Page 38 of The Writer

Both her Facebook and her Instagram are less than two years old. No Twitter. She has a TikTok, but appears inactive, no posts of her dancing to trending songs or galloping around campus. In fact, the other platforms are equally as bland. She usually shares political memes (a total lefty) and inspirational quotes (aboutusing the past to better the future). There are only a few selfies, and they’re so close-up it’s hard to tell where she’s taken them.

It feels hypocritical to deem this behavior suspicious; I’m not active on social media either. But Marley is nearly a decade younger than me. Some of my peers, like Crystal and April, are active online, but her generation is even more so. Her limited presence makes me wonder, is she trying to hide something? I know the main reason I stay offline is to distance myself from the past.

I try typing her name into Google, searching her the old-fashioned way, but nothing comes up. According to Victoria, this is only Marley’s second year on campus. She hasn’t been there long enough to leave a paper trail, at least not one that’s easy to find.

I lean back on the sofa, stretching my neck and staring at the ceiling. It feels like I’m Alice lost in the tunnel. Maybe it would be easier to climb out now before I continue falling. That’s what Chaz had suggested in our conversation.We need proof, not speculation.If proof that Marley is up to something is this hard to find, it could mean there are no secrets at all.

Still, I can’t shake the similarities between the stories and what’s happened in the past few days. Slashed tires. A hit-and-run accident. Jessica Wilder’s murder, which copied the plot ofThe Mistake. All those incidents have a connection to me through the Mystery Maidens, and the only new addition to my small circle of acquaintances is Marley. What would make her want to go to such lengths to ruin my life, push her to the point of harming others along the way?

Besides, I did my best to spy on the others, and came up with very little. April was hiding something, but it’s about her personal life. I have no reason to think she’s deceiving me about anything else. Same goes for Victoria and Danielle. They bothseemed completely oblivious to my suspicions, and I’ve known these women for over a year.

Crystal exits her bedroom and makes a beeline for the front door. We’ve barely seen each other since our argument, and neither of us is good at breaking the ice.

“I’m heading out for dinner,” she says. “Would you like to join?”

“I’m busy writing,” I say, looking down at my stained pajamas. “Thanks for the invite, though.”

She pauses with her hand on the doorknob. “I broke things off with Chase. You were right. There are plenty of men out there, and I don’t need to get wrapped up in his family drama.”

“Good.” This news pleases me, but part of me wonders if Crystal is only telling me what I want to hear.

“Did you say anything to his wife?”

“There’s no point. Telling her you’re my roommate would only make things awkward for us.”

Crystal nods. “Have you thought anymore about the real estate job?”

I look back at my computer. “I appreciate you thinking of me, but it’s not the right fit. I want to see how things go withNight Beatbefore I look into starting something new.”

When I glance at her face, she appears disappointed. We still haven’t addressed the most important part of the argument—what happened ten years ago and how we’ve reacted in the aftermath. Following our pattern, we won’t anytime soon. “If you change your mind about coming out, let me know.”

The door slams shut, and I’m momentarily overwhelmed by the silence in the apartment. Isn’t it pathetic that I spend every weekend like this? Repeating the same ritual of work, write, sleep, repeat, and it’s getting me nowhere.

Tonight, however, instead of writing my own fictional stories, I’m focused on something else entirely. I have a mystery to solve, and Marley Theroux is at the center of it.

Problem is, I still have little information. Nothing from Victoria. Nothing online. I can’t glean anything about the type of person Marley is—her favorite spots, her interests. She doesn’t even post about writing.

Most aspiring writers believe their craft is a fundamental part of their being. I’ve always felt that way. You’d think she’d at least mention it on her social media profiles, but there’s nothing.

Perhaps what bothers me most about Marley, and what I’m reluctant to admit, is that she’s talented. Before I started making the connection between stories and crimes, I was blown away by her initial short story.Rosebud. It’s better than anything I could have written at her age. Hell, it might be better than anything I’ve written now.

I type ‘Rosebudby Marley Theroux’ into the search bar, but nothing comes up. I was hoping maybe she’d shared an excerpt online before, posted it on a forgotten Reddit account or Tumblr. Just like everything else, my search comes up blank. Marley Theroux, the writer or the person, barely seems to exist.

A little further down the search results, I see something that catches my eye. It’s aboutRosebud. As I look closer, I see it’s the first line to Marley’s story. Perhaps she posted it after all but used a pen-name to hide her identity.

I click the link, my eyes scanning the page.Rosebudis there in its entirety, but the author’s name is different. Annabelle Jones. Is that the pen-name Marley uses online?

I rejig my search, this time typing in ‘Rosebudby Annabelle Jones’ to see if anything new pops up. The screen fills with different results, each one linking to the same short story. Apparently, it’s been published in numerous anthologies, andthere are even accompanying study questions for teachers to use in their secondary classrooms.

On the most recent page, I click on the author’s name. I’m taken to a short biography, and, more shocking than that, a picture. Annabelle Jones is an acclaimed writer in her fifties. She’s published numerous short story collections and novellas. I’ve never heard of her, but she’s more successful than I could ever dream. Still, Annabelle’s career achievements aren’t what stings. It’s the fact Marley clearly pulled her acclaimed short story from the internet. She plagiarized the whole thing to weasel her way into our writing group.

Marley Theroux is a fraud.

TWENTY

I’ve been a member of the Mystery Maidens for more than a year, and this is the only time I’ve ever been the first to arrive at a meeting. Ever since finding out Marley plagiarized theRosebudstory, I’ve not been able to stop thinking about confronting her.

Now that I know she’s not a writer, it’s clear she has ulterior motives for joining the group. I must do more than simply call her a liar, though. If I want the police to take me seriously, I need to highlight the connection between our group’s stories and Marley’s actions, and I think I’ve figured out a way to catch her in the act.

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