Take the Fall(53)

“Let me see that,” Marcus says.

He studies it. I study him. And just for a second, I almost feel safer with him in this dimly lit space. But then I look at the card again and close my hand around the pepper spray in my backpack. Marcus’s focus is critical at first, examining both sides as if he’s looking solely for answers. His face changes and he turns it over again. This time more slowly, with a careful artist’s eye.

“Did you just get this now?”

“It wasn’t there yesterday.” My heart is pounding so hard, my vision swims with stars.

Marcus reaches toward me and I stumble back.

“Hey. Just take some deep breaths, okay?” His hand is open, his face smooth and calm. I focus on this, on the edges of his mouth. How they turn up a tiny bit when he’s nervous. I move toward him, eager for comfort. But when I look at the dark red words on the card I stop cold.

“I said the photo should’ve had writing in blood.” I slide along the counter, trying to move for the door. “Is this your idea of a joke, or . . .”

He takes a step toward me and I jerk away, ramming my elbow into the paper towel dispenser. Marcus hesitates, a line forming between his eyebrows. “It wasn’t me,” he says through his teeth. “Sonia, I’m just trying to help you.”

I hesitate. Something in my chest pulls toward him. I want to believe it wasn’t him. But I’ve already let my heart get the better of me. I have to remind myself he’s still a potential suspect.

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

He steps back. “You haven’t turned me in yet.”

“Maybe I’ve been saving it for the right time.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t speak.

I take a breath. “I just want to know who did this—who’s doing this.”

“Kip was there,” he says. “And Reva. Aisha wasn’t too far away . . .”

“It wasn’t any of them.”

“How do you know?” His lip curls. “’Cause they’re your friends?”

“Reva is not my friend,” I say. “How do I know it wasn’t you?”

He hands the postcard back with a humorless smirk. “Because I wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave a fingerprint in red ink.”

I turn the picture over and over—and there it is. Only a partial print, but it’s there in the corner, obscured in a patch of autumn leaves. He holds up his hands and I scan his fingers. They’re surprisingly clean. The only time I’ve ever seen them without a trace of paint.

“Maybe you washed them. Maybe I should ask the sheriff.”

“I think you should anyway.”

I look up, surprised. I didn’t expect him to say that.

“Did you ever show him the other photo?” His eyes are warm, wide with concern. A pang of guilt shoots through me before I have the chance to rationalize it away.

I set down my bag.

“That’s what I thought,” he says.

I place the postcard on the counter, anxious to step away from it. “I don’t understand, why are they doing this? What do they want?”

“It seems pretty clear. They’re trying to scare you.”

“But why?”

“I told you before, I think someone’s unhappy you’re still alive.” Marcus’s face twists. “Did you hear what they did to the memorial?”

It’d be a shame if someone came back to finish off the second.

I shudder, looking at the card . . . maybe it could have been Reva. “You think it was the same person?”

“That, or there are two sick *s in this town. Maybe they like baiting you before they pounce. Maybe they did the same thing to Gretchen.”

I close my eyes.

“Sonia, has anything come back to you? It would help if you could remem—”

“I didn’t see anything.” I struggle to keep the panic out of my voice. “If they think I did, they’re wasting their time.”

He looks at me pointedly. “Is there anything else you have that someone might want?”

Bile rises in my throat. The SD card. All the videos and pictures on it. Gretchen was a collector of people’s worst moments. I guess anybody might kill for that. I lean heavily on the counter. How could anyone know I have it?

Marcus watches me closely. “Sonia, if you do—”

“No. There’s nothing else.”

He frowns. “We need to be honest with each other . . .”

He’s one to talk. I glare at him, but his dark hair falls into his eyes and his expression softens. I think of Marcus before he hooked up with Gretchen. The cute guy with the shy smile who always held the door for me walking into homeroom. My traitorous heart skips. This was so much easier when he would just glare back.

But maybe that’s tactical on his part.

“Speaking of honesty, have you been meeting with someone else?”

His eyebrows draw together. “Huh?”

I study the soap dispensers, trying to play his bluff. “Reva had some interesting things to say about you meeting with people in secret.”

His voice cools. “I thought you weren’t friends with her.”

“I’m not.”

He clears his throat. “Okay, yeah. Sometimes I meet with people in secret, if that’s what you want to call it. It’s kind of a business arrangement.”