Her Dangerous Revenge

CHAPTER 36

"I'm not exactly an expert manipulator here," he complained, giving her a desperate

look. "Don't you have any theories on who it is? We're gonna draw attention if we

start asking sketchy-ass questions. And that breaks the rule about being

careful."

"I have a theory or two," Calla admitted, glancing sideways at him. "None of them

make sense."

"Well?" he prompted, kicking off his shoes and flexing his toes. "I've got time."

She sighed. "You're a pain in my ass."

He kicked his feet up on the coffee table and folded his hands behind his head,

giving her a leisurely smile.

"Fine . " She held up a finger. "Jess. Ryan. Astrid. In that order."

He lifted a skeptical brow. He couldn't exactly argue with Ryan. But the girls...

She folded her arms. " You wanted to hear my theories. Remember?"

He held up his hands. "I'm just saying. How many psychotic women can live in one

fucking town?" He gestured to where she sat on the other end of the couch, as if to

prove a point.

She didn't look offended by the idea. Rather, she seemed to ponder his words,

taking the quip far more seriously than he had anticipated. "You're not wrong. It's

not exactly common to run into a female serial killer. They're rare." She paused. "Or

smarter than their male counterparts."

Valid point. He waved for her to continue.

"Jess," she started, her voice turning cold and nasty. "I would kill her myself and let

us be done with this mess if I could."

He recoiled at the venom in her words. "You really need a therapist."

"She got into it with Rach. Maybe a week before the dance." Calla was relentless in

the pursuit of this particular theory. "She said some pretty nasty things. Particularly

about how Rach would regret defending me."

"Defending you?" Cooper tried not to sound completely lost. And failed.

She sighed. "Jess defended Astrid. She felt high-and-mighty about me taking

Vincent to the dance. She wanted me to back off."

"And Rachel told her to shove it. Okay. I'm caught up." He made another vague

gesture. "Please. Continue."

It took her a few seconds longer to compose herself, no doubt imagining all the

ways she might hurt him in that moment. "Not to mention...she had to share the

spotlight with Tracy as co-captain. And then, again, with Rachel. I bet it got old,

splitting the attention fifty-fifty. Jess is older than Rach. It probably rubbed her the

wrong way to have to share the title."

"Okay." He paused. "So the girl's got motive."

"Ryan." She continued as if he hadn't spoken at all. "Do I even need to go into the

details?"

No. She didn't. They'd both seen the guilt-ridden apology written on the back of the

photograph left at Jacob's impromptu memorial. Cooper himself had been to the

station twice with the guy. It wasn't exactly a marker for guilt—Cooper was proof of

that—but it also couldn't be a great sign that the guy kept getting roped into

interrogations with the lead detectives on the case.

"Case in point," he muttered.

Calla needed no more prompting. She said the last name like a curse. "Astrid."

He grimaced. Out of all the names on the list, hers had cut him the deepest. She'd

been the kindest to him over the years. And he practically worshipped her father. He

hated to imagine the pain it would cause his biology teacher if he were to discover

that his only child had become a ruthless murderer.

Yes. It would cause the man pain. But it would also cause his best friend a deal of

pain, too. Vincent's unhealthy obsession with Astrid—to the point that he'd risked a

longtime friendship to be with her, however discreetly—could only end badly. This

only complicated matters.

Not her, he thought. Let it be anyone but her. Please.

"Why do you think it's her?" he asked, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.

Calla shrugged, as if the matter were quite trivial. "She's got some territorial bullshit

going on with Vincent. She told me to stay away from him, actually."

"When?" Cooper asked, dumbfounded. He tried to imagine Astrid squaring up with

Calla—petite, shy Astrid—and couldn't.

"At Rachel's funeral." She sounded far too casual. "Killing Rachel could have been

her idea of sending a message."

Cooper made a noise in the back of his throat. He still didn't want to believe it.

"You're telling me Astrid killed Rachel as some kind of vendetta against you ?"

A note of irritation crept into her voice. "I told you. My theories are watery, at best.

But it's not exactly out of the realm of possibility."

"I guess," he conceded, and then frowned. He latched onto a flaw in her reasoning,

determined to play devil's advocate. "I'm just trying to picture her offing

Jacob...and I can't . She's five foot nothing. C'mon."

Calla put a finger to her temple, frustrated—as if she, too, had already tried and

failed to imagine the scene he grappled with. She waved her other hand. "Jacob

Stein is always the roadblock. Which of the six wanted him dead? And which of the

six could actually take him down? There's something we don't know, some

underlying motive. That, or this has something to do with a d*******l gone wrong."

"A d*******l?" Cooper lifted a hand. The gears turning in his head came to a

grinding halt. "Time out. Explain."

"Long story short," she started, mocking his earlier declaration, "Jacob dealt. Weed,

mostly. The detectives asked me about a dealer at the gala. Cory confirmed Jacob

had been involved...before his untimely death, anyway. It sounds like someone took

over the business. That, or he had a partner. Rach and I walked in on a few seniors

doing blow in the bathroom at Trevor's party a while back."

She paused, letting the memory die with her words.

He exhaled. The new information triggered something. He thought back to that day

at the station. Detective Schuster's rueful smile. Yes, we're aware there was alcohol

going around. Among other things.

Among other things. Cooper held in a snort. "So someone killed Jacob over, what?

A blunt?"

"Doubtful." She rolled her eyes. "But if the detectives are asking, it could tie into the

murders."

"Someone is hella salty about their tree," Cooper muttered, still in disbelief. "How

the hell are we supposed to find dirt on Jacob? A deal gone wrong, or whatever."

Calla crossed her arms, staring down at the blanket wrapped around her knees. "I'll

work on that, too."

"Meanwhile, I'll just be sitting here like a useless houseplant, awaiting my demise at

the hands of a serial killer," he deadpanned, sinking further into the couch.

"I told you." Calla gave him a look. "Talk to Ryan. Until we get some hard proof, or

until the killer decides to invite us over for dinner and confess his sins, all we have to

go on is a well-educated hunch that six of our classmates are lying liars. And we

need to know which lies are the dangerous kind."