What Never Happened

by Rachel Howzell Hall

“This is all about real estate,” Noah whispers. “What is ‘this’?” “And this is all about money,” he continues. “They want the house on Beacon Street.”

Where’s Alessandra—” “Dead,” Noah blurts. “She’s been dead. They killed her a long time ago.”

I left you that map, hoping that your fresh eyes would see . . . and you did see and . . .” He stands and holds out his hand. “You passed out, and they carried you down here, and I followed, thinking this was a bedroom, and . . . we need to get out of here. Just say yes, okay? To whatever offer they make, accept it.”

“Are you going to sell the house to my mother-in-law?” Maddy asks.

“Colette, honey,” Maddy purrs. “Flynn and I . . . we’re the Beast of Avalon.”

“Did you know that back in 2001, Mikey bid forty thousand dollars above asking price for the house on

“But then,” Maddy continues, “your father gave the selling agent, Kate Bushwell, a very generous bonus, which then pissed off an already unstable man, who then learned that the house on Beacon was no longer his.”

Flynn points at me. “You all swindled your way onto this island with that under-the-table deal. If you’d just stayed where you belonged, everyone would still be alive. Kate. Alessandra. Your family.” He pulls out a gun from the small of his back.

Can you imagine? One of your cowriters is the survivor of two Avalon serial murders? You’ll make a killing.” Flynn squints at me. “So, what do we need Noah for?” Maddy says, “Nothing.” Flynn says, “Good.” He points the gun at Noah and pulls the trigger.

“On Sunday night, Gwen told me that she felt immense guilt for dating Harper. For scheming with him to scare your family back to LA, and . . .”

She leans even closer. “Did you know that Paula Paulsen’s house was worth $1.3 million? After she died, Helen purchased the house for $112,000. Felicity Amador’s house was worth $735,000. We purchased that house for $112,000.” “You killed them for . . . houses?” I ask. “There’s a housing crisis on Avalon, don’t you know?” Maddy says, wide eyed.

“But! They all died peacefully. We prepared lovely last meals—”

HIN . . . Helen Nilsen. “Rib eye, lobster . . . she thought Helen wanted her to stage a house, just like she did back in the good old days. Gwen drank her third Buffalo Milk before she realized she was a dead woman. None of them tasted the nightshade in their Buffalo Milk.”

“The berries from the deadly plant taste sweet,” Flynn says. “Mixed into a cocktail heavy on Kahlúa and crème de bananes, they never tasted a thing.”

“Don’t you wanna know if Noah knew?” Maddy asks.

“Our intrepid reporter,” Flynn says, standing over Noah and me. “He knew something was up, and he was chasing it.” He nudges Noah’s thigh. “Sad to see you go, bro.”

“Helen is gonna buy the house on Beacon with or without you,” Maddy continues.

“Detective Santos,” Helen continues, “it’s so nice for you to stop by. We were just about to open a bottle of wine. Madeline,” she shouts. “Flynn. Bring up a second bottle, will you?”

The pulse in his neck is weak against my fingertips. He’s still alive. I lift the pendant from around his neck, then run my fingers along his face. Fighting tears. I slip the compass over my head.

I hit him again, harder this time, and break the bottle against his skull. Then, I plunge the corkscrew into his neck. Blood spurts like champagne from a bottle and mixes with the 2018 Cab.

“I’m blaming all of this on Noah,” Maddy says. “He is the son of a greedy land developer currently having an affair with a senator’s wife. No one likes colonists and adulterers, right?”

“Say you try to fight me,” Maddy’s saying. “Say you survive. How will you explain what you did to Flynn?” “Self-defense,” I shout, stepping back. And Noah’s compass now dangling around my neck has captured all of this.

Use your enemy’s hand to catch snakes.

“Who do you think America’s judicial system will believe?” Maddy asks. “Me, a hardworking small business owner? Or you, the angry Black woman whose lies wrongfully imprisoned an innocent Black man? The angry woman who came to Catalina Island to kick her old suicidal auntie out of the only house she’s ever known? Someone who broke her husband’s nose with a coffee mug? They won’t relate to an unlikable female character.”

Something shifts inside me that sends me hurtling into Maddy Swenson.

She tries to swing her leg up to gain traction, but she overshoots, and her momentum pulls her back and sends her plummeting down . . . down . . .

As the new editor in chief of the Avalon Breeze, I should be writing about revised dining guidelines and updating the island’s weekly positive test results—nine on my last check. As a homeowner, I should be overseeing the

crew ripping out mildewed drywall in the bathrooms.

My agent, Andrea Liszl, and I worked the treatment until I couldn’t stand to see my name. Then,

she sold the book, the TV and film rights, and foreign rights.

Since then, I’ve rebuffed Micah’s pleas to reconcile. We just needed a break Coco You know you miss me You can’t live...

As a journalist, I should be explaining the schemes between the McIntyres and Nilsens to buy up the island—and do it by killing, if needed.

But for now, I’m in possession of Noah’s hidden camera and holding it over the heads of both families—and the Swensons.

They are the invasive species, far worse than a throwaway tangerine seed.

They will go to jail. Flynn (who survived), Helen, and anyone else involved.

Carson McIntyre Junior spotted me at his arraignment and made great effort to send spit in my direction. Bail revoked.

He’d been caught by Santos not just because his prints matched the print on my cheek, but because Santos caught him using a key to enter my house. He’d planned to vanda...

After Maddy’s private memorial—I wasn’t invited, but I hadn’t planned to attend the funeral of a serial killer—and after checking up on Noah recovering in the hospital in Torrance,

I accept the gift, not ready yet to offer him mine—a check to help him start his new life and a fresh-baked lemon pound cake, Gwen’s recipe. Instead, I square my shoulders, and say, “We have a lot to talk about.”

The Webers are now together again . . . except for Gwen. They are no longer interested in sharing a mansion in the Kingdom with Gwen.