Page 74 of The Writer

“Yes.” I force myself to keep going. “I was with her that night at the bar. Before she was killed.”

“So everything you’d written in that story,” April says, pausing as though it’s too ridiculous to speak aloud, “it all really happened?”

“Yes. What I said about having a nightmare was true. I wroteThe Mistaketo try and process what I was feeling, and I believe that’s what started all of this.”

“You’ve written about real experiences before,” Victoria says, staring right through me, no doubt referencing the near-assault I told her about, “but your friend was murdered. Don’t you think that was crossing a line?”

“I don’t know. I?—”

“Why would you write about something like that?” April asks, not even hiding the disgust in her voice. “Something so personal.”

“And dark,” Danielle adds. “We all weave in parts of our real life with our fiction, but writing an entire story to share with us?—”

“She already told you why she wrote it,” Marley jumps in, trying to defend me. “She didn’t mean for it to go anywhere.”

“Clearly, it’s triggered someone,” Victoria says, looking around the table at the group of women she brought together, then back at me. “You told the police you think it triggered one of us!”

“Thatiswhat I think,” I say, lacking a better response. Their defensiveness and outrage is warranted, but it doesn’t change my suspicions. One of them must be responsible for the copycat crimes. There’s no other way. “I didn’t intend to start some crime spree.”

“Not to mention you’ve thought this for weeks and been coming to meetings like everything is fine,” Danielle adds. “Did you ever consider you might be putting us in danger?”

I sit up straighter, desperate. “I was careful. I told the police?—”

“We already know what you told the police,” April cuts me off.

“I don’t know if you’re crazy or just completely careless.” Danielle stands, putting on her coat. “Either way, I think you should stay away from the rest of us.”

“Guys,” Marley chimes in. “She’s trying to explain.”

“I think we’ve heard enough,” April says, sliding out of the booth. “Danielle’s right. Stay away until this gets sorted.”

“Needless to say, no more meetings,” Victoria says, packing her things. “Thanks to Becca, the police are looking into all of us, and we don’t need to give them any ammunition.”

One by one, they storm away from the table until Marley and I are the only ones left. From where we sit, we can see the trio of women still deep in conversation on the sidewalk, breathy clouds exiting their mouths, hands gesticulating wildly. Another moment passes, before they head down the street.

“Are you ready?” Marley asks me, a conspiratorial glint in her eye.

“I’ve got April,” I say, standing. “Are you sure you can track the others by yourself?”

“They live on the same street. If one of them takes off in a different direction, I’ll let you know.” She pulls out her phone, tapping at the screen. “Is your location working?”

“Yep. I checked before the meeting started.” We agreed to share locations on our phones. Keeping eyes on everyone, including each other, is the only way to stay safe. “Make sure yours is on, too.”

We’re outnumbered. That’s one of the many barriers Marley and I ran into when we concocted the plan to follow the rest of the group. Regardless, this is our best opportunity to find out who is behind the murders. Now that we’ve confronted all ofthem, whoever is responsible will no doubt act erratically. We’ll follow each of the members, watching their every move until we figure out the truth.

April crosses the street while Danielle and Victoria head in the direction of downtown, followed by Marley. I hustle to the front of the restaurant, tracing April’s footsteps, making sure to keep enough distance between us that she won’t know I’m following her.

THIRTY-SEVEN

As I predicted, April uses the free parking spots by the library. She’d rather walk an extra block than fight for the frenzied meter parking closer to McCallie’s. I thought I spotted her car there before the meeting, which is why I used a meter across the street. I’m able to get into my car and follow her without being noticed.

We leave the stop-and-go traffic of downtown, merging onto the highway. She’s headed home, I think. I remember this route from when I visited her last week. However, when April passes her street without turning, my curiosity grows.

“Where are you going?” I say aloud to the empty car.

My phone begins to ring. I connect it to the overhead system and answer.

“Where are you headed?” Marley asks. Her voice is breathy and close, like her mouth is nuzzling the receiver.

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