In My Dreams I Hold a Knife(49)

I pressed the pills into her hand and closed her blood-red fingernails around them. She nodded, embarrassed but grateful. I stood, catching Coop’s eye. He gave me a puzzled look.

“You all need to sign an NDA,” Mint said, wrapping a protective arm around Courtney’s shoulders.

“Are you kidding me?” Caro screeched.

“Not about her drugging Heather,” Mint said hurriedly. “Just about the diet pills. She’s a fitness influencer. It would ruin her career.”

Coop shook his head. “She’s lying on the ground shaking, dude. Her career is the least of her worries.”

“For the record”—twisted the pill bottle in his hand, watching it catch the lamplight—“I wasn’t staring at your breasts in college.” His gaze moved from the bottle to Courtney’s face. “I was staring at your ribs. You were a walking skeleton, and I couldn’t believe no one said anything. Not even Heather. She used to brush it off when I asked.” He pocketed the bottle. “I always had a feeling the drug in Heather’s system was yours.”

Something about Courtney’s story was still bugging me. I turned to her. “After Heather got blackout at Phi Delt, and you asked Frankie to take her home, what did you tell him?”

Courtney blinked, rubbing mascara-streaked cheeks. “I don’t know,” she said shakily. “I guess I told him Jack had broken up with her. And she was drowning her sorrows, planning her revenge.”

Her voice became firmer, surer. “I definitely did. I told Frankie that Jack had confessed some terrible secret, and Heather was planning to tell Jack’s parents at Parents’ Weekend to get back at him, ruin his life. I remember I told Frankie specifically because I thought it was messed up of Heather, and I was hoping he’d talk her out of it. She was more likely to listen to him than me, anyway.” Courtney laughed, a small, bitter sound. “He was one of you East House Seven, after all.”

“Frankie didn’t tell us that part.” Coop shot me a worried look.

Caro frowned. “Why wouldn’t he mention Heather was planning to tell Jack’s parents? That’s huge.”

“You guys,” I said, “Frankie’s parents always came for Parents’ Weekend. His dad practically lived for it. If Heather was going to spill the beans, make some spectacle, there’s a strong chance Frankie’s parents would have found out, too.”

“But Heather didn’t know Frankie was the guy Jack was cheating with,” Eric pointed out.

“Maybe she did.” Mint ran a tired hand over his face, mussing his golden hair. “Heather asked Courtney to make sure she didn’t get drunk and talk to Frankie. Maybe that’s why.”

We were all silent for a stretch, until finally Caro spoke. “He’s guilty, isn’t he? Heather was scared to talk to him that night, and at best, Frankie lied by omission earlier. We all remember what his dad is like. Frankie said himself he would have done anything to keep his dad from finding out. He has to be guilty.”

“I don’t know,” Eric said, scratching his jaw. He looked unsure for the first time all night, and for a second, I caught a glimpse of the soft boy I remembered, before his face hardened. “It doesn’t satisfy all the other evidence, but it’s worth checking out.”

“What other evidence—” Mint started, but Caro interrupted.

“We know where Frankie’s going to be tomorrow. He’s grand marshal of the Homecoming parade. There will be tons of people around. If we confront him, he can’t run.”

Coop whistled. “You want to accuse Frankie of murdering Heather in front of hundreds of people?”

“What other choice do we have?” I asked. “This could be our only opportunity to solve Heather’s murder.”

Eric eyed me. “Since when do you care about solving her murder?”

The words were a knife through my heart. But only because I knew—in the deepest, darkest part of me—that I deserved them.

I deserved so much worse.

“Since always,” I said quietly. “Since now.”

“Well”—Eric patted the pill bottle in his pocket—“whoever else cares, I’ll see you at noon tomorrow by the basketball stadium, at the start of the parade route. We’ll demand an explanation from the grand marshal.”

With that, Eric slipped back into the trees, where there wasn’t even a path, and dissolved among the shadows.

“Fucking Ghost of Christmas Past,” Mint muttered. “Back to punish us for our sins.”

***

Everyone went back to their hotels. Tomorrow we were confronting Frankie, and there was nothing left to say.

Except for me. I stood in the middle of the now-empty white tent, watching the bartenders pack bottles. The party was over. My perfect plan, ground to dust, ruined by Eric Shelby. But as I stood there, a new plan slowly formed, more ambitious than the first. If I could pull it off, I wouldn’t just be proving myself—I could settle every debt, right every wrong. Quiet the insidious whisper. Unmake the black hole.

Eric was right: for ten years, I’d lived a lie. I’d pretended I was fine, pretended I’d moved on, but the truth was, the past was still open inside me, like a half-cracked door, because it was a raw, unhealed wound.

Showing off for my classmates was only a Band-Aid. I would step inside that door. Dive into the past. I would find Heather’s killer and be healed.