And When I Die, page 35
Ava quickly flipped to the junior class and the ‘Ks,’ Shannon Kendall’s bright, smiling visage jumping off the page with little effort. Ava put her finger next to Shannon’s activities, finding the pages where the busy junior posed with the tennis team, the track team, the drama club, and the pom-pom squad. She was out front in the snaps for the honor roll, the center of attention as homecoming queen, and the star of the spring musical. Shannon graced other pages, too, the camera managing to find her and her friends at their lockers, welded to the Coke machine, or slathering their faces with makeup while hanging out on the school lawn (Lyz Cox looked exactly as Ava thought she would—blond hair teased higher than even Texas allowed, lip gloss and eyeliner competing with each other for ‘most,’ while Sharla Ritter’s frosted locks, GUESS? jeans and designer sweater gave no hint of the hippy dippy granola goddess waiting down the street). An orange juice carton poised elegantly in one hand as Shannon paused from eating a salad at lunch. Laughing at her good luck at two strapping boys kissing each cheek. In mid-dance during a formation with the pom squad.
The tragic coda, of course, was the all-color In Memoriam insert, the only four pages in the yearbook deemed worthy enough for the splurge. A moving tribute to her sportsmanship, leadership, beauty, and grace, filled with quotes from classmates and friends like Lyz (“We were like sisters. I’ll never forget her.”) and Sharla (“Shannon was such an amazing and beautiful spirit. I can’t believe she’s gone.”) to effusive remembrances from teachers and coaches about the star athlete and accomplished student.
Ava bit her lip as she thumbed her way to ‘S’ for Stowers, finally able to see the ghost of Erica floating in the undeveloped features. Ruthie had the weird, shy, uncomfortable smile endemic to so many sixteen-year-old girls. Girls who hadn’t yet grown into their faces. Girls who hadn’t yet slipped into the confidence that age and simply not caring anymore gives you as you get older and gain your footing in this world. At sixteen, you don’t know that those corners are up ahead in the distance. You can’t conceive of those glorious signposts. At sixteen, every hurt is magnified by a thousand. Every rejection a catastrophe. Every slight, real or imagined, the end of the world.
Ruthie’s activities—art club and flute in the band (good memory, Sharla)—weren’t the impressive roster that Shannon’s was, though they were completely respectable, completely normal ways to pass the time, make friends, nurture a skill or an interest. Ava didn’t see her in any other pictures throughout the yearbook, though as she dove deeper into the pages, it was possible she might appear in a glimpse or two.
Ava closed the book and tossed it onto the bed next to her as she flopped onto her back, drained. She knew it wouldn’t be long before she had every page, every picture memorized, but that could wait. She needed a shower, dinner, and an obnoxiously large glass of white wine as she unwound from today and prepared to head home tomorrow.
She was convinced—more than convinced—that Erica, not Jordan, had murdered Whitney. It was only a hunch, a gut feeling.
But how to prove it?
Ava forced herself off the bed and into the bathroom for a quick shower, all the while wondering not only how she was going to nail Erica, but how she was going to save Carly.
83
ERICA
Erica sat in her car, staring out the windshield, the orange sphere of late afternoon sun slashing the rows of black tree branches, still stripped bare, their green leaves stubbornly refusing to come out despite it being April. The unending miles of dry, brown ground stretching across the preserve also didn’t appear to be cooperating with spring’s arrival, content it seemed with remaining populated with tufts of tough, dead vegetation.
She hadn’t been here since that rainy Saturday afternoon, when the grass was still green, when flowers still sprouted from the ground. There had been no pull, no need to return to the scene of the crime, no magnet forcing her here against her will.
Today though, for some reason, there had been. An inexplicable tug during an afternoon run of errands, one of which took her right by the Middlefork Preserve, found her turning down Middlefork Lane and coming to rest in the same parking spot as that day.
She exited the car, shoving her hands into the pockets of her parka as a small, unexpected gust of wind rushed over her, whipping her hair into her eyes. Erica pulled Whitney’s ponytail holder from her pocket and stuffed the strands of her own hair inside before she took small, stuttering steps toward the field where she and Whitney had their last meeting. Twigs and stiff leaves crunched beneath the hard rubber soles of her white leather sneakers as she slowly made her way toward what, in the summer and fall, was a cheerful patch of black-eyed Susans, but what was now a bed of sleeping, spindly weeds, waiting for the warmth of spring and summer to rescue them.
“I didn’t expect to see anyone out here.”
Erica gasped and whipped around at the quiet voice cracking the silence of solitude. She found herself face-to-face with an older woman sporting a sensible graying brown bob, seemingly materialized from nowhere, sorrow appearing to burrow more deeply into the cavernous lines of her face.
“I didn’t hear you,” Erica said, her hand on her chest, wondering if the explosion of heartbeats were audible.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” the woman said, coming closer, stepping around Erica to stare down at the ground. “Name’s Kate.”
“Nice meeting you,” Erica said, hoping the woman wouldn’t pry for her name and wondering what she’d say if she did.
“First time I’ve been out here myself since October.”
Erica drew up. October. “Oh?” she asked innocently.
“My husband and I were the ones who found that girl that was murdered last year.” She tapped the hard ground with the toe of her shoe. “Right here.”
“How awful,” Erica said, hoping she sounded appropriately horrified and sympathetic, when in reality, the terror of the moment crept up her insides like slow rising water. Today, of all days, this woman, of all women. Here. Now. “That must have been just terrible for you.”
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. I have nightmares about it.”
Erica ran her tongue across her bottom lip as she attempted to slow her breath. She had to proceed, oh so carefully. “Would you like to talk about it? I know I’m a stranger, but sometimes that’s easier.”
The woman chuckled ruefully before wincing. “Well, that’s true enough.”
Erica waited, watched. Wondered.
“Well, we live near here,” Kate continued. “Part of the year anyway. We’re in Arizona the rest of the time. Anyway, we usually like to take a walk out here. It’s so secluded, it’s like having our own forest preserve.”
“It’s very pretty here,” Erica said. Still waiting.
“It was just pouring down rain that day and there was a break, so we thought we’d chance it, for a few minutes anyway, get a quick little walk in.” She took a shuddering breath. “We were walking, talking about what to have for dinner that night. He wanted fish, I voted for stew. And then, I saw something yellow in the grass. My first thought was that it was those black-eyed Susans. I really didn’t think anything of it at first.”
Erica nodded, hoping it would prod the woman a little. “Makes sense.”
Kate frowned as the memory washed over her. “Except, it was too much yellow to be a flower. Much too much. Solid. I pointed it out to my husband and asked, ‘What is that?’ and as we got closer, I could see all that yellow was a raincoat.” Kate choked back a sob. “That’s when we realized it was a body.”
Erica sucked in her breath. “She was already dead?”
“Well, we weren’t sure, but we rushed over there nevertheless. Then she moaned.” Kate stopped and covered her mouth with her hand and took a few ragged breaths. “She was still alive.”
Erica gulped. “Oh, really?”
“I screamed at my husband to call 911 while I turned her over and that girl was just drenched head to toe in blood. I mean, just—” Kate waved her hands up and down her body. “There was not a spot on that poor girl’s body that wasn’t just blood. All that blood. All that yellow.”
“How terrible.”
“I couldn’t even think. All I knew was, we had to try to save her.”
“Of course,” Erica whispered as she stared straight ahead.
“We called 911 and it started raining again. Took them forever to get to the hospital. I put my coat over her. Held her hand. She was so out of it, but I was hoping. Oh, boy, was I hoping.”
“And she was still alive?” Erica asked.
“Yes. She squeezed my hand back at one point, so that made me think, all right, everything’s going to be okay.”
Erica’s heart lurched. “Did you ride in the ambulance with her?”
“Absolutely, I did. I didn’t think she should be alone.” Tears welled up in Kate’s eyes. “Nobody should die alone.”
“No,” Erica said quietly, her gaze wandering in the direction of the sun, starting its sink below the horizon. “No, they shouldn’t.”
“Anyway, I was in the ambulance with her, they took her back to work on her, and then … a few hours later, she was gone.”
Erica pursed her lips, still staring off into space. “Was she unconscious the whole time? Did she say anything?”
“No, she—” Kate frowned as if a memory were poking her brain. “Actually, she was trying to say something, now that you mention it.”
Erica straightened up, her entire body going cold. “Oh?” she asked, flinching at the wobble in her voice.
“J. She was stuttering. J-J-J. Like she was trying to say something, but she couldn’t quite get it out.”
The cable that ran from Erica’s heart to her shoes snapped, sending the elevator crashing to the ground, imploding into a million little pieces as it smashed into its destination.
Jordan. She tried to say Jordan’s mom. Damn, damn, damn.
“How strange,” Erica said, her throat closing around the boulder of fear lodged against her larynx.
Kate shrugged, clearly troubled. “To tell you the truth, I’d forgotten all about it until now. I wonder if it means something, if I should go to the police. Now I just have to remember what I did with that detective’s card.”
Erica took a deep breath. She had to cut this woman off at the knees. Even if the police couldn’t connect the dots to her, they’d beeline straight for Jordan. Neither scenario was acceptable. “I know you didn’t ask, but would you like some friendly advice from a total stranger?”
“Sure.”
She turned to face the woman, sliding behind a mask of concern. “It doesn’t sound as though it would serve much purpose. It might even upset the girl’s family, stir up feelings, emotions about what she might have been trying to say.”
Kate twisted her lips around. “That’s a good point.”
“And the police, well, doubtful they could do much with a single letter. Sounds like a real rabbit hole.” She shrugged as nonchalantly as she could. “Seems to me it would be best to let it be.”
Kate sighed and looked away from Erica. “You’re probably right. For what purpose.”
“Exactly.” Erica made a big show of looking at her watch as she slowly backed away. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Kate.”
“Oh, yes, thank you, Miss…?”
“Have a good evening,” Erica called out, almost to her car, smiling and waving as she slid behind the wheel, fighting the urge to peel out of the parking lot.
84
AVA
Ava mindlessly stirred the spaghetti sauce simmering in a pot on the stove in front of her, Kyle chattering behind her about his workday while he tossed a simple green salad, Carly somewhere upstairs, probably on social media instead of doing her homework.
She was back in Houston, still sitting across from Patricia Davis. Still sitting in Mason Kendall’s study with Lyz Cox and Sharla Ritter.
She’d gotten home late last night, the sensory overload of the trip keeping her eyes focused on the ceiling for the better part of the night until she drifted off briefly around two, only to zombie her way through work. The shock of the resemblance between the Stowers sisters, Erica’s lies stacked upon lies, Patricia’s cunning observation about her sister’s likely lack of remorse over her crimes, those gold Tiffany bracelets ripped through Ava like a current.
And she couldn’t even talk about it with anyone. Not yet.
The overwhelming similarities between Whitney and Shannon’s murders shook her like branches in a storm. It was Erica. Erica had stabbed Whitney to death just like she’d stabbed Shannon to death. She was as certain of it as she was that today was Thursday.
But that’s all she had. A feeling. Gut instinct. She couldn’t exactly go marching into the police station with her gut feeling and demand they arrest Erica for murder. She planned to spend the weekend putting everything together in a binder, hoping that going over the information again would bring forth an ah-ha! moment, an Elementary-my-dear-Watson-Miss-Marple-Jessica-Fletcher-explains-it-all revelation.
It wasn’t enough, though. She needed solid, irrefutable proof.
Ava sighed and smiled at Kyle as he bent over for a quick kiss and rubbed her shoulders.
“You okay, Mate?” he asked.
“Fine. Just tired.”
“You seem even more knackered from this trip than usual.”
Ava offered him a feeble, lying smile. “It’s all Psycho Kitty. You know, same shit, different day.”
He nuzzled her neck. “I was thinking, maybe after your brother’s wedding, let’s take a proper holiday this summer.”
“That sounds great,” she said with feigned cheer.
“I’ll get going on some research, then, come up with a few ideas.”
“Yeah. That sounds great,” she repeated. “Can you call Carly down so she can set the table?”
Kyle complied and Ava mechanically drained the noodles into the strainer before dumping them into a bowl and setting them on the table. Carly bounded down the stairs and set the table before they all took their seats and said a quick grace.
“How was school, Lamb?” Kyle asked Carly.
“Fine.”
“How are the kids feeling about Whitney?”
Ava’s ears mildly perked up. Carly shrugged. “I mean everyone thinks Jordan did it. I totally think she did.”
“We don’t know that Jordan did anything,” Ava murmured. “You need to stop saying that.”
“Why?”
“Because nothing has been proven,” Kyle said. “Besides. If it turns out it wasn’t Jordan, that would be a real cock-up.”
“What do you mean?”
“Saying false things about someone is called slander and you could be sued for it.”
Carly looked down at her spaghetti. “Mrs. Dean thinks she did it. She said so in her interview. Aren’t the police going to arrest her?”
Ava sighed. “It’s not exactly the same thing.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter anyway, because Jordan got kicked out of school.”
Ava’s head flipped up. “What?”
“What happened?” Kyle asked, frowning.
Carly squirmed in her chair. “The principal just thought she shouldn’t go to school at East Lake Forest anymore.”
Ava dropped her fork and it clanked against her plate. Something about Carly’s face flashed complicity of some sort. “Why?”
“Because of Mrs. Dean’s interview,” Carly repeated. “Mom. Everyone knows she did it especially after the party and the tweets—”
“What tweets?”
Carly’s jaw clamped shut, clearly having said too much. She hunched over her plate. “Nothing.”
Ava leaned closer. “What. Tweets.”
Silence descended as Ava continued staring a hole into her daughter, Kyle at the head of the table, his gaze swiveling between the two, seemingly unsure of what was unfolding in front of him, but almost sure not to like it.
“Caroline Gene, so help me—”
“All right, all right.” Carly gulped. “Right after school started, there were some tweets about Jordan and how she couldn’t be trusted.”
“And?”
Carly looked down. “And some people called her some names.”
The bomb was ticking. Ava envisioned her head exploding like confetti. “What. Names.”
Carly cleared her throat, clearly uncomfortable. “Like ho. Skank. That she stole Whitney’s man and that’s why she was mad at Jordan.”
The confetti cannon detonated. “Oh, God.”
“It was just a bunch of stupid tweets. I didn’t think Jordan would kill Whitney over it.”
Tweets. The tweets.
I didn’t think Jordan would kill Whitney over it.
“Let me see them,” Ava said.
Carly shrank inside her shirt. “I think they got deleted.”
Ava threw down her napkin and pushed back from the table, not caring that she knocked her water glass over as she grabbed Carly’s phone.
“Oh, my God, Mom! What are you doing? Are you crazy?” She looked at Kyle. “Dad, are you going to let her do this to me?”
“Don’t even think about going there, Carly,” Ava said as she unlocked the phone, invoking their parental deal that she have access to it whenever she wanted. She’d never called in that chit until today.
Ava tapped the Twitter icon on the home screen, then Carly’s profile, relentlessly scrolling through mindless tweets about pop stars, Lifetime movies, and what she ate on any given day.
“This was before Whitney’s party, right?”
“Mom—”
“Right?”
Carly slumped down in her chair and scoffed. “Yes.”
