting between a wooden duck decoy and a music box. All with some tie-in to the show, I guess.

“Yes, I remember that one,” Bree says, for once not amused by Virginia’s enthusiasm—not when it takes attention away from her. “Anyway, Cecilia threatened to take Roy to court. And she made other threats…”

Day 199 (Wednesday, July 17, 2024): Wordle #1124 – QUITE

“She threatened to kill Roy?” Kaitlyn looks interested for maybe the first time since the show went live, but only moderately.

“Well, Roy wouldn’t tell me exactly what Cecilia said. He was always looking out for her, even after everything…” Bree’s eyes go flinty. She must be channeling some other disagreement she had with Roy, since the alleged phone calls never happened. “But yes, that’s the impression I got.”

“And then what happened, after Cecilia made these threatening phone calls?”

“On October twentieth, Roy…” Bree chokes up a little. She looks like she might be about to cry again, but the tears never quite reach her eyes. “Roy went missing. I didn’t see him before I left for work that morning—he was out jogging, I think—and when I texted him about dinner plans, he said he wasn’t coming home that night. That was the last thing I heard from him, and I… I never saw him again.”

This time, Virginia does give Bree a hug, taking off her headphones so she can move from the couch to Bree’s chair. The chat spirals into a disarray of platitudes and heart symbols, like a Hallmark store after a tornado.

“What do you think happened that day?” Kaitlyn asks once everyone has collected themselves.

“I think that Cecilia cornered Roy at our home, after I’d already gone to work, and then somehow convinced him to leave with her. He was such a good man, and she was so desperate—maybe she said she’d hurt herself if he didn’t go with her, or maybe he just felt sorry for her.”

My eyes roll so far back in my skull, I can see my brain.

“So, Roy told you he wasn’t coming home, because he was trying to talk down Cecilia. And then—”

“And then she murdered him!” Bree exclaims with the dramatic panache of a soap actress. I can practically hear the gasps from the audience. “Cecilia lured Roy into Golden Gate Park, hit him over the head, and left him there to rot! The police didn’t find his body until two days later.”

Day 200 (Thursday, July 18, 2024): Wordle #1125 – NERDY

Virginia retreats back to her couch, giving Bree space to rage.

“But maybe the worst part of it all is that Cecilia kept pretending to be my friend throughout the whole thing, like nothing happened! I called her the day after Roy went missing and she acted all innocent,” Bree huffs, ripping up the Kleenex still in her hands.

“Did you suspect her at that time?” Virginia asks carefully.

The video transitions to picture-in-picture, the live feed shrinking to make way for a slideshow of me and Bree together. There’s a photo of us from our early college days: Bree in her PINK sweatshirt and me in my old nerdy glasses, horn-rimmed and everything. Then the two of us at her bachelorette party, hugging. Then my mugshot.

Thanks for that one, Stevie.

“No, I didn’t suspect my best friend of murder,” Bree says like she’s been insulted. “Not at first, anyway…”

“But now you’re convinced that she’s guilty. So, why do you think she did it?”

Allegedly.

“I’m not sure… I think maybe it was a heat-of-the-moment thing. A crime of passion, you know?” Bree says like she’s still thinking it through. Like she hasn’t practiced this performance a million times in front of the mirror. “Cecilia has a drinking problem, and she was always jealous of our marriage. I guess she just… lost it.”

The slideshow fades away and returns to the wide shot of Bree, Virginia, and Kaitlyn sitting in the recording studio.

“Well, I think Cecilia had a secret accomplice who helped her—"

“The trial starts next week,” Kaitlyn barrels right over Virginia. “Are you ready to face your former best friend in court?”

“Oh, I’m ready,” Bree says defiantly, sitting up straight. “I’m ready to get the justice I deserve.”

My phone buzzes on the card table. It’s a text from Stevie:

Showtime.

Day 201 (Friday, July 19, 2024): Wordle #1126 – REFER

Chapter 20.

I pause outside the door to the recording studio. The neon red “On Air” sign glares down on me like a warning, a stoplight. I feel more anxious than an agoraphobe in Disney World.

With the soundproofing, I can just barely make out Virginia’s muffled voice beyond the door.

“Hold up a second, Hotties! Stevie is telling us we have a surprise guest in the studio—”

Before I can let my nerves get the best of me, I grab the door handle and tumble inside.

To my left are Stevie and the cameras, myself and the door out of frame. A large softbox light blocks the rest of the set from my view, including Bree and the others—and me from them, it seems, Virginia wondering aloud who I might be.

Stevie gives me two thumbs up and then motions for me to take the stage.

Somehow, my feet move me there, but I stop cold when Virginia lets out a small shriek as I step into view. She claps both of her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide with fear, and huddles into the far corner of the couch, like I’m going to murder her, too.

Kaitlyn’s face is pinched with confusion. She refers to her notecards, flipping through them hastily, as though they’ll direct her how to react, dropping a few when she whips her gaze back toward me.

And Bree…

Day 202 (Saturday, July 20, 2024): Wordle #1127 – SHAFT

Bree gives me the coldest look I’ve ever seen. Her glare chills me like a shaft of ice straight through the heart, but I don’t break eye contact. She looks away first, redirecting her ire toward Stevie.

“I never agreed to this,” Bree says with frosty disdain before quickly switching over to damsel-in-distress mode. “I-I can’t believe that you would ambush me like this—t-that you would put me in the same room with my husband’s murderer!”

As much as she protests, Bree only feints at leaving, momentarily standing up from her seat before falling back into the chair, like she’s gone weak in the knees.

“She’s totally violating the conditions of her release!” Bree says, slightly out of breath, jabbing an accusatory, perfectly manicured finger at me.

She’s not wrong. I’m taking a huge risk by being here, but I have no other choice.

Tens of thousands of viewers are watching this livestream. It’s only a matter of time before the police find out and show up to arrest me for breaking the terms of my bail.

But then again, that’s kind of the whole point—to have as many people as possible witness Bree’s on-air confession. I hope…

“She’s not allowed to be anywhere near me. Who knows what she might do—"

“I’m not going to hurt anyone. You know that,” I say calmly and directly to Bree, my meaning clear.

Stevie, not at all ruffled by Bree’s histrionics, mouths for me to “Sit down!” and points at the empty chair. She must not think I’m going to hurt anyone, either. Imagine the lawsuit.

Day 203 (Sunday, July 21, 2024): Wordle #1128 – SPECK

I approach the armchair downstage of Bree tentatively, trying not to spook her.

She’s not afraid, though—she’s angry. Bree wrinkles her nose in disgust and scooches to the opposite side of her own chair as I take a seat beside her, like I’m an unruly drunk on BART.

As soon as I slide a pair of headphones over my head—squashing down my hair unflatteringly, I’m sure—I hear Stevie in my ears:

“Introduce yourself, Cecilia.”

“Um, hello. I’m Cecilia Cale.” My voice cracks. Stevie tells me to speak directly into the mic. I clear my throat and lean forward. “I’ve been wrongfully accused of murdering Roy Liu, and I’m here today to prove my innocence.”

There. I’ve officially thrown down the gauntlet. But if Bree’s rattled, she’s doing a good job of hiding it. She looks down at her skirt, picking at an imaginary speck of lint.

Dead silence.

“Well, um, Cecilia… Welcome to the show?” Kaitlyn says after a beat, uncertain but also excited. She’s not bored anymore, that’s for sure. “I have to say, this is a first! We’ve never had a murderer—"

“Alleged murderer. Innocent until proven guilty, remember?”

“Oh, right, sorry… We’ve never had an alleged murderer on our show before,” Kaitlyn says, now sitting eagerly on the edge of the couch. There’s a hungry gleam in her eye, but whether she’s more animated by my presence or by the number of viewers steadily ticking up on the monitor, I can’t say.

Day 204 (Monday, July 22, 2024): Wordle #1129 – CADET

Virginia, on the other hand, is in an utter daze. Her gaze wanders between us, stupefied, and her mouth hangs slightly open.

“Jesus, stop being such a space cadet, Virginia!” Stevie hisses into our headphones.

This is enough to snap Virginia out of it. She closes her mouth and looks around like she’s just woken up—and then immediately goes back to being terrified of me. I’m not sure this is an improvement.

“Bree, I am so sorry that we’ve violated your boundaries like this,” Virginia says, her voice warbly with fear. She sounds more sorry for herself than for Bree. “You don’t have to stay if you feel even the slightest bit unsafe.”

Stevie and Kaitlyn shoot daggers at her but hold their tongues.

“No, it’s okay, Virginia,” Bree says soothingly. Then, she narrows her eyes at me. “I won’t let myself be intimidated.”

More like she’s loving the limelight too much to leave.

“Besides,” Bree smirks. “I can’t wait to hear this.”

And I can’t afford to waste any more time—the clock’s ticking.

Here goes nothing.

Day 205 (Tuesday, July 23, 2024): Wordle #1130 – PRONG

“I didn’t murder Roy Liu—Bree did, and she’s trying to frame me.”

Predictably, the room erupts with noises of surprise and protest before everyone starts talking at once, tumbling over one another like a litter of puppies.

God, I’ll never get through the evidence if this is going to happen every time I open my mouth.

“But, the police found Roy’s phone…” Virginia starts strong but trails off, confused.

“I loved Roy with all my heart! Why would I—”

“And you say you can prove it?” Kaitlyn wins the verbal skirmish through sheer volume, her husky voice overpowering the others. “You have proof that you’re not guilty?”

I’m not sure which prong of the conversation to respond to first, or even who to look at, but I settle on Kaitlyn. She seems the most on my side.

“Yes, that’s right. I can prove it.” Maybe. “For starters, everything Bree has said is a lie.”

Day 206 (Saturday, Aug 3, 2024): Wordle #1141 – SCALE

“Oh, please!” Bree looks to Virginia for backup, giving her a glance that says, “Can you believe this?” Like Virginia’s been her real best friend all along. “Do we really have to sit here and listen to—”

“You’ve already had your turn, Bree,” Kaitlyn cuts in smoothly, holding up a hand to silence her. “I think our viewers would like to hear Cecilia’s side of the story now.”

Bree lets out an indignant little squawk, too insulted to speak, and Kaitlyn nods for me to go on.

“Thank you, Kaitlyn. As I was saying, I can explain everything…”

Finally, my Hercule Poirot moment. Though, I don’t have the signature mustache. And I’ll need to scale back on the details if I want to get to the juicy part in time—the part where I trap Bree.

“Late on the night of October nineteenth, Roy confronted Bree about an affair she was having with her yoga instructor, Austin Early.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a small photo of Austin pop up on the monitor that’s showing the livestream. It’s the only photo I’ve ever seen of him not smiling or flexing, but he still looks as adonic as ever in his seriousness. Bree shakes her head in denial, steadfastly not looking at the photo.

Day 207 (Sunday, Aug 4, 2024): Wordle #1142 – LOWER

I go on.

“During their argument, Bree killed Roy in a fit of rage. But instead of turning herself in, Bree thought she could get away with murder. She dragged Roy’s body into their guest bathroom and hid it there for the time being. The next day, she pretended that Roy had gone missing.”

“None of this is true!” Bree yelps but then quickly lowers her voice before anyone can tell her to pipe down. “None of it…”

I hold back a smile, pleased to be under her skin already.

“Then, on October twenty-first, Bree asked me to come over because she said she was ‘concerned’ about Roy’s ‘disappearance.’ That’s why my fingerprints were found at their home, not because I ambushed Roy there before murdering him, as Bree claims.”

It’s not the most dramatic retelling of events, I’ll admit, but Virginia and Kaitlyn are hanging on my every word like I’m about to reveal what really happened to D.B. Cooper. Bree sullenly crosses her arms.

“Sometime later that night, Bree and Austin moved Roy’s body to Golden Gate Park, where it was discovered the next morning. After the police IDed the body, Bree came to my apartment, acting all distraught. She said that she needed a friend, but what she really needed was the opportunity to plant Roy’s belongings at my place to frame me for his murder.”

There. I’ve set the stage, now I have to maneuver Bree under the precariously dangling sandbag.

Day 208 (Monday, Aug 5, 2024): Wordle #1143 – ENSUE

“Well, Cecilia…” Virginia musters up the courage to speak, her voice squeaky and timid. She cowers a little when I look in her direction, still believing I’m the Crypto Killer, apparently. “Your story is very, um… interesting. But can you prove any of it?”

“No, she can’t. She made it all up,” Bree says with a sniff.

“Stevie, will you play the first audio clip, please?” I say calmly, ignoring Bree. “The voices you are about to hear are myself and Austin Early.”

Bree’s mouth pops open in surprise before she quickly schools her expression into a look of strained interest, like an employee about to watch their boss’s PowerPoint presentation. But sitting this close, I can see her swallow nervously. A few tiny beads of sweat bedazzle her hairline.

The video transitions to picture-in-picture again, captioning the audio as it plays.

Cecilia: “And Bree Olsen-Liu?”

Austin: “What about her?”

Cecilia: “You two are close.”

Austin: “Mrs. Olsen-Liu has been a student here for some time. So yes, she’s a valued member of our community.”

Cecilia: “It’s more than that, though, isn’t it? You’re having an affair.”

Austin: … “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

The tension in his voice is palpable, his words clipped. Bree swallows again.

Cecilia: “Did you help Bree murder her husband? Or was it your idea? Was it premeditated? A crime of passion?—”

Austin: “You will leave now. And if I ever see you again, I will call the police.”

I can practically feel his guilty rage through the sound waves. The audience must, too, considering the deluge of shocked comments that ensues as soon as the audio fades away.

Day 209 (Tuesday, Aug 6, 2024): Wordle #1144 – ANVIL

“Okay, some red flags there, for sure,” Virginia says reluctantly, giving Bree an apologetic look. “But he didn’t confess to having an affair.”

“He didn’t deny it, either,” I point out.

“Like I said, she can’t prove anything,” Bree butts in with a short, nervous laugh. “This doesn’t prove anything!”

No, it doesn’t. But it does put Bree on the back foot. She must be wondering what else Austin said, what other conversations I recorded…

“Well, were you sleeping around with this guy?” Kaitlyn asks bluntly.

The question hits Bree like a cartoon anvil dropped right on her head. Her mouth hangs open for a moment before she stammers out an answer.

“N-no! Of course not!” Bree picks herself up. “And to be honest, I’m insulted that you even asked—”

“Oh, did I mention that Austin Early’s father is the Chief of Police?” I say, knowing full well that I hadn’t. “Must be easy to get away with murder when your boyfriend has a Get Out of Jail Free card.”

Bree has kept a relatively level head so far, but she’s starting to get flustered. A slap of angry pink rises to her cheeks.

“Oh wow, you’re such an ah-mazing private detective, Cece!” Bree sneers, directly acknowledging me for the first time since I stepped into the room. “So, you Googled a few names, who cares? It doesn’t matter anyway because Austin and I were never together.”

Day 210 (Wednesday, Aug 7, 2024): Wordle #1145 – MACAW

“Actually, no. That’s not the truth, Bree, and you know it.” I had mostly been talking around Bree thus far, too. But now I pivot in my chair to fully look her in the eye. “You confessed to me that you were having an affair with Austin. And you confessed to killing Roy.”

This draws yet another gasp from Virginia, but Bree falls silent. The flush of her cheeks intensifies, bright enough to rival a scarlet macaw.

“That-that’s a lie…” Bree stutters. “I never—”

“Stevie, play the next audio clip, please.”

Days 211 & 212 (Thursday, Aug 8 & Friday, Aug 9, 2024): Wordle #1146 – SAUCY & Wordle #1147 – OUNCE

I want to say something saucy to introduce the clip, something crowing yet cryptic to really make Bree sweat, but I’m seized by nervous anticipation.

My mouth goes dry—I can’t muster even an ounce of saliva to wet my lips—and the rabbity pulse of my heart beating in my ears drowns out most of the sound of the audio recording. I follow along with the captions on the screen.

Cecilia: “You never even loved Roy in the first place. You murdered him in cold blood because you—”

Bree: “I didn’t murder Roy! It was an accident!”

On-tape Bree is furious, shouting, but in-studio Bree sits cowed in her chair, her eyes wide with disbelief.

“I—I never said that,” Bree says like it’s a question. Like not even she entirely trusts herself.

But she’s right, in a way. She didn’t say that—not exactly.

I had tried my best to reconstruct our conversation word-for-word from that day at Dolores Park, but my memory’s not perfect. And it’s technically not her voice either.

The original recording was too garbled to use as a gotcha, yet it had helped to train a deepfake model to mimic Bree’s voice—along with many more hours of audio from other talk shows and podcasts that Bree had done prior to I Heart Homicide.

So, actually, I have Bree’s own ego to thank for this audio clip. And Kevin’s connections to techy people who can apparently pull off a convincing deepfake murder confession in a few days’ time.

I really do owe Kevin a kidney. Maybe both kidneys.

Day 213 (Saturday, Aug 10, 2024): Wordle #1148 – MEDIC

The audio continues.

Cecilia: “So, why don’t you tell me what happened?”

Bree: “You’re right. About everything… mostly. But I never meant to kill Roy.

We were arguing, about Austin… Austin and I had been seeing each other for a couple of months, and Roy was getting suspicious. But even when he confronted me that night, even when we were arguing, he never really got mad about it. It was like he didn’t actually care enough to fight for me. Which made me mad. Then he said… something, and I was just so angry that I—

I… I pushed him. I didn’t mean to hurt him, it just happened. He fell and hit his head and…

He died.”

When the clip ends, the studio goes quieter than a mime convention.  

Bree looks about to pass out, all the color drained from her cheeks, and I briefly wonder whether there’s a medic in the building.

Day 214 (Sunday, Aug 11, 2024): Wordle #1149 – SCONE

“No, I…” Bree shakes her head dazedly, looking somewhere into the middle distance. “I didn’t say that.”

My mouth is still drier than a day-old scone, but I need to say something to push back against Bree. Fortunately, Kaitlyn steps in as I pick up the drinking glass from the side table and take a shaky sip of water.

“Then how do you explain what we all heard just now?” Kaitlyn presses. Even Virginia is starting to eye Bree with suspicion.

“Look, I don’t know how she did it, but Cece must have faked it somehow,” Bree insists. She’s suddenly renewed, refocused on maintaining her innocence, and she appeals to Kaitlyn and Virginia with glistening puppy-dog eyes. “I swear that’s not my voice! I didn’t say those things!”

“But you did say those things, Bree. Every word of it,” I say, a little too sweatily, too defensively. “All you do is lie, and lie, and lie. Even when you confessed, you still weren’t telling the whole truth.”

“What are you talking about?” Bree rounds on me, both infuriated and afraid of what I might say next.

“You didn’t push Roy in the heat of the moment. It wasn’t an accident. You killed Roy on purpose.”

Day 215 (Monday, Aug 12, 2024): Wordle #1150 – SKIFF

Chapter 21.

Before Bree can make any more excuses for herself, I pull out a breadbox-sized wooden chest from under my chair and heave it onto my knees.

Everyone looks on curiously, Virginia literally on the edge of her seat, no doubt surprised that they hadn’t noticed the box before now. Stevie really does know how to mastermind a big reveal.

I pause a moment for dramatic effect, then I open the chest’s hinged lid. With both hands, I lift out…

“Froufrou?!” Bree gasps before she can think better of it. She looks completely upended, like a skiff caught in the wake of the Queen Mary.

“Yes, everyone, I’d like you to meet Froufrou. One of Bree’s most prized possessions.” I move the box back to the floor and position Froufrou in my lap so that she’s facing the camera. I give her a little pat on her ceramic head. “You’ve had Froufrou since you were six years old. Isn’t that right, Bree?”

“Yes…” Bree agrees reluctantly. She probably would have denied ever seeing Froufrou before in her life if she hadn’t already so clearly recognized the ceramic poodle.

For good measure, I’ve supplied a few photos of Bree standing beside Froufrou in our college dorm room, at her first apartment, and so on. They fade in and out of the picture-in-picture window.

Have fun trying to deny that, Bree.

Day 216 (Tuesday, Aug 13, 2024): Wordle #1151 – NEIGH

“Wait, wait, wait!” Kaitlyn interrupts, waving to get my attention. “You’ve lost me. What does this have to do with anything?”

“This…” I heft Froufrou between my palms. “Is the murder weapon.”

Bree lets loose a peal of laughter unlike anything I’ve heard from her in all the years we’ve been friends. It’s not her forced, socially polite chuckle, not her snide, mean girl titter that I know so well. It’s more like a lamb bleating, a horse’s neigh—something wild and panicked. The cries of an animal backed into a corner.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Cece,” Bree finally manages to spit out after the laughter dies away.

“I’m not. I’m being completely serious,” I say, steeling my voice. “You were so mad at Roy that you wanted to hurt him. You picked up Froufrou and—"

I hoist Froufrou up high, gripping the heavy ceramic poodle in my hands like a monkey with a bone.

“You hit Roy over the head—” I thrust Froufrou downward through the air with violent force. “—killing him.”

Day 217 (Wednesday, Aug 14, 2024): Wordle #1152 – SHORE

“No, that’s not what happened! I would never hurt Roy—”

“Oh, but you did! And you might have gotten away with it, too, if only you had thrown out the murder weapon.”

I move Froufrou from hand to hand to shore up my claim, demonstrating just how solid it is, how weighty, how lethal.

Except that this particular “Froufrou” hasn’t killed anyone. It’s an identical ceramic poodle that I managed to scrounge up on eBay only after days of searching. Well, nearly identical—she didn’t have that signature spot of black glaze on her front paw, but it was nothing a little Sharpie couldn’t fix.

“You just couldn’t bear to part with your precious Froufrou, could you?” I get my head back in the game, not letting up on Bree. “Or maybe you wanted to keep her around as a trophy of your kill. Murderers do that kind of thing, right?”

“I-I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Bree sputters.

She eyes me warily, then moves her gaze to Froufrou. At first, she seems to want to rescue Froufrou from my arms, but then she narrows her eyes at her. Like the inanimate object has somehow betrayed her.

“A forensic swab collected from Froufrou here came back with trace evidence of blood. Roy’s blood—"

“What?! When? Th-that’s not possible!”

Day 218 (Thursday, Aug 15, 2024): Wordle #1153 – ACORN

She’s right again—it’s not possible.

Bree knows that she had hidden away the real Froufrou well before the police had investigated her home. But she can’t say that without revealing her guilt. And I can’t let her dwell on the details of when I could have possibly gotten my hands on Froufrou to collect forensic evidence, much less how I have her here with me today.

No, I can’t give Bree even an acorn’s breadth of space to think it over and call my bluff.

“You thought you’d cleaned up all the blood—from your floors, from Froufrou—but you didn’t. I have the evidence right here.”

“You’re lying!” Bree snarls. Then, somewhere between pleading and warning, “Cecilia, don’t do this…”

“You’ve done this to yourself.” I’ve said these words before. I flash back to when I first confronted Bree at the park, in her car, when she begged me not to turn her in. I can’t believe I hesitated. “You killed Roy and you never showed even an ounce of remorse. You cheated on him, and then you murdered him without a second thought.”

“N-no! I didn’t!” Frantic tears roll down Bree’s cheeks. Her face crumples, crumbles.

“Stop denying it, Bree! You confessed, we all heard it!” My heart thrashes in my chest.

“No, I—"

“All Roy ever did was love you, and you threw him away like he was nothing. Why?” A burning tear taps against my wrist and I realize that I’m crying, too. I realize there’s still one question left unanswered. “Why did you do it? You bashed Roy over the head and then you just left him there to die, because you hated him?”

“No, that’s not it at all! I loved him!"

“Then why, Bree? Why did you murder Roy?!—”

“Because he was still in love with you, you bitch!”

Day 219 (Friday, Aug 16, 2024): Wordle #1154 – BRACE

Everything stops, like someone has pressed a giant pause button.

Bree sits frozen, her mouth stuck open in a stunned, bewildered expression, not even blinking. Only her chest moves—a fluttery up-and-down with each panting breath.

“Oh, shit…” Stevie murmurs in our ears.

With that, Bree cracks open like an egg, spilling out a mess of emotions. She throws back her head, and an indescribable noise somewhere between a scream and a wail wrenches itself from her, both anguished and enraged. Her manicured nails dig so deeply into her chair’s armrests that I swear I can hear threads popping.

When Bree snaps her eyes back to me, they’re sparking with fury. I brace for an attack.

Day 220 (Saturday, Aug 17, 2024): Wordle #1155 – STORM

“Oooh, good one, Cece! You got me!” Bree snarks, somehow both trying to play off her confession and own it at the same time. She cranes her neck Exorcist-style so that she can glare at me full-on.

“Please speak directly into the mic…” Stevie ventures, hesitant to admonish Bree.

Either Bree is ignoring her or she didn’t even hear her in the first place, completely laser-focused on me.

“Do you want to know what Roy said to me, that night we were arguing? Huh?”

“I—”

“He said that he never should’ve divorced you!” Bree huffs. “Can you believe it?! I mean, really?”

No, I can’t believe it. I can’t even begin to wrap my mind around it. Roy regretted getting a divorce? He still had feelings for me?

Despite everything, my lips curl into an involuntary smile.

Bree notices. Her face darkens like a storm cloud and I can feel the hairs on my arms stand up, anticipating the lightning strike of her anger.

“You’re happy about this, are you? Oh, of course you are! You could never accept that Roy and I were together. You always secretly wanted him back, didn’t you?”

With each word, Bree strains a little closer to me over the arm of her chair.

“Please speak directly into—"

Day 221 (Sunday, Aug 18, 2024): Wordle #1156 – LANKY

“Oh, shut up, you lanky moron!” Bree screeches at Stevie, turning her attention away from me just long enough to hurl her insult.

“Hey!” Kaitlyn jumps to Stevie’s defense, but Bree has already moved on.

“You were never a real friend to me, Cece. Never!”

I snort.

So, ghosting me for months and only reaching out when you need something makes you a “real” friend?

“Always jealous of my accomplishments. Always thinking you were smarter than me, better than me…”

Oh, that’s rich.

I could interject, but it’s best to just let Bree talk herself out when she’s on the warpath. Besides, I’m curious to see just how high up this petard can hoist.

Day 222 (Monday, Aug 19, 2024): Wordle #1157 – METER

“You gaslighted me and sabotaged my marriage! I was right to get back at you for all the trauma you caused me,” Bree says with a decisive nod, like that settles it. Like her self-victimization justifies framing me for murder. She straightens a little, surer of herself. “You got what you deserved! You both did!”

“You’re right, Bree…”

Bree stiffens, sensing a trap.

“I did finally get what I deserved today. And so did Roy, thanks to you.” I can’t help but gloat, now that I’ve won. “Justice.”

Something inside Bree snaps. Her eye twitches. Her pink lips pull back over her white teeth in a wordless growl. I can practically see her rage-o-meter dial up to eleven.

Day 223 (Tuesday, Aug 20, 2024): Wordle #1158 – DELAY

“You!!” Bree shrieks at me, unable to articulate her contempt beyond that single syllable. Her hatred too great to express.

“Speak into the mic—”

Bree yanks off her headphones, which catch in her hair, and launches herself over the side of the chair with a feral yowl.

Surprise delays my reaction time, and Bree is able to easily snatch Froufrou out of my hands. She raises Froufrou high above her head—the neon I Heart Homicide sign against the wall washes the pearly ceramic a shining blood red—and swings it down at me.

A burst of pain skitters across my wrist as I raise my arm just in time to block the blow.

“Ow! Bree!” I hold up both arms in front of my face, trying to both placate and defend. Another blow bounces off my elbow. “Stop it!”

Through the scrim of Bree’s wild hair, I can see Kaitlyn and Virginia stand up, too, but they keep their distance, fearful and uncertain. Another flash of pain shoots down my forearm. They shout something at Bree, but I can hardly hear them over the noises of exertion that Bree makes with every strike. Over and over.

I kick my feet at Bree but can’t seem to make contact. I grab Froufrou out of the air for a moment, only to have her wrested away again. When Froufrou’s pom-pom tail glances off my brow, stars explode in the corner of my vision, and I distantly wonder whether this was the last thing Roy saw…

Just then, I hear the door slam open and several pairs of footsteps rush into the studio.

“Stop! Put down your weapon!” A male voice bellows.

Bree stops. She still looms over me, panting, Froufrou clenched in her two-handed grip, her shoulders shaking with rage and exertion, mascara smeared across her cheeks.

Finally, with one last wry smile, Bree shrugs in surrender and lets Froufrou drop from her limp fingers to the carpet. She turns her back on me to face the interlopers.

Palumbo stands in the middle of the studio flanked by two cops, his hand hovering over his holstered firearm, and takes in the scene with a look that’s equal parts confused and amused. Of course. He smirks.

“You’re under arrest.” Palumbo’s gaze slides from me to Bree. “Both of you.”

Day 224 (Wednesday, Aug 21, 2024): Wordle #1159 – MULCH

Chapter 22.

BEFORE

I didn’t move. I didn’t want to move, maybe ever.

I wiggled my toes in the sand until I sank down to my ankles, letting the frothy waves wash over my feet. Out and back, again and again. The beach was like turbinado sugar, the water like Mountain Dew Baja Blast. But… in a good way. Turquoise and vivid and unreal.

A breath-warm breeze sighed across my face, carrying the briny tang of the ocean chased by a vegetal, almost mulchy odor of seaweed washed up on shore.

Stretching my arms high over my head, I let out a long, satisfied, “Aaah!” Like I was in a commercial for an all-inclusive resort or something.

“Having a good time yet?”

Feet still planted in the sand, I had to twist to look over my shoulder and see Roy.

Day 225 (Thursday, Aug 22, 2024): Wordle #1160 – BRUTE

“I dunno…” I grinned as Roy sidled up beside me and squeezed his arm around my waist. His sunscreen smelled like piña coladas. “The view’s okay, I guess.”

Roy shook his head at me with a look of mock disappointment, unable to hide a smile.

“Guess I’ll just have to try harder next anniversary,” he sighed.

“Here, go stand in front of the so-so view and I’ll take a picture.”

Playfully, I pushed Roy away from me and gestured at the crystalline waters, the verdant hills in the distance cupping the beach, so bright and lush that it almost hurt to look at them.

Roy hated having his photo taken but decided to humor me. It was a special occasion, after all. After giving me a quick peck on the cheek, he jog-splashed away, placing himself in a strategically picturesque spot along the water’s edge.

Just as I trained my phone on him, he yelped in surprise—a loud whoop punctuated by a single, “Ha!” I snapped a photo.

“Did you see that?” Roy said laughingly, still startled but also excited. He pointed at a crab scuttling away from him across the wet sand. A big red thing with burly claws and a furrowed expression, looking very much like a sunburned bodybuilder. “He ran right across my foot! Nearly took my toe off.”

“Oh, wow, what a brute!” I teased, taking a moment to admire the photo before getting one of the crab, too.

Day 226 (Friday, Aug 23, 2024): Wordle #1161 – LEECH

Roy strolled back toward me, hand extended, and I returned my phone to my sundress pocket so that I could take it. When the sand refused to release its leech-like hold on my mired feet, Roy had to grab both of my hands in his own, pulling hard.

My feet finally came free with a sucking squelch as the seawater rushed in to fill the holes left in the sand. We danced away from the surf, hand in hand, and I playacted like it was trying to swallow me up again.

Still smiling, we made our way more slowly along the beach, swinging our arms a little.

“You know… I heard that crabs mate for life,” Roy said after a moment. He was looking out over the ocean, the breeze whipping his dark hair away from his eyes.

“I think that’s lobsters.” I scrunched up my nose skeptically. “And I don’t think that’s true.”

“That’s what I love about you, Cecilia,” Roy said in that joking tone of voice of his. “You’re a hopeless romantic.”

“Well, I’m certainly one of those things.”

I bumped my shoulder against Roy’s, he caressed the back of my hand with his thumb, and we walked away.

Day 227 (Saturday, Aug 24, 2024): Wordle #1162 – FILET

Chapter 23.

AFTER

I knew that Filet-O-Fish was a bad idea.

My stomach has been churning with anticipation all day, and the greasy fish sandwich still flopping around in there isn’t exactly helping things.

I haven’t even touched the cold brew sitting in front of me, too nervous about the potential alchemy of coffee meeting cod. It’s probably more like a lukewarm brew now, anyway, considering how long I’ve been waiting here.

Not that I’m surprised. After all, when has she ever been on time?

“Cece?...”

Day 228 (Sunday, Aug 25, 2024): Wordle #1163 – SKATE

When I hear her voice, my stomach finally stops somersaulting. My entire body freezes, guards itself.

Slowly, I stand up, turn around, and there she is. Bree.

It’s been over four years since I last saw her. In person, I mean—when she was dragged out of the podcast studio literally kicking and screaming, and me not far behind.

I’ve seen her everywhere for the past few months, though—plastered across social media, talk shows, magazines—ever since the moment she was released from prison.

So, I knew that she would look pretty much the same. It’s not like she got a face tattoo behind bars or anything. Same blonde hair, perfectly styled. Though maybe with extensions? Same blush palette for her designer clothes. Not shying away from the “Pink Widow” moniker the media has given her, apparently.

Still, there’s something different about her that I can’t quite put my finger on. Something a little off. Or maybe it’s just the Botox.

“You’re late,” I say, but without much bite. I quickly smother an automatic urge to smile.

“I wasn’t sure you’d show up,” Bree says, also smiling nervously, like she’s on a first date. She’s taking me in, too. Sizing me up. Her eyes skate over my slouchy sweater and poofy hair and chunky glasses. I guess I haven’t changed much, either.

Day 229 (Monday, Aug 26, 2024): Wordle #1164 – STAKE

For one horrifying second, I think Bree is about to hug me. Mercifully, she lets her hands fall to her sides when she sees my expression.

I dive back into my chair and Bree follows suit.

“Wow, this place has really changed since college!” Bree says brightly, taking in the industrial-chic café with its high ceilings and bare Edison bulbs. Looking anywhere but at me.

“New ownership.”

I was surprised when Bree suggested this coffee shop for our meeting—one of our old haunts from our UC Berkeley days. I had expected her to pick Charmaine's, or her favorite bottomless mimosa brunch, or some other watering hole. So, this choice had struck me as strangely… thoughtful.

Then again, I wouldn’t stake my life on it being a selfless gesture. Maybe Bree is trying to emotionally manipulate me—trying to conjure up a nostalgic fondness for the good ol’ days.

Or maybe she chose here to get away from the City—somewhere that she wouldn’t expect to be seen. If so, it’s working. No one is paying us any mind.

The Crypto Killer and the Pink Widow.

“So…” I drum my fingers against the side of my glass.

“So.”

Bree doesn’t seem to know where to look. Her eyes flit anxiously from my face to the baristas, out the window, and then back to me without ever landing. Like a schoolboy who’s stumbled into the girls’ locker room.

Day 230 (Tuesday, Aug 27, 2024): Wordle #1165 – CROWN

An awkward beat of silence follows…

And then that beat becomes a whole fucking opera of silence.

Honestly, though, what do you say to your former best friend who murdered your ex-husband, tried to frame you for the crime, and has just finished her prison sentence? Not exactly the best time for small talk.

“I—” Bree starts but is cut off by a barista calling her name to pick up her order. “I-I’ll be right back.”

I watch Bree as she walks briskly toward the counter, as if I can somehow divine her motives from the rhythm of her step, the sway of her hair. She returns to the table with a petite cup crowned by a mountain of whipped cream.

“So,” Bree tries again. “How have you been?”

“Better than you, I’d imagine,” I snap, and Bree flinches.

I didn’t mean to sound so heartless, but the breezy tone of her question caught me off guard. As casual as asking about the weather. Like nothing at all has happened.

Bree doesn’t clap back, but I can tell she’s biting her tongue by taking a slow, deliberate sip of her drink, both eyebrows raised.

Day 231 (Wednesday, Aug 28, 2024): Wordle #1166 – LITHE

Bree’s performance of enjoying the drink subtly shifts into real pleasure. Her eyes flutter closed as she savors her beverage, wrapping her lithe fingers around the tiny cup, and she lets out a soft, satisfied sigh.

I wonder, again, what life must have been like for her in prison, to make her so grateful for such a small thing as a cappuccino. For a microsecond, I feel sorry for her, but then I remember… everything.

After our confrontation on I Heart Homicide, and after a short stint in jail myself for breaking bail conditions, the case against me was dismissed. With help from Aparna, of course. Though she did briefly threaten to “let me rot” for the stunt I pulled.

Then, less than 48 hours and almost ten million YouTube views later, Bree was officially charged with second-degree murder.

But even with Bree’s viral confession, the prosecution barely had a leg to stand on—maybe one little pinky toe, at best. The DA’s office had just had a different defendant all lined up to stand trial for the same crime, after all, and more egg on their face than a competitive eater at an omelette bar. So, with accusations of police incompetence and procedural misconduct swirling around the case, the prosecution had agreed to a plea deal:

Voluntary manslaughter. Sentence: three years in state prison.

Some people—okay, a lot of people—think Bree got off too easy. Me? I think…

Day 232 (Thursday, Aug 29, 2024): Wordle #1167 – FLUNK

Well, I think I have to convince myself that justice was served. Because if I don’t believe that, then how the hell am I supposed to make sense of anything? How can I just go on feeding Chicken and Waffles every morning and responding to client emails and folding my stupid socks like everything’s fine…

At least I cleared my name, I remind myself. At least I won’t be labeled a murderer for the rest of my life.

Bree sets down her cup. There’s a fleck of whipped cream on the tip of her nose, and she primly yet self-consciously dabs it off with her napkin like she’s in danger of flunking finishing school.

She smooths her skirt with a shaky breath and then finally, really looks at me.

“Cecilia…” Bree takes another breath. “I need to apologize for what I did.”

For murdering Roy? For betraying me? For trying to bash my brains in with a ceramic poodle? All of the above?

“You’ll have to be more specific,” I say before I can stop myself.

I should just let Bree get it all out and be done with it. The only reason I agreed to meet with her in the first place was because she’d said she wanted to apologize—and my therapist had encouraged me to do it for the sake of “closure” or whatever.

Day 233 (Friday, Aug 30, 2024): Wordle #1168 – KNAVE

“I deserved that,” Bree says, nodding, but with a forced contriteness that makes me question whether she genuinely believes it. “And I—”

My phone starts ringing, cutting off Bree.

“Sorry!” I say reflexively—hating that, somehow, I’m the one who’s apologizing.

I flip over my phone where I had placed it face-down on the table, decline the call, put it in silent mode, and flip it back, all within a couple of seconds. But not fast enough to hide who was calling.

“Palumbo?” Bree gawks, her eyes wide with surprise.

“Um, yeah… Craig and I sort of got to know each other, after everything.”

I was just as surprised as Bree when Palumbo—when Craig reached out to me shortly after Bree went away to prison. More than surprised.

Like Bree, he had wanted to apologize.

Craig claimed that he had been so sure that I was guilty. Surer than his mustache was sleazy. So, when the truth had come out, it had shaken him to his core, made him doubt his entire career.

He also claimed that he’d had no idea that Austin Early was involved in the coverup. He didn’t even fully believe it until Austin was found guilty of being an accessory after the fact and sentenced to prison as well.

I surprised myself by hearing Craig out and eventually accepting his apology. Well, many apologies. It took some convincing…

He swore that he was going to change his ways, and sure enough, he turned in his badge and gun to become a dog walker. Then a personal trainer. And then a florist, of all things. He’s something of a knave-of-all-trades, I guess.

Day 234 (Saturday, Aug 31, 2024): Wordle #1169 – SPOUT

“Craig??” Bree quotes me with a scandalized waggle of her eyebrow.

A small smile plays across her lips, and for a moment, all I can see is the Bree from before. When we would giggle and gossip over boys, sprawled across our dorm room beds, sipping Smirnoff Ice and ignoring our assignments.

But that was a long time ago.

“Yeah, well, anyway…” I clear my throat. My cheeks are probably redder than my hair by now. “You were saying?”

I steer the conversation back toward Bree before she can derail it any further, and before I accidentally spout out something else embarrassing.

“Oh, right…” Bree mumbles. Her expression wilts faster than a leftover arugula salad.

Day 235 (Sunday, Sept 1, 2024): Wordle #1170 – MUSHY

She takes another moment to collect herself, and when she looks at me again, her eyes are glassy with tears.

Oh, jeez, here we go.

“Cece, I am so deeply sorry, for everything,” Bree sniffles, a little slurred, like her tongue has gone mushy in her mouth.

Already, I want to interrupt her, to question her sincerity, but I settle for crossing my arms as I let her continue.

“I know that there’s nothing I can say that will make up for what I’ve done. I can’t bring Roy back… But I want you to know how truly sorry I am.”

Bree pauses and looks up at me from under her eyelashes to make sure I’m listening. I nod but can’t bring myself to say anything in response. She goes on.

Day 236 (Monday, Sept 2, 2024): Wordle #1171 – CAMEL

“I also want you to know that I swear I didn’t mean to kill Roy. I never wanted him dead.” Bree ducks her eyes as she says this, fiddling with her cup. The camel-colored liquid inside sloshes from rim to rim, leaving behind foamy little rings.

“Yes, I attacked him, and maybe I even wanted to hurt him a little, but I never thought…” The cup goes still in her hands.

This time, I do open my mouth to say something, but Bree leaps in to explain herself when she hears my intake of breath.

“I know! I know that it doesn’t matter what my intentions were. There’s no excuse for what I did.”

Either Bree has spent a long time practicing and rehearsing these lines, or she actually believes what she’s saying. There’s a raw glint of pain behind her eyes that’s too real for even her to fake.

Funny how she’s still trying to justify her actions though…

“Okay, let’s say I believe you. You didn’t intentionally murder Roy. But then, how do you explain framing me for his death?”

“I—”

“You what? You accidentally lied to the police about me? You tripped and—whoops!—dropped Roy’s cell phone and wallet under my bathroom sink? Is that what happened?”

I only realize I’ve raised my voice when everyone else in the café goes quiet. The baristas stare at me with open interest. A woman at the next table over sits frozen, her mug suspended halfway to her lips.

When the espresso machine spits out a loud, gurgling hiss of steam, the spell breaks, and everyone goes about like they hadn’t just been eavesdropping.

Day 237 (Tuesday, Sept 3, 2024): Wordle #1172 – FAINT

“You’re right,” Bree says, lowering her voice to avoid further attention. “It’s not like I set you up on accident. Obviously…”

She lets out a faint, humorless laugh that’s gone as quickly as it came. Then her gaze grows distant, like she’s trying to peer into the past.

“I think a part of me always suspected that Roy still carried a torch for you. He only ever had nice things to say about you. He was always coming to your defense. It made me jealous…” There’s a bitterness in her voice, bitterer than a quadruple IPA. “And then when he said that he never should have divorced you—”

She laughs again.

“I-I don’t know. I just lost it. I thought you were responsible for everything that had happened. I wanted to get back at you for taking Roy away from me, for ruining my life. I wanted to punish you.”

She says this simply, detachedly, like it was the obvious conclusion for her. But then she shakes her head at herself.

Day 238 (Tuesday, Sept 10, 2024): Wordle #1179 – REBEL

“But I was wrong. I was so, so wrong,” Bree sobs with a sudden outburst of emotion, still shaking her head. The tears that she had been assiduously keeping at bay finally rebel and charge down her cheeks. “I know now that you weren’t out to get me. You were the only real friend I ever had.”

Her acknowledgment touches me more than I care to admit. Her tears, and the tender way she calls me her friend… they trigger an almost Pavlovian desire to go over and hug her. But I keep my arms resolutely crossed, squeezing myself tightly.

“Do you know how many friends reached out to me when I was in prison?” Bree asks, her voice as wobbly as an egg yolk. I’m about to answer, but it was a rhetorical question, apparently. “None! That’s how many.”

She’s wounded, and angry.

“And now that I’m out of prison, people only come to me if they want something.” She sniffs and furiously blots away her tears with a napkin. “I’m sorry that I took your friendship for granted, Cece. And I’m sorry that it took me so long to realize it.”

Bree pauses and looks at me like we’re in a community play and I’ve forgotten my line. She seems annoyed when I don’t pick up the prompt to speak.

“I don’t have anyone anymore,” she reiterates. “I’m completely alone…”

“I’m sorry,” I say, and I mean it. I somehow restrain myself from adding, “And whose fault is that?”

Day 239 (Wednesday, Sept 11, 2024): Wordle #1180 – AISLE

“I don’t even have Lola.” Bree seems the most devastated by this consequence, a fresh wave of tears springing to her eyes.

I’d heard that Roy’s mother, Sue, had adopted the dog, though Lola had always been Bree’s pet de facto. Maybe winning over Lola was Sue’s small revenge against her son’s killer.

It strikes me then, seeing Bree look so miserable, that maybe, in some weird way, she actually did me a favor by falsely accusing me of murder.

If not for that, Kevin and I never would’ve become so close. His support was mostly financial, at first, but then we came to lean on each other more and more as time went on, me propping him up emotionally in Roy’s absence. Now, we’re practically joined at the hip, except for when Kevin’s busy being the bigshot CEO of Roin—which is always, the way he tells it.

And Stevie. I Heart Homicide’s popularity skyrocketed after my viral showdown with Bree, and Stevie insisted on taking me to dinner as a gesture of gratitude. That dinner was followed by a matinee one afternoon, then a potluck at her apartment, and then more coffees and chats than I can count. I probably have a few missed texts from her right now.

Even Aparna has become, well, maybe not a friend, but not just my former lawyer either. She invites me to her holiday parties, at least. And Craig is… Craig.

Roy is gone, but he was already gone from my life long before he was murdered, if I’m being honest with myself. So, somehow—impossibly—the sky around me didn’t go completely black when Roy’s light winked out. There were entire constellations of other people out there, even more visible in the dark.

Yet for Bree…

She has stopped crying, but she’s making a performance of dabbing at her eyes, delicately sniffling. She looks… smaller than usual, her shoulders hunched inside her blazer, like a child playing dress-up.

Another customer slides down the aisle between our tables, notices Bree’s distress, and side-eyes me critically on her way past. “What did she say to that poor woman?” her expression seems to ask. “How can she just sit there like that?”

Wordle #1181 – BRASS

Bree’s eyes ask me the same question. She looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to break. A few seconds pass.

“So…” Bree slowly draws out the word, an invitation for me to chime in. When I still don’t speak, she forces her lips into a strained smile. “Is there anything you’d like to say?”

“Like what?”

Bree lets out a surprised little huff.

“Like, do you forgive me?” She blinks at me like a doll. “Like, can we be friends again?”

Oh.

I quickly disguise my incredulous laugh as a cough, astounded that she has the brass to ask for my forgiveness. And a little impressed, honestly. But what truly floors me is that she thinks there’s even an iota of a chance that I would take her back.

There’s a pleading look in her eyes, a grasping desperation. Her eyelashes stick together in wet clumps, glistening with tears. She has anxiously shredded her paper napkin into confetti.

She looks the very definition of pathetic, pitiable. But she has already doled out enough self-pity that I’m not inclined to give her more.

“Hey, do you remember when we went to that after-hours thing at the Academy of Sciences?” I ask conversationally. “With the aquarium?”

That day when she had unwittingly included me in a group text asking all her other girlfriends to join her. When she reached out to me separately only after everyone else had turned her down.

“Y-yes, of course!” Bree stammers, a little thrown off by the question but also awash with relief. So pleased that I’ve said something. “I remember that! We had the best time that night, didn’t we?”

Maybe we did. But what I remember most about that night is that it was when I began to understand just how Bree really saw me.

Not so much as a friend, but as a sounding board to hear her own voice, a bin in which to dump her complaints, an accessory with interchangeable, replaceable parts. Never a friend. Not really.

“Yeah, we did have some good times.” I sigh, nodding to myself. Decided, I collect my phone from the table and stand up.

“Cece?” Bree stares at me, aghast, like I’ve just stood up in the middle of a wedding instead of a coffee shop. “What are you—?”

“Goodbye, Bree.” I shrug into my jacket and turn away.

“W-wait, where are you going?” Bree gasps, her chair screeching against the floor as she pushes back from the table. “You can’t just walk out on me like this! Cece!”

“You know…” I pause just long enough to toss my voice over my shoulder. “I’ve always hated that nickname.”

Without looking back, I stride out the door, its bell jingling happily as I go, and I smile.

THE END

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Want to read more of my work? Check out my murder mystery set in Japan, Red Tea.

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