Page 95 of The Wife Upstairs

Dinner ends early that night, and it’s only two days later that Eddie is asking why Bea never told him her mother died in a fall.

Which is when Bea realizes there is no affair, when she realizes that even if Blanche had wanted to hurt her, Eddie did not. And because Blanche did not get what she wanted for once in her life, she’s now acting out, firing the only ammunition she has left.

Bea shows up with coffee the next morning and breakfast pastries. She even gets Blanche one of those gluten-free abominations she likes.

“Peace offering,” she says, and she can tell that a part of Blanche wants to believe it, that she wants things to go back to the way they were.

The lake trip is another peace offering. Another olive branch.

And Blanche grabs it with both hands.

Jane sits there, twirling the stem of her wineglass between her fingers, and I watch her mind work. I like not knowing exactly what she’ll do, and it is oddly satisfying to see how shallow her loyalty to Eddie really is.

I hadn’t lost him after all.

It surprises me how much that thrills me.

But maybe it shouldn’t. Some of the things in the diary were for show, to cover my tracks—the majority of it, really—but the sex? The way I felt about Eddie?

That had all been real.

But then Jane sits up a little straighter and says, “We should call the police. Tell them what Eddie did. Let him pay the consequences.”

Is she playing with me, or is that what she really wants? The ambiguity that I’d enjoyed so much just a moment ago is now irritating, and I wave one hand, finishing my wine.

“Later,” I say. “Let me enjoy a few hours of being out of that room before I’m stuck answering a bunch of questions.”

Looking around, I add, “You really didn’t do anything new with the place, did you?”

Jane doesn’t answer that, but leans closer, reaching for my hand. “Bea,” she says. “We can’t just sit here. Eddie murdered Blanche. He could’ve murdered you. We have to—”

“We don’t have to do anything,” I reply, yanking my hand out from under hers and standing up.

“The stressful part is always making the decision,” Bea used to remind her employees. “Once you’ve made it, it’s done, and you feel better.”

That’s how it was with Blanche.

Once Bea has decided that she has to die, it’s easy enough, and the rest of the steps fall into place. She invites Blanche to the lake house, then texts Tripp at the last minute. She’s going to need a fall guy this time, after all. One person dying in an accident while she’s alone with them is one thing. Two would be harder to pull off.

So, Tripp.

Blanche is not happy when he shows up.

“I thought this was supposed to be a girls’ trip,” she says, and Tripp settles on the couch next to her, already drinking a vodka tonic.

“And I am a Girls’ Tripp,” he jokes, which is so terrible that for a moment Bea thinks maybe she should kill him, too.

But no, she needs Tripp to play a part in all this.

He does it well, too. Blanche is so irritated he’s there that she drinks even more than Bea had hoped, glass after glass of wine, then the vodka Tripp is drinking.

And when Tripp passes out, as Bea had known he would thanks to the Xanax she’d put in his drink, Blanche actually laughs with Bea, the two of them dragging his limp body into the master bedroom, Bea pretending to be just as drunk as Blanche.

That’s the thing she remembers the most about it all later. Blanche was happy that night. It had mostly been the booze, but still, Bea had given her that.

One last Girls’ Night Out.

When they get onto the pontoon boat Bea bought for Eddie last year, Blanche is so unsteady, Bea has to guide her to her seat.