Page 35

TWENTY-NINE

I’m officially not the only person making connections. As of this morning, the Whitaker Tribune has too. There was a front-page article comparing the recent murder of Jessica Wilder to a similar decade’s old case: the murder of Layla Williams.

The article covered few details about Layla’s death, and luckily didn’t mention Crystal, me, or the dropped civil suit against us.

At least I’m not being dragged back into the public eye.

It wasn’t sensationalized either, suggesting that because the crimes were similar there must be a serial killer on the loose.

Michael Massey’s arrest and conviction were made clear; however, the reporter highlighted that safety for women on campus is still a major issue.

It was a call for action more than anything, along with a plea that anyone with information about Jessica Wilder’s murder contact the police.

Now that her face is splattered across headlines, it’s no longer possible to avoid Wilder’s murder with the Mystery Maidens; it’s all anyone in Whitaker has been talking about, and I’ve been gearing up all day for it to be addressed at tonight’s meeting.

My stomach is a bundle of knots as I wait for the other Maidens to arrive.

I keep replaying the details of my investigation with Marley.

Ever since Jessica Wilder’s murder, I can’t escape the feeling that danger is lurking, and knowing Marley believes two more people have been killed only increases that fear.

Part of me still finds it impossible to think one of the other Maidens could be responsible, but if not them, then who?

“Thirsty Thursday!” April says when she arrives. “Have you already ordered drinks?”

I clear my throat before speaking. “No, I was waiting on the rest.”

“Are you okay?” she asks. “You look like you’re coming down with something.”

My appearance must speak to my inner turmoil. I’ve had trouble sleeping, and no matter how much I try to act normal, I can’t shake the feeling of dread that follows me wherever I go.

“Just tired,” I say, quickly putting the focus onto something else. “What about you? How have you been?”

“Better than when you saw me at my house.” She lowers her voice. “You didn’t say anything to the others?—”

“Of course not,” I interrupt her.

She smiles genuinely. “Thank you. This is my most positive part of the week, and I want to keep it that way.”

“I understand,” I say, even though any joy this group brought me disappeared long ago.

Now, my sole reason for coming is to try and figure out which of my friends could be a murderer.

They’ve all entrusted me with their secrets in the past week, but I wonder which of them could be hiding something even darker.

Is it possible one of them has been tormenting me for years?

Victoria arrives next, followed by Danielle.

We exchange greetings and pleasantries, providing bland updates about our weeks.

None of them mention the fact that I’ve met each of them separately recently, which is probably a good thing.

I don’t need the culprit to know that I am investigating, even though it’s clear they know I’m onto them.

The note left for me at Banyon’s Bridge proves as much.

“Let’s get started,” Victoria says, pulling out her laptop.

“What about Marley?” I ask.

For the past half hour, I’ve been checking my phone every five minutes. She should have arrived by now.

“Not coming,” Victoria says. “She’s busy with exams this week, so I told her to take the night off.”

She’s not coming at all? After we’ve spent the past couple of days going over our game plan? For weeks, I’ve looked at Marley with suspicion. As soon as I let down my guard enough to trust her, she abandons me.

“I’ll go first,” Danielle says. “I have something really special to share.”

“Wait,” I say, afraid of losing my chance to confront the group all at once. “I was wanting to talk to you guys first. Since we’re all crime writers, I imagine you all follow the news as much as I do. Did you hear about the WU student that was murdered last week?”

This is my plan. Bring up the most recent murder and allow the others to take control of the conversation. I don’t want to mention Layla by name. I’d rather see if the other members make connections on their own.

“I read about it this morning,” Danielle says, lowering her stare. “It’s just awful.”

“I saw it, too. Only twenty years old! Her poor parents,” April says. She looks at Victoria. “I wondered about you. Did you know her?”

“I didn’t,” she answers. “But it’s been on my mind nonstop.”

“What about the other student they talked about in the article?” I ask. Under the table, I clench my fists, waiting for what they all could say. At the same time, my face flushes with heat. “The one that died ten years ago?”

“I remember when she died,” Danielle goes on. “It was right around the time I moved to Whitaker to start law school. Not the best way to start a new job or move to a new city.”

“You’re lucky you weren’t a student at the time,” April says. “The girl who died was a year ahead of me in school. It terrified me and my friends.”

Neither of them seems to have made a connection between The Mistake and Layla, so I add, “I remember, too. Right before the holidays. Horrible stuff.”

“You know I was in the bar the night it happened,” April says. “I kept thinking, what if it had been me?”

My blood runs cold. April was at the bar that night? Could she have seen me and not let on? Or was she there to meet Crystal? I remember something Crystal mentioned during one of our arguments. That anyone could have been at the bar that night, and we wouldn’t have known.

“My law firm ended up representing the guy who was charged,” Danielle adds.

“Really?” I say, trying to hide my shock. I’d never imagined Danielle would have a connection to Layla’s death, too.

“Of course, that was before I joined the firm, but it was one of my mentor’s biggest cases. He still talks about it all the time, even though the guy eventually accepted a deal.”

“I don’t know why we make anything easier on guys like that,” Victoria says. “No offense. I know it’s your job.”

“If I remember, there were other accusations made against him. I think he got less time taking a deal than he would have if he fought multiple charges in court.”

“Other accusations?” April asks.

“He’d attacked other women before,” Danielle says. “Thankfully, they all survived.”

Again, my cheeks redden, and my throat goes dry. Is it just my paranoia, or does Victoria seem to be staring at me? It was only a few days ago that I admitted to her I’d nearly been attacked in college. Would she assume it was by the same person?

“I’ve met the girl’s parents,” Victoria says, at last. “They’re really involved with safety measures on campus. Nice people, but I can’t imagine what it’s like to lose someone you love like that.”

All three of them had connections to the situation I never knew about.

Victoria has worked with Layla’s parents, Danielle’s firm represented Michael Massey, and April was at Twisted Timmy’s on the night it all happened.

What are the odds? A few weeks ago, I didn’t know about any of these connections.

Any of these women could hold me accountable for Layla’s death, making them each more dangerous than they appear.

I stand abruptly. “I need to go to the bathroom,” I say.

I weave in and out of the crowds gathered around the bar, making my way to the narrow space at the back of the pub. It’s a one-stall bathroom, and thankfully there isn’t a line. I shut and lock the old, splintered door and stare at my reflection in the water-stained mirror.

What am I doing? It’s impossible for me to act like everything is fine, carry on and share stories like nothing has happened. I was relying on Marley to be here, if for no other reason than moral support. In her absence, I’m not sure who I can trust.

I splash water onto my face, relishing the instant cooling effects.

Maybe Marley is right, and we should go to the police, but I already tried that once—before Jessica Wilder was murdered.

Chaz treated me like I was a paranoid fanatic.

Presenting the cops with three more crimes will only make me appear more unhinged.

And yet, the very real possibility remains that one of the women out there is a murderer. Even if Marley’s theory is wrong and the murders of Brandon Davis and Rudy Raines are a coincidence, I know someone is messing with me. I’ll never find out who it is if I don’t hold myself together.

I take a deep breath and re-enter the crowded lounge. When I reach the booth, I avoid eye contact with the other women, pulling my computer toward me and scrolling through old files.

“Are you okay?” Danielle asks, and I wonder if she read her story while I was gone, or if she waited on me.

“I’m fine,” I say. “Just got a little overheated.”

“Are you sure?” Victoria adds. “Your mind seems like it’s elsewhere.”

“I’m fine. Really. Let’s go ahead and start the meeting,” I say, struggling to put on my best poker face.

I’m a shitty poker player, and, from the looks of it, an even shittier amateur detective.