The Accomplice(104)

A few weeks into Luna’s recovery, Sam had to leave town. He asked Mason and Casey if they’d stay with her for a night. Sam made the request, in part, to preempt any overnight Griff visits. Sam could deal with the divorce, mostly. But he really didn’t want that guy and his shedding retriever taking over his house. There were limits.

Casey, Mason, and Luna had a quiet dinner, just the three old friends. Luna drank a glass of wine, which Sam had directly forbidden. Luna felt a tiny thrill of rebellion. The trio sat outside, around the firepit. It was chilly, but the wine made them warm. Casey asked about Griff, the frequency of his visits, whether they’d discussed the future. What would that future be?

“Why isn’t Owen here?” Mason asked.

“Because I’m not ready,” Luna said.

Mason refilled his wineglass. Casey gave him a look of warning.

“You and Owen were fine when he was a murder suspect, but after his name is cleared you don’t talk to him?” Mason said. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Things happened before I was shot,” Luna replied. “He’s not who I thought he was.”

“No one is,” Casey said.

“Before I was shot, I had started to think that maybe Owen wasn’t innocent,” Luna said.

“I don’t understand,” Mason said. “Innocent how? You know he didn’t kill Irene. They have the gun; they have the shooter.” Mason thought Luna needed another MRI.

“I know he didn’t kill Irene,” Luna said. “I’m not sure about Scarlet.”

The couple exchanged a heavy glance. Their spousal language was impossible for Luna to comprehend.

“Luna,” Mason said. “You’re wrong. You’ve got to stop thinking that.”

“Yeah, Luna, you really need to stop,” Casey echoed.

“He knew what she was wearing. Scarlet. The day she died. He knew. How did he know?” Luna said.

“Maybe it was in the newspaper or the police told him,” Mason said.

Casey drained her glass and opened another bottle of red. “You’re angry about Griff and you’re trying to find a reason to hate Owen. But you’re wrong. And you need to stop this.”

Luna didn’t want to argue with her friends. She wasn’t interested in convincing them of Owen’s guilt when she wasn’t entirely convinced herself.

“You’re right,” Luna said. “I’m just tired. I think I’ll go to bed now.”

Luna took her glass and retired to the downstairs guest room. Soon after, Casey and Mason headed upstairs to the master suite. Luna felt charged up and wide-awake. She watched television until she finally felt groggy. It was just past two a.m. when she nodded off. A knock. A creak. Then footsteps. She shot up in bed. Mason was standing over her.

“Shh,” he said, finger to lips.

“Mason,” Luna said. “What are you doing up?”

“I need to tell you something.”

“Okay,” Luna said.

Mason shut the door and sat on the edge of the bed. “I wanted to tell you sooner. Years ago, really. But Casey wouldn’t let me,” Mason said.

“Tell me what?” Luna asked.

“Owen didn’t kill Scarlet. I know that—for a fact.”

“How do you know?” Luna asked.

“Because I was there when Scarlet died,” Mason said.





March 2004


After being ejected from Luna’s dorm room, Owen, Mason, Casey, and Ted huddled outside and debated what to do with the rest of the night. Ted had heard about a party at Bing Hall and asked if anyone wanted to join him. Owen declined. He didn’t want to risk running into Scarlet. And Mason was so stoned by then, any group activity seemed fraught with peril. Casey and Mason broke off and ambled around the quad. Casey kept looking up. There was supposed to be a full moon that night.

Mason stopped in his tracks and said, “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

Casey turned to face Mason, steeling herself for the breakup conversation.

“Why not?” she said.

“I’m so thirsty. If I don’t hydrate soon, I don’t know what will happen.”

Casey laughed, relieved. She took Mason back to her dorm room and gave him a tumbler of water, which he finished in one long, impressive gulp.

Casey went down the hall and refilled the tumbler at the bathroom sink. When she returned, Mason was out cold. She tried to wake him, but it was no use. Casey, still wide-awake, decided to check out the party at Bing. She scribbled a note for Mason and left.

Casey’s room was at the end of the hall, conveniently located by the stairway, inconveniently next to the pay phone. Casey always wore earplugs to bed, since the phone ringing was as loud as any alarm clock. There was supposed to be a strict quiet time between ten p.m. and seven a.m., but no one paid attention on the weekend. The ringing phone eventually woke Mason. He tried to ignore it, but it kept ringing. He got up, propped the door open with a shoe, and answered the call.

“Avery Hall,” Mason said.

“Is Amber or Bobbi there?” said a female voice.

“Hang on,” Mason said.

He walked down the hall to Amber and Bobbi’s room and knocked on the door. No one answered. He returned to the phone.