Lester’s fingerprints had been found in Atkinson’s car, and investigators had hoped that Lester would provide even more answers. It was not to be. After spending three days in the infirmary under constant supervision, he was evaluated by a psychiatrist and deemed fit to be returned to a cell, subject to frequent monitoring. Later that afternoon, Lester met with his attorney, who reported that Lester, though heavily medicated and shaken by the loss of his father, seemed fairly lucid. Lester agreed to be interviewed by detectives the following day, as long as his attorney was present. He was returned to his cell and finished the tray of food that had been brought to him. Video recordings indicated that guards checked on him every fifteen to twenty minutes, but Lester nonetheless managed to hang himself, using strips from the bedsheet that he’d tied together. By the time the guards found him, it was too late.
Maria wondered sometimes whether Lester had truly been an accomplice or was simply another victim of Dr. Manning’s. Or maybe even both. Pete Margolis admitted after he woke from his coma that he was unsure who had shot him. Dr. Manning had called out, telling him to come in, but Margolis saw only a brief glimpse of a gun barrel poking through the gap in a closet door before he was hit. The only thing Maria knew for sure was that Lester and Dr. Manning were both dead, and neither would ever come for her again. But despite what they’d done to her and to Serena, she sometimes felt flashes of grief and pity for the Manning family. A young son who died in an accident, an older sister murdered, a mother long struggling with depression who committed suicide… She wondered who she would have become had those things happened to her, or had Serena died that night in the icehouse.
Glancing over her shoulder, she surveyed the crowd that had gathered on the lawn and silently counted her blessings. Her mom and dad were managing to keep their protective instincts in check, her job with Jill was hugely satisfying, and she’d used some of her severance package to refurnish her condo and buy a new wardrobe – and still had enough left over to start building a small nest egg. Last weekend, she’d even wandered into a camera shop and fallen in love with a wildly expensive UV lens. The water was warming, too, her paddleboard calling to her…
The wedding had been spectacular, though with Lily directing and stage-managing, Maria had expected nothing less. While Wilmington would always be home, Maria could see that Charleston definitely had its charms. Lily was ethereal in her wedding dress, a confection of floating satin, tiny seed pearls, and fragile lace. Evan had been dreamy-eyed as he stared at her during their vows at St. Michael’s Church. The oldest religious structure in Charleston, it was the preferred wedding venue for the more aristocratic families of Charleston, but when Lily drawled, “Why, I simply can’t imagine why anyone would want to be married anywhere else,” she somehow made it sound logical and sincere rather than snobbish.
On that awful night, Lily had miraculously escaped unharmed. Evan had been less fortunate, however. He’d emerged with second-degree burns on his back and a couple of broken bones in his leg. He’d been in a cast for nearly two months and had only recently begun walking without a limp again, in part due to his new exercise regime. His workouts weren’t quite up to Colin’s standards, but he’d confided to Maria that he’d been putting extra work in on his arms and was hoping Lily would notice on their honeymoon to the Bahamas.
They’d both had angels on their shoulders. Maria believed that as she’d seen Lily and Evan emerge from the Prius, and though some people might laugh at the notion, she didn’t care.
She knew.
Behind her, the wedding reception was in full swing, solemnity finally giving way to festivities. Lily had wanted the reception held at her parents’ spacious second home on the banks of the Ashley River, and as far as Maria could tell, no expense had been spared. A palatial white tent glowed with elaborately strung lights, and guests were dancing on a parquet floor before a ten-piece band. The food had been catered by one of the finest restaurants in the city, and the spring flower arrangements were works of art. Maria knew she’d never have a wedding like this; it wasn’t her style. As long as she had her friends and family – and maybe a couple of pi?atas later for the younger guests – she would be happy.