Page 87 of Not Quite Dead Yet

‘Could never be better than you.’ Billy smiled too, drew back.

‘OK.’ Jet’s knees cracked as she straightened up, Reggie circling between their legs. ‘Come on, Reg. We’re on a mission, to see if my sister-in-law has been poisoning me for months.’

She headed toward the stairs, Billy and Reggie following closely behind.

‘You really think Sophia’s been trying to kill you?’ Billy asked, still taller than her, even though Jet was two steps up.

‘Well,someonetried to kill me.’ Jet gestured to her messed-up head. ‘Maybe there was a first plan, to do it slowly. Then it got ex-exp-ex – fuck. You know that word, when something needs to happen sooner.’

‘Sped up?’ he guessed.

‘No, smarter than that.’

‘Accelerated?’

Jet pursed her lips, reached the landing. ‘No, but that will do. Then the plan got accelerated, swapped pills for a hammer.’

Jet paused outside her bedroom, the door shut. It was never normally shut.

‘But why would Sophia want to kill you?’

Jet grabbed the handle. No,thoughtabout grabbing the handle, with the arm that no longer worked, still dominant even though it was gone. Used her left hand instead, overriding instinct, scolding herself.

‘I can think of a reason,’ Jet said darkly, ushering the two boys into her bedroom. ‘Sophia cares about money, always has. When you’re fifteen, you tell each other everything; she grew up with parents who couldn’t afford much, always argued about money, and she said she would never live like that. She wanted to be like us, the Masons. I always thought that’s why she really went for Luke. But, hey, I’m no romantic.’ She paused. ‘Maybe Sophia found out that Dad wasn’t going to leave the company to Luke, because it wasn’t fair on me. Well, if you get rid of me, you get rid of that problem.’

‘That’s dark,’ Billy said, looking around.

‘I think motives for murder usually are pretty dark. But itismy first time.’

‘Looks different in here.’ Billy gestured toward the bed, and the walls. Plain walls with dark baseboards, light cotton sheets, and neutral-patterned cushions.

‘Yeah.’ Jet followed his eyes. ‘I guess you haven’t been in here in like –’

‘– Fourteen years,’ Billy finished.

‘No more frog wallpaper.’ Jet clicked her tongue. ‘And the green bed is gone.’

‘Don’t tell me you got rid of Mr Rabbitson, the Fifth Earl of Woodstock?’

‘I’m not a monster,’ Jet scoffed, heading for the bathroom. ‘He’s in the closet. One of his arms fell off, though. Ooh, foreshadowing.’

Jet pushed the bathroom door open with her shoe, flicked on the light.

‘OK. They’re in here.’

She approached the mirrored cabinet above the sink, her reflection drawing closer, that strange dilated eye, like it was lost in terror, always ready in fight-or-flight. Billy watched her face too, not his own – she caught him.

Jet opened the cabinet and banished both of them, reaching for the white pill bottle on the bottom shelf, her left arm getting tired, doing all this extra work.

‘Here we go.’

The pill bottle rattled as she carried it over to the toilet. She flipped the lid closed and sat on the floor, resting her elbows on top of the closed toilet.

Billy joined her, sitting on the opposite side, his knees grazing hers around the toilet bowl.

Reggie settled himself across the threshold, giving them some space, standing guard … lying guard. Facing the wrong way, actually.

Jet clenched the pill bottle in her fist, stared down at the childproof top. A push-down-and-twist kind of lid. She blew out her cheeks.