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“So?”
“Danielle had been sending me the hearts for years. She left them at every crime scene, even when she slashed my tires. Why wouldn’t she leave one there?”
Marley doesn’t answer. She’s no longer looking at me either. She’s staring ahead.
“Marley, where did you go after we left the diner?”
“Home.”
I have no way of knowing if that is true. The narrative of what happened to Darryl Nease has already been decided for us. His death was lumped in with the crimes Danielle committed, and no one, not even me, questioned it.
And yet that one loose end won’t leave me alone.
“You didn’t know about the black hearts until after he died,” I say. “That’s why one wasn’t at the scene.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“If Danielle killed Darryl Nease, she would have left a heart behind. It makes me think maybe we got it wrong. Someone else killed him.” I pause again, hoping she won’t make me say out loud what we both know I’m thinking. “I just can’t figure out why.”
She places her feet on the ground, moving her body closer to the table. When she looks at me, the sunny, bright expression behind her eyes is gone.
“At the diner, I urged you to go to the police. You refused. You thought there wasn’t enough evidence. That they wouldn’t believe you. No one was ever going to listen to my theory that someone was killing people based on fictional stories. I needed the police to investigate Brandon’s death. I needed something to grab their attention.”
My chest heaves up and down as I try to control my breathing. “Marley, did you go back to the bridge after our conversation that night?”
She lowers her eyes further, her voice low and hard to hear. “I already had access to the shared drive, you know. Victoria added me in before you ever told me about it. It was easy to print a copy of your story, to present a solid connection between a man’s death and what you’d written. But you’re right. I didn’t know about the black hearts.”
That’s why one wasn’t found at the scene. Marley never knew to leave one. Danielle may have been responsible for everything else, but not for the murder of Darryl Nease.
Marley did that.
“He was an innocent man that had nothing to do with any of this.” Tears fill my eyes, fall down my cheeks.
“He had no family. No one to worry about him?—”
“You don’t know that!” I shout, my body beginning to shake with anger.
“I missed Brandon so terribly, and all I wanted was a reason for someone to take a closer look at his case. I needed you and the police to believe this was real!”
Thinking back, the murder at Banyon’s Bridge happened right before our meeting at the Pizzeria, when she was complaining about lack of sleep. She missed the next Mystery Maidens meeting, but it wasn’t because she was paranoid about how dangerous the situation had gotten. She was spiraling over the fact she murdered an innocent man.
“And look what happened as a result,” she says, spreading her arms wide. “We’ve brought closure to multiple other families. Danielle is behind bars. Both our lives have changed for the better.”
Two quick raps on the door, and it opens.
“It’s time,” the coordinator says, standing in the doorway. “Are you ready?”
Marley is motionless, staring at me. “Becca, are we good? I need to know you can do this.”
I stand slowly, walking through the open doorway and waiting for Marley to follow. When she does, she sees that Chaz is standing beside me, and freezes. Unbeknownst to her, he’d been waiting outside the door the entire time. Listening.
“Becca, please don’t do this,” she pleads, her voice quivering when she spots the glint off the handcuffs Chaz holds in his palms.
“All I’m doing is telling the truth,” I say, refusing to give Marley a second glance. “The audience is waiting.”
And I have one hell of a story to tell them.
* * *