Good Girls Lie(102)

He has to look up close, I have to get them out of here. He doesn’t want them to see her face, her beautiful face.

Rumi is by Ford’s side now, too, giving orders to the girls to move away. His arms are stretched wide and he herds them back, back, until they are almost all standing on the sidewalk across the street.

“Come away, over here, that’s right.”

It’s hardly far enough, but it gives the cops room to work.

Tony nods to the deputy who’s ridden with him, and he starts putting up a cordon between the students and the crime scene.

Another approaches the body and, to Ford’s absolute horror, begins taking photographs of the scene.

“Is this necessary?” she says to Tony, who nods, his eyes severe and dark. She hasn’t seen him like this before, and it chills her to the bone.

His voice is remote, commanding. “Unfortunately, yes. Ford. Have you touched the body?”

“No. Melanie found her when she came in this morning, she called me, then you. Or you, then me, I don’t know.”

“Do you know who it is?”

“I don’t.”

But she does. Of course, she does. It’s just too fitting, with everything that’s happened, everything she’s learned. What an ending to her story.

“Keep the girls away. You don’t want them to see this,” Tony says.

Rumi makes a cutting motion, which she reads as I’ve got this.

“We’re working on it. I’m staying with you.”

“Okay.” Tony takes a few shots with his own iPhone, then gently, gently, reaches for the foot of the dead girl and slowly turns her around. She spins easily on the tie around her neck, bumping against the gate. Gasps and cries fill the air, and Ford cries out along with the rest of them.

Her face is ruined, holes where her eyes should be. Her skin is gray. Her hair runs in wet ropes down her face and shoulders, and a red silk noose is wrapped around her neck and tied to the bars of the gate. Her hands are covered in gore.

While moments ago, Ford was dealing with a suicide, now there is no question that this is something more, something deeper, and she feels faint. It is the most horrific sight she has ever beheld and she starts to sag, but Tony grabs her elbow and squeezes hard, holding her upright. “Don’t. Stay with me. They need you. Be strong.”

The eerie morning silence is broken by a sudden babble from the crowd behind them. Ford can hear Ash’s name being bandied about, the girls whispering furiously behind their hands.

“Who is it, Ford?” Tony asks.

“Her name...her name is Becca Curtis. She’s head girl.”

“Oh, hell. I remember. I met her the other night, the night Camille Shannon died. So why are the girls talking about Ash Carlisle?”

“We all thought it was Ash hanging there, Tony. They look so alike. Oh, God. Poor Becca.”

Rumi approaches them, speaking low. “They’re saying Becca and Ash had a huge falling-out last night. They think she’s responsible. First her roommate, now her best friend,” he says. “Her best friend, her girlfriend, it’s all confused. I’m hearing both.”

Ford turns to the group of horrified students. Somehow, she finds the strength to face them. Her voice rings clear through the misty air like a bell tolled.

“Where is Ash Carlisle? Does anyone know where Ash is?”

There is a pause, murmurs, then a voice from the back of the group. “I’m here, Dean.”

Everyone gasps as Ash Carlisle steps forward. Her face is streaked with tears. She is dressed, unlike most of the other students, in jeans and white sneakers and a jacket. Her hair is wet, but not from a shower, it’s damp and curling. She’s been outside, that much is clear.

Ford also takes note that Ash is outside the gates.

“You need to come with me,” she says, tone so severe Ash blinks.

“But Becca—” Ash’s voice is strangled, torn, cracking with tears and something else, and her face grows even whiter when she looks at Becca’s lifeless body, her ruined face. It’s her first good view. Ash reaches out a hand as if she’s going to move forward and touch Becca, and the sheriff grabs her, stops her. But he doesn’t stop her words.

“Oh, God. Oh, my God. Dean Westhaven, I think I know who did this to her.”



78

THE DECISION

Becca is dead. Dead.

Her hands are curled into claws, fingers red and black. One hand rests on her chest, two fingers tangled up in the red silk noose around her neck. Where she fought. Tried to get free. Her face is ruined, the gaping black holes where her eyes once were a testament to the insanity of a girl who wants to leave a mark on the world.

And make it look at first glance like this girl was driven crazy by some sort of demon and hurt herself, gouged out her own eyes and strangled herself on the gate.

But there is no doubt in my mind, this is murder.

Ashlyn killed Camille. Ashlyn killed Becca.

Her parents. My mother.

Ashlyn will kill me, too, as soon as I help her recover her money.

The tears are flowing freely down my face, I don’t bother to check or hide them.

Ashlyn has done this.

Ashlyn has done all of this.

Ashlyn, Ashlyn, Ashlyn.

Get it together. Hold it together.

I can’t think about myself anymore. She is insane. She has to be stopped.