Page 41 of The One Before

Thirty

Helena

It took some digging, but I figured out a way to throw Josephine off my trail. If I could only ditch her for this one meeting, I could move on to the next stage in my plan, and this farce of a wedding can be through. I’d prefer more time to build Madison’s trust, of course, but Cooper’s family, circling like vultures, is forcing my hand.

Here’s what I’ve figured out: Josephine Douglas is a predictable woman. She hides what she thinks. She hides what she feels. But she always wants the world to know what she’s doing and gawk with amazement. That’s why she attaches her prestigious name to all those charities and causes. There’s the Presbyterian Women’s Group she meets with every Wednesday. The first Monday of the month, she hands out food at the local homeless ministry. Every other Thursday, she meets for lunch at the local library to host the Read and Roast book club, of which she’s a founder. I collected this information by reading the fine print of several community pamphlets and doing what I do best: listening to what the little people of Whisper Falls say about the bigger people. You learn a lot that way.

Luckily for me, this week’s Read and Roast meeting is scheduled only hours before I’m supposed to meet Josephine and Madison for our consult. I’ve thought all week about how to ensure Josephine never lays eyes on me. If she does, she’ll know who I am and the whole scheme will be up. But I can’t cancel the meeting either. All that would entail is rescheduling, making it that much longer before Madison can hear the truth. Likewise, I don’t want to give Josephine reason to track down the real Anne; it would only take a few phone calls for everyone, including Madison, to realize she’s not me.

Josephine has to be the one to cancel. That’s why I’m parked outside the library, watching as the members of Read and Roast shuffle down the sidewalk. I wait until Josephine arrives. I know it’s her based on her car alone: a two-seater painted an obnoxious fire-engine red. It is just like Josephine Douglas to add her name to the Clean Air Society of Knoxville, which she does, and drive a flashy gas guzzler.

Josephine exits the car, positions her pearls across her collarbone and walks inside. I count to a hundred Mississippis, giving both Josephine and my nerves time to settle. I need her to finish all her waves and air kisses before I follow.

Inside, the library smells like Clorox and lemon. I only spot one other person roaming through the rows of books, but I can hear riotous laughter coming from a back room. That must be where they’re meeting, tucked away from all the commoners on the hunt for this week’s read.

A woman walks from the back and approaches me. She’s dressed modestly with a long black braid. “May I help you?” she asks. She must know I’ve never been here before.

“Just looking.” I smile and grab a book from a stack at the front.

The woman looks over her shoulder, then back at me. “I’m helping with an event at the moment. There’s a bell should you need assistance.”

“Thank you.” I quickly dodge into the next aisle, watching through the gaps in shelving as the woman’s feet move away. I’d been hoping the library would be empty and understaffed. It’s the only way I can get away with what I have planned.

After another five minutes, two young girls enter through the front door. One is carrying a large tray, while the second carries a sturdy pot. These are the food caterers, and I’d bet my library card they come from that ridiculous restaurant the Douglas daughter owns. The woman with the braid meets them at the front desk, and they follow her to the back.

I’m not sure in what order the Read and Roast crew conducts business, but my plan is fairly simple: I’ll sneak into the back, monitor as the servers pass around food and carefully slip something into Josephine’s meal. Nothing too damaging or catastrophic. It’d be hard for me to get my hands on anything serious in an unfamiliar town, and I don’t want to waste my own medication. After a quick google search, I realized all I needed was a liquid laxative. If I can get to the backroom unseen and add a few drops to Josephine’s meal, she’ll spend the next few hours on the toilet, forcing her to cancel her upcoming appointment with Madison.

The only other person in the library leaves without borrowing a book. I take this as a sign to make my move. I follow the delicious aromas down the narrow hallway, passing an array of corkboards with community events along the way. There are two open doors leading to the conference room. Several women crowd around the table, the same book in front of them. Of course, the books aren’t opened, and it wouldn’t surprise me if half the group hadn’t read anything at all. Women like Josephine Douglas only bring books into the mix to make themselves feel more intelligent. Food and trash talking is what they’re really about. They should change their name to Gossip and Gobble or Chat and Chomp.

No one looks in my direction. They’re all too busy talking. Half the women already have a bowl of soup and a sandwich in front of them. Thankfully, Josephine isn’t one of them. I’ll have to hurry if I want to follow through with my plan.

“May I help you?” asks the raven-haired librarian. We’re crammed into the dingy, narrow hallway.

“I’m sorry.” I quickly turn on my best dimwitted expression. “I’m looking for the restroom. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“You have to be a library member to use the restroom,” she says. A howl of laughter leaves the conference room, and she turns. Whatever is going on in there, the librarian would rather be dealing with them than me.

“I’m new to Whisper Falls. Just moved here from Knoxville.” I smile. “I was planning on applying for a card today.”

A bell rings at the front signaling someone else has arrived. The librarian rolls her eyes. “Bathroom is the last door on the left. When you’re ready for that card, remember to ring the bell.” She marches off to deal with her newest customer.

I follow her directions, peeking my head inside the other rooms as I pass. On the right, I see the two servers standing in the doorway, each holding two meals in their hands.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “Where’s the bathroom?”

“Last door on the left,” one says.

I move out of the way to let them pass. When they disappear, I duck inside the room they just left. I probably have less than a minute. There are eight meals remaining on the counter. Enough for half the group. Each tray is plated with a bowl of soup and half a sandwich. I’m not sure which one is Josephine’s, and I don’t have time to wait around and see. I pull out the bottle, the lid already loose, and pour five or six drops into each bowl. I quickly mix the contents. As long as Josephine hasn’t received her food, I’m guaranteed one of these meals will be delivered to her.

I quickly exit the room, passing both servers in the hallway. I keep my head high and shoulders back. As I pass the open conference room, I spy which women already have plates. Nothing sits in front of Josephine Douglas. That means she’ll eat one of the contaminated meals, and unfortunately, so will seven of her friends.

I brush past the librarian as I exit. I rush to my car, shut the door and laugh until my belly hurts at the idea of Josephine and her friends shitting their guts out in an hour’s time.

Thirty-One

Madison

Our appointment was supposed to start a half hour ago, and Anne still hasn’t arrived. I’m worried; she’s usually punctual and alert, as though our consultations are the highlight of her week. I dial her number.

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