The Lies I Told(55)
“I know they did.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do. Kurt started to follow her out of the party, but then Tamara called out to him, and they started dancing.”
“That wasn’t the statement you gave Richards.”
She paused, her cup near her lips. “How do you know what I said to Richards?”
I ignored her question. “Kurt said he didn’t fight with her. He said she was upset about something. Very emotional.”
Jo-Jo set her cup down. “Why weren’t you at the party? And don’t lie this time.”
“I was with a guy. I got really high and passed out.”
“Who was the guy? You weren’t dating anyone then.”
I’d kept this to myself for thirteen years. But one way or another, it would get back to Jo-Jo. The weight of all the secrets was growing too heavy for me to bear. I knew I should keep my mouth shut, but I couldn’t stay silent. “Jack.”
“Jack? My Jack?”
Maybe sobriety would really stick if I cleared the decks. “I’m not proud of it. I was at his place to score drugs, but when I got there, he suggested I try a sample for free, and then the next thing I know, we were in bed. I was kind of out of it.”
She sat back, folding her arms over her chest. “You had sex with Jack?”
“For what it’s worth, I don’t remember much.”
Jo-Jo shook her head as she regarded me. “You never told Richards about the drugs or Jack, did you?”
“It didn’t seem that important at the time. But I came clean with Richards on Tuesday.”
“Why didn’t you tell Richards about Jack from the beginning?”
“I’d lost one sister. I didn’t want to lose the other one,” I said. It sounded feeble now. I wouldn’t have lost Brit over sex with Jack; at least, I didn’t think I would have. “Did Jack come to the party?”
“You said he was with you.”
“I don’t remember most of the night.”
“I didn’t see him,” Jo-Jo said.
If she had, would she have told me or Richards? She’d already lied about Clare’s argument with Kurt. “See anyone lingering around Clare?”
“No, no, no. Thirteen years has not changed my answers. Look, I don’t want to go back there.”
“You were Clare’s best friend,” I said. “She told you things that she didn’t even tell me.”
“She didn’t tell me everything.” Jo-Jo’s face flushed. “You know she and I weren’t that close all fall.”
“But she came to you with something. Your face looks like it did when the store clerk accused you of shoplifting and you denied it.”
“What look?”
I cocked a brow. “Never mind about that. What matters is that I don’t believe you now.”
The rosy hues of her cheeks deepened. “I can’t help that.”
I wasn’t going to apologize. If stirring trouble, making her feel stressed, and ruining her day were what it took, I’d do it to catch Clare’s killer. For the first time, I actually understood Richards’s frustration with liars. Knowing and proving were two different beasts.
“I really can’t help you,” Jo-Jo said. “I can’t tell you what I don’t know. I’m really sorry.”
Drawing in a deep breath, I dialed down my frustration. “Sorry doesn’t do me any good, Jo-Jo. I’ve had a bellyful of sorry.”
“I want to help.”
“Clare told you everything important. Why was she upset enough to leave the party?”
“If I did know, I wouldn’t tell even now.”
“I suppose I should be grateful that Clare had such a loyal friend.”
“What’s that mean, Marisa?”
“You’re willing to keep her secrets after all that’s happened and all this time. Takes a strong person to hold in a secret that long.”
“Stop pressing me, Marisa. I can’t help you.”
What had Clare told Jo-Jo? I could keep pushing but knew right now she wasn’t going to tell me. I hoisted my purse onto my shoulder and stood. “Clare loved you.”
Jo-Jo’s breath was quick and ragged. “I know. I loved her. I was willing to do anything for her.”
“Secrets don’t help anyone.”
32
MARISA
Thursday, March 17, 2022
5:00 p.m.
I removed the file Richards had given me and shuffled through the interviews until I reached the report on my accident. There were several pictures and notes on my estimated speed, my apparent head injury, and an interview with Jenny Taylor, the witness. Photos of my Jeep twisted and mangled were haunting. It was a miracle I’d made it out alive.
The accident was as lost as the night I woke up on the neatly made bed and my night with Jack. But since January, not a few days went by without me feeling fragmented moments of panic.
My first real memory after the accident featured Brit. My sister had been in my hospital room. She’d been talking with authority to someone about me. Brit had always been in charge of Clare and me. Even when Mom was alive, she’d run the show. Disaster struck, and it was Brit to the rescue.