compulsively reached for the phone next to the computer. Her mother was in pain. She had to call and let her know that her baby was all right. But before she dialed through the area code, her logic kicked back in and she stopped herself.
103
No one could know she was alive. Not even her mother. Especially not her mother, who had a tendency to babble when drugged, which was most of the time. Ariana put the phone down again and covered her eyes as tears spilled down her cheeks. She was never going to speak to her mother again. Never going to see her or hug her or hear her sing her favorite lullaby. Ariana's heart filled with grief, overwhelmed by the loss. How was she going to do this? How was she ever going to get through all of this alone?
There was a quick rap on the door, and Ariana's head popped up. She quickly dried her tears with her hands and stood up, slapping the laptop closed. "Come in."
A slight woman with white hair and a boxy gray uniform strode into the room, holding what appeared to be a scrap of purple nylon.
"Hello, miss," she said with a quick bow of the head. "Miss Briana Leigh asked me to bring this to you."
She held out the bathing suit. Ariana plucked it from her fingers and held it up, trying to discern where the many flosslike straps were supposed to go. Never in a million years would Ariana have ever been caught dead in such a revealing suit.
But then, she wasn't Ariana Osgood anymore.
"Thank you," Ariana said.
The woman smiled and scurried from the room. Ariana opened the laptop again and, with one final thought of her mother, quickly deleted the Google history. She could leave no evidence of Ariana Osgood behind. As of that moment Ariana Osgood was dead.
104
LACK OF TRUST Briana Leigh had a manicurist on call. Other than Vienna Clark, an old friend from Easton Academy whose mother owned several upscale salons in New Y and L.A., Ariana had never met anyone who had a manicurist on call. But the second Briana Leigh had seen the sorry state of Ariana's
ork cuticles and toes, she had speed-dialed Libby Lane's Gold Star Salon. Now, as Briana Leigh lounged in the hot tub next to her indoor pool, Libby Lane herself sat at the end of Ariana's lounge chair, going to town on her calluses with a pumice stone.
Ariana would have been offended by Briana Leigh's audacity, if she hadn't been so very grateful.
"Your magazines, miss."
The maid who had delivered the bathing suit that was currently riding up Ariana's ass placed a stack of fashion mags on the slate floor between Ariana's chair and the hot tub. Ariana glanced at her hostess and, when the girl said nothing, uttered a quick, "Thank you."
105
The woman smiled at Ariana for the second time that day, and Ariana started to realize that those two words were a rarity around this house. All that money and Briana Leigh couldn't even spare a thank-you here and there to the people who took care of her evil, greedy, traitorous self?
No matter how hard Ariana tried, she just could not wrap her brain around the idea of killing for money. Especially one's own parent. Crimes of passion were another story. Those she could understand. She knew firsthand how a person could come to that. But what Briana Leigh had done was unthinkable. And what she'd done afterward--pinning the murder on her innocent best friend--was even worse.
She reached for the Vogue on the top of the stack and Briana Leigh gasped.
"Oh my God! What did you do to yourself?" she asked, gaping at Ariana's back.
Ariana winced, cursing herself for neglecting to cover herself up with a robe. She had been so distracted after reading her mother's quote that she had forgotten all about the ugly, jagged cut in the center of her back.
"Horseback riding mishap," she lied quickly, leaning back in her chair so that Briana Leigh would stop staring. "I was thrown and dragged. Only for a few seconds, but the damage was done."
Briana Leigh sucked air through her teeth. "That's
103
No one could know she was alive. Not even her mother. Especially not her mother, who had a tendency to babble when drugged, which was most of the time. Ariana put the phone down again and covered her eyes as tears spilled down her cheeks. She was never going to speak to her mother again. Never going to see her or hug her or hear her sing her favorite lullaby. Ariana's heart filled with grief, overwhelmed by the loss. How was she going to do this? How was she ever going to get through all of this alone?
There was a quick rap on the door, and Ariana's head popped up. She quickly dried her tears with her hands and stood up, slapping the laptop closed. "Come in."
A slight woman with white hair and a boxy gray uniform strode into the room, holding what appeared to be a scrap of purple nylon.
"Hello, miss," she said with a quick bow of the head. "Miss Briana Leigh asked me to bring this to you."
She held out the bathing suit. Ariana plucked it from her fingers and held it up, trying to discern where the many flosslike straps were supposed to go. Never in a million years would Ariana have ever been caught dead in such a revealing suit.
But then, she wasn't Ariana Osgood anymore.
"Thank you," Ariana said.
The woman smiled and scurried from the room. Ariana opened the laptop again and, with one final thought of her mother, quickly deleted the Google history. She could leave no evidence of Ariana Osgood behind. As of that moment Ariana Osgood was dead.
104
LACK OF TRUST Briana Leigh had a manicurist on call. Other than Vienna Clark, an old friend from Easton Academy whose mother owned several upscale salons in New Y and L.A., Ariana had never met anyone who had a manicurist on call. But the second Briana Leigh had seen the sorry state of Ariana's
ork cuticles and toes, she had speed-dialed Libby Lane's Gold Star Salon. Now, as Briana Leigh lounged in the hot tub next to her indoor pool, Libby Lane herself sat at the end of Ariana's lounge chair, going to town on her calluses with a pumice stone.
Ariana would have been offended by Briana Leigh's audacity, if she hadn't been so very grateful.
"Your magazines, miss."
The maid who had delivered the bathing suit that was currently riding up Ariana's ass placed a stack of fashion mags on the slate floor between Ariana's chair and the hot tub. Ariana glanced at her hostess and, when the girl said nothing, uttered a quick, "Thank you."
105
The woman smiled at Ariana for the second time that day, and Ariana started to realize that those two words were a rarity around this house. All that money and Briana Leigh couldn't even spare a thank-you here and there to the people who took care of her evil, greedy, traitorous self?
No matter how hard Ariana tried, she just could not wrap her brain around the idea of killing for money. Especially one's own parent. Crimes of passion were another story. Those she could understand. She knew firsthand how a person could come to that. But what Briana Leigh had done was unthinkable. And what she'd done afterward--pinning the murder on her innocent best friend--was even worse.
She reached for the Vogue on the top of the stack and Briana Leigh gasped.
"Oh my God! What did you do to yourself?" she asked, gaping at Ariana's back.
Ariana winced, cursing herself for neglecting to cover herself up with a robe. She had been so distracted after reading her mother's quote that she had forgotten all about the ugly, jagged cut in the center of her back.
"Horseback riding mishap," she lied quickly, leaning back in her chair so that Briana Leigh would stop staring. "I was thrown and dragged. Only for a few seconds, but the damage was done."
Briana Leigh sucked air through her teeth. "That's
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