She Lies Alone: An utterly compelling psychological suspense novel, page 22
MURDERER!
Twenty-Four
Jane
I lay on the couch, a semi-permanent indentation forming in the cushions. A cheap graphic of fluttering bats and dancing pumpkins flashed across the TV. It was Tuesday, October 31. Halloween. I’d called in sick again.
Elena was dead. Gone six days, but her sudden exit from this earth still didn’t seem real. Guilt saturated my body. Why hadn’t I agreed to meet her at the soccer field? I could have sucked it up, taken an extra Advil, and hopped back into my car. It would have been a five-minute drive. What had she wanted to tell me that was so important? Why hadn’t I asked? The questions and scenarios had bonded themselves to my psyche in some sort of irreversible chemical process.
Craig had been patient with me, letting me ask the same questions of him for days, over and over again. He didn’t force solutions on me; he only listened and repeated the same statement in a soothing tone. “It wasn’t your fault. There was no way anyone could have foreseen this.” On Sunday night, he’d squeezed my hand and reminded me that the next morning he needed to get back to work. I nodded but knew I couldn’t do the same. My mind was scattered. There was too much guilt, too many questions, too many suspects.
I’d learned of Elena’s death at the same time as everyone else, through Albright’s email on Thursday morning, written in the detached tone of a robot. Many more emails followed, the most recent one sent Sunday night confirming that school would resume on Monday and that grief counselors would be stationed in the building, along with a police presence.
I scrunched my eyes closed and pressed the back of my head into my pillow. Screw Albright. Only two days off for a teacher murdered on school grounds? He’d probably searched the district guidelines for the standard protocol and had to call an emergency meeting with the superintendent when nothing existed. They hadn’t even held Elena’s funeral yet.
I’d tracked down Elena’s parents and emailed them my condolences, offering to help in any way possible. Her mother had thanked me for my message but said the funeral arrangements were on hold due to the ongoing criminal investigation. They’d have to wait for Elena’s body to be released.
Blinking back the image of Elena’s lifeless body lying on a metal table in a medical examiner’s office somewhere, I turned toward the clock on my nightstand: 11 a.m. My fourth-hour class would be underway. I wondered who they’d found to cover for me on such short notice. Other teachers must have stayed home today, too. Nick, for one. And they’d need someone to replace Elena. My stomach turned, a fresh wave of grief set into motion.
Lydia had probably maxed out her supply of substitutes with all the absences. I hoped my students hadn’t gotten stuck with old Mrs. Hemsworth. They didn’t need to deal with her noxious perfume and disapproving stares on top of everything else.
I wondered if Rowan would be in class. The boy’s evasive eyes skittered across my mind. These last few days must have devastated him. Whatever issues he’d been working through before Wednesday night were going to get so much worse. The one adult, the one mother figure he’d trusted and attached himself to had been murdered. I would have driven to his house and hugged him if I’d been slightly more certain he hadn’t done it.
Phoebe and Rowan were persons of interest. They’d been called in for questioning after me, along with many others. Not that a cursory interrogation meant anything. But I knew they were at the top of the list. Danthorpe had shown me the security footage from the parking lot when I went into the station, asking me to identify the car and its occupants. My insides disintegrated when I watched it. The Camry. Rowan. Phoebe. Why had they gone back to the school so late at night?
Now I pulled my comforter over me, safely hidden beneath it. Phoebe. Her heart-shaped face and blackened lips floated past me like a dream, her middle finger raising into the air. She couldn’t have done it, could she? Had Elena pushed her over the edge?
Moose rose from his dog bed in the corner of the room and stretched. His paws moved, nails clicking across the wood floor until his breath fogged the side of my face.
My fingers found comfort against his soft ears. “Hi, buddy.”
He yawned, tongue drooping to the side as he panted. His nervous eyes looked toward the window.
“Do you want to go out?”
Moose perked his ears and trotted out of the room.
I heaved my dead weight from my bed and followed him. He sat at the back door, wagging his tail.
Had Craig taken him out earlier? I didn’t even know.
Back in the bedroom, a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt lay in a heap on the floor. I pulled them on and ducked into the bathroom to brush my teeth, flinching at my reflection. Holy hell! I looked like crap. My skin had gone gray, the whites of my eyes now pink. My lips were dry and cracked. Leaning forward, I splashed cold water on my face and blotted myself with a towel. Moisturizer squirted from the bottle into my palm, and I spread it across my skin, followed by a tinted cream to mask the dark circles and red splotches.
Moose barked.
“I’m coming,” I said as I ran lip balm over my mouth and pulled a brush through my ratty hair. I’d hit a new low. For multiple days I’d disregarded my hygiene. Now I’d forgotten to take my sweet dog outside. That had never happened before. It was time to pull it together.
Water bottle and leash in hand, I climbed into my car, Moose riding shotgun. Five minutes later, we parked in the gravel parking lot at the head of the river trail. Moose pulled me out of the car, and I trotted alongside him, the movement in my muscles feeling strange after lying comatose for so long. A long walk in the woods was good for the soul. People had done studies on it. I hoped my trek with Moose would snap me out of my funk.
The light faltered as we entered the forest, the tree branches blocking out the midday sun. My eyes searched the treetops for the elusive bald eagle but found only a cardinal, and a squirrel scurrying up the side of a trunk. I slogged along the dirt path, stopping every so often to let Moose sniff a rock or a leaf. I inhaled the mossy scent of the trees as dead leaves fluttered past my shoulder toward the earth. A decaying log lay across the path, mushrooms, and ant trails covering the patchy bark. Death surrounded me. These things had reached their end, just like Elena. Ashes to ashes. Swallowing the gulp in my throat, I urged Moose over the remains of the log.
Trudging around a bend in the trail, we reached the spot where I’d crouched next to the lady in the wide-brimmed hat last summer. It had been the first time the possibility of adoption, the idea of becoming someone’s mom, had entered my brain. A bitter laugh coughed from my throat. Look how well that had turned out. Pretty soon, I’d end up like that log, decaying back into the earth with nothing to show for it.
Moose pulled me forward. I decided not to let my mind wander, focusing on the little things instead—the sound of my shoes against the dirt, the flow of my breath, the sight of a butterfly. I’d learned the mindfulness tips from a yoga class.
We reached a fork in the trail sooner than I expected. I stopped, surprised to find how far we’d traveled and that my thoughts had calmed. One path circled back to where we’d started, about two miles away. Another led to a small parking lot at the trail’s south entrance. The air was crisp, but Moose panted, eyes pleading up at me.
“Do you want some water?”
He panted harder, which I took as a “yes.” Remembering the dog watering station, I led him toward the gravel parking lot ahead. We exited the trail through two wooden posts and passed an empty Subaru parked in the nearest spot. I turned the faucet, letting Moose lap up the forceful stream of water while I took a swig from my water bottle.
Besides the Subaru, only one other vehicle sat in the lot, partially visible behind a pine tree in the corner. The white bed of a pickup truck protruded into the open. A familiar swatch of rust stretched across its side. I tugged at Moose’s leash and stepped closer, realizing it was Nick’s truck. He must have thought a walk in the woods would help him, too.
As I reached the edge of the tree, two heads became visible through the truck’s rear window, their backs to me. Nick sat in the driver’s seat, and next to him…
My breath clogged my throat, nausea swirling in my stomach. No. It couldn’t be. The woman turned toward him, her profile clear beneath her auburn head of curls. It was Annie.
My feet stumbled backward, my body taking cover behind the tree. A warning bristled down the back of my neck, sweat covering my forehead. I peered through the branches, watching in horror as Annie rested her head on top of Nick’s shoulder. His thick arm looped around her and pulled her close as his lips met the top of her head.
I yanked the leash and bolted back into the woods, heart exploding in my chest. Nick had lied to me. He’d said whatever existed between him and Annie had ended months earlier, that he had no feelings for her. But I’d just witnessed something different. He and Annie looked more like two lovers at a drive-in movie than platonic acquaintances.
Elena’s missing necklace suddenly took on more significance. Could Annie have killed Elena in a jealous rage? Or Nick? Or maybe they’d conspired together? My legs spun faster, pulling Moose along whenever he tried to stop. Fear pumped through me, fueling me. I didn’t know who to trust.
The night darkened outside my windows, and a group of kids wandered down the sidewalk, the shadows outlining their bulky costumes. Craig had left earlier to grab a few beers with a group of his tech friends, so I floundered through the house alone, scheming on how to ward off unwanted candy-seekers. Tiptoeing near the wall to avoid being spotted through a window, I turned off the front room and porch lights, relying on the time-tested signal for trick-or-treaters to skip my house.
Even though a few hours had passed, the image of Nick and Annie’s silhouettes through the rear window of the truck was burned into my mind. Craig encouraged me to call Danthorpe and report what I’d seen, but I couldn’t do it. Nick was a loyal friend. I couldn’t throw him under the bus without any proof. Maybe he had a logical explanation for meeting with Annie. I just couldn’t think of one. I’d wanted to call him and tell him what I’d seen, but I wasn’t sure if that would be stupid and if I was somehow putting my own life in danger.
Nick and Annie weren’t the only ones who’d grown ever more suspicious. A never-ending list of suspects tumbled through my mind.
Holed up in my bedroom, I sat cross-legged on my mattress and flipped open my laptop, pulling up an amateur detective website called Crime Trackers that I heard about a few weeks earlier while watching an episode of Dateline. A search of Elena’s name led to threads of conversations by dozens of homebound sleuths already spinning tales about my friend’s violent death. My muscles went rigid as my eyes took in the comments; people from ten states away and from other countries were talking about Elena as if they knew her. Still, I couldn’t stop myself from reading their theories.
Amber456: The chances are over ninety percent that it was the new boyfriend, Nick Bell. Especially now that we’ve learned a necklace he gave her was torn from her neck.
MeDetective: Yeah but it could’ve been Nick’s ex, Annie. She had a motive. Jealousy.
SuperSleuth21: PLEEZ! It’s always the boyfriend or husband. Police need to hound Nick and her ex-boyfriend, Dean.
MomSpy: What about troubled students? Angry parents? Co-workers? The Silver Slasher? Many leads to follow here.
I drew in a breath. These people were not helping. My chest tightened with the knowledge that I might know way more about Elena’s death than I realized. I definitely knew more than this forum of online sleuths. Closing my eyes, I tried to conjure up snapshots of scenes I’d witnessed the night of Geeks and Goblins. Anything to spark a memory. I dissected the facts through a different lens. Why would anyone steal that cheap-looking necklace unless it meant something to them? Had Nick been more upset than he’d let on? Even after what I’d stumbled upon today, I just couldn’t believe it. I wouldn’t let myself believe it.
Through my flashes of pain, I’d seen Elena and Annie bickering with each other. Annie had been righteous and smug, but had she been angry enough to murder Elena over a man who’d dumped her almost a year earlier? It was hard to believe. Then again, maybe her love affair with Nick had never really ended.
Rowan and Phoebe had shown up together looking like a misfit couple, but I remembered Phoebe’s fleeting smile. They’d been enjoying themselves. That was before they’d spotted Phoebe’s poem, though. Before the security camera had caught Rowan’s car returning to the parking lot, Rowan and Phoebe emerging into the shadows after everyone else had left.
The nature of Rowan’s relationship with Elena was still a mystery. Her after-school meetings with him had gone beyond a mere student–teacher relationship, but how far beyond? Had he been stalking her? Had something untoward happened and set off Rowan? Maybe he was jealous of Nick. Was his rage at my front door days earlier a sign of his lack of impulse control?
And what about Phoebe? The day I’d run into her in front of the library, she’d been seething at the sight of Rowan and Elena’s coffee date. How mad had Phoebe really been about Elena posting her poem for the entire community to see? Was her bubbling jealousy, coupled with Elena’s carelessness, enough to spur a troubled girl into a violent fit of rage?
While Elena’s ex, Dean, was another obvious suspect, it didn’t make sense that he’d show up to a school fundraiser months after they’d broken up. She hadn’t even mentioned his name in weeks. Besides, no one had spotted him at Ravenswood that night.
All the scenarios seemed possible, but none was solid enough for me to post anything on Crime Trackers. The thought of accusing the wrong person made me nauseous.
More memories began to surface. More suspects. Other students in Elena’s classes had been there. Was there someone I was missing? Maybe it was someone under the radar, like a slighted teacher or an infatuated student.
What about Jefferson? He’d been beyond frustrated with Elena’s antics. I’d heard him threaten her in the teachers’ lounge that day she’d met with Rowan outside of school, and that was before she’d broken about a half-dozen more rules. She was making her department chair look incompetent in front of the principal.
Albright’s fake smile flashed in my mind, my lips cringing. Since Elena had arrived, the two of them had gotten along about as well as oil and water. She’d pushed the boundaries and ignored his rules. The moment she’d completed her temporary leave of absence, she’d posted a student’s personal poem without permission. Had the by-the-book principal finally snapped?
Out of all the suspects lurking in the dark tunnels of my mind, he was a top contender. Then again, he wouldn’t want a murder to interfere with his school’s top-ten ranking.
Twenty-Five
Amy
A pack of wolves released a haunting string of howls. Amy flipped on the front light and turned on the flickering bulb inside the plastic jack-o’-lantern. She’d used the same one as a decoration every October since the kids were little. They used to carve their own, too, but pumpkin carving had fallen low on the list of priorities this year. The air filled with the scent of burning leaves and tree bark. The same smell from so many Halloweens before when she and Scott had pulled Ben and Phoebe around the neighborhood in a little red wagon, their stubby legs too short to trek between houses.
Amy ducked inside and closed the door, snuffing out the cold wind and the eerie howling from the neighbor’s speaker system. Ben had left for Noah’s house two streets over an hour earlier. Maybe Noah’s mom, Sherrie, hadn’t invited the other parents to hang out this year, but a heaviness in Amy’s gut knew the truth. She imagined the other parents gathered around the fireplace with their craft beers and glasses of wine, nibbling on cheese and crackers and cocktail shrimp, gossip about Ms. Mayfield’s murder pouring from their mouths like vomit. They’d wait until Ben left the room before lowering their voices and saying, “Did you hear that Phoebe had a fight with the teacher the night she was murdered?” and “I heard they were arguing,” and “She’s already been questioned by the police… They must have evidence.”
Amy shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself and poking her head around the doorway toward Phoebe. Her daughter lay on the couch, headphones on, phone in her hand. She’d washed the makeup from her eyes and lips, and through the dim light, she looked more like a child. Her expressionless face stared at her phone. Amy wanted nothing more than to reach out and hug her, to protect her. School must have been horrible the last couple of days, although Phoebe hadn’t offered up any details.
It would only be the two of them tonight. Amy sent a terse text to Nicolette after finding the “murderer” note in the mailbox. She’d given those girls more than enough chances to come clean, and she wasn’t going to tolerate their behavior anymore.
Please talk to your daughter about the nasty note in our mailbox. Don’t bother sending her over unless it is to apologize!
Her message received no response.
Amy tipped Phoebe’s untouched lasagna into the kitchen trash, rinsed the dirty plates, and placed them in the dishwasher. Hugging the bowl of candy, she entered the living room and carried it over to the couch. Phoebe pulled her feet toward herself, making room for Amy to lower herself down on the open cushion.
“Do you want to hand out the candy?” Amy asked.
Phoebe shrugged.
“If anyone shows up, make sure to give them a lot.”
