One of Us Is Dead(73)

“She refusing to pay you too?” a voice called out.

I turned around to find a man with a goatee and several neck tattoos. He was dressed in a white T-shirt and long shorts. He gave a crooked smile, followed by a ha ha.

“Afternoon,” I said meekly, stepping around him.

He gave a nod. There was something familiar about him. I kept my head down, and before I turned in front of the garage, I looked back at him. He pounded on the door. My eyes traveled from the top of his head down, until I saw it. A blotchy, inky tattoo on the back of his calf. I stopped myself from gasping.

Olivia swung open the door just as I stepped out of sight. Her voice was just above a whisper, so I could barely hear what she was saying.

“We agreed to five, but that was before the other half-wit you hired went Mike Tyson on the salon owner. Now, I’ve got heat on me.” His voice was laced with anger.

My hand went to my mouth. How could she have done this to Jenny?

“Shut up and come inside,” Olivia squawked.

The front door closed with a bang, and I scurried to my car. I had to tell someone. If she was capable of this, what else was she capable of? Olivia needed to be stopped.





65

Shannon


The magazine was full of glossy photos of celebrities. I turned the page again and again, then tossed the magazine onto the coffee table. This week had gotten the best of me—between Olivia and her catfish bullshit and Bryce and Crystal’s impending housewarming party that I was sure I’d never hear the end of. It was all too much. I decided I wouldn’t be attending. I wouldn’t be caught dead in Bryce’s home ever again. I needed a vacation. I needed to get away from Buckhead. This place was killing me.

My doorbell rang. Good. My Chinese food was finally here, and I was starving. I got up from the couch, slid my feet into a pair of Gucci slippers, and cinched my robe tighter. I had stayed in my pajamas all day, having only the energy to put a robe on. Occasionally, I needed a day like that—a day of nothingness, where I eat bad food and consume copious amounts of terrible entertainment, from smutty gossip magazines to awful reality shows.

I got to the door and pulled it open, immediately disappointed upon seeing who was on the other side of it. Great. Perfect. Just what I needed. Crystal stood there, holding a large tote bag. A little country bumpkin. The last person I ever wanted to see. I had been civil, but civility ended at my front door. I began pushing the door closed, right in her face, but I noticed the tears pooling in her eyes, the quiver of her lip, and the lack of color in her skin. So I stopped.

“Can I come in?” A tear escaped and ran down her cheek. I didn’t hesitate for a moment. I wrapped my arms around her and pulled in for a hug. She fell apart, and I held her tighter, ushering her into my apartment and closing the door behind us.



The video stopped playing. She looked over at me as we sat on the couch, the laptop open in front of us on the coffee table. The Chinese food was sitting beside the computer, unopened, and it would remain so. I wouldn’t be able to eat now. I swallowed hard.

“Did you know?” she asked.

I shook my head, unable to speak, still processing what I had just seen. We sat in silence, each of us unsure what to say.

“How could I have not known? I was married to him. I should have known.” My voice trembled.

“I didn’t know either, and I married him too.” She grabbed my hand and squeezed it. “This isn’t our fault.”

I nodded. She was right. But it still felt wrong. I should have known. If I hadn’t been so wrapped up in all the bullshit of Buckhead, I would have realized that I was married to the worst kind of criminal. I could have saved these women. I could have stopped this.

“This isn’t our fault,” she repeated, squeezing my hand a little tighter. I placed my other hand on hers and looked at her and nodded. I closed my eyes tightly. Then I reopened them, realizing what I had done wrong, what I could have done to stop this. I shifted in my seat, facing her.

“This is my fault,” I said.

Crystal held her hand up to try to stop me, but I needed her to know something, the secret of hers I had been keeping.

“No, you don’t understand. When Bryce left me, I hired a private investigator. I was consumed with sadness and jealousy, and I wanted to know who the woman was that stole him away,” I confessed.

“You had me followed by a private investigator?” Crystal furrowed her brow, leaning away from me slightly.

“Yes.” I nodded. “And if I’d had Bryce investigated instead of you, I would have known what he was up to, and I could have stopped this.” I hung my head in shame.

“You know, don’t you?” Crystal’s eyes widened.

I raised my head back up. “I know. I know your real name is Savannah Hall, and you changed it to Crystal Redding a few years back.”

“Did you tell anyone?” Crystal shifted uncomfortably.

“No. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.”

“Not even Bryce?” Her eyes searched mine.

“No. After I saw the police records, I decided to keep it to myself. Even though I despised you, you had been through enough.” I placed my hand on her shoulder for comfort.

Crystal’s eyes shifted left to right. “I didn’t mean to kill him,” she said, shaking her head.