The Lion's Den(94)

“Of you. In his loft.”

In the rain the day he kissed me. He must have printed the picture. And kept it. Next to his bed.

I’m so stunned that I can hardly formulate words. But I can’t let this end here. “Why did you invite me on this trip if you felt that way?”

“To keep an eye on you.”

“To manipulate me, you mean. But it hasn’t turned out quite the way you thought it would, has it?”

She raises her chin in defiance. “Things are gonna turn out fine for me.”

“Really? How does all this end? How many younger, prettier girls are you going to have to murder to keep your position?”

“I don’t give a damn who he screws once we’re married.” She laughs. “I loved Eric.”

I clench my jaw. “You killed him and then cried on my shoulder over his death.”

“I was upset,” she insists. “It’s upsetting to lose a man you loved. But sometimes you have to make sacrifices to get what you want.”

The use of refrigerator-magnet philosophy to justify murder would be mind-boggling if it weren’t coming from Summer’s glossy lips. “Is that what Amythest was? Another sacrifice at the altar of your vanity?”

“That bitch deserved what she got.” She snickers. “So let me tell you how this is going to go.” She places a manicured nail on my sternum.

I bat her hand away. “Don’t touch me.”

She crosses her arms. “This conversation never happened. In the morning, you’ll apologize to everyone for being so upset. She was your roommate, after all. It’s understandable. Everything will be peachy between us. Then you’ll go home and we’ll never see each other again. And if you care about your family, or your freedom, you’ll never speak to anyone about anything that happened here, or with Eric.”

“That’s your plan? How can you be so sure that no one will find out what really happened?”

She rolls her eyes. “You still don’t understand how the world works, do you? Everything has a price, and I can afford it.”

I shake my head. “John can. Not you.”

“It’s in his best interest to protect me,” she says calmly. “He has too much to lose. And now he knows that if I go down, I’m crazy enough to take him with me.”

And with that, she spins and strides back to the open door, calling out to Vinny. He appears, and she says something to him that sends him over to grab me by the arm. I try to wrench away, but his grip is like steel as he steers me by the elbow down the exterior stairs.

“You know she pushed Amythest off the railing?” I say.

He grunts.

“She killed her.”

He shoves me inside the main deck and prods me down the staircase. “What’d I fucking tell you? You gotta learn to keep your mouth shut.”

He throws me into my room. I hear a key turn in the lock, and when I turn the handle, it won’t budge. So much for the earring trick.

My legs weak, I sit on my bed. I’m sickened by the thought that Amythest’s death is partially my fault. If I hadn’t told her about Eric…But no. I can’t go there. I told her to protect her. Summer wants me to feel responsible; she’s framing it so I do.

I extract Amythest’s phone from my pocket and press play on the video, turning the volume all the way up. Our voices are muffled, nearly drowned out by the sea and the wind, but I can make out words here and there. And I bet the cops have voice-enhancing software that will make it clear as day.

My hand shakes as I put the phone down. I’m unnerved by the encounter with Summer, but also exhilarated. I can’t believe it. She played right into my hands. Thank God I had Amythest’s phone. Now all I have to do is hold on to it, keep my head down, and get to a police station. That, and stay alive.

I think back to when Eric “committed suicide,” how Summer was beside herself. I never even thought to question her whereabouts until I got that parking ticket in the mail, because why would I suspect my best friend had killed her boyfriend?

In the next room, I hear Brittani and Rhonda talking in low tones. Unable to make out what they’re saying, I press my ear to the wall and catch Brittani asking for Ambien.

“It’s too late,” Rhonda hisses. “…be loopy tomorrow…keep your big mouth shut.”

Brittani’s naturally loud voice is easier to make out than Rhonda’s. “Yeah, well, you try keeping your mouth shut next time Jeffrey Dahmer kills one of your friends right in front of you,” she says. “I always knew she’d snap one day.”

“Shhhh!” Rhonda says. “…not funny…”

“Oh my God, Mom. Give me a little fucking credit. I’m not as dumb as you think I am.” I hear a pop, then, “Ow! What the shit? This is child abuse.”

“Shut up, Brittani. You’re the one…bring that tramp on this trip, so…all your fault.”

“Really, Mom? Really?” Brittani’s technically whispering now, but she might as well be using a megaphone. “She was my friend, and she may have been a whore, but she didn’t deserve to fucking die. So forgive me if I’m a little fucked up about it.”

“…thin ice. One wrong move…over. Over. Jail…life. You understand?”