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“Because he was so smart, he got a full ride to WU,” Marley continues, her voice hardening. “He was two years older than me, and I knew the moment he received his acceptance letter, I’d follow him. That was the plan, anyway. Until he went barhopping one night during his freshman year and never came home.” Marley looks up, her glare piercing something inside of me. “You know what happened next.”
We went over each gruesome detail when Marley met me at the pizzeria. Brandon was the first death in a string of killings pulled from the Mystery Maidens’ stories.
“Why didn’t you tell me he was your brother?”
“I had to treat his death like I would any other mystery. Be objective. That meant locking away the memories of Brandon, my brother. It’s the only way I can obsess over this day in and day out without losing my mind.”
I study her now, her sallow complexion, her ill-fitting clothes. She’s been trying to separate the case from her personal life, but it’s taken its toll, stripping away her energy. It’s likely why she ditched me at last week’s meeting; it was all becoming too real. She’s talked to the police multiple times now, Brandon’s death likely being brought up. The fact that her brother died, was possibly the first victim of the killer, is impossible to ignore.
“So, there’s no podcast?”
She laughs. “No podcast. That’s just the story I came up with. It’s easier than admitting the truth.”
“You joined our group because you believe one of the members killed your brother?”
“Yes. Everything else I told you is still true. I first noticed the similarities between the murders and the short stories in Victoria’s creative writing class. I put together that those stories came from the Mystery Maidens group.” She crosses her arms over her body as though protecting herself. “Now you know why it was easy for me to catch the similarities. When I first read the story, all I could picture was my brother’s murder. For about a week, I convinced myself it was coincidence. Just the grief talking. But when I read the second story about the man strangled in the park, I thought, what are the odds?”
If the murders had stopped there, I would have likely blown her off. Anyone would. But that was before someone slashed my tires and hacked into my email. Before someone started leaving printouts of my short stories at crime scenes. Before Jessica Wilder and Darryl Nease were murdered.
“I believe you,” I tell her. The words float between us, settling around Marley like a blanket.
“Thanks,” she says. “Even though I wasn’t the only one holding back. The police told me about the black hearts.”
My stomach sinks. “What did they say?”
“That someone has been sending you strange messages for years. And you think it’s the same person who is behind the murders.”
“Layla had a black heart tattoo. After she died, I started getting them sent to me from some kind of stalker. They’ve been tied to all the crimes that happened in recent weeks.”
“How could you think I was ever behind this?” she asks. “I would have been in grade school when Layla died.”
“I don’t know. I thought it was possible you were working with someone else,” I answer honestly. “Sometimes I wondered if I wasn’t chasing two different criminals entirely. One thing is for sure, the black hearts are connected to the group now. Therewas one attached to theTheMistakemanuscript that was sent to the police.”
“If the police told me about your stalker, and that you were the one who went to them, they probably told the others, too.”
“They’ve talked to everyone?”
“I’m assuming. Now everyone in the group knows about your theory, including whoever is behind it.”
I cross my arms, thinking. Now that everything’s out in the open, the stakes are raised. The possibility of unmasking the killer is better than ever.
“I told the police your theory that the killer was active before I even joined the group. We need to be upfront about everything if we want to put a stop to this,” I say. And if we want to get justice for the many lives lost. Marley’s brother, Brandon. Rudy Raines. Jessica Wilder. And now, Darryl Nease. With each name added to the list, the burden of guilt gets heavier. “I was surprised you hadn’t already told them.”
“We both know how ridiculous it sounds, that someone in the writing group is a cold-blooded murderer, but isn’t truth stranger than fiction?”
“In my experience.” I look outside. A blackbird lands on the iron railing, blending into the drab setting. It rustles its head a few times before spreading its wings and flying off. “We need to decide what we’re going to do. It doesn’t matter what the police think.”
“I don’t know what to do.” She leans back, her shoulders slumped. “The one thing I do know is that whoever is doing this hasn’t yet figured out I’m Brandon’s sister.”
“What makes you think that?”
“We have different surnames,” she says. “I started going by my mother’s maiden name after Brandon died. Being known asthat dead guy’s sistercarried too much stigma.”
“Still, whoever is behind this could have known.”
“I really don’t think they’ve given a second thought to Brandon since he died. Or Rudy Raines for that matter. For the past couple of weeks, all the focus has been on you.” She clenches her jaw, and I realize there’s an extra layer of motive for Marley: she believes this is the only way to bring her brother’s killer to justice. “It all ties back to Layla.”
“But why?” I ask.