Page 34 of (My Accidental) Killer Summer (Summers in Seaside)

thirty-three

. . .

Elle

“Alright,” I say. “Let’s do this.”

Amy grins. “Ride or die.”

We head for the garage first. The tarp-wrapped body is still where we left it—slumped in a neat, ominous lump beside the washer. The smell isn’t terrible yet, but there’s a sour note in the air that tells me time is not on our side.

Amy peels back the tarp enough to check. “No movement. No signs of escape. Still dead.”

“Great.”

I swallow. “And the plan again?”

Amy’s grin turns sharp. “Doug gets an upgrade. Luxury burial beneath future suburbia. Hudson Street. That new development with the giant signs about eco-friendly living and imported quartz countertops?”

“Nothing says sustainability like hiding a man under a McMansion,” I mutter.

We load Doug into my SUV using the plant dollies again.

Every push, pull, lift, and drag of his dead weight feels harder now, like he knows we’re screwing this up and wants to punish us for it.

The tarp crackles. My back revolts. Amy curses under her breath.

I pretend we’re two women hauling an oversized Costco purchase.

We hit the road.

The closer we get to Hudson Street, the tighter my stomach knots. Amy’s chewing gum like it owes her money. I keep scanning the horizon for flashing lights, nosy foremen, or a cosmic billboard that says:

TURN BACK, YOU IDIOTS .

I white-knuckle the steering wheel like it might tether me to reality. My heart’s doing a speed-metal drum solo, and every breath feels like I’m inhaling through a coffee stirrer.

Beside me, Amy’s phone lights up like a damn strobe.

“What the hell are you doing?” I snap. My voice could cut glass.

She doesn’t flinch. “Googling how long it takes a body to decompose under concrete. Duh.”

“ DUH?! Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

She blinks at me, all faux innocence. “What? I’m trying to be informed. If we’re committing a felony?—”

“No. No-no-no. You do not Google felony shit on your personal phone, Amy!”

“I’m using incognito mode.”

“Oh goodie ,” I say. “Because incognito mode is basically an invisibility cloak for the FBI.”

Before she can argue, I lunge across the console, grab her phone, roll down my window, and?—

“Wait—ELLE?—”

Too late. The phone goes flying into the middle of nowhere like a digital death warrant.

Amy gasps. “What in the actual fuck?! That was my phone!”

“And now it’s not evidence,” I shout. “You’re welcome!”

“You could’ve just deleted the history like a normal psycho!”

“Do I look normal to you right now?!”

“Wait, we’re going to go back for that, right?” She asks.

“Oh, sure. Let’s circle back and leave a Yelp review while we’re at it.”

“Elle, seriously. My whole life is on that phone.”

“So is a search history that includes 'how long does it take a body to decompose under concrete.’”

“Ugh. Fine. But you owe me a new phone.” She exhales. Then starts laughing—completely unhinged, hysterical giggles. “Jesus Christ. We’re so bad at this.”

“We totally suck at this,” I say, breathless. Half-laughing, half-sobbing. “This is why I don’t join pyramid schemes. Once you’re in, there’s no getting out.”

“ Just when I think I’m out, they suck me back in ,” Amy says through her laughter. “Oh my God, we’re going to die. We’re going to drive this car into a construction pit and die next to Doug, and the cops are going to find us and go, ‘Huh. Well at least they saved us the paperwork.’”

“Shut up,” I groan, gripping the wheel like it owes me money. “Start thinking of a story in case anyone shows up. Or I swear to God, I’ll hurl you into the pit too.”

We are definitely not cut out for this.

Except—

“There are lights,” I hiss, pointing ahead as we turn onto the gravel road. “Why are there lights?”

Amy squints. “Shit. That’s a work crew. Why is there a crew here at night?”

“Because karma is real. And she’s petty.”

“Back up, back up!” Amy panics.

Which makes me panic.

I throw the SUV into reverse and slam the pedal—nearly back into a Porta Potty. Because of course.

“Would you calm the fuck down?” I hiss. “You’re freaking me out!”

“I have nothing to do with your focus!”

“Would you just act normal, please?”

“We’re literally carrying a corpse. What part of this is normal?”

A security truck starts rolling toward us, headlights flashing. We both duck like we’re in a life-sized Wack-a-mole. This time I remember the brakes.

“Okay, okay,” I whisper, turning to Amy. “What do we do?”

“Well, I don’t think it’s a good idea to stay here,” she hisses.

“Thanks, Einstein.”

I peek up. The truck stops, no one gets out.

“Okay, I don’t think he’s coming after us. Not yet.”

“I bet you’re really happy I covered the license plates now, huh?”

I start easing us back down the gravel road, eyes glued to the backup camera. “Yeah, unless we get pulled over and the cop asks why we have covered plates and a dead guy in the trunk.”

“That’s called living life on the edge, baby.” She cackles—high and wild—and somehow it makes me laugh, too.

“You’re a lunatic.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“Touché.” I tick a finger in the air like I’m awarding her a point.

“Okay,” she says, clapping her hands like we’re in a boardroom, not a mobile crime scene. “Plan B.”

“Do we even have a Plan B?”

“We’re going to bury him in your backyard. Remember?”

“I think I was trying to forget.” I hit the paved road again and sit all the way up so I can see. “What about nosy Nancy?”

“If she sees us, we’ll have to kill her too.”

I blanch. “Are you serious?”

Amy’s eyes light up. “Isn’t it fun trying to figure that part out?”

I blink. “Ohmigod! Who are you?”

“Relax, little miss murderer. She’s not going to see us. We’ll figure it out.”

I practice deep breathing.

Doug makes another unfortunate thump.

“I hate having him in the car.”

Amy sighs. “We should’ve rented a boat.”

“We should’ve rented a psychiatrist,” I mutter.

I pull into the driveway just as my phone dings.

NOAH: I was going to swing by in a sec. You’re home, right?

I show it to Amy.

She stares at me. We both gasp at the same time.

“Quick—back into the house!” she cries.

“Ohmigod, we need to hide the body!”

“No, we need to act normal!”

“I don’t know what normal is anymore!”

“Shit, are those his headlights?”

“Let’s just get inside and pretend we’ve been here all along!”