Page 58 of The Writer

“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 betweenThe Mistakeand 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 acoincidence, 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.

THIRTY

I’ve called Marley three times since last night’s meeting, but she won’t pick up.

I’m pissed. We were supposed to be investigating the group together. She’s the only person who I’ve shared my crazy theory with who didn’t make me feel like I was losing my mind, then she just bails.

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