Her Dangerous Revenge

CHAPTER 41

"We all have." She shrugged, brushing off Stephanie's sympathy.

"I guess so." She glanced at the picture of Rachel, her expression hardening. "This

was supposed to be a memorial for them. " She glanced at the group huddled around

the fireplace, their laughter echoing across the patio. "No one's even out here. No

one cares."

"I don't think that's it." Calla glanced down at the pictures on the ground. Some

were close enough to the candles that wax had begun to form on the edges. The

shooter bottles glimmered in the light, filled with a variety of amber liquid. "I think

it's just...weird. For everyone. It's hard to believe they're gone gone."

Stephanie gave her an appreciative look but said nothing, the two standing in silence

while the candles continued to flicker and burn in the darkness, casting a faint glow

on the portraits of the dead. Calla let her eyes wander to the other two easels. From

the angle where she stood, Tracy could have easily been mistaken for Rachel. Her

dark hair had been tied back in a high ponytail, a blue bow in her hair; her

cheerleading uniform hugged her frame while she smiled at something off-camera.

Jacob's portrait stood in the middle, framed on either side by two of the loveliest

girls in Greenwitch County—just as he would have liked it, Calla thought. As vile as

he'd been, in this picture he looked no more than a happy, handsome kid. He wasn't

in uniform but he was still on the football field, wearing khaki shorts and a polo,

football in hand, beaming at the camera as if he'd just heard the funniest joke in the

world.

"He got a bad rep," Stephanie murmured, staring at his picture. She looked sad. Sad

and guilty. "I said more than a few nasty things about him. But he didn't deserve to

die."

No, Calla thought. I suppose not.

"I didn't know much about him, to be honest," Calla admitted, shrugging. She

wrapped her arms around herself. "Just that he was kind of an ass."

"He had the loudest voice. It made it easy to repeat the ideas of others." Her eyes

turned downward. "I guess it doesn't matter now."

A sheep dressed in wolf's clothing. Following the herd.

Calla wondered if Stephanie's words had anything to do with Jacob's more illicit

afterschool activities. She didn't have to wonder for long. Stephanie knew many of

the school's secrets. If a drug ring had been operating under the town's nose...

She would have had the inside scoop. Perhaps Jacob had been involved—just not as

centrally as Calla had initially assumed. A peripheral player. A soldier following

orders.

I wonder who the commanding officer is?

A question for another time. The window to ask about the dead boy had closed. The

set of Stephanie mouth told her as much.

Time to switch gears.

"Steph," she started tentatively. She didn't want to push the girl farther than she had

to. Stephanie could be a useful ally—and a bitter enemy. "I don't know if you know,

but...what's up with Jess and Mike? Jess isn't out here with you. But she's not in

there with him, either."

Stephanie looked up at her, surprised. "What? Why do you ask?"

Another shrug. She pretended to be embarrassed. "Forget I asked."

They stood in silence for another minute—fifty-seven seconds, actually. Behind

them, the kids around the fire slowly filed inside, carrying their laughter with them.

"Did you see Mike?" Stephanie murmured, almost too quietly for Calla to make out.

"I think so." Calla paused. "I always get the twins confused."

Stephanie laughed, the sound bitter and cold. "You would have noticed him. The

busted lip gives him away."

"That's what I thought I saw," Calla agreed, thinking of the beer bottle pressed to his

lips. "He looks like hell."

"Yeah." She sighed deeply, her breath fogging in the air. She tilted her head back

and closed her eyes. "I can't believe he actually showed up . "

Calla waited for more of an explanation. When none was forthcoming, she hesitantly

tried again. "Are he and Jess...?"

"No. They're done. Mike broke things off at the gala." Stephanie stared at the line of

portraits, looking miserable. "And no one's really supposed to know. Except that

means everyone knows."

A memory from the night of the dance broke through then, startling Calla with its

clarity.

Have you seen Jess? Stephanie, eyes wide as she gripped Calla by the shoulders.

She's upset.

Calla turned away from the memorial. "What are you telling me, Steph? You don't

think Jess...I mean, you don't think she hit Mike , do you?"

"I've seen her do crazier s**t, Calla." She crossed her arms and pulled a sour look.

"Trust me. I love her, but she's a lot to handle. And lately..."

She hesitated, as if she didn't want to finish her thought. Calla gave her a look.

"Who am I going to tell?" She gestured to Rachel. "My best friend is dead."

Stephanie gave her a pained look. The attempt at levity jostled the truth from her,

as expected. "It's not that I don't trust you. It's just...me and Jess have always

been so close . And now it's like, we're kinda not? She's been ignoring me all break.

She barely tells me anything anymore. But she has plenty of time for Astrid,

apparently."

"Jess better be careful about flirting with her man then," Calla joked. "If Astrid's the

new you."

Those words did the trick. Stephanie hid her flinch within the folds of her coat,

pulling the thick fur more tightly around her shoulders. "The new me," she muttered.

"I guess she is. And after everything I've done for her. Everything, Calla. I kept her

secrets. I always kept her secrets!"

Stephanie's outburst faded into the darkness. Calla knew any one wrong word would

send the other girl scurrying, so she stood there in silence, allowing the confession

to do its work.

"Sometimes," Stephanie whispered, sounding close to tears. "Sometimes...I think

she did it. I really do." She swallowed audibly, fighting back some emotion that Calla

couldn't quite place. "I saw Tracy go upstairs. That night, I mean. Someone

followed her up there. It was a girl. I know it was a girl."

"Steph," Calla warned. The beast inside roared to life.

"It's horrible. I know it's horrible. I didn't tell the detectives," she added quickly, as if

to preserve her reputation. I'm no narc. See? "But I know what I saw, Calla."

And I know that it's never that simple. Not with you. Calla put a hand on her shoulder,

her fingers disappearing in the thick fur. You'd never walk away without a picture for

proof. Show me the money shot, Steph.

Calla opened her mouth to ask as much— did you get a picture of what you saw? —

when Stephanie laughed, the sound shrill and nervous.

"But maybe I'm just...overblowing it," she said quickly, backpedaling. She'd seen

something in Calla's face—hunger, perhaps—that dissolved her courage. "Too much

alcohol. It could have been anybody."

But it wasn't anybody. It was a girl.

It was me.

Or Astrid. Or Jessica. Calla's head swam with possibilities.

"Too much alcohol," Calla finally agreed, sensing that she needed to drop the

subject if she wanted to keep Stephanie in her court. "I can see that. I can totally

see that."

But she could see more than that. There were so many pieces at play that without a

bird's eye view, it would be hard to put it all together. Like a complex puzzle without

any end pieces.

Except Calla had those end pieces. She had six murder suspects and a murder

weapon. She knew about Astrid's possessive jealousy over Vincent. She knew about

Jessica's fight with Rachel. She knew about the bruises shadowing Mike's face.

And she knew, at some point at that dance, Jessica had been missing in action.

Missing—and upset.

Something had happened between Mike and Jessica. Something at the dance.

Something right before Rachel's gruesome murder. Something that had torn her and

Stephanie apart, while simultaneously bringing her closer to Astrid and her toxicity.

Calla imagined Mike pressing a beer to his lips. She imagined him smashing the

bottle against the wall and using it to cut Rachel's throat.

Another equally viable scenario played out in her head: Jessica ripping the bottle

from Mike's grip and, in her rage, cutting Rachel down while Mike desperately tried

to intervene. Had an act of murder torn them apart?

"Promise you won't tell anyone?" Stephanie leaned into Calla's touch, and for a split

second she considered grabbing her by the throat and squeezing, just to see how

Stephanie would react. The beast inside her belly

purred with pleasure, urging her forward, urging her to rip —

"I promise," Calla said, forcing the strain out of her voice. She managed a smile.

It wasn't a New Years' resolution she planned on keeping.