Page 99 of 12 Ways to Kill Your Family at Christmas

Mother looked at me as if I had just grown three heads. ‘What?’ she breathed. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

‘Liv, Callum, Martha and I,’ I said slowly, to make sure she understood me. ‘We are moving to Australia soon. Oh– and we are taking Gloria. I’ve got her pet passport expedited and her vaccine certificates are all in order. She will absolutely love it there, walks on the beach and playing in the sea… So I really don’t want you to worry about her because she’s going to be having the time of her life. We all are.’

Now she looked like one of my three heads was wielding a knife between its teeth while one of the others spat in her face. I was tormenting her– perhaps that was wrong of me.

‘You’re going to leave me here? You’re going withher?She’s akiller,Miles!’ she shrieked. Of course she had nothing to say about me taking Gloria; she couldn’t care less about her. ‘We need to formulate a plan together, about how we are going to catch Olivia! And a plan for how we are going to get me the hell out of here!’

I gave her a small smile and rummaged around in my pocket. I bought the crumpled bit of paper out and smoothed it out onto the table.

‘I found this. Hidden away in one of your drawers.’

I pushed it closer for her to see and watched as her eyes scanned down the page.

Eugene

George

Tristan

Quentin

Toots

Aunt Clem

Mimi

Ceecee

Beebee

Fergus

Mrs Harlow

Olivia

Her brows furrowed and her mouth opened. ‘What the hell is this?’ she hissed.

‘It’s your list… I found it. I shall hand it over to the police, of course. They already have the diary detailing all of the murders and the timeline. Of course, you didn’t manage to actually kill Olivia, so the diary doesn’t have an entry for Christmas Day because you were carted off straight here. I do hate it when things aren’t quite complete, don’t you, Mother?’

Her eyes were ablaze with fury and confusion. ‘That diary, they brought it out during questioning today… I’ve never seen it before in my life!’

I looked at her blandly. ‘Memory lapse, perhaps?’ I shrugged.

‘She– she has forged my handwriting! She has set me up! You must believe me, Miles,’ she begged. ‘I am telling you I didn’t do it! And Artie Peverill is ignoring my calls and won’t see me!’ she wailed.

‘Oh yes, Artie. Mr Peverill has a conflict of interest, you see. He works for us now.’

‘What conflict?’ she snivelled. ‘Why are you doing this to me? Why don’t you believe me?’

I sighed. She still wasn’t getting it. But something told me that somewhere deep down, it might be beginning to dawn on her… Her denial had always been dialled up to a hundred.

‘Here’s what’s going to happen.’ I held a finger up to signal for her to wait. I bent down and retrieved my briefcase from the floor, one of Father’s old ones with G.W. embossed in gold. I placed it theatrically on the table and flicked open the clasps.

‘Here is a confession…’ I deposited a document on the table. ‘I have tabbed the page you need to sign.’

Mother glared at the stack of paper. ‘Why would I sign a confession for something I didn’t do?’