People Like Us(79)

Spencer pours me another drink, this one almost all lemonade. “So who was it?”

“There’s a detail somewhere that’s going to make something click.” I tap my fingers on the side of the glass, then stop abruptly. The sound of it makes a shiver run down my spine. “What happened to my bottle that night?”

Spencer takes a thoughtful gulp. “Gotta catch up with you there. I left right after you did.”

“And you didn’t see anything?”

“How could I?”

“I heard glass breaking as I was walking away. What if that was—”

“What if it was?” He gazes up at the stars on his ceiling, and I turn off the light so we can watch them glow. “You’ll drive yourself crazy if you think that way. There was no reason to do anything other than what we did.”

“Jessica called you because she thought someone was following her.”

“Yeah.”

“Greg? Because of their fight?”

“Maybe.” He sits up. “No, she said she at one point. Something like ‘she’s still out there,’ or ‘she’s still back there.’ It was definitely a she.”

I punch a pillow. “Oh my God, Spencer, why wouldn’t you tell me this before now?”

“Because you flipped out at me when you answered the phone and heard her voice.”

“That was before I was suspected of murdering her.” My mind races. “She. Tell me everything else she said.”

He pushes his hair back from his forehead. “I don’t remember every word. I’m sure the police have my written statement. ‘Blah blah can you come? Blah blah scared. Blah blah thee thou whatfore. Blah blah hurry.’”

“Thee thou what?”

“Whatfore.”

I furrow my brow and shake my head, uncomprehending.

“There was some old-timey English mixed up in it. I had my phone on speaker in the car; it was hard to make out.”

“Jessica talked to you in Old English? Like Beowulf?”

“No, like Shakespeare or something.”

“That’s not—never mind.” But I have a sinking feeling in my stomach already.

He chews his lip nervously. “That was the last thing I heard. The freaky thing is, she suddenly sounded so calm. What if it wasn’t Jess speaking?”

A chill runs down my spine. “‘For in that sleep of death what dreams may come’?”

He points at me. “That’s it.”

I close my eyes and rest my forehead on his chest. “Shit.”





28


I leave the next morning before Spencer wakes up and take a cab back to campus. The sun is just beginning to rise over the towering pines when we pull up to the dorms, spilling golden light onto the surface of the lake. It’s not frozen over yet, but it will be soon.

Brie is an early riser, and I can smell strong coffee and hear strains of Schubert when I knock on her door. She looks pleasantly surprised when she sees me, and then a little puzzled as she notices my suitcase.

“Late night?”

“I stayed with Spence.”

She opens the door, and I walk in and sit on her bed as if the past month never happened. Brie places a bookmark in her copy of Othello and leans back at the edge of her desk. “I could use a study break.”

“How long have you been up?”

“Too long.”

For the first time I notice Brie has come to resemble me in these past few weeks. She’s dropped weight, there are circles under her eyes, and her smile is three-quarters strength. I feel a pang of guilt for ignoring her calls. She offers a box of pastries from the good bakery and I take one. Buttery flakes and smooth chocolate center.

“So, you and Spencer?” Before I can protest, she pours half of her coffee into a second mug and hands it to me.

“Just friends. I’m not stealing your coffee.”

“I insist. Have you given any more thought to our conversation yesterday?”

I take a sip of the aromatic French roast. “Quite a bit.”

“And?” Brie tosses me a sugar packet and I catch it without breaking eye contact.

I study her placid face. “What if I told you I killed Jessica?”

She doesn’t hesitate. “We’d hire my parents.”

“Did you ever really think I might have done it?”

“Not for a second.”

“You questioned me with a hidden mic,” I remind her. “Yesterday, you said doubt was the cornerstone of faith.”

“It is.” She doesn’t look as confident as she did then.

“I don’t know how we got here.”

She takes a long sip of coffee. “I have a couple ideas.”

“You hurt me. I hurt you. You’re never going to leave Justine.”

“I love her.” She looks at me almost guiltily. “She’s always been there for me.”

We abandoned each other, I realize. It was a two-way street.

“Then before I destroy my friendship with the one person who’s been here for me the past month, tell me why you asked us all to split up the night Jessica was murdered.”

“Don’t make me,” she whispers.