Page 26 of The Writer

“It’s that time of year,” Danielle says. “We are running late, though. Should we get started?”

“Where’s April?” I ask. I can’t be the only person to recognize our group isn’t complete.

“She’s sick, too,” Victoria says. “Her whole crew is. She messaged earlier to say she was skipping out.”

That’s strange. Rarely do any of us miss a meeting, especially April. This is the one event each week that’s about her and not her family; she wouldn’t give that time up lightly. But if she is reeling from having committed a murder, maybe that’s why she isn’t here?

“You need to go first?” Danielle asks me. “If you start to feel worse, you could head out.”

“Nothing new from me this week,” I say, trying and failing to get more comfortable in my seat. I feel their eyes on me, like little spotlights highlighting my insecurities. “Still waiting to hear back aboutNight Beatand haven’t felt inspired to write anything new.”

“I liked the story from last week,” Marley says, shimmying off her coat. “About the girl who was murdered, right? And the boy who killed her.”

I stare at Marley, before moving my gaze, studying both Victoria and Danielle just as closely. Have any of them seen the news? Have they put together the similarities between the story I shared last week and the student who was found on campus? Victoria works there. Surely, she’s heard about it.

Then again, the news is so recent, it hasn’t yet made its rounds around the local news circuit. There is limitedinformation available online, but nothing about Jessica Wilder’s murder in the morning’s paper. I already checked. If one of them is the murderer, they must know what happened, but their reactions give nothing away. They all stare back at me, blank-faced, ready for a response.

“Not sure where I want to go with that one,” I say. “I need to start something new, I’m just not sure what.”

“I’m with Becca,” Marley say. “I’ve been slammed with school and didn’t get around to writing anything. I’m just here for the moral support.”

Maybe it’s not school that’s been keeping Marley busy, but slashing tires and running people over. Murdering a fellow student. Why was Marley waiting for an Uber anyway? Most students have a car. Is it possible hers was damaged during the hit-and-run? Every statement sparks suspicion in my mind.

“Looks like it’ll be a short night after all,” Danielle says. “I’ll go first. I’ve been working on a story inspired by one of my cases.”

She pulls out her laptop and begins reading. I listen closely, paying attention for any plot devices that could later morph into some type of crime. Thankfully, no murders take place. It’s mainly about a drug ring being ratted out by an informant, a tense story under normal circumstances, but meaningless given my mindset tonight. Victoria’s story is just as uneventful. The main character is suffering from mental illness, but doesn’t commit any notable crimes. When she finishes reading, I relax in my seat for what feels like the first time all night. At least I won’t expect any other crimes in the following days.

“Well, I guess that’s it for this week,” Victoria says. “If there’s nothing else to share, I’m going to head home. I have a stack of student papers to grade.”

“Is one of them mine?” Marley asks cheekily.

“I believe it could be.” Victoria stands, putting on her coat. “Same time on Monday?”

“Sorry about not having anything this week,” I say. “Once I’m feeling better, I’ll come up with something.”

“No worries. Taking a break is part of the creative process,” she says. “Maybe one of our stories will give you some inspiration.”

Inspiration. To write a story or commit a crime? It doesn’t matter what’s been said, I unpack every statement as though it’s hiding something.

“See you next time,” Marley says. She waves, her fingers dancing in the air, grating on my nerves.

“Are you okay?” Danielle says, still sitting in the booth across from me.

“Yeah. Just feeling a little sick.”

“I meant about Marley,” she says, her voice low. “You’re staring at her like you want to rip out one of those bohemian braids.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Probably not to the others. Definitely not to Marley.” She leans back in the booth. “I’m good at reading people. It comes with the job. I can’t help noticing she seems to get on your nerves.”

“She does,” I admit, watching as Victoria and Marley make their way through the crowded pub to the exit. “Is it just me, or is there something off about her?”

“She’s a bit shiny and new,” she says. “I think that energy can become draining when you’re old and boring like us.”

“I wouldn’t say either one of us is old.”

“Compared to her we are. Do you remember what it was like to be that careless and fun? Feels like a lifetime ago for me,” she says, leaning back, a look of nostalgia on her face. “But sheis talented. I suppose that’s why Victoria allowed her to join the group.”

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