The message sent successfully. No reply came.
Her expression darkened. She tossed the phone aside.
But she would never know that the Eudora who used to keep the house clean had already died on her birthday.
Three days after the party, Mom drove Aileen back toward the apartment downtown.
Aileen draped herself over the back of her seat, working on Mom the whole ride.
"Mom, she's probably furious. She might not even let me through the door."
"Just promise me you won't lose your temper, okay? I'm not your real daughter anyway. It makes sense that she doesn't like me."
Mom said nothing. Her hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white, her face tight with displeasure.
The car pulled up to the building. Engine off.
She reached for the door handle and pushed it open.
In that instant, both of them froze.
The hallway was packed with people.
Two uniformed officers stood talking to the building manager. Beside them, a reporter hoisted a camera onto his shoulder.
But what seized their attention was the pair of figures in hazmat suits and respirator masks, carrying a stretcher out of my apartment.
Black liquid dripped from the stretcher onto the floor, and the stench rolled over them in waves.
Aileen flinched as if she'd been startled and burrowed into her mother's arms.
"Mom, this is definitely something she staged. She hired people to put on a show to scare you into cutting ties with me."
She clung tight to her mother's waist, the glint of triumph in her eyes impossible to hide.
"She's so selfish. She doesn't even care about how this affects—"
Cold sweat broke across her mother's forehead in an instant.
She shoved Aileen away and stumbled toward the stretcher.
"Eudora! What are you trying to pull?!"
A police officer stepped forward quickly, blocking her path. His expression was grim.
"Are you Effie Fox? When did your daughter die? Why was this never reported?"
Her mother wrenched free of his grip, her eyes locked on the stretcher.
"I'm Effie Fox! Who told you to bring a dead body into my home?!"
She swayed on her feet, jabbing a finger at the stretcher, her voice sharp with fury.
"Daughter? Whose daughter? My daughter is at home where she belongs! She's in poor health—don't you dare disturb her!"
How could it be?
She remembered it clearly. On the day of the birthday, I was still at home eating cake.
The night before last, Aileen had received threatening texts from me.