“Trixie cries. “They were best friends!” “We don’t know that for a fact,” I point out. “That’s what Priscilla told us but she told us lots of things that are turning out not to be true.” “And maybe they were best friends,” my mother says. “Friends kill each other. Look at that straight-A student down in West Virginia. Her two best friends killed her and buried her body in the woods and kept quiet about it for six months. Don’t look at me like that,” she says to me. “I like to keep up with that t...rue crime.” “Well,” I say, “I have wondered how those two could’ve gotten so close when Ingrid lived here in Winona and Priscilla is in Manhattan.” “We’re close,” Shanelle says, “and we’ve never lived in the same place.” Mario pipes up. “People can form strong bonds very quickly. Usually when they share some intense experience.” Like Trixie, Shanelle and I did on Oahu. We were all three competing in Ms. America only to have one contestant murdered on pageant night and another—yours truly—suspected of the crime.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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