I can’t believe the words that come out of my mouth. Zoey stares back at me like she is going to cry. She is only trying to be nice and connect with me, and I’ve snapped at her. I feel bad, but I can’t help it. I need to know why Jenny missed my graduation.
“Charlie, I’ve tried with you. I don’t know what’s going on with you lately, but don’t bother coming if you’re going to act like this. You’re being a bitch,” Zoey shouts.
“Girls, that’s no way to talk to each other. We need to get going, but Charlie will be there at six,” Mom promises.
“Mom!” I shout, irritated with her for sticking her nose in.
All three of us walk back to the car in silence. I think my mom is embarrassed by my outburst. I feel bad for how I reacted. I know I shouldn’t have spoken to Zoey like that.
The fifteen-minute drive to our house feels like an eternity. I can’t stop imagining the worst.
As we round the corner by our house, we see flashing lights. “Did someone get pulled over?” I ask Dad. He doesn’t respond, but I see fear in his eyes in the reflection in the rearview mirror.
The closer we get, the brighter the lights. “Dad, what is going on? Mom?” I shout.
“It’s OK, sweetie.” My mom says as she reaches back and rubs my knee.
Four cop cars are directly in front of our house. My heart sinks to the pit of my stomach.
Dad pulls the car into the driveway.
All three of us are deadly silent now, all thinking the worst and hoping we are wrong.
Mom opens the car door before Dad puts the car into park. I watch her run the length of our front yard.
My dad and I are right behind her, but before we can reach my mom, we watch her fall to the ground and as she lets out a bloodcurdling scream.
I drop to the grass and mimic my mother’s loud cry. I know. My dad knows.
Aunt Jenny is dead.
CHAPTER 38
Charlie
May 2008
The officers help us inside. They have us sit down in our spacious living room. Everything is still a blur. I have a gut feeling about what’s happened, but the words haven’t been said to me yet. I only know because of my mother’s reaction that my aunt is dead. What else could it be? Tears flood down my face, and I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut.
A man in a nice suit enters the room.
“My name is Detective Morgan. I have some difficult news. It’s my understanding that you’re Jenny Morrison’s sister,” the man says as he looks kindly toward my mom.
She nods, and more tears flood down her face. The detective continues. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but Jenny’s body was found this morning by a group of joggers down by the river. She was pronounced dead on the scene when our officers arrived. Her body is being transferred to the medical examiner for an autopsy. I’m sad to tell you this, but we suspect foul play. I’m sorry for your loss, but rest assured we have all our best men and women working on this.”
My dad stutters out,“ I, I, don’t understand. What do you mean, her body was found?”
Mom hasn’t stopped crying and a pile of tissues is stacking up in front of her. She looks like she is going to go into shock.
“Her body was found in the water, under the footbridge on the river trail. We think she was out for a jog, and someone attacked her. The cause of death is still undetermined, but my team is working on it right now. We will have answers soon. I know this is extremely difficult to hear.”
“This doesn’t make any sense. How do you know it is Jenny?” Dad breaks out in tears.
He has to speak for the family because my mom can’t get a word out and I’m not sure what to do.
“She had her ID and phone on her. The phone was pretty much useless because of the water damage, but her ID was intact,” the detective tells us. He looks genuinely remorseful for the information he has had to deliver.
“Since we suspect foul play, and we don’t know if it is a singled-out attack, or random. We have to ask you some difficult questions, I’m afraid,” Detective Morgan says.
“If this wasn’t time sensitive, we could do this later, but we don’t know if our community is at risk. So, I have to ask you now, OK?”
My dad gives him a sorrowful look of understanding and nods, giving the detective his cue to continue.
“When was the last time each of you saw her?” Detective Morgan asks.
I space out while my parents answer and when it is my turn, I try to recall the last time we spoke, and I honestly don’t recall anything for days. “I think it was last week, but I can’t remember for sure,” I say as my voice cracks over every word.
I can’t remember the last thing we said to each other. I can’t remember the last dinner we had together. The realization that we won’t be able to make any more memories hits me like a ton of bricks. I feel the wind being knocked from my lungs, and I can’t catch my breath. Jenny is really gone. This is real. I am not dreaming.
“Do you know of anyone who would want to harm Jenny?” the detective asks.
I can barely understand my mom through her mournful weeping. “No, she was absolutely wonderful to every person she ever encountered. She was the sweetest soul you could imagine. No, I can’t think of a single person who would want to harm my sister.”
“Did Jenny have a boyfriend?”
“No, she didn’t,” my dad responds for us.
My stomach turns. I feel a sense of disorientation, as if I’m watching a movie. This can’t be real.
The detective asks us more questions, but all I can do is focus on the growing pile of tissues in front of my mom.
“Can you tell me what Jenny does for work?”
“She is— was a psychologist. Her office and home are down there in our guest house.” Dad points down the yard to Jenny’s home.
“Did she ever mentioned being afraid of one of her patients?”
“No, never,” my dad responds and my mom shakes her head from side to side.
“We are going to need to take a look around her house. Can you get us the keys?”
Dad goes into the kitchen and comes back with a key ring and hands it to an officer. The officer leaves the room. I suspect they are going to rummage through her entire life. This really can’t be happening. This can’t be real.
My thoughts are jumbled. I’m confused. I’m broken. I don’t understand the words I’m about to say, but my mouth blurts them out before I can even think and pull them back.
“It was Liam! Liam Sutter. He did it!”
PART THREE
CHAPTER 39
Charlie
August 2012
My phone is clutched tightly in my hand when I awake. It hurts to release my fingers from the death grip around the case. Quinn’s not in her bed and I have no missed messages from her. The room is exactly how I left it last night. Quinn hasn’t been here. Where is she? Where is Asher? What happened last night? I’m desperate for answers.
I feel clearer today. Thankfully, the boozy feeling of yesterday has worn off. I send a flood of texts to Quinn again. Surely, she would be awake now? That’s if she’s OK.
Where are you?
I’m worried!
Are you OK?
Where are you?
Please answer!
QUINN, please call me now!
No response.
My phone is nearly dead—I forgot to charge it when I came in last night. I will need a full battery. I can’t chance missing a message from Quinn. I need to search for her. I will retrace my steps from last night. Maybe something will jog my memory.
While I wait for my phone to charge, I take a long, hot shower. Once again letting the water scold my skin. I need to feel something, so I know I’m not dreaming. I wince as the water rushes over my body. Definitely not a dream.
I can see pinkish bruises forming just above my left knee. I have scratches along the inside of my forearm. From the pebbles, perhaps? I honestly don’t know.
After
my shower, I examine my head in the mirror. Nothing about it has changed since last night. It is still just a small little cut. I do my best to part my hair so it covers my tiny little gash.
I need another change of clothes, so I change into Quinn’s clothes, pulling something from her open suitcase out on the floor. I pull out a white tank top with a large anchor on the front and a pair of jean shorts. I slip on my Converse sneakers. This will do.
The realization that I need to check out of the hotel before eleven today hits me. Oh, crap. Maybe I should book the room for another night. If I can’t find Quinn before checkout, I will need a place to stay. I want her to know she can come find me here.
I ring the front desk. “Hi, I’m calling from Room 802, and I was wondering if I could extend my stay another night?”
“Let me take a look. Um, ma’am, it appears you are already booked until the end of the week. You don’t need to check out today, unless you want to check out early?”
“Oh, no. That’s perfect. Thank you,” I respond with composure. I wait for the lady to hang up and I slam the phone down, befuddled. What? Why did she book the hotel for an entire week? Did she plan to have me stay with her? None of this makes any sense. She lives in this dang town. What on earth does she need a week-long reservation for?
I find the address for the restaurant that I snuck into last night. I’m going to work my way backward until I find something. Anything. Any hint to Quinn’s whereabouts. Plus, I need to make sure that I didn’t leave any traces behind in the restroom. I was highly inebriated and could’ve made a mistake. I don’t know what to think about all that blood that was on me, and until Quinn shows up, I have to be careful with my actions. I would never hurt her, though. Why would I?
***
As it turns out, the restaurant is not a far walk from the hotel. I didn’t remember much from my cab drive home last night. I had too much on my mind.
I think it will be best if I walk. I will have time to think and process, and hopefully remember more details, if I’m on foot.
Everything looks different in the light of the day when I approach the restaurant. I check the time and it looks as if they have just opened. My hope is to go in undetected so I can check out the restroom and get in and out quickly. I rush inside, walk past the hostess stand, toward the bathroom when the hostess cuts me off.
“A table for one?” she asks.
“I would like to just use the restroom, if that’s OK?” I reply.
“The restrooms are for customers only. We have a lot of homeless people cleaning themselves up in our downtown restrooms, so we have a strict policy of customers only.”
Do I look homeless to this lady? I am wearing Quinn’s clothes. Quinn would be so offended.
I have to give in. Dammit. “Fine,” I respond. “I will take a table for one.”
I’m thankful for the lazy hostess from last night. If Miss Guard Dog had been on duty last night, things could have gone very differently, and for the worse, I suspect. I’m grateful that no one saw me and my blood-soaked face. People would have asked questions that I had, and still have, no answers to.
The hostess leads me over to a small table near the window that is strategically placed for loners. “Your waiter will be Bill,” she says.
I frown at her and she walks away.
The restaurant has an Irish pub feel to it. I didn’t notice that last night. Rugby jerseys line the wall along with Jameson, Guinness, and shamrock signs. I imagine this isn’t what a real Irish pub looks like.
Bill is prompt and approaches my table before I can sneak away to the bathroom. “Hi, I’m Bill. Can I get you something to drink?”
Vodka on the rocks, please, is what I want to say but I respond with, “Just an iced tea will be fine.”
He turns away to grab my drink. I decide it’s an excellent time to use the restroom. I pass by the hostess station with the rude girl glaring at me the entire way to the bathroom. Once inside, I search for anything I could have left last night or anything that I missed cleaning up. I’m sure they’ve cleaned since I was here last, but I had to check. I just had to know. I don’t see any evidence of my time here last night.
The thought of dashing outside and ditching out on my tea crosses my mind, but the hostess doesn’t shake her glare as I walk past her again. I wouldn’t put it past her to chase me down, tackle me to the ground, and drag me back inside and force me to order food. She would probably sit there and watch me eat it too.
Oh, screw it.
I take off out the door and run down the block, and I don’t dare look back.
That was kind of a rush.
I navigate my way back to the dark alley where I woke up last night. I truly have no idea why I would have come here. Maybe someone brought me here and I fought them. That would explain the excess blood on my body. I don’t see any blood here where I laid last night. Nothing seems out of the ordinary. I search the entire block for signs of Quinn.
“Quinn!” I shout out.
I text her again.
I’m really starting to freak out, Quinn. Where are you? If I did something and you don’t want to talk to me, that’s fine, but please let me know you’re OK.
I track my way back to where the festival was yesterday, and it’s a longer walk that I could have managed in my state. Something happened between point A and point B. But what? I walk to the spot where I last remember seeing Quinn. Nothing.
What about Asher? He said he parked in an event-parking garage. I bet it is the garage down the street. It is nearby, and they could get away with charging thirty dollars for nearby parking.
***
A silver Mercedes-Benz is parked in the third stall on the first level of the parking lot. If this is his car, I’m lucky to have spotted it right away in this massive garage. Maybe this is a sign of some good luck to come. I peak in through the passenger-side window and see Quinn’s champagne-pink cardigan sitting on the seat just as she left it yesterday. This is Asher’s car. I can’t help but feel emotional when I see her cardigan. Champagne pink is Quinn’s signature color, and she always looks pretty when she wears it.
The high of finding his car wears off as I can’t help but think, now what?
And where is Asher?
CHAPTER 40
Charlie
August 2012
Back at the hotel, I pace the room. Asher did not come back for his car. If he caught a cab last night, he would surely be back by now. Right? Quinn has been missing for almost a day. I haven’t heard a word from her. Not one peep to let me know she is safe. Surely, if she saw my worrisome texts and numerous calls, she would contact me? Is this like the night from college that I don’t remember? She disappeared from my life three months ago—how is this different?
This time it involves blood and possibly Asher. That’s how it’s different.
I clearly blacked out both times though, and I don’t recall a thing from either night. I also don’t remember how I got to Liam’s house just a couple of days ago, either. I feel like I’m losing my mind. What is going on with me? I’m losing my mind and I’m losing time.
I text Quinn again. She has to answer this one. If she is messing with me or mad at me, this one will make her come out of hiding.
I’m going to the police. If you’re messing with me. Give it up now. I’m so worried about you.
Please respond!
Nothing.
The thought of actually going through with going to the police has me shaking. Just thinking about the cops gives me chills, and bits and pieces of a clouded memory flood back into my consciousness.
Jenny. Foul Play. Liam Sutter.
The fucking police. They were so kind until I said Liam’s name. Everything changed the second I said Liam did it. Everything changed with my parents, the investigation. My entire life.
I close my eyes and count to five. One, two, three, four, five. I take a deep breath and let that memory drift back into the darkness where it needs to stay.
/> Where are you, Quinn Sullivan?
***
I park my car at the police station, but I am having a hard time opening the door. I don’t know what I’m doing here. I’m not a 100 percent sure Quinn is really missing, and if I had anything to do with it, then I’m a stupid, dumb girl for being here. I look down at the scratches on my arm. I look guilty. I have nothing to cover them up. My fingers grip the latch, but the movement I need to physically open the door isn’t there.
What exactly am I going to report? My friend comes in and out of my life from time to time. She gets mad at me and never tells me what I’ve done wrong. She could be on a sex binge with her boyfriend. I know where his car is, but I can’t find him. I sound untrustworthy and I know what cops do with untrustworthy people.
CHAPTER 41
Charlie
May 2008
Detective Morgan’s eyes dart directly to me. “Who is Liam Sutter?”
My parents stare at me through tear-filled eyes. “Who?” My mom asks with concern and fear in her quivering voice.
Detective Morgan looks at my parents and then back at me. “Can you tell me who this Liam person is, and why you would think he killed your aunt?”
I stare at them blankly.
I’m so confused.
Did I say that out loud?
Everyone is looking at me for answers, and I don’t know what to say.
I don’t know why I would have said that. Why would I think my Liam would have anything to do with Jenny’s death? Liam is my little secret. Why would I say that?
I’m utterly and completely mixed-up, and nothing makes sense inside my head.
What did I just do?
CHAPTER 42
The Pretty Ones Page 15