The Cheerleaders(78)

She blows a stream of smoke into my face. “The neighbor killed Juliana and Susan. That’s all I got to say.”

“And what if Jack didn’t kill them?” Ginny blurts.

I look over at Ginny; her face is scarlet, and she’s breathing heavily. “How can you live with yourself if those guys are guilty and you helped them get away with it?”

For the first time, Carly Amato actually looks sad. “Guys like that always get away with it. Sorry to be the one to tell you that.”



* * *



—

We did it—we found out who else would have wanted Juliana and Susan dead. Allie’s boyfriend and his friend must have gone to the Berrys’ house that night to confront Juliana. Maybe they wanted to reason with her, or intimidate her into being quiet about the drug deal.

Instead, she fought back.

Ginny and I are in her room, sitting on her bed.

“It makes sense,” I say. “They got into a fight with Juliana downstairs, and they killed her—and when Susan heard the commotion, she got out of the shower. So one or both of them chased her back upstairs.”

Ginny sits butterfly style, pressing the bottoms of her feet together. “It definitely makes more sense than Jack Canning sneaking into the house and killing Juliana just to get to Susan.”

I press my fingers to my eyelids. “This is infuriating. We have two guys with a motive and no idea what their names are because Carly Amato is a coward.”

Ginny’s eyes blaze. “No. We’re going to find them.”

The forcefulness of her voice takes me aback. I stare at Ginny, unsure of when this happened to her. Maybe she was always like this and no one bothered to pay attention.

“And then what?” I say. “Who would believe us if we accused two random guys of a five-year-old crime?”

“Ethan could testify.” The pink in Ginny’s cheeks deepens. “If they can tie the pickup truck to the guys—”

“No one is going to believe Ethan.”

Ginny goes quiet. “I hate this.”

“Me too,” I say.

I don’t just hate this—I feel completely wrecked. The idea that Juliana and Susan’s killer is alive and walking free and there’s nothing we can do about it is worse than not getting answers at all.

Is this where Jen found herself? Did she figure it out? She was closer to Juliana than anyone.

Did Jen find out something she wasn’t supposed to? Did they get to her?

I need to know what happened to my sister.





FIVE YEARS AGO


NOVEMBER




“I can’t do this.”

Jen lay balled up on her side, the pillow beneath her stained with tears and drool. Her mother was sitting on the bed next to her, stroking her hair.

“You have to, baby. For her.”

Jen’s throat felt like it was closing. Her mother never called her baby, not once in her life. Jen cringed under the bony feel of her mother’s fingers. She had lost so much weight in the past week. They both had.

Her mother had to help her into her dress. Jen didn’t even care that her mom was seeing her in her bra and underwear. When her mother left to change into her own dress, Jen sat on the edge of her bed. She stared into her full-length mirror, unable to pick up the hairbrush lying next to her.

In the mirror, Jen caught a flash of brown hair in her doorway. She craned her neck in time to see Monica dart back down the hall.

Jen called her sister’s name and Monica slunk back to Jen’s doorway, silent in her black velvet dress. When Jen opened her mouth to ask Monica why she’d been spying, all that came out was a strangled cry.

Monica stepped inside Jen’s room. She silently picked up the brush and began working at Jen’s tangled ends. Jen sat, staring into the mirror, tears rolling down her cheeks as her sister—her little pain-in-the-ass sister—braided her hair with all the care and tenderness she used on one of her dolls.



* * *



—

The line for Juliana’s wake wrapped all the way around the side of Maroney’s and spilled into the parking lot. When Jen got out of the car, she felt her knees go wobbly. I should wait out here for Susan.

She was aware of her mother’s eyes on her, and when Jen looked up, the realization crushed her. Susan was dead too. Her wake was in two days.

Her mother took her hand, but Jen stayed planted to the ground. People were looking over, their eyes lingering on the Rayburn/Carlino family a beat too long.

“They’re looking at me,” she whispered.

Tom put a hand on her mother’s shoulder. “We can go in the back. No one will mind.”

Jen kept her eyes down as Tom ushered them around the side of the building, to the emergency exit door. It was propped open, a man just outside in a suit—Mr. Maroney—sneaking a cigarette. Even he looked beaten down.

Mr. Maroney nodded to Tom and let everyone inside without question. Jen let herself exhale as the door shut behind them. The hall was empty, save for a man dressed like Mr. Maroney. He seemed to be standing guard over the smallest room in the parlor. The door was cracked open; Jen caught a glimpse of the photo on the end table, surrounded by white lilies. Her stomach bottomed out.

“They had his wake here?”