Friends Like These(64)

We all stayed silent for what felt like an eternity. The adrenaline was draining out of me. Honestly, I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep this up. I was exhausted.

“Wait, where is Finch?” Jonathan suddenly asked.

It was a good question. It was one thing for all of us to keep this a secret. Finch could not be trusted.

“He left earlier,” Stephanie said. Jonathan and I glanced at each other, waiting for her to elaborate. “It was before Keith— before Crystal. But he was still here when Keith screamed.” Finch and Stephanie together? “But then I didn’t see him after I was in the room. He might know Crystal OD’d, but not the rest of it. He was pissed off at Keith, though, about some show in London.”

“And what about Peter?” I turned to Jonathan. “Where is he?”

“God knows. He sent a text saying he was going to make everything up to me. Probably means he went grocery shopping to cook for all of us or something. That’s usually what he does when we get in a fight.”

We heard the front door open then.

“They’re back, thank God,” Jonathan gasped.

But when we ran to the foyer, it was only Peter, frozen there, face drawn.

“Peter, what’s wrong?” Jonathan rushed closer, concerned.

Peter shook his head as he stared down at his expensive designer sneakers. “I am really sorry, Jonathan.”

“Sorry about what?” I stepped closer.

“The contractors.” Peter motioned toward the door like whatever had happened had just taken place right there.

“They were here again?” Jonathan asked.

“No, no,” Peter said. “I called them. To explain that it was my fault, what happened with the money, and not yours. They asked me to come meet them. I didn’t feel like I had a choice.”

“Are you okay?” Jonathan asked, looking Peter up and down.

“Yes— I mean, I am a little freaked out.”

Stephanie stepped closer too. “Wait, what happened, exactly?”

Peter was silent for a long time. “They know.”

My stomach was tight. “They know what?”

Peter looked unsteady suddenly.

“Wait, wait, come sit out here.” Jonathan guided Peter into the living room. “Start at the beginning.”

Jonathan and Peter sat side by side on one of the red couches. Jonathan had an overly protective hand on Peter’s back. I swallowed back my irritation.

“So I called them and said that I wanted to apologize and explain and— ”

“Yeah, we got that part,” I cut him off. “And then you went to see them, and then what?”

“Come on, Maeve.” Jonathan flashed me an imploring look. “Give him a chance.”

“I’m just— we told Derrick and Keith we were going to be packing up,” I pleaded, more gently. “I think we do need to move things along.”

“They didn’t give me a choice about going to meet them.” Peter looked up at me with his big, sad eyes— he was obviously accustomed to this working on people. “They told me if I didn’t meet them at the bank, they’d come here and start doing some ‘real damage.’ I was trying to help. I mean, I got us into this mess. I wanted to get us out.”

“That makes sense,” Jonathan said reassuringly, his hand still on Peter’s back. “So you met them at a bank . . .”

“I told them I didn’t have access to that much money. Because it’s your money.” He looked at Jonathan. “Which I swear I recognize, Jonathan. And you are so generous. It’s one of your most amazing qualities.”

Stephanie motioned impatiently. “No offense, Peter, but Maeve is right— we need to be getting out of here. Can you just tell us what actually took place?”

“Well, I gave them everything I had in my account, only like six hundred dollars,” Peter said. “But they said I had to find you, Jonathan, because they wanted the rest. And so I called and called . . .”

Jonathan pulled out his phone and glanced down at the screen. “I’m sorry, Peter, we’ve just been so consumed.”

“It’s okay,” Peter said. “Really, Jonathan, this was all my fault.”

Of course it’s your fault!

“After I couldn’t get you on the phone, they got even angrier. I thought they were going to get physical, and it was three against one,” Peter continued. He looked embarrassed. “I honestly— I panicked. It just came out. I’m so sorry.”

No, I thought. He couldn’t possibly mean . . .

“What came out?” Stephanie asked.

“About the girl,” Peter said quietly.

“What about the girl?” I asked, my throat so dry I barely got the words out.

“I said that a girl had OD’d in the house. I had to explain why I couldn’t reach you, Jonathan. Because you were dealing with that.”

“You told the contractors that we were moving the body of a dead girl?” Stephanie’s voice wavered. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“No, no, I only told him that she died. That’s all. That it was an accident, of course.” Peter looked up at Jonathan. “You had to be there, Jonathan. There was just— I wasn’t thinking clearly.”