Betrayal by Gregg Olsen

was no place for our daughter. Perugia would have been so much safer.”
    â€œShe wanted to go, darling,” said Winnie, who somehow managed to eat the heads off two ghost cookies. “The biscuits are charming, Mrs. Kim. A traditional recipe, I imagine.”
    Kim nodded, but didn’t say that the cookies were traditional only if one shopped at Safeway’s bakery department. “Thank you. Lee is my last name. Kim is my first name. Please call me Kim.”
    Winnie patted her husband’s slightly quivering knee to stop it from vibrating the deep red velvet camelback sofa. “Of course, Kim,” she said. “Sorry.”
    The clock ticked some more.
    â€œEdward used to have a TV show in the UK,” Winnie said. “You’d never know it right now, of course. He’s let himself go, I’m afraid. And what’s more, he’s just so devastated by what’s happened. I hope you will forgive him. He’s normally not nearly this rude.”
    Beth, who had remained mostly silent while the adults struggled to make polite conversation, didn’t know what to say. But in her mind, she hurled insult after insult at the stuck-up woman.
    YOU are the one who’s rude, Mrs. Grant. Your daughter has been brutally murdered. You expect him to be a charmer right now? I can see why Olivia never said a freaking nice word about you, she thought.
    â€œI love your bracelet,” Beth said, just to fill the gap in the conversation. She thought it was hideous.
    Winnie jangled the loose chain around her wrist and murmured a thank-you.
    Kim pointed to the teapot, but there were no takers for a refill. She tried to give her guests the benefit of the doubt and connect with them in the only way she thought she could. “It is beyond devastating. Years ago, I lost a daughter, too.”
    Winnie looked up from her cup. “I’m very sorry to hear that,” she said. “At least you have another.”
    Stunned into silence, Kim held her tongue. Without knowing exactly how much alike she and her daughter were at that very moment, she mentally picked up the teapot and dumped the hot liquid all over Winnie’s matching travel outfit. Imagining her guest drenched and in pain, Kim churned an internal response: Beth is not a spare for Christina!
    Beth watched her mother for a reaction but saw none and chalked another notch on her belt of disappointment. The sixteen-year-old was certain that Christina had been her mother’s favorite daughter. It wasn’t that Beth didn’t think her mother loved her. She knew she did. Her mom showed her love every single minute of the day. Deep down, however, Beth was sure that if given the choice and the biggest do-over in the history of the world, her mom would have put her , not Christina, on that bus for the Girl Scout Daisies picnic that ill-fated day.
    Beth returned the gaze of Edward Grant. “I packed all of Olivia’s stuff for you. She might have some things at school,” Beth said. “I can check her locker tomorrow, if you like.”
    Edward nodded. “That would be nice. Thank you, Beth.”
    â€œDo you want to see where she was staying?” she asked.
    â€œPlease,” Winnie said.
    They all got up and followed Beth down the hall to Christina’s old bedroom—Olivia’s during her stay. On the floor next to the crisply made, canopy bed—a sunny yellow and white affair that was too young for a teenager but certainly appropriate for a little girl—were Olivia’s four Louis Vuitton suitcases. Stuck in the mirror frame above the dresser were magazine pictures of Hollywood stars, American singers, and a single photo of Olivia and Beth. It had been taken the day Olivia died, with Beth’s Polaroid camera, her mom’s latest garage-sale find. In the photo, the girls were smiling, carefree, and utterly unaware of what the next eight hours had in store.
    At the time it was snapped, Beth